And this time we have no idea where we're going at all. Won't this be fun?
Dispatch eventually gets us some directions. I am so relieved, I don't notice the ominous phrasing.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
It's bad enough that I can't find most of the roads mentioned. I head slowly and worriedly into the heart of town*, my head on a swivel, and suddenly I see a beautiful sight. There! A highway that my directions actually mentioned! And it's a big enough highway that I needn't worry about it suddenly petering out and leaving me stranded far from any turnarounds. So make my best guess as to direction and head down the highway, head on a swivel.
No sign of the side street the directions tell me to look for. And I'm past the city limits. Time to do the un-manly thing again.
There is a building-supply place on my left. It looks like big rigs deliver there. So I pull in, park, and ask for directions. The nice man on the forklift tells me where to go.
The nice man in the other truck tells me something completely different. Goody.
Slowly I start back the way I came, comparing my directions to the forklift driver's directions, and both of those to the truck driver's directions. Not an exercise in confidence building.
But there! There! The side-street I'm supposed to turn on! Joyfully I swing onto Pomegranite Lane--and there's a police officer looking at me oddly.
When police officers look at you oddly, you don't assume they're admiring the paint job. I stop promptly and climb out. He's already out of his car. "Are you delivering on this street?" he asks politely.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
The customer didn't give us those directions. Dispatch got them off Mapquest or Google Maps or some such. And those services, like most GPS's I've seen, often overlook little things like "NO THRU TRUCKS" postings.
Fortunately I look convincingly lost. (It helps when you really are that lost...) He confirms that the highway I'm looking for is just a hundred yards up the street, and lets me off with a warning. The next driver might not be so lucky. I'll have to warn somebody about that...
And with the wind from the bullet I just dodged still stirring my hair, I turn onto the correct highway and find the turnoff to the shipper. An hour or two later I'm loaded and homeward bound.
Headed for my home terminal. No chance of getting lost. Interstates all the way. What could go wrong?
(To be continued...)
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*The heart of town is a bad place, when your truck is longer than some of the city blocks you pass...
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