Vignettes

There's nothing quite like carefully backing into a dock, trailers parked close on either side--and hearing a loud hollow metallic noise.

It turned out to be a yard dog* four docks down, backing under a trailer. Or was it a forklift clanging across a loading ramp? In any case it wasn't me. But your heart takes a moment to get the message...

***

I still think Summer Shade, KY should be something more...something. In a movie it would be.

Oh, well. Skullbone never had a pleasantly scary feel, either....
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*YARD DOG:
A truck driver who specializes in moving trailers from one part of a warehouse complex or terminal to another. Also, a semi-tractor specially built for such work--usually more maneuverable, having more visibility, and equipped with a hydraulic lift that allows the driver to move a trailer without raising its landing gear.
See also, YARD JOCKEY, HOSTLER, SPOTTER

I got off I-65 in Kentucky this morning at exit 53. Right in the middle of Mammoth Cave territory. As I pulled up to the traffic light, I could look across the road at the Dinosaur Museum. Right there on the right.

I had to turn left.

My heart is broken.

I've passed that exit a dozen times or more in the past year or two, reading the big sign and admiring the (I think) T-rex near the entrance. Huge brow ridges. And stripes. And built before all the experts decided they really walked like birds, so it stands up straight. I wonder how they've changed their literature...

I've thought similar things about other places I've driven by. Like the Ave Maria Grotto. Paradise Gardens. Ghost Town in the Sky (and Guntown Mountain--basically the same kind of place). The Creation Museum. Patti's 1880's Settlement. Pedro's South of the Border.*

And a hundred others.

I used to subscribe to a little magazine called Wonder. One of the featured writers did reviews of side-of-the-road tourist traps. Even then I wanted to do that.

Someday, maybe.
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*At least I saw that one once. In the off season. When most of the attractions were closed. Sigh.

Adventures in blackmail

I'm sitting at a table in a truck stop restaurant, waiting for my bacon cheeseburger and bowl of chili. I might get dessert later.

I'm being forced to do this. Really.

One of the more tedious things about this job is the end of the day. Sooner or later you have to park and sleep. And your choices usually boil down to:

1. Your company's terminal in Whatever City
2. A truck stop
3. A rest area
4. Someplace else

The company terminal can be nice. But the company doesn't have a whole lot of them.

(The waitress just brought the burger. The cook forgot the tomato. Hmph.)

After a pickup at the end of the day, an understanding customer can be a beautiful thing. But like many beautiful things, they're kind of rare. And most of the ones you find tend to close up shop sometime during the night. If you need to get up at 03:00 to, ah, deal with an urgent problem, you may find the, um equipment unavailable.

A truck stop is usually the best choice. They have a parking lot, 24-hour facilities (usually), stores, a restaurant (generally overpriced, but what the heck), etc. I have a little book that lists thousands of them and how to find them. It's probably the most useful thing I carry.

(The waitress brought the tomato. The burger is nice. The chili not so great. I've had worse, though.)

Rest areas are often the second choice. They don't have all the facilities, but I don't usually shop or eat out anyway. Restrooms and a parking place are plenty for me. And rest areas are often quicker to get in and out of (being as how they usually have their own off- and on-ramps). But more and more states are threatening to chuck us out of their rest areas at night. I haven't looked very hard at why. The fact is bad enough.

(Ordered dessert. The explanation is coming. Really...)

Which leaves "everywhere else." Off- and on-ramps, deserted gas stations, department-store docks (hoping the police assume you're delivering them in the morning), whatever. I've managed to avoid this so far. I don't trust my luck enough to bet my license and my livelihood on it. Much less my life.

Call me a wuss. I don't mind.

Now. To the present. There are several spots (especially in the Northeast) like this one, where none of the options come easy. No rest areas, or "NO OVERNIGHT PARKING" signs and enthusiastic policemen. No generous customers. No company terminals. And I still don't want to gamble.

That leaves truck stops. But they're rare here, too. Rare enough that some of them get away with charging you to park.

Te usual ransom--ah, arrangement, I mean--involves a choice--pay a flat fee, buy a certain minimum amount of fuel, or spend a certain amount in the store and/or cafe.

My company decides where I fuel. I don't impulse shop, much.

So I eat out.

It costs too much. But it's better than paying rent on a piece of asphalt, two strips of yellow paint, and several potholes.

(Dessert wasn't bad either. If I were rich I wouldn't mind this so...)