Almost didn't have a entry today. Then I blinked, just before bedtime.
Or the lights did. Many times.
There are about half a dozen emergency vehicles in the truck-stop parking lot, not a hundred feet away. A motorcycle cop is standing guard on a bunch of trucks in ire-engine red. Floodlights on a post, people scurrying in various directions. A good-sized trailer just pulled in. I think the markings included "hazmat."
Vehicle fire? Lethal fumes from some unfortunate tanker?
No. Somebody's fuel tank is leaking.
All right, it's not as silly as it sounds. My truck has two diesel tanks, 120 gallons each. Some of these trucks have bigger.
Can't laugh. But I think I'll go back to sleep.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Peace and quiet
The breeze is cool, in the odd moments when it gets through the cab windows. Not a lot of scenery—this truck stop actually is in an industrial district—but at least it's been cloudy and more or less cool.
It's hotter in the truck, of course, for the usual reasons. Not too hot to stand, but warmer than the air-conditioned spaces nearby. So why am I here?
Quiet.
It's a relative thing—a big diesel idles about six feet from the open window beside me, for instance—but it's the kind of quiet I need. And it's out of reach at every other seat within walking distance.
Most truck stops fall into one of two categories, and I have one of each right here. One type is described by some of the competition as “fuel-and-get-lost.” Take a convenience store, add diesel pumps, bring in a fast-food joint. Put in some showers, stock some trucker toys and supplies. If there's room, have a big parking lot in back.
And that's pretty much it. If you're lucky, you might find a table to sit at.
The other type tries to offer a bit more. A real sit-down restaurant. A lounge. A TV room. A real arcade. Maybe a movie room, and real shops. Some have barbers and massage therapists and even clinics. One chain tries for something like a hotel convention center.
One thing neither type has a lot of, though. Places where you can just sit and think.
Like the rest of the world, truck stops have apparently found distraction is more profitable. The “fuel and forget” places may not have a place to sit at all. The “trucker malls” may have a dozen different rooms. But where there's a seat or a table, there's usually a TV. You might can choose* between news, sports, and sitcoms, but silence is usually not an option.
For someone like me, who almost can't tune anything out, it's kind of tough. That's why I'm here, in my truck, rejoicing at every breeze that deigns to come thought the window. How can my quiet thoughts compete with Jim Carrey, Denzel Washington, a room full of Major League Baseball fans, or Jennifer Anniston?
A truck idling next to a warm cab works better. At least till I'm done writing.
And maybe napping. Talk to you later.
It's hotter in the truck, of course, for the usual reasons. Not too hot to stand, but warmer than the air-conditioned spaces nearby. So why am I here?
Quiet.
It's a relative thing—a big diesel idles about six feet from the open window beside me, for instance—but it's the kind of quiet I need. And it's out of reach at every other seat within walking distance.
Most truck stops fall into one of two categories, and I have one of each right here. One type is described by some of the competition as “fuel-and-get-lost.” Take a convenience store, add diesel pumps, bring in a fast-food joint. Put in some showers, stock some trucker toys and supplies. If there's room, have a big parking lot in back.
And that's pretty much it. If you're lucky, you might find a table to sit at.
The other type tries to offer a bit more. A real sit-down restaurant. A lounge. A TV room. A real arcade. Maybe a movie room, and real shops. Some have barbers and massage therapists and even clinics. One chain tries for something like a hotel convention center.
One thing neither type has a lot of, though. Places where you can just sit and think.
Like the rest of the world, truck stops have apparently found distraction is more profitable. The “fuel and forget” places may not have a place to sit at all. The “trucker malls” may have a dozen different rooms. But where there's a seat or a table, there's usually a TV. You might can choose* between news, sports, and sitcoms, but silence is usually not an option.
For someone like me, who almost can't tune anything out, it's kind of tough. That's why I'm here, in my truck, rejoicing at every breeze that deigns to come thought the window. How can my quiet thoughts compete with Jim Carrey, Denzel Washington, a room full of Major League Baseball fans, or Jennifer Anniston?
A truck idling next to a warm cab works better. At least till I'm done writing.
And maybe napping. Talk to you later.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Why I got home late tonight
I 85 southbound, in the Carolina countryside. Sunny and bright, after a hard rain. Jewel-sparkles in the grass on the embankment to my right. A nice-looking brunette running her fingers through her hair, as she stretches beside her car, about fifty yards ahead.
Yeah, you read that right. She's standing beside her car. It's not moving.
Neither are any of the others, as far behind me as the eye can see. To my left, children and little dogs romp in the median. People stand around talking on their cells, or to each other, or staring myopically at their Blackberries(tm), thumbs moving frantically. And a few hundred yards ahead, a sea of flashers, red and yellow and blue.
A few miles ago, the rain was so heavy I had to slow to 35 just to keep some road visible ahead of me. Carefully sliding past all the cars and motorcycles huddled under the overpasses. It cleared a trifle about the time I stopped for fuel, and I thought the slow part of the drive was over.
But here I am, safely stopped in the middle of a long skinny parking lot. And about a thousand feet ahead (the CB passes the word) a car is sandwiched between two large trucks. Both southbound lanes are blocked by the wreck. Both northbound lanes are blocked by emergency vehicles.
And, having nothing better to do, we get out of our vehicles and make guesses about what's going on up there.
#####
Well, it can't be good.
The northbound traffic is moving again, sort of. The big rescue truck blocking both lanes has moved on. Two ambulances and a medevac copter have come and gone. One ambulance didn't bother with the siren. Or the lights. That is suggestive.
A truck passing northbound said he saw indications of a fire. Hope not. Things are probably bad enough up there already.
Southbound is still sitting. I just heard the police behind me are turning cars around and sending them back up the shoulder to the nearest ramp. They don't do that if they expect it to clear up any minute.
Looks like I'm here for a while.
#####
Finally moving. I was near the head of the line, only a couple of hundred yards back, so once they cleared a lane I wasn't too bad off.
Passed the crash site. Fire-retardant foam all over the road. That's probably what the northbound driver saw. No sign of an actual fire, though.
The original report was right, it seems. Two trucks--trucks, not semi's. I can't tell if they're small commercial trucks or the largest box vans you can drive without a CDL. One's a rental, the other belongs to a company that might or might not need a commercial vehicle. Not that it matters. They were quite big enough.
In between them is a ball of metal. That's the only way I can describe it. A giant might be able to bowl with it. I try not to imagine what the passenger compartment looked like. I didn't see space for one.
I keep going. And try not to think too much.
#####
The northbound traffic was back to normal about seven miles past the crash site. No idea how far things were backed up on my side of the road.
A guy is on the CB for another five miles or so, warning people about the backup. I'll let him do the talking.
#####
I was supposed to pick up a load about noon today and take it to my terminal, then take the weekend off. I expected to be home about 5:00.
The customer didn't have the load ready until about 3:30. It happens. I was slightly annoyed, but what the heck. I'd still make it by bedtime.
I just got to the terminal. It's about 10:30. By the time I get the truck cleared out for the next driver it will be past midnight. My wife will not be pleased.
I've seen the alternative. I'll live with it.
#####
Small addendum:
I recognized one of those trucks. It was fueling at the pump next to mine.
Yeah, you read that right. She's standing beside her car. It's not moving.
Neither are any of the others, as far behind me as the eye can see. To my left, children and little dogs romp in the median. People stand around talking on their cells, or to each other, or staring myopically at their Blackberries(tm), thumbs moving frantically. And a few hundred yards ahead, a sea of flashers, red and yellow and blue.
A few miles ago, the rain was so heavy I had to slow to 35 just to keep some road visible ahead of me. Carefully sliding past all the cars and motorcycles huddled under the overpasses. It cleared a trifle about the time I stopped for fuel, and I thought the slow part of the drive was over.
But here I am, safely stopped in the middle of a long skinny parking lot. And about a thousand feet ahead (the CB passes the word) a car is sandwiched between two large trucks. Both southbound lanes are blocked by the wreck. Both northbound lanes are blocked by emergency vehicles.
And, having nothing better to do, we get out of our vehicles and make guesses about what's going on up there.
#####
Well, it can't be good.
The northbound traffic is moving again, sort of. The big rescue truck blocking both lanes has moved on. Two ambulances and a medevac copter have come and gone. One ambulance didn't bother with the siren. Or the lights. That is suggestive.
A truck passing northbound said he saw indications of a fire. Hope not. Things are probably bad enough up there already.
Southbound is still sitting. I just heard the police behind me are turning cars around and sending them back up the shoulder to the nearest ramp. They don't do that if they expect it to clear up any minute.
Looks like I'm here for a while.
#####
Finally moving. I was near the head of the line, only a couple of hundred yards back, so once they cleared a lane I wasn't too bad off.
Passed the crash site. Fire-retardant foam all over the road. That's probably what the northbound driver saw. No sign of an actual fire, though.
The original report was right, it seems. Two trucks--trucks, not semi's. I can't tell if they're small commercial trucks or the largest box vans you can drive without a CDL. One's a rental, the other belongs to a company that might or might not need a commercial vehicle. Not that it matters. They were quite big enough.
In between them is a ball of metal. That's the only way I can describe it. A giant might be able to bowl with it. I try not to imagine what the passenger compartment looked like. I didn't see space for one.
I keep going. And try not to think too much.
#####
The northbound traffic was back to normal about seven miles past the crash site. No idea how far things were backed up on my side of the road.
A guy is on the CB for another five miles or so, warning people about the backup. I'll let him do the talking.
#####
I was supposed to pick up a load about noon today and take it to my terminal, then take the weekend off. I expected to be home about 5:00.
The customer didn't have the load ready until about 3:30. It happens. I was slightly annoyed, but what the heck. I'd still make it by bedtime.
I just got to the terminal. It's about 10:30. By the time I get the truck cleared out for the next driver it will be past midnight. My wife will not be pleased.
I've seen the alternative. I'll live with it.
#####
Small addendum:
I recognized one of those trucks. It was fueling at the pump next to mine.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Place I've stopped: Tamarack in West Virginia
(Time at home is a precious thing these days. I spend less of it than I like in front of a computer. But my notes are still here, and I'll get them up soon as I can. Honest. Think of this as a promissory note.
(Oh, and you might check the back entries as well. This one was written on August 18, for instance. And the entry for July 18 got on the blog just before this one...)
I was ready to stop and enjoy a break. So of course it started raining.
I was on I-77, working my way through the West Virginia mountains, and Tamarack was coming up. For me that's a special occasion. I believe I've mentioned that most of the places I'd like to spend time looking at are far away from the nearest truck stop. But the West Virginia Turnpike has a service plaza at the Beckley exit. Just park, cross a street, climb some stairs and a parking lot, and there you are.
Tamarack (or at least the part I visit) is sort of like a permanent crafts fair. A big circular building, with a bunch of workshops behind picture windows where craftsmen ply their trades and matching gift shops/galleries where you can buy what they make. I always make the full circle, but I'll admit it--there's one place I always stop.
One of their workshops is taken by a husband and wife, instrument makers who specialize in bowed psalteries. When I stopped by today, the husband was showing a family one of his rarer creations.
Well, all right. It wasn't HIS creation.
Seems a school in the area had planned to put on a play about a class full of kids who wanted to protest a budget cut in their music department. So they (the characters) made their own instruments and put on a show. They (the people putting on the play) had come to the Tamarack instrument makers for pointers, and the gentleman in question had suggested something a little more ambitious than the usual improvised rhythm-band stuff. He'd designed a bowed psaltery they could make out of two pieces of (it looked like) maple two-by-four and some cardboard.
The kids had built them. They'd learned how to play them. And one of them had brought this one back to him, temporarily. It needed tuning.
I got to try it. The tone was nice. Especially considering how little time and money had been lavished on it. Not something you see every day.
The rest of the place was fun, too. I'd planned to make a quick tour, in and out just to say I'd done it. I ended up spending a good 45 minutes. If I hadn't been well ahead of schedule I wouldn't have dared stop.
As it was, I hurried back across the parking lot, down the stairs, and climbed back into the truck. A few minutes later I was headed for North Carolina once more.
And a few minutes later it began to rain again.
(Oh, and you might check the back entries as well. This one was written on August 18, for instance. And the entry for July 18 got on the blog just before this one...)
I was ready to stop and enjoy a break. So of course it started raining.
I was on I-77, working my way through the West Virginia mountains, and Tamarack was coming up. For me that's a special occasion. I believe I've mentioned that most of the places I'd like to spend time looking at are far away from the nearest truck stop. But the West Virginia Turnpike has a service plaza at the Beckley exit. Just park, cross a street, climb some stairs and a parking lot, and there you are.
Tamarack (or at least the part I visit) is sort of like a permanent crafts fair. A big circular building, with a bunch of workshops behind picture windows where craftsmen ply their trades and matching gift shops/galleries where you can buy what they make. I always make the full circle, but I'll admit it--there's one place I always stop.
One of their workshops is taken by a husband and wife, instrument makers who specialize in bowed psalteries. When I stopped by today, the husband was showing a family one of his rarer creations.
Well, all right. It wasn't HIS creation.
Seems a school in the area had planned to put on a play about a class full of kids who wanted to protest a budget cut in their music department. So they (the characters) made their own instruments and put on a show. They (the people putting on the play) had come to the Tamarack instrument makers for pointers, and the gentleman in question had suggested something a little more ambitious than the usual improvised rhythm-band stuff. He'd designed a bowed psaltery they could make out of two pieces of (it looked like) maple two-by-four and some cardboard.
The kids had built them. They'd learned how to play them. And one of them had brought this one back to him, temporarily. It needed tuning.
I got to try it. The tone was nice. Especially considering how little time and money had been lavished on it. Not something you see every day.
The rest of the place was fun, too. I'd planned to make a quick tour, in and out just to say I'd done it. I ended up spending a good 45 minutes. If I hadn't been well ahead of schedule I wouldn't have dared stop.
As it was, I hurried back across the parking lot, down the stairs, and climbed back into the truck. A few minutes later I was headed for North Carolina once more.
And a few minutes later it began to rain again.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Still here. Or is it "I'll be back"?
It's been an interesting time here at Lake--um, I mean at home. Between my tooth, my wife's cataracts (and all the follow-up visits--those doctors really like to know everything), and three or four days of sitting in a garage waiting room, I have been easily distracted. But I do have a bunch of notes--some on paper and some in audio files. When I get back I will see how well I can transcribe.
Meanwhile, it's midnight. And I'll have to get up at five to get the truck going in time for my first stop this week. Wish me luck...
Meanwhile, it's midnight. And I'll have to get up at five to get the truck going in time for my first stop this week. Wish me luck...
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