There is a brewery next door to Busch Gardens. Guess whose.
For some reason I was surprised. It had occurred to me that the park had something to do with THAT family, but I had never really thought about it. And it hadn't crossed my mind that they might advertise the fact quite that blatantly. Oh, well...
I could see the roller coaster as I pulled into the truck entrance. I drove right by the front gate on the way out. Yet another neat place I couldn't stop and visit. Sigh.
The trailer had a half-flat tire. A quick stop at the truck stop to use the air hose, and we're on our way. Let's hear it for pre-trip inspections. Again.
Drove past Pedro's South of the Border again. Two I-wanna-stop-and-I-can't's in the same day. First time for Pedro's since I actually wrote that post. If they hadn't both been (almost certainly) closed for the season, I'd be more upset.
As it is, it's been a reasonably pleasant day. No great insights this time (assuming there ever are), but no real complaints either.
I'll take it.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tight places and train wrecks (old ones--don't panic)
Chilly but grateful I am.
This is the last available parking space in this truck stop--which is the only truck stop withing fifty miles of the place I have to be tomorrow morning. After circling the parking lot four times, I was about to give up and start looking for a rest area when somebody pulled out of a space right in front of me. It took me entirely too long to squeeze into that spot in the dark, but when I was done I had a place to sleep. With a restroom within walking distance.
I have no complaints.
You may remember me talking yesterday about the fascinatingly cozy spot I had to back into for my last pickup. Well, dropping it off was almost as much fun. The factory was bigger, but getting to it involved another residential street. I could have shared it with an oncoming bicycle, but nothing much bigger. Making the turn from the highway (two lanes, in the middle of a small town), I got around the car parked at the corner with almost a foot to spare.
Got to the factory with no problems. Then I had to back blind around a dumpster and up a narrow alley to a dock jutting out from wall in the side of said alley. I missed the stairs and landing jutting out from the opposite wall by a good six inches.* Got unloaded and pulled out without incident, then headed back out. Someone politely pulled into a driveway to let me by, and six others politely stopped and backed up to give me room to get back onto the highway.
They must REALLY like having those jobs around. I was a lot of bother.
***
On my way here, I passed through Danville, Virginia. Nature called, and there was a rest area, so I pulled in.
It wasn't actually a rest area, though--not technically. It was a Visitor Center associated with the town. Which meant, among other things, that it wasn't on its own little island. For about thirty seconds I was afraid I'd turned the wrong way at the top of the exit ramp. That moment passed, though, and I could enjoy the other mild oddities.
The big-vehicle parking spaces aren't pull-throughs. You pull in, then you back out. Just like a supermarket. Only this truck is a bit bigger than a minivan. And I've already spent too much time talking about how blind you are backing up in these things.
Fascinating. Fortunately there weren't any other big vehicles taking up a space, so I wasn't too worried. And that restroom beckoned.
There. Important business taken care of. So I poked into the center proper. Most of it was the standard brochure racks, but there was one little alcove with some old black-and-white pictures on the wall. Of a steam locomotive.
Ah, yes. The Wreck of Old 97. I had almost forgotten it. The people who'd written up the brochures for it admitted that most people would have forgotten it, if it hadn't been for the song. (Makes sense. How of you could name a wrecked Great Lakes iron boat other than the Edmund Fitzgerald?) The most interesting tidbit I picked up was that "Old 97" was the train, not the locomotive. The locomotive was 1102. And after they fished it out of the gorge, they fixed it up and ran it for many more years.
Spooky.
So. An interesting stop, an adventure in backing, a nice drive through snowy Appalachia, and the last parking place between here and Williamsburg. I've done worse.
G'nite.
-----
*To be fair, if I'd looked the situation over carefully enough before backing I could have gotten twisted around to where I had a better view. Get Oout And Look really is a good, ahem, GOAL.
This is the last available parking space in this truck stop--which is the only truck stop withing fifty miles of the place I have to be tomorrow morning. After circling the parking lot four times, I was about to give up and start looking for a rest area when somebody pulled out of a space right in front of me. It took me entirely too long to squeeze into that spot in the dark, but when I was done I had a place to sleep. With a restroom within walking distance.
I have no complaints.
You may remember me talking yesterday about the fascinatingly cozy spot I had to back into for my last pickup. Well, dropping it off was almost as much fun. The factory was bigger, but getting to it involved another residential street. I could have shared it with an oncoming bicycle, but nothing much bigger. Making the turn from the highway (two lanes, in the middle of a small town), I got around the car parked at the corner with almost a foot to spare.
Got to the factory with no problems. Then I had to back blind around a dumpster and up a narrow alley to a dock jutting out from wall in the side of said alley. I missed the stairs and landing jutting out from the opposite wall by a good six inches.* Got unloaded and pulled out without incident, then headed back out. Someone politely pulled into a driveway to let me by, and six others politely stopped and backed up to give me room to get back onto the highway.
They must REALLY like having those jobs around. I was a lot of bother.
***
On my way here, I passed through Danville, Virginia. Nature called, and there was a rest area, so I pulled in.
It wasn't actually a rest area, though--not technically. It was a Visitor Center associated with the town. Which meant, among other things, that it wasn't on its own little island. For about thirty seconds I was afraid I'd turned the wrong way at the top of the exit ramp. That moment passed, though, and I could enjoy the other mild oddities.
The big-vehicle parking spaces aren't pull-throughs. You pull in, then you back out. Just like a supermarket. Only this truck is a bit bigger than a minivan. And I've already spent too much time talking about how blind you are backing up in these things.
Fascinating. Fortunately there weren't any other big vehicles taking up a space, so I wasn't too worried. And that restroom beckoned.
There. Important business taken care of. So I poked into the center proper. Most of it was the standard brochure racks, but there was one little alcove with some old black-and-white pictures on the wall. Of a steam locomotive.
Ah, yes. The Wreck of Old 97. I had almost forgotten it. The people who'd written up the brochures for it admitted that most people would have forgotten it, if it hadn't been for the song. (Makes sense. How of you could name a wrecked Great Lakes iron boat other than the Edmund Fitzgerald?) The most interesting tidbit I picked up was that "Old 97" was the train, not the locomotive. The locomotive was 1102. And after they fished it out of the gorge, they fixed it up and ran it for many more years.
Spooky.
So. An interesting stop, an adventure in backing, a nice drive through snowy Appalachia, and the last parking place between here and Williamsburg. I've done worse.
G'nite.
-----
*To be fair, if I'd looked the situation over carefully enough before backing I could have gotten twisted around to where I had a better view. Get Oout And Look really is a good, ahem, GOAL.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Tight places
The sky is gray.
I'm not paying much attention to it, though. I'm figuring out how to arrange the pillows to sleep tonight. The parking lot has a fair slope, you see. I won't say it'll be like sleeping in a recliner, but which way my head is facing will definitely make a difference.
On the good side, it's a bit warmer tonight. With any luck I won't wake up in the wee hours frantic to start the truck and burrow into the sleeping bag again. Always a good thing, this time of year.
Didn't get to talk to my wife tonight. The cell phone revolution is spreading fast--the nearest pay phone is a mile or so down the road. From a truck stop. Progress progresses, I guess. On the other hand, this truck stop had a rack of discount books, and one or two of them look quite readable. And cheap.
My pickup this morning was fascinating. Getting to it involved several tiny streets in the middle of a residential district. At two different intersections I had to take up both lanes of both streets just to get around the corner. If I'd followed my GPS I would have been arrested. (It does that to me sometimes.)
As it was, I drove right by the building. It couldn't be that one--there wasn't room to back in, was there? When I saw the "NO TRUCKS" sign a hundred yards ahead I stopped and looked harder.
Thank goodness there was a building right there, with a lot barely big enough to turn around in--if I was careful. So I turned around there--carefully. In the middle of the maneuver, a gentleman came out of that tiny place next door and waved me over.
It WAS that one. And there wasn't room to back in.
I backed in anyway. Not like I had a lot of choice.
In a way I was lucky. If I'd spotted it the first time I would have been facing the wrong way. The only thing worse than fitting that big truck into that tiny lot would have been doing it from the blind side. As it was, I only (!) ran the front wheels up on the curb of a school playground,* barely missed a parked car, and stopped with a foot of my front bumper sticking into the street.
Piece of cake.
The manufacturing facility wasn't much bigger than the parking lot. I missed it the first time for two reasons: 1)there wasn't a sign; and 2)it didn't look like you could manufacture anything in there. It looked more like an auto body shop. I've never picked up from a place quite that small before.
I suspect they'd never had something picked up by a rig quite this big before, either. "Is that a 53-footer**?" the forklift driver asked me. When I said yes, he shook his head. When he was done loading, he looked critically at the pallets and said, "More room than I'm used to. Is that a 102-incher?***" I said yes again, and he shook his head again.
Suddenly I felt a little better about the sweat I'd sweated backing in there. And the additional sweat I sweated pulling back out.
The rest of the drive was pure relaxation. In comparison.
-----
*but not over it. I never touched the grass behind it, I'm proud to say--much less the sidewalk.
**Most states won't allow a trailer more than 53 feet long without a special permit. A few states (like Texas) allow them to be a bit longer, and several require them to be shorter, but 53 feet works for most of the country. I've never pulled a trailer that was shorter except at driving school (they liked 46-footers for a lot of their training).
***102 inches (8'6") is the maximum width for a semi-trailer unless you get a special permit. Again, I've never driven in front of anything else. But until 1982 the maximum width was 96 inches. Progress progresses...
I'm not paying much attention to it, though. I'm figuring out how to arrange the pillows to sleep tonight. The parking lot has a fair slope, you see. I won't say it'll be like sleeping in a recliner, but which way my head is facing will definitely make a difference.
On the good side, it's a bit warmer tonight. With any luck I won't wake up in the wee hours frantic to start the truck and burrow into the sleeping bag again. Always a good thing, this time of year.
Didn't get to talk to my wife tonight. The cell phone revolution is spreading fast--the nearest pay phone is a mile or so down the road. From a truck stop. Progress progresses, I guess. On the other hand, this truck stop had a rack of discount books, and one or two of them look quite readable. And cheap.
My pickup this morning was fascinating. Getting to it involved several tiny streets in the middle of a residential district. At two different intersections I had to take up both lanes of both streets just to get around the corner. If I'd followed my GPS I would have been arrested. (It does that to me sometimes.)
As it was, I drove right by the building. It couldn't be that one--there wasn't room to back in, was there? When I saw the "NO TRUCKS" sign a hundred yards ahead I stopped and looked harder.
Thank goodness there was a building right there, with a lot barely big enough to turn around in--if I was careful. So I turned around there--carefully. In the middle of the maneuver, a gentleman came out of that tiny place next door and waved me over.
It WAS that one. And there wasn't room to back in.
I backed in anyway. Not like I had a lot of choice.
In a way I was lucky. If I'd spotted it the first time I would have been facing the wrong way. The only thing worse than fitting that big truck into that tiny lot would have been doing it from the blind side. As it was, I only (!) ran the front wheels up on the curb of a school playground,* barely missed a parked car, and stopped with a foot of my front bumper sticking into the street.
Piece of cake.
The manufacturing facility wasn't much bigger than the parking lot. I missed it the first time for two reasons: 1)there wasn't a sign; and 2)it didn't look like you could manufacture anything in there. It looked more like an auto body shop. I've never picked up from a place quite that small before.
I suspect they'd never had something picked up by a rig quite this big before, either. "Is that a 53-footer**?" the forklift driver asked me. When I said yes, he shook his head. When he was done loading, he looked critically at the pallets and said, "More room than I'm used to. Is that a 102-incher?***" I said yes again, and he shook his head again.
Suddenly I felt a little better about the sweat I'd sweated backing in there. And the additional sweat I sweated pulling back out.
The rest of the drive was pure relaxation. In comparison.
-----
*but not over it. I never touched the grass behind it, I'm proud to say--much less the sidewalk.
**Most states won't allow a trailer more than 53 feet long without a special permit. A few states (like Texas) allow them to be a bit longer, and several require them to be shorter, but 53 feet works for most of the country. I've never pulled a trailer that was shorter except at driving school (they liked 46-footers for a lot of their training).
***102 inches (8'6") is the maximum width for a semi-trailer unless you get a special permit. Again, I've never driven in front of anything else. But until 1982 the maximum width was 96 inches. Progress progresses...
Monday, February 1, 2010
Pre-trip inspections are a GOOD thing...
Today I spent a lot of time around my home terminal, so I won't bore you with the nonexistent scenery.
When they finally found me a load, it was a quickie--go about five miles, drop my trailer, bobtail* to another lot, pick up a loaded trailer, take it about thirty miles to the customer, and wait patiently to be unloaded. Easy.
So I went about five miles, dropped my trailer, bobtailed to another lot, and hooked up to the loaded trailer. Connected the air lines and the electrical lines, fired up the truck, and walked around the trailer--making sure all the lights worked, that the brake shoes were thick enough (wouldn't do to have them wear out completely in the next thirty miles), etc.
Everything looked good. So I started the truck and pushed in the valve that would feed air into the trailer's brake system.
There was that familiar and comforting (and LOUD) hiss. Excellent.
The hiss continued for several seconds. Not so excellent.
It didn't get any quieter over the next minute or two. Not excellent at all.
I shut down the truck and got out to listen more carefully. The noise all came from one place--near the front pair of wheels on the right side of the trailer. I went back to take a closer look.
(Those who get hopelessly bored by gadget-talk may want to skip this part...)
Tractor-trailers are much too heavy for the kind of brakes you find on a car. Compressed air is (at present) the easiest way to put enough pressure on a brake shoe to do any good. So when you put your foot on the brake, you're actually dumping high-pressure air into a sort of piston arrangement that pushes the brake shoes against the brake drums. HARD.
Each set of wheels has one of these brake actuators. Ten in all--six on the truck and four on the trailer. And one of the ones on the trailer was apparently leaking air. A lot of it. Apparently from some kind of safety valve.
Like I said, a tractor-trailer is HEAVY. Even when everything is working perfectly, stopping one of these things takes lots of room. If the brakes are only working on sixteen of your eighteen wheels, it takes more. This is Not a Good Thing.
(End of boring technical digression)
Fortunately, the wheels all turned.** So I CAREFULLY drove the truck the five miles or so back to the terminal and threw myself on the mechanics' mercy.
It only took them an hour or so to replace the bad actuator and make sure everything else was working. So I got the load to its proper place in its proper time.
Not the most profitable day. But my dispatcher was happy with me--I'd gotten the job done. And the truck was intact. If I hadn't noticed that problem it might not have been.
We're legally required to check a whole lot of stuff on these rigs every day. And every time we switch trailers we're supposed to inspect the new one the same way. A lot of the time you feel like an idiot looking at the same stupid things over and over.
And then there are days like this one.
Which is now over. G'nite.
-----
*bobtail:
1: (adj) in trucking, refers to a tractor without a trailer.
2: (verb) to drive a bobtail tractor.
**I may have mentioned somewhere that air brakes on a big truck have the same kind of safety system that elevators do. The brakes have powerful springs that hold them against the drums. There's a gadget that uses the air system to push those springs back. So if your air pressure drops too much, the brakes automatically lock up. Good for safety. Not so good for getting the truck to a shop...
When they finally found me a load, it was a quickie--go about five miles, drop my trailer, bobtail* to another lot, pick up a loaded trailer, take it about thirty miles to the customer, and wait patiently to be unloaded. Easy.
So I went about five miles, dropped my trailer, bobtailed to another lot, and hooked up to the loaded trailer. Connected the air lines and the electrical lines, fired up the truck, and walked around the trailer--making sure all the lights worked, that the brake shoes were thick enough (wouldn't do to have them wear out completely in the next thirty miles), etc.
Everything looked good. So I started the truck and pushed in the valve that would feed air into the trailer's brake system.
There was that familiar and comforting (and LOUD) hiss. Excellent.
The hiss continued for several seconds. Not so excellent.
It didn't get any quieter over the next minute or two. Not excellent at all.
I shut down the truck and got out to listen more carefully. The noise all came from one place--near the front pair of wheels on the right side of the trailer. I went back to take a closer look.
(Those who get hopelessly bored by gadget-talk may want to skip this part...)
Tractor-trailers are much too heavy for the kind of brakes you find on a car. Compressed air is (at present) the easiest way to put enough pressure on a brake shoe to do any good. So when you put your foot on the brake, you're actually dumping high-pressure air into a sort of piston arrangement that pushes the brake shoes against the brake drums. HARD.
Each set of wheels has one of these brake actuators. Ten in all--six on the truck and four on the trailer. And one of the ones on the trailer was apparently leaking air. A lot of it. Apparently from some kind of safety valve.
Like I said, a tractor-trailer is HEAVY. Even when everything is working perfectly, stopping one of these things takes lots of room. If the brakes are only working on sixteen of your eighteen wheels, it takes more. This is Not a Good Thing.
(End of boring technical digression)
Fortunately, the wheels all turned.** So I CAREFULLY drove the truck the five miles or so back to the terminal and threw myself on the mechanics' mercy.
It only took them an hour or so to replace the bad actuator and make sure everything else was working. So I got the load to its proper place in its proper time.
Not the most profitable day. But my dispatcher was happy with me--I'd gotten the job done. And the truck was intact. If I hadn't noticed that problem it might not have been.
We're legally required to check a whole lot of stuff on these rigs every day. And every time we switch trailers we're supposed to inspect the new one the same way. A lot of the time you feel like an idiot looking at the same stupid things over and over.
And then there are days like this one.
Which is now over. G'nite.
-----
*bobtail:
1: (adj) in trucking, refers to a tractor without a trailer.
2: (verb) to drive a bobtail tractor.
**I may have mentioned somewhere that air brakes on a big truck have the same kind of safety system that elevators do. The brakes have powerful springs that hold them against the drums. There's a gadget that uses the air system to push those springs back. So if your air pressure drops too much, the brakes automatically lock up. Good for safety. Not so good for getting the truck to a shop...
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