I-68 in West Virginia. They made us stop at the top of the mountain to check our brakes. They warned us of the steep downhill grade. They proclaimed a 50-mph speed limit for heavy commercial vehicles.
A mile or three down the road, they posted a sign telling us about the runaway truck ramp just ahead. The runaway truck ramp was duly found and passed.
And a little way after that, I saw a sign telling me I should be in a lower gear.
Fortunately, I already was.
(Footnote:
(One of the things I was taught in CDL school was to never try to upshift on a steep uphill grade--and never, never, NEVER try to downshift on a steep downhill grade. It's almost impossible to get the rpm's to match. Which means you will—almost guaranteed—miss the shift. And there you are, on a steep grade, with the truck in neutral. Freewheeling down a hill in an 40-ton truck is a Bad Thing.
(In either direction.
(But climbing the hill, at least you're moving slowly. You might get the brakes locked down in time. Downhill? If you're trying to downshift, you're already moving too fast...)
Oh, well. At least they warned us...
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Quick touristy note
US 250 between Dover, Ohio and Wheeling, West Virginia is a beautiful drive. Up and around and over and through the mountains. Along the way you can stop in Cadiz, Ohio and see the Clark Gable museum (he was born there).
The map marks it as a scenic route, and I believe them. Can't tell you myself, though. It's hard to admire the scenery in the dark.
The map marks it as a scenic route, and I believe them. Can't tell you myself, though. It's hard to admire the scenery in the dark.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
The machine stops
This motel room has all the latest amenities you expect to find for the price. Including a hair dryer, a coffeemaker, and free wi-fi for your computer. Even an iron.
All you have to do is find a place to plug them in.
The architect obviously didn't see the Information Age coming. There are three outlets in this room. The tv, the alarm clock, and the wall lamps use every socket on two of them. The third is in that clever little alcove outside the bathroom. You know, the one that lets you shave while the wife's taking a shower? Well placed for the hair dryer, ok for the iron. A little odd for the coffeemaker, but it'll do.
But that's why I'm typing this next to the sink. Hope there isn't a splash on the power supply...
Three days ago I got to the terminal
and found out my truck was in the shop. Some problems with the exhaust system. Since problems with the exhaust are potentially lethal, I decided I could live with that.
Two days ago I went back,
and hung around 'til after lunch. At which time the truck was running again and I could start north with a load. Fueling a hundred miles later, I noticed the tractor took an awful lot of starting--but it did start. And it ran fine once it did start. And I'd already lost one day of driving. So I went on.
Yesterday I got up and turned the key.
It took a good ten or fifteen seconds of cranking and some old-fashioned pumping on the accelerator to get the truck running. But start it did. So I headed down the road. A few miles down the road, I started noticing a distinct lack of pep. As in, it lost 10 mph or more going up a hill. In southern Illinois. It'd barely lost that much climbing Monteagle in Tennessee the day before.
Something was wrong here. I'd have to get someone to look at it after I'd delivered.
Twenty miles later, it quit. Right in the middle of the highway.
You haven't had fun until you've tried to steer a 70,000 tractor-trailer off an Interstate with the last 30 mph of coasting speed. A modern one. With no engine. And therefore no power steering. If I'd had to turn the wheel more than ten degrees I'd have been in real trouble. At least the brakes run on air...
Half an hour later, the Breakdown Department answered their phone, and told me to look at the fuel filter.* I told the gentleman it was more than half full but a good ways from the top. "It's probably that," he said casually. "Drain it and you shouldn't have any more problems."
So I did. Truck started up again. Two miles later I stopped at a rest area and looked at it again. It was half full again. So I drained it again.
And two more times in the next twenty miles.
And then it quit again.
This time I'd decided I didn't want to be on a narrow (for Interstates, anyway) shoulder. So when it'd started to lose pep, I'd looked for an exit ramp. Up the ramp, across the intersection, partway down the next ramp, and I'd be well clear of anything trying to do 65+.
It quit at the intersection. Right at the stop sign.
Oh, well. At least it hadn't quit IN the intersection.
I called breakdown again with the bad news (was only on hold fifteen minutes this time), put out the reflectors, and settled down to wait for rescue.
Half an hour later the sheriff showed up.
All right, it was a deputy. But still a little hard on the nerves.
He told me I was blocking a major intersection. And since this was the middle of the rush hour (such as it was--I was a little ways into the country), he needed me to move it. Or he'd have it towed.
I think he expected me to make a fuss. At least he was primed for one. I agreed with him a little too emphatically, and he thought I was setting up for a tirade or something. Fortunately, I caught that in time and apologized quick. He grinned.
"Haven't had my coffee this morning," he said.
"I'm a little too far from a bathroom," I said.
And things were ok again.
He let me call my company again, so I could assure him we really were on this--and assure them that he was serious. I was still on hold when--
the mechanic showed up.
He got out of his pickup and went over to talk to the deputy. They had a good laugh--turns out he was the one the deputy was getting ready to call and have me towed away. "At least your company knew who to call," he grinned.
Thirty minutes later I started out again, with a new fuel filter. I drained it once more a few miles down the road, but had no trouble driving after that.
But it still didn't want to start.
After I'd made the delivery
I called Breakdown again and told them about the starting problem. They reluctantly sent me to the nearest major shop. When I got there, I was told they couldn't look at it before morning. So I went to a nearby truck stop and shivered all night.
Next morning I came back. And spent half the day in their lounge waiting for a diagnosis.
Turned out to be the fuel injectors. Once the engine was running it could force enough fuel through to keep running, but starting it from scratch was another matter.
Half a day later, they came back and told me they didn't have all the parts. I couldn't get the truck back 'til tomorrow at the earliest.
And it's hard to sleep in a truck with no engine. Locked in somebody's garage. So after another hour on the telephone, arrangements were made. And somebody at the shop gave me a ride.
And here I am.
Typing on a laptop set up next to the bathroom sink. In a warm room. After a good night's sleep. And a hot shower. In a private bathroom. In a few minutes I'll pack up and wander over to a Bob Evans for breakfast.
I'll get through it somehow.
-----
*Mostly a water separator. It has a big bowl covering the paper cartridge, so you know when it's too full of (possibly contaminated) fuel to work.
All you have to do is find a place to plug them in.
The architect obviously didn't see the Information Age coming. There are three outlets in this room. The tv, the alarm clock, and the wall lamps use every socket on two of them. The third is in that clever little alcove outside the bathroom. You know, the one that lets you shave while the wife's taking a shower? Well placed for the hair dryer, ok for the iron. A little odd for the coffeemaker, but it'll do.
But that's why I'm typing this next to the sink. Hope there isn't a splash on the power supply...
Three days ago I got to the terminal
and found out my truck was in the shop. Some problems with the exhaust system. Since problems with the exhaust are potentially lethal, I decided I could live with that.
Two days ago I went back,
and hung around 'til after lunch. At which time the truck was running again and I could start north with a load. Fueling a hundred miles later, I noticed the tractor took an awful lot of starting--but it did start. And it ran fine once it did start. And I'd already lost one day of driving. So I went on.
Yesterday I got up and turned the key.
It took a good ten or fifteen seconds of cranking and some old-fashioned pumping on the accelerator to get the truck running. But start it did. So I headed down the road. A few miles down the road, I started noticing a distinct lack of pep. As in, it lost 10 mph or more going up a hill. In southern Illinois. It'd barely lost that much climbing Monteagle in Tennessee the day before.
Something was wrong here. I'd have to get someone to look at it after I'd delivered.
Twenty miles later, it quit. Right in the middle of the highway.
You haven't had fun until you've tried to steer a 70,000 tractor-trailer off an Interstate with the last 30 mph of coasting speed. A modern one. With no engine. And therefore no power steering. If I'd had to turn the wheel more than ten degrees I'd have been in real trouble. At least the brakes run on air...
Half an hour later, the Breakdown Department answered their phone, and told me to look at the fuel filter.* I told the gentleman it was more than half full but a good ways from the top. "It's probably that," he said casually. "Drain it and you shouldn't have any more problems."
So I did. Truck started up again. Two miles later I stopped at a rest area and looked at it again. It was half full again. So I drained it again.
And two more times in the next twenty miles.
And then it quit again.
This time I'd decided I didn't want to be on a narrow (for Interstates, anyway) shoulder. So when it'd started to lose pep, I'd looked for an exit ramp. Up the ramp, across the intersection, partway down the next ramp, and I'd be well clear of anything trying to do 65+.
It quit at the intersection. Right at the stop sign.
Oh, well. At least it hadn't quit IN the intersection.
I called breakdown again with the bad news (was only on hold fifteen minutes this time), put out the reflectors, and settled down to wait for rescue.
Half an hour later the sheriff showed up.
All right, it was a deputy. But still a little hard on the nerves.
He told me I was blocking a major intersection. And since this was the middle of the rush hour (such as it was--I was a little ways into the country), he needed me to move it. Or he'd have it towed.
I think he expected me to make a fuss. At least he was primed for one. I agreed with him a little too emphatically, and he thought I was setting up for a tirade or something. Fortunately, I caught that in time and apologized quick. He grinned.
"Haven't had my coffee this morning," he said.
"I'm a little too far from a bathroom," I said.
And things were ok again.
He let me call my company again, so I could assure him we really were on this--and assure them that he was serious. I was still on hold when--
the mechanic showed up.
He got out of his pickup and went over to talk to the deputy. They had a good laugh--turns out he was the one the deputy was getting ready to call and have me towed away. "At least your company knew who to call," he grinned.
Thirty minutes later I started out again, with a new fuel filter. I drained it once more a few miles down the road, but had no trouble driving after that.
But it still didn't want to start.
After I'd made the delivery
I called Breakdown again and told them about the starting problem. They reluctantly sent me to the nearest major shop. When I got there, I was told they couldn't look at it before morning. So I went to a nearby truck stop and shivered all night.
Next morning I came back. And spent half the day in their lounge waiting for a diagnosis.
Turned out to be the fuel injectors. Once the engine was running it could force enough fuel through to keep running, but starting it from scratch was another matter.
Half a day later, they came back and told me they didn't have all the parts. I couldn't get the truck back 'til tomorrow at the earliest.
And it's hard to sleep in a truck with no engine. Locked in somebody's garage. So after another hour on the telephone, arrangements were made. And somebody at the shop gave me a ride.
And here I am.
Typing on a laptop set up next to the bathroom sink. In a warm room. After a good night's sleep. And a hot shower. In a private bathroom. In a few minutes I'll pack up and wander over to a Bob Evans for breakfast.
I'll get through it somehow.
-----
*Mostly a water separator. It has a big bowl covering the paper cartridge, so you know when it's too full of (possibly contaminated) fuel to work.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Playing catchup again
No excuses.
I could tell you all about the fun I've had finding wi-fi on the road, but I've had it at home.
I could go on about how if you're making money you don't have time to write. But I've already done that. and I was keeping up then.
There are probably three or four other excuses I could make. And they'd all be true. But never mind. Let's just start catching up, shall we?
I'm in a company terminal--one of the few places I can easily get Internet on the road. So we'll take advantage.
The following are new:
12/31/2010
1/1/2011
2/12/2011
2/13/2011
2/25/2011
2/26/2011
I'll try to get a few more up soon--I was taking notes, at least.
Sorry. Really.
I could tell you all about the fun I've had finding wi-fi on the road, but I've had it at home.
I could go on about how if you're making money you don't have time to write. But I've already done that. and I was keeping up then.
There are probably three or four other excuses I could make. And they'd all be true. But never mind. Let's just start catching up, shall we?
I'm in a company terminal--one of the few places I can easily get Internet on the road. So we'll take advantage.
The following are new:
12/31/2010
1/1/2011
2/12/2011
2/13/2011
2/25/2011
2/26/2011
I'll try to get a few more up soon--I was taking notes, at least.
Sorry. Really.
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