My very first post in this blog dealt with the importance of windshield washer fluid. At the time I didn't consider the dark side of that.
Come to think of it, this particular dark side didn't exist at the time.
In their never-ending attempt to make themselves feel better by bankrupting ordinary citizens, the EPA raised the bar yet again on diesel truck emissions standards a year or two ago. I've described the previous round of technical "improvements" and how they've made my life more interesting here. The latest standards were far more than that approach could easily handle.* So the standard approach has gone from not making the Bad Stuff in the first place, to destroying it before it gets out of the exhaust pipe.
This involves something kind of like a catalytic converter. But it's doing a completely different job, in a completely different way. And part of the process is injecting a chemical into the exhaust as it goes into the converter. "Diesel Exhaust Fluid," it's called, and its active ingredient is urea.
So what does all this have to do with windshield washers? I'm getting to that.
Diesel Exhaust Fluid, as sold in truck stops, is a pale blue fluid, almost transparent. In truck stops it's sold in fancy bottles at equally fancy prices. At many trucking company terminals, it's delivered in large translucent plastic tanks. They look a lot like the tanks those same companies use to dispense windshield washer solvent. And in the last two or three months, I've had two trucks where someone put the stuff in the windshield washer tanks.
News flash. Diesel Exhaust Fluid doesn't clean a windshield too well.
When it dries, it forms crystals all over what you spray it on. The first time this happened, it cleaned the road salt and dirt off the windshield, then covered it with something even harder to see through. It took two or three tries before I began to realize the problem wasn't with the road.
Two days driving in wet snowy weather. Afraid to use the washer to clean the stuff off the windshield. Less than fun.
And neither truck even uses the stuff. They aren't new enough.
Thus the government improves our lives.
This post exists primarily to let you know I added another back-post, for 03/28/2011. But as long as I was typing, why not say something?
-----
*I read somewhere that one company did do it the hard way. Because the government had decreed that the chemical approach I'm about to describe wasn't acceptable. Then, after they'd spent huge amounts of money doing it the EPA's way, the EPA changed its mind--possibly because of lobbying from the other truck makers, who didn't want to spend huge amounts of money. Last I heard, lawyers had entered the infected area...
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Return of adventures in navigation
Diner Dela in Pierceton, Indiana serves large hamburgers.
They're a sandwich and Mexican place, but I'd had Mexican a day or two ago, so I ordered a cheeseburger. A double cheeseburger, to be precise. With fries.
Big mistake. And I should have known better. They had a poster on their wall advertising their “Dela Dine-o.” As in “dino.” A five pound burger. They had a picture of the only customer who'd managed to get through one in an hour (and therefore didn't have to pay for it), and a “Wall of Shame” for those who'd tried and failed.
Their standard burger isn't that bad, but it was big enough. The double was wretched excess. For me, anyway.
What the heck. I earned it.
This was not a weekend for freight in Ohio. I sat around all day yesterday (though I was technically under a load—long story). And when they finally found something for me last night, it was a load that was two hours away and didn't pick up until midnight tonight. I've discussed me and driving all night, so I won't do it again. Let's just say I'm not looking forward to it. But I figured it would be a little better if I could sleep right up to the appointment time. So I headed out there this morning.
Ideally, they'd let me sit on their property and wait. Park before 2pm, and I could get a full 10-hour break in and then get my trailer loaded. If not, I could always backtrack to the nearest truck stop. And I'd know how to get there when it was time to come back. It's always easier to find a place in daylight.
Boy, howdy, was that ever the right decision.
Following my directions like a good boy, I turned onto the road that runs through downtown Pierceton. Two streets down, turn right. Yep, there was the sign for the proper street. And there was a “NO TRUCKS” sign, just beyond it.
Houses and kids playing, and trees with large branches less than 13'6” off the ground, and a one-lane right-angle turn that would have made me nervous with a large delivery van. This was not the way to the factory. Not for me, anyway.
And no other street going in the right direction was any better. I crawled through the tiny downtown, finally turning right on the only road wide enough to take the tractor-trailer. I still don't know for sure whether I was supposed to be on it, but I only brushed a tree branch twice.
Seven miles and two towns later, I found another right turn big enough to accommodate an eighteen-wheeler. One more right turn, and I was on the main highway, heading back toward Pierceton for another try.
This time I ignored both GPS and directions. I knew the name of the street. I'd seen the factory on an earlier pass. I knew where I had to be. And there HAD to be a street off this highway that went there—there sure wasn't a way in from town!
I finally did see something promising. The street name I was looking for, in about the right place. I turned in, gingerly followed it around, and found the plant. And the NO TRUCKS sign just beyond it. The directions I had would have been fine, if I'd been in a car...
I sent some corrected directions to my dispatcher and spoke to the nice people in the plant. They said sure, park over there and you'll be out of the way. So I did. Then I walked into town and looked for some comfort food.
And now, overstuffed and torpid, I think I can sleep all day. So I will.
G'nite. Sort of.
They're a sandwich and Mexican place, but I'd had Mexican a day or two ago, so I ordered a cheeseburger. A double cheeseburger, to be precise. With fries.
Big mistake. And I should have known better. They had a poster on their wall advertising their “Dela Dine-o.” As in “dino.” A five pound burger. They had a picture of the only customer who'd managed to get through one in an hour (and therefore didn't have to pay for it), and a “Wall of Shame” for those who'd tried and failed.
Their standard burger isn't that bad, but it was big enough. The double was wretched excess. For me, anyway.
What the heck. I earned it.
This was not a weekend for freight in Ohio. I sat around all day yesterday (though I was technically under a load—long story). And when they finally found something for me last night, it was a load that was two hours away and didn't pick up until midnight tonight. I've discussed me and driving all night, so I won't do it again. Let's just say I'm not looking forward to it. But I figured it would be a little better if I could sleep right up to the appointment time. So I headed out there this morning.
Ideally, they'd let me sit on their property and wait. Park before 2pm, and I could get a full 10-hour break in and then get my trailer loaded. If not, I could always backtrack to the nearest truck stop. And I'd know how to get there when it was time to come back. It's always easier to find a place in daylight.
Boy, howdy, was that ever the right decision.
Following my directions like a good boy, I turned onto the road that runs through downtown Pierceton. Two streets down, turn right. Yep, there was the sign for the proper street. And there was a “NO TRUCKS” sign, just beyond it.
Houses and kids playing, and trees with large branches less than 13'6” off the ground, and a one-lane right-angle turn that would have made me nervous with a large delivery van. This was not the way to the factory. Not for me, anyway.
And no other street going in the right direction was any better. I crawled through the tiny downtown, finally turning right on the only road wide enough to take the tractor-trailer. I still don't know for sure whether I was supposed to be on it, but I only brushed a tree branch twice.
Seven miles and two towns later, I found another right turn big enough to accommodate an eighteen-wheeler. One more right turn, and I was on the main highway, heading back toward Pierceton for another try.
This time I ignored both GPS and directions. I knew the name of the street. I'd seen the factory on an earlier pass. I knew where I had to be. And there HAD to be a street off this highway that went there—there sure wasn't a way in from town!
I finally did see something promising. The street name I was looking for, in about the right place. I turned in, gingerly followed it around, and found the plant. And the NO TRUCKS sign just beyond it. The directions I had would have been fine, if I'd been in a car...
I sent some corrected directions to my dispatcher and spoke to the nice people in the plant. They said sure, park over there and you'll be out of the way. So I did. Then I walked into town and looked for some comfort food.
And now, overstuffed and torpid, I think I can sleep all day. So I will.
G'nite. Sort of.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Hidden dangers
This job is bad for the waistline.
Not always for the usual reasons.
The truck stop in Bucyrus, Ohio, is within easy walking distance of a Bob Evans(tm). You don't even have to cross a street. You barely have to cross a parking lot.
I had a nice big lunch already today. And the closest thing I've ever managed to a diet was to limit myself to one real meal a day. Logically speaking, I should have stayed in the truck tonight and gone in the morning. Breakfast is my favorite meal at Bob Evans(tm) anyway.
Not an option this time.
I started my day in North Carolina. I crossed Virginia, West Virginia, and half of Ohio before I stopped for a break of any kind. At which point I had a leisurely lunch* and drove the rest of the way to the customer in one jump. By the time the nice people had unloaded me, I had done my research and found the only truck stop within fifty miles. Getting here and parking more or less ended my day.
In Bucyrus, Ohio.
Bucyrus is about equidistant from every major city in Ohio. Or so it seems. Beautiful country, but not a hotbed of industrial activity. I had no idea where my next load was coming from. Or, to be more accurate, where I'd be going to to get it.
Fortunately, my dispatcher was already on top of things. I have a load tomorrow. It picks up at 7:00 am, about 50 miles from here. Which means I'd better be rolling by 5:00. Anything later than 5:30 would be insane.
The Bob Evans(tm) in Bucyrus opens at 6:00.
Sigh.
So here I am, finishing up a bowl of their famous sausage gravy. For supper. When I didn't need supper. It was that or park next to a Bob Evans(tm) and get nothing.
Svelteness is a receding goal.
This job has perils you might never have imagined.
- - -
*Unusual for me—I usually get a sandwich and eat it while driving. (I know what kind of distraction I can handle—your mileage may vary.)
Not always for the usual reasons.
The truck stop in Bucyrus, Ohio, is within easy walking distance of a Bob Evans(tm). You don't even have to cross a street. You barely have to cross a parking lot.
I had a nice big lunch already today. And the closest thing I've ever managed to a diet was to limit myself to one real meal a day. Logically speaking, I should have stayed in the truck tonight and gone in the morning. Breakfast is my favorite meal at Bob Evans(tm) anyway.
Not an option this time.
I started my day in North Carolina. I crossed Virginia, West Virginia, and half of Ohio before I stopped for a break of any kind. At which point I had a leisurely lunch* and drove the rest of the way to the customer in one jump. By the time the nice people had unloaded me, I had done my research and found the only truck stop within fifty miles. Getting here and parking more or less ended my day.
In Bucyrus, Ohio.
Bucyrus is about equidistant from every major city in Ohio. Or so it seems. Beautiful country, but not a hotbed of industrial activity. I had no idea where my next load was coming from. Or, to be more accurate, where I'd be going to to get it.
Fortunately, my dispatcher was already on top of things. I have a load tomorrow. It picks up at 7:00 am, about 50 miles from here. Which means I'd better be rolling by 5:00. Anything later than 5:30 would be insane.
The Bob Evans(tm) in Bucyrus opens at 6:00.
Sigh.
So here I am, finishing up a bowl of their famous sausage gravy. For supper. When I didn't need supper. It was that or park next to a Bob Evans(tm) and get nothing.
Svelteness is a receding goal.
This job has perils you might never have imagined.
- - -
*Unusual for me—I usually get a sandwich and eat it while driving. (I know what kind of distraction I can handle—your mileage may vary.)
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Intuitively obvious
The weather is starting to annoy me.
April is not supposed to be a month for snow. Or 30-degree nights. Yeah, I know, I'm in the mountains. In Pennsylvania. Ski resorts surround me. But still.
On the other hand, I was more annoyed an hour ago. And last night, my mood was downright hostile. Toward an inanimate object, fortunately. And maybe its designers.
One of the reasons for the relatively thin-on-the-ground posts lately has been mechanical. I've been averaging one or two breakdowns a week for the past month or so. The climax occurred this week, when my time off was up (or so I thought). I called in to learn the status of the truck I was supposed to take out, and was told--
1—it was in the shop,
2—there wasn't much telling when it would be out,
3—meanwhile, I had been assigned another truck
4—but it was in the shop, too,
5—and there wasn't much telling when it would be out, either.
A day or so later my dispatcher lost patience and found a third truck to assign me to. One of the later models. Which means it's equipped with a bunk heater. The night looked to be a bit chilly, so I spent a little while figuring out the controls, turned it on, and curled up for the night.
I woke up shivering.
It never did a thing. Heck of a note.
But, being a good employee, I bucked up and drove another day. That night, I looked at the snow falling on the hood and played with the bunk heater some more. No joy.
Finally I gave it up and called a friend to vent before sleeping.. Said friend listened sympathetically, then said “Hmm” and pulled up Google. After several minutes of typing in various keywords, he decided there were no manuals online for operating the thing. But he did find a manual for installing it. And partway through the schematics and instructions on what tools you needed, he found a note:
WARNING: Before using the auxiliary heater, Let the truck run with the heater turned all the way up.
Turns out the bunk heater has a heater core that's connected to the truck engine's heater system. And it uses some of that coolant to “store the heat” it's generating with its burner. So if you don't run the engine with the heat all the way up, the bunk heater won't have any coolant in its heater core. And a safety switch will keep it from coming on at all.
But you knew that already, didn't you? Doesn't everybody?
No matter. I'm warm now. No complaints.
April is not supposed to be a month for snow. Or 30-degree nights. Yeah, I know, I'm in the mountains. In Pennsylvania. Ski resorts surround me. But still.
On the other hand, I was more annoyed an hour ago. And last night, my mood was downright hostile. Toward an inanimate object, fortunately. And maybe its designers.
One of the reasons for the relatively thin-on-the-ground posts lately has been mechanical. I've been averaging one or two breakdowns a week for the past month or so. The climax occurred this week, when my time off was up (or so I thought). I called in to learn the status of the truck I was supposed to take out, and was told--
1—it was in the shop,
2—there wasn't much telling when it would be out,
3—meanwhile, I had been assigned another truck
4—but it was in the shop, too,
5—and there wasn't much telling when it would be out, either.
A day or so later my dispatcher lost patience and found a third truck to assign me to. One of the later models. Which means it's equipped with a bunk heater. The night looked to be a bit chilly, so I spent a little while figuring out the controls, turned it on, and curled up for the night.
I woke up shivering.
It never did a thing. Heck of a note.
But, being a good employee, I bucked up and drove another day. That night, I looked at the snow falling on the hood and played with the bunk heater some more. No joy.
Finally I gave it up and called a friend to vent before sleeping.. Said friend listened sympathetically, then said “Hmm” and pulled up Google. After several minutes of typing in various keywords, he decided there were no manuals online for operating the thing. But he did find a manual for installing it. And partway through the schematics and instructions on what tools you needed, he found a note:
WARNING: Before using the auxiliary heater, Let the truck run with the heater turned all the way up.
Turns out the bunk heater has a heater core that's connected to the truck engine's heater system. And it uses some of that coolant to “store the heat” it's generating with its burner. So if you don't run the engine with the heat all the way up, the bunk heater won't have any coolant in its heater core. And a safety switch will keep it from coming on at all.
But you knew that already, didn't you? Doesn't everybody?
No matter. I'm warm now. No complaints.
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