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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.