The absence of omnipresence

06 NOVEMBER 2013, 21:01
Sitting in a truck stop restaurant tonight, I went over my day. It did not give me a warm glow of self-congratulation. But there was a certain satisfaction in seeing a pattern.

Just for starters…
At my fuel stop this morning I got out of the truck with my clipboard. The one with the storage bin for all my blank forms and the clip for my present paperwork. After all, this was an Approved Site for scanning my paperwork--which is a necessary prelude to getting paid.

While inside, I used the restroom, washed my hands, got a hot dog and a drink, and made a quick check of the remainder table. Then I went back out to the truck and started toward my next stop.

Did you notice anything left out of that list? So did I--half an hour lnter. Two somethings, actually. I didn't scan the paperwork--and I got back to the truck without it or the clipboard.

Fortunately I had a way to contact the truck stop (there's an app for that). If I ever get out there again they'll have my clipboard. And in the meantime they were nice enough to scan in my paperwork. 400 miles I will get paid for.

So then--
At the next stop I backed into the dock doors and waited to be loaded. The load was much lighter than the trailer was set up for. So when they were done I retracted the slider pins,* closed the doors, sealed the trailer, sent my electronic paperwork in, and departed.

When I stopped at the end of the driveway there was a terrible noise. The truck shook. Then someone came out of the building to see if I was all right. Apparently I'd shaken the building as well.

I reassured them. After all, I already knew what had happened.

The brake pedal on a truck like this one controls the flow of compressed air to the brakes. Two separate sets of brakes--the ones on the tractor and the ones on the trailer. And they're almost never perfectly in sync. On this particular truck, the trailer brakes always grab a little harder at first. Normally this isn't a problem.** But this time…

The trailer wheels stopped. The tractor kept going, and the trailer itself followed. At least until it hit the end of the slider path.

Boom.

(The missing phrases for this section were, "Slide the tandems" and "Extend the pins.")

Luckily I was still going slow, so the wheels didn't get ripped off the trailer. I reassured the people who came to rescue me. Then I slid the trailer back to where it should have been, extended the pins, and went on, much chastened.

And after that--
I spent the next few minutes calling myself names. That stopped when I almost drove through a car--because I was to busy lecturing myself to notice the stop sign. After that I decided to drive.

Leading to a lecture…
Multitasking, I've read, is not really something us human types can do. Not on any level much past walking and chewing gum at the same time, anyway. But I seem to be worse than some when it comes to faking that.

Thinking while driving is OK--I think that's using two different parts of your brain. But thinking and, say, navigating? Or picking out one sign from the ten or so at that intersection that's important? Or remembering what I was doing three items-on-my-list ago, and where I put that thing down while I was doing it? Not so much.

And there are times when that could get somebody hurt. A lot of times.

With this in mind I determined to tell you all about the dangers of distraction, and left the restaurant in a glow of determination and resolve.

An hour later I went back and got my walking stick.
-----
*I've talked about balancing the load before. You do it by moving the wheels back and forth. What I haven't, perhaps, mentioned is how you do that.

The wheels are attached to the trailer with a set of sliding rails, kind of like the glides on a drawer. The trailer "glides" have a bunch of holes drilled in them, and the wheel "glides" have a set of retractable pins, about as thick as a (small) wrist. You retract the pins, slide the trailer forward or backward to where you want it, and extend the pins again--locking wheels and body together. Then you weigh the thing again…

Many companies don't like it when your wheels are too far forward, though. Driving a forklift onto a trailer with a long overhang can be bouncy--enough to make things unsafe sometimes. So we often slide those wheels all the way back when we back into a dock, and slide them forward again afterwards.

Which brings us back to our story...

**You do have to be careful on a slick road…

New excuse

31 OCTOBER 2013, 21:45 After two straight nights of putting off stopping until it was almost too late, I decided to lecture you on the dangers and temptations involved.
And then I did it again. Consistency is a virtue, right?

Here I am, in a parking lot that had maybe five empty spaces when I got here. Out of 150 or so. And at least two of those were unusable by anything much bigger than a UPS truck.* And by the time I squeezed into this spot (with help from both the drivers whose trucks were threatened) I had maybe 15 minutes left to legally drive. No backup plan.

It's not my fault. Really.

I got a fairly early start this morning, wending my way through the East Tennessee hills toward Knoxville. Passed a truck broken down on the shoulder, and spared a thought for the poor fellow.

Which is when the tire blew on my trailer.

At the time, I wasn't sure what had happened. The truck sort of bumped, and there was a puff of smoke or dust or something; but no shaking, no pieces of tread flying around and endangering innocent bystanders. I thought I might have run over something. And since ther was a rest area right there, I pulled in and parked to make sure nothing was damaged.

What I found was more or less the skeleton of a tire. And a steel mudflap bracket bent halfway into a hairpin by the departing tread.** And the reason I hadn't seen the tread depart? Well, it hadn't. Exactly. The tire that blew was on the inside of the wheel. And this time, instead of flying away, it had wrapped itself around the axle of the trailer. Two or three times. And then stuffed a couple of feet of itself into the brake drum.

Whoops.

When the road service truck arrived, it took nearly three hours to change that tire. Most of which we spent trying to get that tread out of the brake drum.*** I'd planned on a late breakfast at my fuel stop. I lunched instead.

And when my dispatcher asked me If I could get to the West Virginia border tonight to trade loads with someone--and thereby have a chance of getting home on time--I said "Sure, no prob." And remembered--two hours later--how much time I'd lost.
I hate screwing up appointments. So I pushed. And got here just in time to park. No harm, no foul, right?

Yeah. Sounds like "the dog ate my homework," doesn't it?
-----
*Just because a space is big enough to fit you doesn't mean you can use it. You've got to get into it first. And that depends on other things. Like what's front of it…

**Oddly enough, the mudflap itself wasn't damaged.

***Yes, "we." Even with crowbars and a carbide cutter, the service guy needed help. It was jammed in that tight.

It's not what you don't know...

30 OCTOBER 2013, 19:30
Sitting in a truck stop in East Tennessee, watching the other trucks go by.

Quite a few of them, really. It's only about seven, local time, and even in winter, most truck stops don't fill up until about eight. And yet here I am, in the second-to-last spot (as of when I arrived, that is). Five minutes later and I would have been wandering the night, watching my drive-time clock blink toward zero. I gave myself less than an hour to find a space. Plenty of them at this time of night, right?

That's twice this trip I've gotten in trouble that way. And I've only been on this trip for two days.

I left Laredo, Texas with this load yesterday, and more or less drove all day. (That is likely to be a habit with this load--two thousand miles or so to cover in less than four days. But I digress...) As the clock wound down, I headed confidently toward an exit near the Arkansas border. There I would find a truck stop listed in my handy pocket guide, find my proper place, and relax. No worries.

When I reached the exit, all was darkness. As I slowed and strained my eyes, I did see the sign. But the sign was not lit. As I came down the ramp I saw the store and the fuel pumps. Dark. To the right was a building that was lit, but what could it be?

Well, the clock was ticking. I kept going.

Past the silent fuel pumps lay the parking lot. Not fenced off, I was pleased to see. And a dozen other trucks already parked there. And the lit building was the restaurant.

Apparently, the truck stop had died, but the restaurant had lived. Usually it's the other way around. Next morning I figured out why. Breakfast was good. And well attended. Score one for local clientèle.

But my handy little book was out of date. And that could have gotten me in real trouble. And tonight I almost do it again, because I got cocky about the time.
I've got to be more careful.

(Oh, all right, you got me. I had a backup plan both times--at least two more truck stops within twenty minutes. Gimme a break, willya? I'm tryin' to draw a moral here...)

Whips and chains. Well, that's half-true...

After my adventure in L.A. I retreated to our terminal. (Yes, we do have one--it's just not where I thought it was.)

They told me it might take a week or two to find me a load back east. My first day in California did not make that sound like a comforting prospect. Fortunately, they found me something the very next day.

Joyfully I fled to Colorado. Cheerfully I bedded down in the foothills of the Rockies. Happily I started further east the next morning.

Apprehensively I saw the electric signs telling me Vail Pass was getting snow.

A fairly light snowfall, I gathered. Not really a big problem. After all, Colorado gets lots of snow. They generally know how to handle it.

And that was my problem. One of the ways they handle it is with tire chains. And laws that require you to have them.

If you've ever tried to put tire chains on a car, you can probably sympathize with me. Putting them on an eighteen-wheeler? I've never done it. I hope never to have to do it. If the weather calls for it, I intend to admire the scenery until the weather no longer calls for it. And I gather I'm far from alone in that.

All well and good, except for one detail. States like Colorado don't insist you use chains--you can park if you want to. But they do require that you have them, just in case.

I didn't.

As you may recall, I wasn't expecting to be this far west. At all. I was therefore properly unequipped. And though the Company has a supply of chains stockpiled at various terminals, etc., I wasn't anywhere near any of those stockpiles.

And with those signs lit, it didn't matter whether the pass was snowed under or not. If a trooper stopped me and asked to see my chains, I would be up the creek. If I got surprised by a sudden blizzard and a trooper asked me to put them on, the creek would be Class IV whitewater.

Time to confess my sins.

I got on the phone and explained my plight. An hour or two later, they came back with the name of a place where I could buy a set on the Company's tab.* Half an hour later I was there. Two hours later, the paperwork was done.**

By that time the snow was cleared out of the pass and I didn't need the chains any more.

On the other hand, I'm legal for the rest of the year. In any state with chain laws (and some states back east have them). I'll haul them around til May or so, and--if I'm lucky--turn them in to the company without ever opening the bags and touching them. And maybe remember this next fall before it starts snowing.
---
*For which I was most grateful. We're talking about over a thousand dollars worth of ironware here.

*They're not usually that slow. Honest.

No escape from L. A.

Ohio rest areas, by and large, are pretty decent.

This one is fairly small, but that actually makes sense. It's not on an Interstate, so they don't really expect us to be crowding into it. And tonight we haven't. Past eight o' clock and a few empty truck spaces left.

I've always appreciated empty parking spaces. But in California I developed a new respect for them.

New experiences
I've never been to California before this month. Never further west than Durango. In my life. My folks preferred the "Family Inn" theory of lodging, and we had no relatives past there.

And the Company doesn't send solo drivers that far very often. A team can get there in half the time, and they can charge you more for the speed.

But sometimes they have a load going that far for a customer in no hurry. And it's a LOT of miles. And we do get paid by the mile. So...

Four days later
I arrived in Los Angeles,  dropped a trailer full of Stuff, and learned the customer had no empties. So I let my dispatcher know, then sat a Long Time. Finally (finally!) they sent me to a rail yard to pick up an empty.

Only got lost on the yard twice. Did find the trailer, hooked up, then tried to get to the next shipper. Got lost three or four more times (nothing like having your exit torn out…). Then looked at the clock and realized I had less than an hour left to drive for the day. Gave up and started for the Company's Los Angeles terminal.

What do you mean there's no terminal? It's right there on the satcom!

Things change sometimes. Often without anyone telling me. Or updating the files.

Plan B
As far as I can tell, there are three places to park a truck in all of L.A. All within half a mile of each other. And all within five miles of where I stopped to figure this out.

Unfortunately, the place I stopped to figure this out has fuel pumps and a truck wash, but no parking spaces. At all. I've probably worn out my welcome already.

And by the time I've figured all this out, I've run out my 14-hour clock.

But I HAVE to move. And the longer I wait the more trouble I'm in. So. Forward, into a life of crime.

As it was,
all three places were full when I got there. But the third had a space they could let me use after they closed for the day. Just be gone by 08:00, they said.

Oh, and that'll be ten bucks, they said.

Cheap at the price, I thought.

And so
Next morning I went back and found the customer. Lots easier when you have time. And then I fled the city.

It's a lot more fun on tv.

*One of them is a McDonalds.

Running on empty, redux

09/12/2013 20:37
In Vermont there is a truck stop with coin-operated showers.

That was a new one on me. You pay your money (or buy enough fuel) and they give you a token. Find a shower, drop the coin in the slot, and get clean. But not in too leisurely a fashion--the water cuts off after 30-40 minutes.*

Other than that it's a nice place. And Vermont is downright pretty. I didn't see much of it--narrow two-lanes get mad if you ignore them--they have a nasty habit of moving out from in front of you. But what I saw was pleasant.

The fuel gauge wanted attention, too.

I brought this load over from Ohio. Fuelled near Columbus and headed straight east. At the time I wondered why they'd had me fuel there. I had enough to reach Vermont, yes. But New England is a bad place to look for truck stops that are part of nationwide chains. And my Company is fond of making sweetheart deals with nationwide chains and getting their fuel cheap.

Oh, well, I thought, they know what they're doing.

Word to the wise. Never assume your employer knows what he's doing.

I arrived in New England with less than half my fuel. I then made a big circle through the top half o| the state droppng things off at various stores. When I was done, I had way less than a quarter tank.** And sure enough, there wasn't an Approved Fuel Supplier I could reach on what I had.

Modern trucking companies use computers to plan their fuel stops. Very efficient. Not very bright.

And all trucking companies agree--if you run out of gas, it's your fault.

So I called the Fuel Department, found a human being, and prostrated myself. And the Fuel Department was merciful. A couple of hundred dollars appeared on my company debit card, to be used only for fuel at a particular Non-Approved Fuel Supplier--fax in the receipt to prove it, please. The resulting fifty gallons or so of diesel was enough to get me to a more civilized environment.

So here I am, parked at an Approved Fuel Supplier. In the morning I will finish fuelling in an Approved manner and continue to my next delivery

And I will be clean and refreshed. I bought enough fuel ths morning to get a shower token. And I was done when the water cut off.

Mostly.
---
* I learned that part the fun way, of course. Fortunately, the part of me still soaped up, although delicate, was small. And the sink wasn't on a meter...

**Actually, a truck like this has two tanks. But you know what I mean.

Perfectly safe

28 AUGUST 2013, 14:37
Got up, dropped a trailer full of plastic things at a chain-store warehouse, and headed to my next shipper. Sixty-odd miles through the scenic Ozarks to a large, dusty facility, surrounded by piles of--dirt? tailings? ore?

No matter. I was going to a loading dock. There I was greeted by a nice lady in work clothes who cheerfully told me where to go (politely). As I backed in, I saw stacks of huge metal ingots. What I was carrying, I supposed.

I supposed right. It took them about fifteen minutes to load the trailer. Another hour or two for me to secure the load.* A few minutes to get out the gate and park. It would take them a few minutes to finish my paperwork, so I walked down to the Drivers Lounge and washed my hands.

Thoroughly.

Then I did it again.

For some reason I didn't want to rub my eyes until I'd done that. Maybe something to do with all that dust. Or the trucks spraying water on the road to reduce the dust in the air. Or the building on the way out that hosed the truck down to get the dust off it.

Or maybe it was the nice lady and the friendly forklift driver cheerfully talking to me in the warehouse.

While wearing gas masks.

Did I mention that they loaded my truck with ingots of lead?

I'm taking a shower tonight..

*(Trivium: If you've ever been inside a semi-trailer, you may have noticed that the floor is made of wood. Real old-school.

(Well, there's a reason for that. Loads like this one can shift. And the straps and bars we normally use wouldn't hold this kind of weight. So what do you use to keep all that weight in place?

(Wood. Pressed (or wedged) tight against the mercchandise, and nailed down. To the wood floor.

(When they hired me for this job, they didn't mention carpentry…)

Spa-a-a-h

20 AUGUST 2013, 12:35
Okawville, Illinois is east of St. Louis, off I-64, exit 41. Small town, with a Pilot truck stop right off the exit and the town about a half-mile down the road. And in the town is The Original Springs Hotel.

The spring in question runs under the hotel. It's not a hot spring,* but lots of minerals. So they set up a spa in 1867, and it's still here.

I had to do a restart--34 hours doing nothing trucking-related. So I said what the heck. A moderate walk, too much money,** a long soak in a mineral-laden hot tub, and half an hour on a massage table--and the time wasn't wasted. I had an Experience.

The walls of the spa proper were lined with tin panels that dated back to the grand opening, they said--decorative in a Victorian fashion and still valiantly shielding the walls from moisture.

The tubs were modern whirlpool types, but that was no great disillusionment. This isn't a hot spring, so they always heated the water before piping it into the tubs anyway. And it was indeed relaxing. They offered to let me soak longer than the time I'd paid for, but I didn't --because it was a proper Victorian-era spa. No air conditioning. Sitting in a hot tub is ok.  Sitting in a Turkish bath is ok. Both  at once?

The masseuse*** was not quite as period--a proper massage therapist, with just the proper streak of New Age. She went beyond what I paid for (hot stones, at least--extra charge, the flyer said) because "the universe told her to." I won't argue.

Suddenly the whole spa thing makes much more sense to me. Another reason to get rich. And maybe to look forward to getting stuck here again.
-----
*(geothermal but merely non-cold--about 60°, they said)

**(not really--I'm just cheap)

***(I use the old term in honor of the age of the place--built when "masseur" and "masseuse" had not become snicker-words)

Scary docks: the Philadelphia project

14 AUGUST 2013, 13:22
So you slip off the Interstate, cruise down a four-lane avenue, and make a right turn through two cars.* About a block up you find the warehouse and its dock doors.

Enclosed.

On the right.

We've discussed backing to to the right before, but this is slightly different. You're looking at doing it on an active street. With two lanes. Even with the bike lanes and the shoulders your trailer is longer than the street is wide.

The trailer. Not "the tractor and the trailer."

So you're going to back to your blind side, across all lanes of traffic, up on the sidewalk, backing your tractor blithely through the chain-link fence over there--and the two concrete-filled steel posts guarding it. Oh, and the fire hydrant.

You're not?

Good for you.

So instead, you will U-turn into the store parking lot you can see over your left shoulder. It's just wide enough.

Then you'll back across the street again, blocking a whole new set of angry drivers. If you're careful, you won't run over any of the customers' cars as you line up with the dock.

Actually, yes. That IS what you'll do. The are no other options you can see.

Oh, look! There was one other driver backed in when you got here. And he's out there spotting for you!

This is a GOOD thing. Not only is he keeping the happy commuters (or whatever) from trying to squeeze past (they WILL try)--he's giving you some directions. Backing from bright sunlight into a dim garage barely wide enough (between concrete columns) to fit you is no fun even when you have room to maneuver.

Remember to thank him when you're in. Profusely.

And there you are. Your trailer is firmly pressed to the dock. Your truck is blocking the bike lane, but only a foot or so is sticking out into the street.** All is well.

At least until you have to pull out.

*(Actually the light turned while you were desperately looking for an angle; and after three or four cars went past you, one took pity and hung back far enough. You DID acknowledge his kindness, right?)

**(This warehouse obviously predates 53' trailers...)

Target-rich environment

30 May, 2013
(It's taken me this long to get this down. I wasn't kidding about how much spare time I have there days...)

Mrs. Murphy's Doughnuts in Southwick, MA, makes something they call a Cheeseburg Chowder.

It's a cream chowder with ground beef, cheese, and elbow macaroni. And it actually does taste a little like a cheeseburger, if you're not into condiments. I like my lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, but how they'd do in a soup I don't know.

And apparently I am in New England. The only place I ever saw ground beef on a bun called a "hamburg" was in a slapstick detective story from the Thirties, set in Massachusetts. Thus I confirm both where I am and how slowly the language changes. Educational, ain't it?

Yesterday was educational in a whole 'nother way. I drove through the middle of New York City in the middle of the evening rush hour.

It wasn't my idea.
Coming from that part of Pennsylvania, the usual (dare I say, "sensible"?) path goes further north before swinging east. Bypass Gotham City and all its craziness completely. The state of Pennsylvania even advises it--on great big billboards.

But of course that would waste fuel--maybe even three or four gallons! So I was instructed to take the environmentally correct route--straight through the middle of Manhattan.

Into the maze
I-95 North, across the George Washington Bridge, down and around and back around the other way. Stay in the middle lane--some of those old bridges have graceful arches that'll rip the top off your trailer if you don't shoot right up the middle.

No tunnels, though the brick canyons and endless strings of bridges will make you swear you were in one. Lanes one foot wider than your rig--steer small.

And thousands of people in cars and vans and dump trucks, all of whom just know you're hiding enough space to fit them. All they have to do is squeeze past you and cut in--and they'll be a whole twenty feet closer to where they're going.

All that I expected. This wasn't my first trench run. But 5:30 pm on a weekday? What new horrors awaited me?

Well--
--nothing, as it turned out.

I-95 through Manhattan seems to be the same at rush hour as it is any other time. I have no idea why.

Granted, that's bad enough. But I didn't lose much more time--or sanity--at 5:30 pm than at 10:30 am. Made my escape into Connecticut pretty much the way I always do, with more time to find parking than expected.

Good thing, too. The only truck stop within thirty miles of the customer makes you pay for the privilege of parking--and it was still completely full. An hour before I expect to have that problem anywhere but New England.

Paranoia is the only reason I'm parked now. With visions of New York at rush hour dancing in my head, I called the truck stop from New Jersey and spent even more money reserving a spot (this particular chain will take your money for that). The traffic wasn't that bad, but the parking was worse.

So I was wrong twice, but it still worked out. I'll take that.