Too Much

I eat too much, drink too much, drive too much...TOO MUCH!

 

Small Graces

It was so pretty this morning: at the top of the hill where I-74 plunges into the Ohio Valley to cross the Whitewater River, before that joins the Ohio, on the way to Cincinnati. The wide valley was filled with a silver mist. Above the mist was a band of pale rose fading into a sky just light enough to dim the stars, with Venus a bright jewel. It was just a moment's joy before I was lost in the haze. It was thick and I had to reign it in on the long downgrade. Later, though, on the Outer Loop North I climbed another hill into the clear air with a similar, even better view before I rolled back into the fog filled canyons of the Great Miami River. The hills were closer together there, and deep cut where unnamed tributaries converged with the Miami giving scale to the vista. And still there was the silver mist; the band of rose, stronger now with the sky above becoming aquamarine; and Venus as lovely as ever.

*      *      *

Yesterday was a bad day, for a number of reasons (including, I might add, my attitude), but it very nearly was much, much worse. I had to deliver first in Peoria, IL, which makes for a long run in itself, but then I had a second stop in Springfield, an hour and a half away with just as long a trip back. I might have welcomed such a run just a couple of weeks ago. I would have seen it as an opportunity to visit Morris in the hospital since it wouldn't make sense to drive home afterward. What? Drive home just to go to bed? But unfortunately we're not allowed to sleep on the yard anymore. I used to anyway but they've taken to closing the gates, which means that I can't pretend the next morning that I sneaked by and am just signing in on the way out. So I was stressed, I admit it. I hate truck stops, particularly with a trailer and the load for the next day pretty much required that I pick up my trailer that evening. So I was trying to make it back in time to drive home. Cosmic accounting aside it would be worth it to drive home just to sleep in my own bed.

I actually had phenomenal luck, considering that I wasn't even on the schedule at my first stop, and that there was already another truck in the door at my second. I might have appreciated that at the time but I was too wound up. I drove like a mad company man, within reason, and made the whole trip, including picking up the next day's load, in twelve hours. That was plenty of time, splendid!

I chastised myself several times as I started for home. The rush was over (though rush hour was in high gear) but I was still in rush mode; driving aggressively not in my limited, safety conscious big truck, but my capable, security inspiring car. I tried to calm down but couldn't seem to.

I began thinking about where I was going to get gas. I knew that I'd need to on the way to work that morning. I thought that I could make it to Martinsville, with cheaper prices, but wasn't sure; I might have had to stop at that Marathon station out in the middle of nowhere. I don't know by what grace I checked my back pocket to feel my wallet then, I clearly remembered picking it up off of the floor of the truck before leaving, but my pocket was empty. I started moving things around on the passenger seat, and looking between the seats and on the floor.

Shit, no wallet! Could I use cash? No, my money clip was empty and I'd even given the last of my change away to a desperate woman at the truck stop when I'd fueled that morning. I was already a third of the way home and knew I'd never make it there. The only option was to turn around and hope that I could make it back to the truck.

I didn't know exactly how close I'd come to a complete disaster until I got back. I didn't go through the guard station again, but pulled into the locked back gates, where we park our trucks, and rolled under the fence. Fortunately nobody saw me and raised the alarm. When I got into the truck sure enough there was my wallet, not on the floor where it sits when I drive (so it doesn't bore a hole in my butt) but on the utility console, next to my CELL PHONE. It was actually my phone that I'd forgotten, not my wallet. The true scope of my predicament struck me then: I'd have been out of fuel, miles from home or work, without cash, without credit, without my phone, without ANYONE'S PHONE NUMBER (even assuming I could locate a phone and panhandle enough for a long distance call), and with no time or energy left before I had to get to bed so that I could get up and do it all again.

I made it home right at my bedtime, if I was going to get eight hours of sleep. Who needs eight hours of sleep every night anyway? Thank goodness for the small graces.

 

Leftover Guacamole

It's was a wet summer and it's been a wet fall. I was anxious over the weather because I'd planned a bonfire party for last Saturday. The forecast called for rain through Saturday, but tapering off, then turning nice on Sunday. I still had hope. You want it to be a little chilly with a fire, and unless it was raining steadily then I was going ahead with the plans. I've had successful bonfires in the damp before.

Friday was overcast at home, but as I went south on the Western Kentucky run the clouds broke up and let the sun shine in: sun and shade, sometimes deep shade, chasing each other across a tattered sky. In the shade the fall colors were rich and mellow, in the sun they were bright and vibrant. The color had just begun that far south the last time that I'd been that way, just the week before, but they were coming on strong now.

My final delivery was in Owensboro, which meant that I'd have to get back to Plainfield overland, on small highways through the hilly terrain of Southern Indiana. The more direct route, with the better roads is up US 231, then over US 50 to IN 37. It's a frustrating route, though, passing as it does through the congested towns of Huntingburg and Jasper. Even with the city driving it's slightly faster that way, and I was anxious to get home. They'd stuck me with a second load on Thursday and I wasn't able to go home that night, having to sleep in the truck. That put me behind a little since I had housework to do before my guests arrived. But still, It was peak autumn and I've been wanting to take that drive all the way up IN 37 through the Hoosier National Forest. It wouldn't take me that much longer either, unless there were a lot of Leaf Lookers crowding the roads; my greatest fear.

I needn't have worried, the road was practically deserted. Nor do I think it took me any longer to go that way in the end. When I'd timed the drive it was at night, when it's harder to gauge the severity of the turns, plus I think I'm beginning to learn the route. And oh my God, such beauty! Words utterly fail me. I have tried elsewhere to describe how certain autumn color mixtures ignite a response in my soul; almost a pain, though a pleasant one. There are no words for that beauty, it cleaves the tongue to the roof of my mouth. I definitely chose the right route to travel. My only regret is that the tricky road too often required more of my attention that I'd like to have given.

That tattered sky of sun and shade followed me all the way up through Bloomington and beyond, even opening out somewhat into larger clear patches. I was approaching Martinsville when I got a call from a friend wondering about the party the next evening. He was looking at the sky too and thought that we were past the worst of the weather. “Hey, unless it's simply pouring I'm having a fire,” I said. “I don't care if anybody else comes, I'll be there.”

Just past Martinsville I was waiting for my turn to cross through the construction on the River Bridge when I noticed a dense mass of cloud crowding over the hills on the far side of the river, and then the sheets of rain pouring down as they progressed across the soy fields toward me. “Um, I think you spoke too soon, Miles,” I said to the empty cab, since I'd already hung up with him.

Sure enough Saturday dawned gray and rainy. I soldiered on nonetheless. As morning turned into afternoon the sky cleared and by late afternoon things had dried out pretty well. The next thing that I knew guests were showing up while I was still running around putting the final touches on things. It turned out to be a nice little party. There weren't as many people as I'd have liked, perhaps my smallest gathering ever, but with the weather and the short notice, I didn't start putting the word out until only a couple of weeks beforehand, I can't complain. I'm actually honored because people came both from Indianapolis and Raccoon Lake to visit.

It was a nice party, but the bonfire was kick ass. It was the best bonfire I think I have ever seen, let alone had myself. Perhaps not as big as some, but ineffably elegant in its shape and impressive in its radiant power. There was a slight breeze throughout the evening that blew all of the smoke in one direction, away from the party, and fanned the flames continuously. It was truly a sight to behold.

Yup, it was a mighty fine party, but I still think there were too few people. For the first time ever I had leftovers of my famous guacamole. Mmm, breakfast.

 

Twisted Metal and Body Parts

Sometimes you don't really know how much you love someone until you see them incapacitated in a hospital bed with brain trauma. Morris had a motorcycle wreck. Morris: jack of all trades, salt of the earth, brother's keeper. Morris: Vietnam veteran, former truck driver, pool shark, joker. Morris: the dutiful son taking care of his mom so she can live at home in the country.

Hey, don't go getting any notions. Morris was wearing his helmet, and his leathers; he never rode without them! The only conclusion that I can draw is that he'd be dead now if he hadn't.

According to the police report he was probably going about 40 mph when he got into some loose gravel in a construction zone on a deserted country road and lost control of the bike. There were no other vehicles involved. Fortunately a farmer was out in his fields and saw the accident happen. The farmer whipped out his cell phone and dialed 911.

He sustained a broken arm, broken shoulder and collar bone, broken ribs (but no punctured lung), multiple lacerations on his left side, and brain trauma. They drilled a hole in his head to relieve the pressure. He contracted pneumonia later. Everything's healing nicely, except Morris just isn't home, yet. I mean, he's awake, but he's not conscious. I add the “yet” in optimism, the doctor's can't say; we just have to wait and see.

It was scary going to see him that first time. I was afraid of what he would look like. I was afraid of the wrong thing. He looks great, considering. My friend Wes looked worse and all he did was slip in the shower and hit his head. But at least Wes recognized me when I visited him, and could squeeze my hand. Morris is completely unresponsive.

Oh he can move. In fact he moves a lot. He writhes in the bed, extending and contracting his limbs, except for his immobilized left arm; not as if in pain, but as if restless, wanting to get up and get going. The doctors say it's a good thing, it means that there's something going on upstairs and although it isn't much it suffices for exercise. The nurses hate it. They're constantly having to reposition him, and cover his exposed private parts. “He always was a trouble maker,” I joked. “Well he hasn't changed,” returned the nurse. To me it looks like he's fighting for recovery, or is that just wishful thinking?

He finally opened his eyes and looked at me. I could swear there was recognition there, but the nurses said, “Yes, he'll look at you, but there's no real focus and he doesn't track with his eyes.” My hopes were dashed. I remember, either from my education or subsequent reading that the human face is the first thing that infants focus on; an instinct if you will, a recognition hardwired into our being; and that faces are the most common form of visual imagining. That's why we see a man in the moon.

On my second visit I had more hope. He looked at me and continued to do so, coming back to my face again after straying. On top of that as he extended and contracted his good arm he more often than not stretched it toward me, hitting me in the face, as it were. Or was that just more wishful thinking? I'd positioned myself on that side of him because it was the direction his body was turned, after all.

I didn't have much time on my last visit. I started a new thing with his arm movements; resisting his attempts. He fights back, which is reassuring. His eyes were open when I leaned in to him and said, “I have to go now, I'll be back soon.” It seemed that he grew still, as if he felt disappointment at my departure; or was that just more wishful thinking born of my sense of guilt that I was leaving so soon?

I'll be back. I've made arrangements with the neighbors that if my car isn't in the driveway at 9:00 at night, when Lloyd takes their dog out for her last walk, then they're to feed my ex-wife's cat and fish the next morning (did I tell you that I was babysitting my ex-wife's cat, plants and fish?). I'll sleep in Indy on the truck, which adds a whole layer of subterfuge to the adventure because we're no longer allowed to sleep on the yard there. I can't do too much though, because the cat is high strung and every time that I don't come home I find puke all over the place when I finally do, poor thing.

 

The Best is for Free

I saw some lovely color today, on another Northern Indiana run. The conditions were ideal with a dark dramatic sky rent with vast holes through which the sun shone brightly most of the time. What they call “partly cloudy,” I guess. It's mostly flat up there but every once in awhile I'd climb a rise and the horizon would broaden revealing islands of carnival colored trees set amidst the dun-colored patchwork of mature fields awaiting harvest. That happened once while the sun shone from behind a Swiss cheese bank of clouds sending rays beaming through in all directions; so beautiful, and free for the looking.

Yes, northern Indiana is beautiful, but Southern Indiana is more beautiful still, and of all of Southern Indiana it always seems to me that my own home woods are amongst the finest. I always find sunrise and sunset the best here, and so too the color of the leaves. I guess I'm just partial.

 

The Sun Also Rises

Ah, now we're getting some color. Autumn has seemed reluctant this year, or maybe it's just my anticipation. This will be the first Autumn that I've spent here in my own woods in a decade. The trees have faded, hinting at the colors they might turn, but stay mostly green. Some of them have turned, but to dark subdued tones, they way that they do in a dry year, or late in the season. I can't understand that, it's been a wet year; perhaps too wet?

But as I say, now some real color appears. I noticed it first up in the north of the state, by Fort Wayne, that day I blew a gasket: deep, rich, intense reds, oranges and yellows. It's still mostly only here and there, but sometimes there's a whole stand of trees in color, and if they're all different species, different hues together, they strike a chord that makes my gut sing.

Yes, it's probably just anticipation that makes me fear for fall. I just don't remember what it's like being in the same place throughout the season. I'm rubbing my hands together greedily now; the best is yet to come.

But there's a dark side. I couldn't see the Eel River, nor the Wabash on my way to South Bend yesterday morning. Dawn hadn't begun to brighten the sky yet. We're heading into the long dark. Looking at the bright side though I remember countless years when it'd be dark when I got to work, and dark when I left again, in the dead of winter. With this job, where I start out in the deep dark even during summer, with Dawn as my trusty companion, it'll still be light when I get off work, plus it'll be dark by the time I'm ready for bed. I could take the blankets down from in front of my bedroom window. It's all a tradeoff I guess; it's all good, and when I once lived where there was no winter I found that I missed it.

Dawn today was interesting. It's been wet, I mean really wet. Driving home yesterday afternoon I had the windshield wipers on high and still had to go slowly, peering hard to see where I was going. Coming through the forest on my way home I checked Sample Road, the quickest way from my house to the highway and the way that I go to work, to see if it was open again yet. They've been replacing the drainage systems at several spots along the road. It was open and I thought to myself that it's a good thing they got it finished, or it might have all been washed out and they'd have had to start over.

Considering the rain we'd had I was glad too because the next quickest way to the highway, actually the quickest way if you're going south, winds through the Beanblossom bottom lands. There's a sign there that stands year round and says, “Do not cross when flooded.” I have to wonder what that looked like this morning. There was a sign put up on the four lane divided that said HIGH WATER, and that was on the top of the hill!

Do you remember when I was talking about mist, and the way that it holds light? Well, mist is intimate. Imagine an entire atmosphere saturated with moisture. I was heading north again, to Fort Wayne this time, away from the sunrise. Yet the sky and very air before me became suffused with light, an electric blue, long before the sun itself appeared on my right hand side. It was an interesting dawn. But then they all are.

Dawn, my trusty companion.

 

Blown Gasket

It seemed cause and effect. I cursed at a motorist, “G-damn you!” I said with vehemence, and there was a loud pop from under the hood of my truck, after which there was a whirring noise whenever I stepped on the accelerator and the power coming from the engine was halved. “Oh shit,” I thought, “I've got to watch my temper.” I vowed never to take the Lord's name in vain again!

I was in a construction zone at the time, with nowhere to pull over. By the time there was a shoulder again I was almost to the receiver. The engine seemed to be running alright, there just wasn't any power, so I went on and made my appointment. I had a light load (another of the benefits of this dedicated gig I have with Electrolux is that none of the loads are heavy) but the truck responded like I had 46,000 lbs on.

It turned out that I'd blown a hose on the “air to air” system. I can't tell you what that means except that it's connected with the turbo charging of the engine. There was a small hole in a rubber hose connecting two openings into an elaborate configuration of hoses and tubes. I was relieved, it looked super easy to fix. It was just a hose, like a heater hose, and two band clamps easily accessible on the side of the engine by the oil fill spout.

Fleet Support contacted the local Cummings dealer in Fort Wayne and arranged to have it fixed. I was conferenced in on the call so that I could get directions. I heard the rep say that it would be awhile until they'd be able to get to me. Service shops are notorious for taking forever to even look at your truck, let alone fix it, so I was resolved to simply remove the hose myself and buy another from the parts department. I didn't have time to sit around like an over the road truck driver eager for a hotel room, I needed to get my load off and get back so that I could go home that night.

I checked in at the service desk and when he told me to drop my trailer in the back, park the tractor and wait in the “driver's lounge,” I said, “It's just a hose with a couple of band clamps. Can I just take it off myself and get another from parts?”

The guy looked at me for a second then turned to another guy sitting behind a desk. “Joe,” he said, “can you go look at what he's got?”

Joe ambled out and looked at my engine. “Unfortunately,” he said, “They don't make that hose anymore.” It was a shaped hose with an S bend. “They've gone to a kit to convert the fittings to accept a steel tube. Let's go see if we've got one.”

So we ambled back in and Joe checked with another guy at a computer station. It turned out that they had everything they needed to fix my truck except the actual steel tube. They could get one by the next day. I couldn't believe this, a simple rubber hose was going to shut me down for at least a day! I was about to just say that I'd drive it like it was back to Indy and maybe they'd be able to fix it there but Joe said, “Hang on a minute,” and disappeared out of the back of the office.

He came back a few minutes later and said, “Sorry, I thought maybe we'd have one of those tubes on a core, but we don't even have any cores right now.” I was just about ready to say that I'd be going when he said, “Let me check something.”

He went and talked to some mechanics, then went out to my truck and removed the hose, took that back to the mechanics for review, then proceeded to devote the next half an hour to very nicely jury rigging a piece of heater hose in place to give me a temporary fix; and he didn't even charge me or the company a dime!

Nice people and honest service are not lost from this world! I guess it's up to me now to remember my promise not to take the Lord's name in vain; or more accurately: to truly try to control my temper. As for the hose Joe had said that it should probably be fixed to specs pretty quick, but it didn't work out last weekend and I can't see a thing wrong with the temporary hose. I'm hoping now that it can last till the next B Service. I'm carrying everything that I need to fix it again should it fail.

 

Daily Exercise

 

My attitude toward the job of unloading the appliances off my truck sure has changed. I used to dread having to climb up in the dirty trailer and manhandle hundreds of pounds of metal, plastic and even concrete, in the case of washing machines, with only a hand truck. I'd have trouble and some scrawny kid would jump up there and make it look easy. “It's all in the technique,” they'd invariably say; nice of them. After seven months I won't say that I'm a pro, but I've survived, and learned a little along the way.

It's not that I enjoy it now. Given my druthers I could think of better things to do. But I've had two loads recently to receivers where I normally do the tailgating but they had extra workers who set right to it making me feel in the way. When it was all done I found myself disappointed. I realized that I'd been looking forward to getting some exercise and it hadn't happened.

Then, of course, there's loads like the one that I had yesterday. I'd never been to the place before so I called ahead and asked how to get my truck in there. I was given directions. “And there's room for a big truck, I'll see what I should do?” I asked. “We've had 53' trailers in here before, I assume you're as good a driver as them.” I made some self deprecating reply and thanked him.

When I pulled into the lot the next morning I couldn't see what to do. A guy came out and said, “Most people pull in the second drive so they can back up to that yellow pole over there.” I could tell it was the same guy I'd talked to over the phone. I thought, “That's why I asked you yesterday evening what to do you idiot!” but only said, “Oh, I see.” I had to leave and get turned around, which fortunately wasn't hard. It would have been a lot easier to back up to the yellow pole in the manner that was needed if the guy had moved his delivery van out of the way, but I managed it.

Anyway, those were the early indicators that this operation wasn't firing on all its cylinders. I got backed up and opened the trailer. I had three stops that day and it was loaded to the doors with refrigerators stacked prone on top of other refrigerators at the very end; a wall of freight. The guy, who turned out to be the owner said, “I won't have any help here till 9:00,” then turned and walked away. If it wasn't 9:00 yet it almost was, and there was no help in sight. I was just lucky it was a lift gate load (on a trailer equipped with a retractable extension that can be raised and lowered) or I wouldn't have had anywhere to stand to bring down the prone loaded “cooling equipment.” Most of the work that I could have used help with was done by the time the “help” arrived, though I'd mentally screamed, “HELP,” a few times by then. I got my exercise alright. I can still feel it.

Another time I got to a receiver where I normally do the work but didn't have to, and this time was much relieved. I'd had four stops that day, ranging from Evansville, IN to Owensboro, KY. Some inane mix up happened at each of the first three stops to delay me, and in one instance to cause me extra work, doing another person's job (so that I could get out of there, not because I'm nice!). On top of that I'd hurt my back in California moving my dad around. I was healing nicely but used it wrong doing that extra work and re-injured it.

I was dreading that last stop. If nothing else happened to continue the trend there was still a lot of heavy freight to be moved. As it turned out I didn't have to do anything. I didn't get back until late, on a Friday, but at least the day had ended on a positive note. I'd actually meant to make a post out of it because it was quite comical, all told, and showed in the end that Murphy's Law doesn't always apply.