Holliday on Ice

 

It snowed yesterday. It was just flurries really, “snow showers.” It was only bad in isolated areas and I didn't have any trouble driving. They said the flurries would continue overnight, but with “no significant accumulation.” I didn't worry about it and woke up at my usual time (for the hour that I needed to be in Indy that particular morning) but something prompted me to look out the door in the morning. Holly Cow! There was at least two inches on the porch, I could see that the roadway was covered in white and it was still coming down hard. I forewent my relaxed internet browsing session that I usually do each morning with coffee and hopped right to it, to give myself more time. I was out the door twenty minutes early.

A pickup truck passed as I was cleaning off the windows of my car. When I got down to the road I saw that it had been the very first vehicle to put tracks in the snow. It was early in the morning but I'd expected there to have been more traffic than that. That also meant that the snow plows hadn't been up my road yet at all. They're usually pretty good about making a quick pass and dumping sand on the worst of the curves and the hills, but not this morning. It was pretty slick stuff too. Creeping down the big hill as I was I still almost slid into the stop sign at the end.

Old 37 didn't look to have been much more heavily traveled and the plows hadn't hit it yet either. There was no way that I was going to try my usual route up Sample road, with it's long steep hill. I doubted that I'd make it up it. I turned the opposite direction and stayed in the bottom, getting to the highway across Mel Curry road. [go to Google Maps and search “Dolan, Indiana.” Put it on “Satellite” and follow Old 37 north to see “the forest road” that I often take home in the evening. To see where I live follow Robinson Rd. until you get to Butler Winery, near the end, then go back north. I'm the second house on the north side of the road after the turn.]

I'd expected the highway to have been plowed, and I guess it had been, one lane, but even that one was a mess. I guess the storm caught Monroe County by surprise too. I hoped it would get better when I got to Morgan County, and it was, marginally. It wasn't until I got to Indianapolis that any real effort had been made to clear the roads though.

I was just a little early for a normal morning but I didn't think that was enough to help me make my appointment at 8:00 in Columbus, Ohio. No problem though, as the weather is a legitimate excuse to be late, and since the storm hadn't been predicted they couldn't chide me for not having allowed extra time. But as it turned out the interstate was clear, helped by the fact that it hadn't snowed as hard to the east. I even had time to stop and fuel, and still got to the receiver 15 minutes early, or right on time in other words.

The other day they predicted freezing rain so I did leave early. I was pleased that it wasn't actually raining at all, let alone freezing rain. I figured that I'd run into it on my way west though, toward Springfield, IL. Sure enough I did, but it still wasn't freezing, just raining. I'd relaxed about it and was cruising down sparsely traveled Interstate 72, listening to some funky blues on WEFT out of Champaign when I notice that I was gaining fast on a very slow vehicle. “Damn, what's he going so slow for?” I wondered and started looking around for a cause. That's when I realized the roadway was in fact covered with ice; and here I was in a big truck going 65 mph! “Oh shit!”

It's a good thing there wasn't any other traffic around us. I let off of the accelerator and eased over, ever so carefully, into the left lane, throwing on my flashers. I came up along side the other car, still losing speed, and gently gave it a little fuel so that I could get by him quickly, then slid back over into the granny lane to creep along like he was doing. I don't think he appreciated me passing him, but there was no way in hell I was going to touch my brakes if I didn't have to! That turned out to have just been a particularly bad patch. The ice continued to be a factor, but mostly in the form of ice pellets on an otherwise wet roadway. With caution I was still early to the receiver.

So yes, it's truly winter time here. The highs are only supposed to be in the single digits this weekend. Last year I made it through the entire season on one tank of propane, but then I'd been out on the road until February, with the thermostat buried in the low fifties except for during my monthly home time. I'm definitely going to need more this winter. Still, it's much better being home.

 

Spun Sugar

 

A “freezing fog” blanketed the landscape. It didn't effect the roadway, thank goodness, but it wrapped a layer of fine frost around every branch and twig making the trees look fragile, like they were made of spun sugar and would crumble at the slightest touch, or melt if they got wet.

 

My Old Friend

 

Dawn, my trusty companion. There's snow on the ground and this morning I noticed it lighten, almost glow, an electric blue, before I realized that the sky was brightening as well. I was traveling up US 31 through Northern Indiana and wondered if I'd get a repeat of yesterday's dawn in Central Illinois. But no, although the land is essentially flat I was in a mildly hilly region, near the Wabash River, and Indiana has more forest in general anyway, so the horizon was obscured from view. The part of Illinois I was traversing yesterday was totally flat, with little or no forest cover. The horizon there was the end of the earth. I didn't notice the snow glowing but a band of orange ringed me worldwide; stronger and wider to the southeast, surely, but continuous nonetheless. Then, when the sun actually rose, a red giant in my mirror, the snow turned orange, its shadows a deep blue.

Light supplies the magnificence in my life, shadow the mystery; and it's all (strange) beautiful.

 

Mishaps and Mayhem

 

I'd just passed a black pickup truck with Colorado plates, its bed loaded with stuff, when I suddenly heard a hissing sound and seemed to be loosing power. “What the...” I exclaimed and scanned the dash for any warning lights, or meters off their tolerance as I threw on my right turn signal to indicate that I was going for the shoulder. I didn't see anything out of sorts on the dash, but when I looked in my mirror to make sure there wasn't anything on the shoulder I hadn't noticed I saw the side of my trailer already there, jutting out at an angle. That was supposed to be behind me! I really had no choice but to move on over onto the shoulder, since I was loosing speed fast, but that meant letting the trailer drift off of the pavement, over a downgrade. I prayed it wasn't steep enough to tip me over. I came to a stop upright.

Traffic was moving over to the left lane, avoiding me like the plague, so it was easy to jump out of the truck into the roar and wind. It was immediately obvious what had happened: The air line to the trailer parking brakes had become disconnected.

Flash/Flash: Commercial vehicles use an air brake system, powered by an on board air compressor. This allows both monitoring of the air pressure necessary to run safely, and easy hook up between the power unit and trailing equipment through hoses connected by “glad hands.” The “service brake” only applies pressure when you step on the brake pedal, but the “parking brake” is kept off by pressure. As soon as pressure is lost it engages. So, when the parking brake air line came loose from my trailer its brakes locked up and the wheels began dragging.

I re-hooked the glad hands and then straightened my rig out on the shoulder of the road. I was going to get out and inspect the tires and equipment, but as I watched my mirrors I saw something horrible. That pickup truck that I'd passed was off of the road! It had gone down the hill and up the embankment on the other side and was stopped by the fence that lines the freeway right-of-way. I jumped out of the truck again with the intention of running up there to see if anyone was hurt and to give them the insurance information, but as I rounded the front of my tractor they started to move. They got back onto the highway with no problem. I stood next to the traffic as they came by in an effort both to say that I was sorry, and to let them know that I was available, but they just drove on. Whew, dodged a bullet there! I'm especially glad that they were okay, but even so they might have caused me lots of trouble.

It's those damned intermodal shipping containers. You know, the ones that can come overseas on a ship, then be loaded onto a railway car and finally set on a chassis to be pulled by a truck. I hate them. Twice I've had the corner of the chassis hook the air lines in a tight turn and then break them when the rig straightened out again, and I've even had a glad hand become disconnected before. It had been the service line that time, which meant that when I applied the breaks nothing happened on the trailer, the rig was stopped by the tractor alone. I hadn't known anything was wrong until I was stopped at a traffic light. With my foot continually on the brake the air kept rushing out the disconnected line and before the light turned green I got the low air pressure warning. I was almost back to the yard when that happened and with good air management I made it without the brakes locking up.

So OK, I'd been warned. But I thought that was just an anomaly, a freak incident. It never occurred to me that it could happen again and I never considered what would happen if it was the emergency brake line that came loose, at highway speed. From now on when I hook to a container my policy is to use cable ties to bind the glad hands into place, which is what I did that day on the side of the road, and to inspect the air line connections on whatever trailing equipment I'm pulling every time that I stop. Driving a truck is an ongoing process of learning new things to watch out for.

*            *            *

Followers of my previous blog, The Reluctant Trucker will have heard me bitch repeatedly about the “anal retentive” micromanaging ways of the company that I work for. They've achieved new heights in this regard and I just have to share this with you. First some back-story: Though I drive out of Plainfield (Indianapolis) I generally do B-Service (preventative maintenance) at our terminal in Louisville, KY. Twice I was scheduled to go down there but that proved inconvenient for my fleet manager so it was twice postponed. Finally, on Dec. the 23rd I was put into the shop at Stoops Freightliner in Indianapolis for B-Service. I got screwed royally in the process and it came back to bite my fleet manager in the ass too.

On the 23rd that's all that I did that day, put my truck in the shop, which I didn't get paid for. On top of that we got both Xmas and Xmas eve off, though I only got paid for the holiday itself. The paycheck for that week was barely better than what I used to bring home when I worked for $4.50 an hour! (Don't get me wrong, I was grateful for the extra time off, which I used to visit Morris in rehab and both of my folks on the north side.) Then they kept my truck for the entire next week waiting for parts both because of the holidays, which disrupted service, and because my truck is an International and was in a Freightliner shop (go figure). I used a loaner truck on Monday, then was down on Tuesday. Wednesday I had to drive all the way to Indy just to get another loaner truck for Thursday, also not paid for. Friday of course was New Year's Day so I didn't work then, but did get paid (like it was a short run). So I had another lousy week and on top of that I had to go up Sunday to get my truck out of the shop as they'd be closed early Monday morning when I needed it. It turned cold and the truck wouldn't start. More uncompensated work.

So, it's a new year and I needed the 2010 IFTA sticker for my tractor. IFTA stands for International Fuel Tax Association, the solution to having to pay taxes in every state or province that you operate in (some of you may be old enough to remember the “green stamp” license plates that trucks used to have). If I'd done B-Service in Louisville then they would have put the new sticker on then. Well, it so happens that one of the places that I deliver to regularly is just across the street from our terminal in Columbus, OH. It's a place where I'm not even allowed on the dock so there was no work for me to do, and they regularly take their sweet time there so after I'd backed into the door I walked over to the terminal to get the sticker. I just thought I'd be proactive.

The guy at the parts desk whipped out a Service Request Form and slapped it down on the counter in front of me. “I need the date, your unit number, and hub. Put 'IFTA' down here.”

I should have known, they want the “hub,” the mileage, for just about everything. “I'm in the dock over at SLS. I guess I'll swing back by when I'm unloaded,” I said, then added, “I know I won't be able to put the sticker on yet, it being so cold.” I've done this before.

“Oh, yes we can,” returned the dude, “We have to put it on for you.”

This was new, but it didn't surprise me. “How long will it take?” I asked. The guy tossed his head as if to say, “No time at all.”

I felt apprehensive on my way back to the truck. There was no hurry to get the sticker, there's a general extension until March, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to mess with it that day, with a three and a half hour drive back to Plainfield once I got unloaded. Sears, where I was delivering, takes an hour lunch at 11:30 so I resolved that if I beat that then I would go get the sticker. I was pleased to see my trailer sink under the weight of the clamp truck as I approached my rig. They were at work unloading me; good.

I beat the lunch break by 15 minutes so after checking out I pulled across the street to the terminal. I went up to the parts desk with my Service Request completely filled out. The parts guy clattered around on his keyboard a little, then said, “Whaaat the fuuuuck?” He clattered around some more then looked at me and said, “You've got three B-Serv's pending and then double everything they're going to do listed here!?” I explained the situation and he said, “OK, give me a minute.”

To make an already overlong story shorter it took an hour, much clattering on the keyboard and several phone calls before the guy finally told me to get lost, that I wasn't going to get my pretty new sticker that day. It's a good thing it wasn't February 28th or I'd have had to stay until who knows when the problem would be resolved. I don't know, I used to put the sticker on myself, once upon a time.

While I was waiting a driver came up with an empty jug looking for some windshield washing fluid. He was made to fill out a Service Request Form. The poor guy had to go back out to his truck to get his hub. After the driver finally had his fluid the parts guy wadded up the Service Request and threw it in the trash. If anything was entered into the computer I didn't catch it.