3D Hills

 

Terry Gross is one of my heroes. She's the shit!

I should have taken Ernest's advice. Well I did the easy part, I wrote drunk. I just didn't follow up and edit sober. Details, details. I'll let it stand. It's true, after all. My sentiment, that is. Whether global warming is a hoax or not still seems to be in some dispute.

I was strapping down a load over at Indiana Limestone in Oolitic. Another driver was doing the same next to me. He drove for Boyd Bros out of Washington, IN. He was the talkative sort and asked me if I'd ever considered driving for his outfit. My warning systems went off immediately. "This guy wants to take advantage of the 'recruitment bonus' that so many companies offer, as much as a thousand bucks if your new hire lasts a year."

"Nah, I'm pretty happy where I'm at," I replied.

Did I really say that? Happy with this nightmare?

The guy kept rambling on but since I'd released him from potential gain all he had to say for the company were complaints: problems with the dispatchers, problems with the logistics...problems, problems, problems.

It's tough all over. I could relate to what he was saying, though mostly in retrospect. "That's one of the things I really like about Stonebelt," I said, "they've all been drivers, they know what it's like."

I had to take a hit on the equipment. His rig was nice and new and I was obviously driving a worn out piece of shit, hooking to a battered old trailer, but in the end it's true; I'm fairly happy with this gig, and I do like the people that I work with and for.

Why just the other day I discovered a new scenic route. I'd earlier recommended US 50 from Bedford to Lagootee. I still do, but once you climb the hill just outside Lagootee stop at the overlook park; that was the only reason to go past Shoals anyway; then turn around. On the far side of Shoals follow US 150 East. You'll see what I'm talking about. That might be the hilliest, curviest highway in Indiana, I dunno. I do know that it's beautiful. You come down out of the hills into French Lick so you can visit the casino before heading home, if you want to, or why not just stay there at the resort!

I got a boost the other day. I was being loaded over at Victor Quarry and the guy who was before me came over to ask advice in securing the load. He was new to trucking. He'd been a contractor until "the bottom fell out."

Interlude: Another one of those. I don't know how many former contractors, carpenters, stone masons, bricklayers I've met in the last year. It's definitely a theme. There's no telling how skilled they may have been at those jobs since the housing bubble scooped up so many laborers into its maw and may have simply spit them back out again, but it's encouraging that these new drivers fulfilling the present "driver shortage" may have had some other experience before getting behind the wheel of a big truck, at least, on this race to the bottom.

I had to admit my own ignorance, but gave him what help I could. Later, when he was ready to go but the exit lane was blocked by other trucks he came over to chat while I strapped down. "So you're local?" he asked (I drive a day-cab).

"Yes," I replied.

"You lucky..." At first I thought it was that I got to go home every night he envied but it became clear that he was quite taken with the area.

The bottleneck opened and he left. I left shortly after. When I came down the big hill and around the sharp curve and there he was almost in the ditch on the side of the road with his flashers on. You don't understand, there is no shoulder, soft or otherwise, but there is a ditch, at least in that spot.

"Oh no," I thought, "what trouble has the new driver gotten himself into?"

There was a car behind him that after some hesitation zoomed past. I was going to stop but as I approached he climbed back up on the road and started off. When he came to the entrance to the 3-D Mill he pulled into the drive. I stopped in the road with my flashers on. I still don't have a CB so I wanted to make sure he was alright.

"Did you see that old railroad trestle back there? It must be a hundred years old! I was trying to get a picture of it." By that time of the day I knew that they were done at 3D, who have another drive anyway, so I told him he could stop right there and get as many pictures as the remaining daylight allowed.

He was from Norther Illinois. I don't know whether he thought this was Appalachia or what, but he was quite taken with the area.

 

White Buffalo

 

I'm just going to lay it out for you folks:

I'm a Doomsayer. I wish it weren't so but I saw it when I was a child and thought, "No, the adults are responsible, they know what they're doing."

Ooops.

It's become clearer and clearer to me; one whose mind grows foggier and foggier with drink and age.

Thank goodness that as my post-op transsexual friend who knows she's a Goddess says, "It's all good."

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

 

Real Panic!

 

Have you noticed that I tend to exaggerate? I was nowhere near "panic!" We're talking heightened excitement, at the outside. It was noteworthy. I made a note of it. It got me to write. I'm writing still, I hope.

There's more about that day that was noteworthy. I was told to come in at 7:30 in the morning like usual so I did. The boss wasn't in yet so I went out and fired up the truck. The turn signal on the side of the cab wasn't blinking so I went into the shop to borrow a screw driver and Chris said, "You're supposed to be in Louisville, what are you doing here?"

"Nobody told me," I said. Seriously, I thought he was joking. Ten minutes later, as I was returning the screw driver the head honcho of the whole company, my bosses boss comes up to me and said, "There are bills on the desk that you need to take with you," then stalked off in his accustomed hurry, with a look back that said I need to follow.

I'm thinking, "Take with me, take where?" In between I'd seen Herk, my boss in the parking lot and he didn't say anything except "Hi Steve, how are you?"

I went to investigate. Herk wasn't in his office so I perused the papers sitting on the desk and voiced a general query to the dispatchers at their stations. Steve said, "That's them there, Alero Steel, Louisville."

OK, I look for a trailer number and don't find one so I ask. "4968, it's on the Jeffersonville yard. You have a ten o'clock appointment so you'd better get going." It all falls into place. I am supposed to be in Louisville and everybody knows it, including the freaking mechanics, except me.

So what do I do? It was then 7:59. It takes an hour forty five minutes to get to Jeffersonville, seven minutes in a hurry to hook to a trailer, making sure it's safe to haul, and another twenty minutes, at least to get to someplace you know where you're going in Louisville, if there's no traffic on the bridge. The ten o'clock appointment was blown already but the situation salvageable. I jam into overdrive. I hate being late, especially when it's not my fault. I'm sure to be the one to suffer, anyway.

It was foggy; heavy fog. I would undoubtedly get behind some spineless slowpoke on IN 60 so I wanted to make as good time as I could on the four lane. The directions that I'd lingered long enough to get from Steve (you can't hurry anywhere if you don't know where you're going) said, "No room to park," so I had all sorts of nightmare scenarios going through my head.

Suddenly a stopped vehicle materialized in front of me. "What the hell?!" I checked my mirror and there was a car back there but not beside me so I hit the turn signal and changed lanes probably before the signal had a chance to activate. Then the red light materialized out of the fog. I'd completely forgotten the light at Walnut Street!

How wrong, how wrong. Now that was a panic situation and I played it wrong. There was no possibility in hell that I could stop but I checked my mirror and changed lanes with the assumption that I could keep moving. I was merely lucky that the car behind me was able to stop too. I should have taken the shoulder.

Sigh, nobody was hurt, that time. Hopefully that will put the fear of Death and mangled machinery in me to last another six months before I inevitably grow complacent again, forgetting how dangerous this enterprise really is. There were no squealing brakes or angry motorists either, just for the record, but I know that I played it wrong.

Much sobered I continued on. I was still in a hurry, I'd just forgotten rule number one: don't let anyone else drive the truck for you; not your boss's boss, nor the fear of retribution for something that might even have been your fault.

I made good time to Mitchell. I went as fast as I thought safe. I passed people, people passed me. I know the road and believe me I didn't forget any more traffic lights.

Sure enough I got behind a slowpoke just outside Mitchell on IN 60. This guy or gal was doing between 35 and 40 on a 55 mph road. Do you know how long it takes to get from point A to point Z at 40 mph (that's a rhetorical question)? I was only second in what became a long line of cars, and bob-tailing, but passing was out of the question in that fog. What gets me is the discourtesy. There were plenty of places that I could have pulled over to let people by even if I'd had a trailer attached. At that speed he couldn't have been in a hurry, or was it the power trip again?

Wait for it. You guessed; there's a moral to this story, as if you haven't osmosised it already. Seriously, I cannot believe it myself but despite the delay and though I was hurrying on the four lane I wasn't going as fast as I would have normally; given all that it still only took me an hour and forty five minutes to traverse the distance. Same difference. How does that happen?

I was still late, of course, that was a given. What did I say, it would take twenty minutes to get across the river to somewhere you knew you were going in Louky? Well I didn't know where I was going and the directions were coming from the south so I got lost. It took me thirty minutes. I was half an hour late. Not bad enough to call in the National Guard under anyone's rule.

Not only that but "no room to park" must have meant "no overnight parking" because the place was wide open, even if there'd been a line of trucks ahead of me. As it turned out there wasn't. I was the only one, though there was a line by the time I'd left. When I apologized for being late I was told it was first come first served anyway.

When I'd started this mad journey that nearly cost me my life I was all ready to lay the blame on Herk, but by the end of it I choose to adopt his attitude: Relax.

But what I really wanted to share was the beauty of the Knobs, those hills along the Ohio River that resemble the larger ones on the other side in Kentucky. I don't know their geology, but you'll know what I mean if you've ever seen them.

All the leaves have fallen save for the Oak, Beech and whatever other species hold on throughout the season. At this early stage their leaves are still plentiful, deeply muted but colorful no less. So the Knobs were golden on my way back north. The fog was gone but the atmosphere still humid. With the bright sun low to the horizon the light was so diffuse that nothing was clear but a golden glow on the hillsides. Only oil paint could have captured that, under a master's hand.

Thanks for reading.

 

Near Panic

 

I don't care what city it is, New York or Indianapolis, it's stressful to drive a big truck in them. The streets are narrow and haphazard, not designed with the massive vehicles of today in mind at all. Even if you do know the area and what to expect ahead the traffic is usually thick, coming at one from all sides. Not having been there before turns the stress level way up. Hell, it's stressful going to a 21st century industrial park if you've never been there before. Oh wait, driving itself is stressful.

I was in inner-city Louisville today. It was alright at first, even after the buildings closed in around me. I was following a KY state highway and still had two lanes since the road was one way there. But then I suddenly noticed that the highway turned just ahead. The street narrowed even further into what looked to be a working class residential area, or worse, with two way traffic. It's amazing the flurry of mental calculations that can go on in a moment of near panic, even while checking the mirrors to see if I could change lanes easily to turn. No, the directions didn't say follow the highway; yes, the address of the place is on Shelby St; no, there is no sign that says NO TRUCKS, a weight limit or low clearance ahead. I was wishing that I'd made the phone call and not just relied on company directions and Google Maps though.

The only option was to plunge ahead. I wanted to ask someone but I don't have a CB in the truck and might not have gotten an answer anyway. I have stopped in the middle of traffic before to ask, when I was totally lost, but I still had a road ahead to try. If I ran into trouble I could just say, "Hey, I was following the directions I was given." I mean, this was easy compared to some of the predicaments I've been in, I just didn't want to find myself in another. I tried to remind myself that to date I've gotten out of every scrape unscathed, but that was no comfort since one day I might not.

Wanting to stop and ask reminded me of the time a Roadway driver ahead of me stopped in the middle of a straight section of Victor Pike, here at home one day. I knew what he wanted so I pulled alongside him and hit the switch to roll down the passenger window. "Nice day for a drive through the woods, isn't it?" I said. Sure enough he was worried he was lost, but he wasn't, the mill was just ahead. "Follow me." I've always said you really don't want to get lost in the inner city, or the mountains with a big truck. I should know, I've been lost in both.

Anyway, it all worked out. I silently made my apologies to the folks behind me but I wasn't going to let anyone add pressure; the steam was coming out my ears already. I found the place and got loaded. It turned out to be all of one palette. Then I had to get turned around in their yard which, like most inner city facilities was tight. But then I'm not a rookie anymore and that was easy. I'm just babbling.

So the whole point was, is, to write something. It was that near panic moment that I found interesting: performing the mechanics of driving, preparing to make a move in traffic and all the short while running through a cascade of mental calculations. If I'd opted for what seemed the safer route, following the highway, my task would have become all the harder, and just because it's a state route doesn't guarantee a truck driver anything.