I guess staying tuned doesn't yield high rewards. My apologies. Hey, I work long hours, and often have to be back at work soon after I get home. I worked a 14 ¾ hour day today, the difference being that they need my truck for training purposes tomorrow and I'm only supposed to call in around 9:00 to see if they're done yet. Why, that's more than 12 hours from now; unheard of.
So; (I get a kick out how people preface a remark with “So” these days. I've heard it a lot lately).
So; I was driving from Nashville back to Bloomington when I passed a sign for Nature's Way Landscaping. If I'm not listening to music then any little thing will spark a tune in my head. I started singing Nature's Way by Spirit, off of their Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus album, which I used to own back in the day.
Not that there was anything wrong with the music in my head, but I realized that I was near Bloomington and wondered if WFHB, the local community radio station was within range. I turned it on and it was. They were playing what sounded to be some obscure psychedelia. “Wait a minuet, I know that song...” It was The Morning Will Come by Spirit, off of their Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus album. I haven't heard or thought of that album for a dozen years, at least. How's that for serendipity?
So; (here we go again) it's been a little while but earlier we had a rash of oversize loads. We only have one trailer that is extendable and had only one truck with an oversize permit. Then we delivered three bridge beams to...I forget where, but we used the pole trailers that the precast outfit owns, the company that makes the beams. So my company bought two more permits and since then these oversize loads keep popping up. At $600.00 a year for the permit I'm sure they're just trying to get their money's worth.
One of the first of these loads that I hauled was also the longest load I've ever hauled. It was 76' long and seemed huge to me. I was feeling all special driving down I-69 with my “Oversize Load” banners on, and the red flags flying from all the corners and the middle of the load. Then I came to a small traffic backup. It was due to two truly huge bridge beams, their ends supported on sixteen wheeled steerable platforms, with a squadron of State Police for escort. When we'd get to an overpass the Police would block off any entrance ramps and make a rolling road block so that only the beam itself, one at a time, was on the span. There was too much weight there for anything more.
When I finally got my chance to pass I felt like a micro bus next to those things. Humble Pie.
I was pulling another load almost as long out of the same place and had just gotten up to speed on US 30 out of Columbia City when I head a loud POW. I thought I'd had a blowout but when I turned my head to check my right mirror, to make a controlled stop on the shoulder, I saw that the back window of my day cab was a mass of cracks and was dimpled inward at its center. “WTF” was all I could think, then the window fell just like in the cartoons with a few chunks falling first, a few more, then suddenly the bulk of it all at once. A few lingering pieces continued to tinkle down even after I'd come to a stop.
I've seen rocks knock a ding in a windshield, but never saw nor heard about one breaking to pieces. I thought maybe I'd been shot at. I didn't want to but my safety manager insisted that I call 911. If I had been shot at then it should be reported. The sheriff who responded assured me that a bullet would have passed through the windshield, not shattered it. Looking at the extendable trailer I was hauling I saw how the front of the drive wheels were left exposed. The difference was between a rock flying up and hitting a window, and a rock being flung by a drive wheel directly into a window. Since then I've heard a plethora of stories about broken windshields, usually while bob tailing (without a trailer). As for me, I wore my hardhat all the way back. I figured if another rock got thrown I would no longer have a window there to protect me.
But the gravest misadventure that I had with an oversize load was outside of Greencastle. Usually the contractors on these oversize projects are very conscientious in scouting the route and making certain everything is safe and doable. They sometimes even have flagmen stationed at key locations to stop traffic. Yes, just as you've guessed, not this time.
Everything seemed straight forward enough, until I got to the turn that I was supposed to make that was in fact a one way street going the wrong direction. It turned out to be both easy and hard to get back on track. Easy because downtown Greencastle is laid out on a grid, hard because the streets are narrow and I was 60 some feet long. By completely stopping traffic I made it. After that I left town and it became a drive in the country, until I got to the job site spanning some “Unnamed Tributary” to the Big Walnut Creek.
Another thing that the contractors usually do is tell the driver whether to pull in or back in. In the absence of any instruction I'd pulled in. After a half an hour's deliberation they decided that the beam was positioned on the trailer wrong and I was going to have to back that behemoth out of the narrow wooded valley, then come back in backward.
It was mid morning and most everyone was at work but on the way up I spied a surly looking man watching me suspiciously from beside his house. “Don't worry old man,” I said to him though he couldn't hear me, “I won't get onto your lawn.”
The turn around would have been much easier if the intersection had been a cross street. I could have backed straight through, turned, backed straight through, turned, then backed straight through again. Unfortunately it was a “T”and I had to back out and back in again around the turn. On top of that it wasn't at 90° either. The way out was easy, the way back in not so much. I tried really hard to stay on the pavement but found it impossible. My job would have been a lot easier if I'd gone up onto the front lawn of the people across from the entrance, but I kept the damage to around the corner itself, where one might expect to see tire marks anyway.
This whole operation took awhile and every so often a car would come from one direction or another. When that happened I'd pull over to one side and let them by. On the way back in a car came from in front of me. I pulled over but it didn't pass. I motioned it on and it slowly came abreast of me and stopped. The man driving rolled down his window. He didn't look happy. He said something that I didn't catch, except that it was about his lawn.
“Oh no, here it comes,” I thought as I shut my truck off to hear what he had to say, and so that he could hear me apologize and assure him that he would be made whole. Instead he said, “I don't need to get by, I'm just going to pick up that trash off my lawn.” Looking in my mirror I could see the pile of fast food refuse he was indicating.
We chatted about the beautiful weather for a bit then he said, “You're pretty good at that,” indicating the truck with the long beam pointed the wrong direction. “Well,” I said, “I'm getting practice anyway.” At that his grim expression softened into a chuckle. Later he wished me a good day. “It can't get much worse than this,” I said, hoping for another chuckle. Instead his expression hardened and he asked, “You sure?” “No,” I had to admit. As it turned out he was right, but that's another story.
A little later I saw that same old man I'd seen on the way up still out watching me. I repeated my mute assurances then gave my attention to my mirrors. Suddenly I realized he was on the very edge of the road giving me a thumbs up, then he stood at attention and saluted. I was touched.
Wow, two strangers out in the country whose countenance I'd interpreted as hostile, yet both were congenial and gave me respect. I was reminded of my jaunt through the mountains of Wales. I think I told you about the narrow one lane road that GPS routed us across. We passed several pedestrians out there; a farmer, a shepard, a woman walking her dogs. I was worried about a Deliverance scenario, or better yet Wicker Man, afraid they were going to sacrifice us to some ancient Celtic god to ensure the harvest. Each time we approached their expressions were hard, each time we'd wave and each time they'd wave back.
