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.

 

Shrouded Landscape

I took another drive down Indiana 37 all the way from Indianapolis to the Ohio River, at Tell City. It was later in the morning this time so the light began to broaden around Paoli, a little over half way there, allowing me to see some of the most remote scenery on the route, in the Hoosier National Forest. Much of what I saw was shrouded in mist.

I love the mist; it has so many forms. Sometimes it is localized, gathering in hollows, or rising off of a body of water, at others it is generalized across the landscape. It can be dense and a hazard to driving, or it can be light, just blurring the edges of things, or sometimes wispy, with tendrils slowly writhing amidst a dispersed haze. Yes, it moves, sometimes seeming almost alive. I like when it stratifies too, either separating into layers within the body of the fog itself, or rising as one leaving the air clear above and below it.

This morning the mist was heavily influenced by micro climactic conditions and all of these aspects were present at one time or another. In general it filled the hollows while the the hilltops were clear. One time, on a ridge above the town of English a vista opened revealing a rolling sea of fog with forested hilltop islands, like an archipelago. But that's too simple of a story because at another time I descended a steep winding road that went beneath the mist, which was then like a roof over the valley. I think that the only aspect of mist that I didn't see today was the way that it captures light because by the time that the sun actually rose I was in the clear.

It's kind of strange actually, now that I think about it, but when I got to Tell City there was barely a hint of mist. I was worried about time again and it being later I was plagued by all manner of delays that hadn't happened that earlier time through. With the morning traffic there were slowpokes, one going 10 mph below the speed limit and seemingly unconcerned that there was a looooooong line of cars behind him, there were school buses, and even an Amish horse and buggy, not to mention the fog itself.

I still got to the receiver a half an hour early, which is a half an hour before they open so I had a little time to kill. I was at their warehouse which is off of a little alley just the other side of the levy that protects the town. I moseyed around the edges of the property, looking into the woods and the cornfields. I stayed clear of the row of houses whose back yards lined the alley on the uphill side, other than to admire their laden vegetable gardens from afar. And I climbed onto the levy to survey the limited aspect of Tell City that that vantage allowed. Then I went back to the truck to do some paperwork.

I guess it was about ten till eight, their time, and I was anticipating that someone might arrive soon. I looked up from my task and was taken aback by a wall of fog massing above the levy and slowly creeping over it. The little hollow that I was in was already filling with mist. I climbed back onto the levy and the cityscape that I'd seen before was barely discernible; the low sun a pale disk. On my way back to my rig a pickup truck roared over the levy, out of the mist, and almost took me out (I exaggerate, but it was kind of like that). The workers had arrived, it was time to get to work.

I never noticed what happened to that fog. By the time the customer's stuff was unloaded the air was clear again. Traveling west along IN 66 toward my next stop there were massive puff-balls of cloud barely clearing the trees. I imagined the amoebic haze that had swarmed the levy was now one of those.