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.

 

Perfect Imperfections

 

So why, if I wrote that a week ago didn't I post it?

Because I'd intended to add to it, to say so much more.

So why, if I have so much to say can't I think of anything when the time comes?

Possibly a good question...

OK, here's one: a basic paradox of trucking. The driver is but a link, either of materials or of finished goods, for other industries which operate on their own schedules, and even if it's not "just in time freight" then the company that she drives for needs the truck free to reload. So it's a heavily time constrained business. The driver is always in a hurry. Yet to drive a Big Rig safely one cannot be in a hurry. Every action must be executed slowly and deliberately, ready at any moment to change course drastically, all avenues fully surveyed.

Slow down to hurry up.

But wait, I'd posted, but I can't leave it there...When I'd first complained was premature. Sure the weather had been shitty and leaves were down but there was still plenty of fire burning on the hillsides. In fact I'd crossed the White River on the way to Indy and they didn't seem to have had the winds we did; the trees still cloaked in all their flaming glory.

Not so now. Not only is peak long gone but most of the leaves have fallen. Embers still burn in hollow and on hillside alike, but drabness claims the day. Soon there will be only the architectural interplay of branches to confound and amaze.

When I started this gig driving a big rig down country lanes after limestone it was nearly summer, the trees in full leaf. As usual when the leaves fall once hidden things become obvious. There are old stone holes all over the place, and I'm just talking what can be seen from the road. And piles of waste stone beside them, or near to one that can't be seen, surely.

How do they know where the good stone is? Why do I sometimes load up at one quarry only to carry the rock to another? In the depths of time how can an articulated fossil still survive what has become an otherwise blank white expanse of sedimentary rock?

I have one here, I hold it as we speak. Whilst loading a block one day I saw something glitter. On the bed of the truck already I investigated and found a perfect imperfection.

 

Gray Blues

 

Grey overcast, wet drizzly, cold miserable day today. My Gortex® lined boots have sprung leaks, both of them, after ten years. A wind came through and stripped many of the leaves off the trees; skeletons along the roads and on the hillsides. Darkness draws nigh, coming earlier of an evening and staying latter each morning.

Like a crossfire hurricane, but it's all right now; there's a fire in the hearth.

I wrote that about a week ago. I've gotten out of the habit of writing, threatening to renew it, but haven't. Makes a great segue though, since to day was also wet and miserable. In between nothing but globally warmed clear skies. I was back in the truck without AC, and needed it. Damn the luck.

So now that I'm live I can't think of a thing to say. I'm sure we're doomed, but my son in law is interested in urban farming, which might be a start. I hope the microchip survives, but that takes a lot energy to make and run. Wha'dya think, do we have it in us to survive?

Yeah you, I'm talking to you.

 

Fire on the Mountain

 

There are worse things than driving around Southern Indiana in the autumn. Like, I could be driving to Indy every day and leaving thence to points unknown, but probably not beautiful Southern Indiana, at least not as regularly as now. No, Southern Indiana is a jewel at any time of year, but especially in the fall. I picked up a load going to Massachusetts today and the shipper said, "I bet you wish you could take this load up there yourself." Why, because of New England in the autumn? They got nothin' on us! He was being ironic.

So yes, the fall is coming on strong. Everyone said that the colors weren't going to be as good this year because of the drought last summer. Everyone was wrong. The colors are sublime, and they are a stretch from peak yet. Perhaps they started a little early, and perhaps they're changing quickly, or perhaps we're just looking for some sign of that drought? In any case it's gorgeous in the hills these days.

And yes, I'm still doing that flatbed gig out of Bloomington. Like I keep saying: the pay is lousy, without benefits, the work is harder than working with a van trailer, dirtier by far than hauling a van, and the equipment sucks; but at least it's local. I've been there, done that; commuting to Indianapolis. I could do it again if I had to but my memories of the experience are not fond. In fact it was a blight on my spirit, perhaps even more so than being over the road. Recurring nightmare indeed.

Speaking of the equipment, do you remember when I was driving around last summer without air conditioning? Someone joked that I'd get a truck without heat next. I didn't think that was possible with all of the heat generated by the engine but yes, you guessed it, I had a truck without heat the other morning. Oh the trials and tribulations!

 

Labor Day Picnic

 

Fuzzy landscape, fuzzy head. A drizzly fog covered the countryside and I was operating on too little sleep. I had to get up earlier than usual but that wasn’t the problem. I’d gone to bed soon enough the night before then woke up again shortly after midnight and couldn’t get back to sleep. I don’t know what was wrong. My thoughts would begin solidifying into dreams, but something always brought me back to the surface again. I tried reading myself to sleep but the story became exciting. I wanted to keep going but knew I had to try and get some more shut eye. I finally gave up a half an hour before the alarm was set to ring and started my day.

No biggie. I had to be over in Columbus at 8:00 for a delivery. It being early on Labor Day there was hardly any traffic and with the wet roads and the fog nobody that was out was in any hurry. I was, kind of, because even though I’d gotten up early I’d dawdled, then couldn’t find the trailer on the yard at first and ended up running late. I didn’t hurry though. I thought, “Tough, I’m laboring on Labor Day and it won’t matter if I’m a little late.” I only hoped that the workers, who were also laboring on Labor Day weren’t waiting for me.

There was no cause for concern on that score though. When I got there the place was deserted. I walked around the entire property just to make sure. When I got back to the truck I checked the load information on the computer and sure enough the appointment was set for Tuesday. I was wondering if I’d screwed up so I listened to the voice-mail message that had come in Saturday about the load. There was my boss saying, “I need you to be in Columbus at 8:00 Monday morning to make a delivery.” I’d saved the message because it had the trailer number on it, just in case the info wasn’t on the computer for some reason.

I guess he meant the other Monday.

 

Indiana Dreamin'

 

I used to scream in frustration, “Get me back to the Big Road!” Then just the other day I had to take I-70 from Indianapolis over to Terre Haute and I thought, “What a boring ride, give me the little road any day.” I mean, think about it, I’ve been driving for a local company out of Bloomington. If you’re going to leave from Bloomington to anywhere you have to take small state highways, the four lane to Indy being the exception, everything else winds through the countryside. While I was once placated with the picturesque qualities of Northern Indiana and the Wabash Valley, Southern Indiana can be down right Beautiful. It also helps that I’m being paid by the hour now, and not the mile.

[Process note: It originally took me four paragraphs to say what I just said in half again as many sentences.]

So now I’m supposed to tell you about what it’s like driving a big truck across the small highways of Southern Indiana, but the subject is too big. I’ll have to whittle it down. I mean, the State’s grown exponentially as I discover how much industry there is tucked away in odd corners everywhere. At the same time it has shrunk as I pass signs to places I’ve been from the East, again from the West, then end up returning to from the North or the South. Don’t let me deceive you though; paths cross, but there are few straight lines.

No, there’s too much to tell. I’ll say but one word and can’t begin to address it properly either. The word is Limestone. Hey; I work for Stonebelt Freight Lines right, though stone is only a fraction of what we haul.

Forget the highways. I take off with an eighteen wheeler and travel roads that may or may not have a center line, but there sure ain’t no shoulder. I’ll travel over hill and down dale, through forests and farms. Sometimes vistas will open across the “Little Smokies,” the Karst topography of my region, then suddenly I’ll come upon a desert; a strip mine. They call it a Quarry.

They’ll load me up with near 50,000 lbs of stone and I’m supposed to go back the way that I came, lumbering back to civilization. It’s funny I should use that word; lumbering. This stuff is Deep Indiana. I figure the only way I could get deeper, work wize, would be to go off road and haul Timber.

I doubt that will happen, but still there’s so much more to tell about limestone, and everything else...