Job Description

 

Ha, my girlfriend says I’d do a lot more writing if I didn’t play so many video games. I’m sure she’s right; but I do so love my games. But I promised you an update on my new job, and I’m overdue, so let’s do it.

My Google maps timeline used to have me all over the state of Indiana and the wider region, with occasional jaunts as far as Boston or New York. Now my places visited are only around Bloomington and up to Muncie and Marion, to visit family. Because, of course, I was a truck driver and now I work in a limestone mill; my little corner of the world.

There are several areas that I sometimes work but my main station is at “the splitter,” where limestone slabs of various thicknesses are split with a press into specific dimensions leaving a rough finish to the split edge. The press is housed in a “shed,” about 30’ square, walled on three sides and open in the front. In the winter a tarp can be dropped across the gap but for most of the year it remains open to the light and air. My back is to it most of the time but across the entry drive to the mill grows a stand of hardwoods, with a couple of pine trees thrown in. A bit of natural bedrock peeks out from the embankment on which they grow as well as the jumbled ends of broken and discarded cut stone covered with so much leaf and needle fall that they’ve become a part of the hill. We also store some of our finished product along this hill waiting to be put on a truck, what I used to do.

The stone comes down a conveyor from the press and I pick it up with a vacuum lift, a machine that grabs ahold of the stone by suction and allows me to lift it effortlessly. I then place the stone on a pallet along with other stones of the same dimensions. I sometimes work on as many as three or four different sizes at once, trying to maximize what we can get out of a slab. I send any waste stone down a different conveyor to empty into a steel box which is periodically emptied.

The stone feeds into the splitter via a gravity ramp that extends out the back of the building. Part of my job is to help guide the operator as he positions the raw slabs onto this ramp with a forklift. I then roll them down the ramp, sending one into the building and staging more outside for later. It’s an old ramp, some of the rollers stick and others are missing. It can be tricky coaxing the stone to its destination, particularly the thicker slabs, six inch or greater. I had a lot of trouble when I first started, but like everything; one learns. I once had a small piece that had broken off another slab fall through the opening where a roller was missing. Now I know to position such pieces at an angle to extend their length to bridge the gap.

Powered by gravity the end of the feed ramp is raised about a foot and a half off the ground. Add to this the fact that the splitter shed itself sits on top of a small hill and I have a pretty good view behind the building. To the west I can see across the “Bone Yard,” a flat desert of lime about a quarter of a mile wide, to a line of trees. In the summer my gaze stops there but now, with the trees bare, I can see the roofs of houses in the valley behind our property, and to southwest I can see the stoplight on highway 46 at Curry Pike and little toy cars and trucks moving east and west.

The Bone Yard is lined with stacks of odd stone that weren’t needed at one time but might come in handy later. I assume someone knows what’s out there. Beyond that, on the edge of the yard, are piles of waste stone and lime dust, waiting to be bulldozed over the side, extending the desert a little further. I’m told that we’re just about to the little stream that bounds the property. After that we’ll have to start piling the waste up, make a mountain of lime like the Bybee and 3D mills do.

The Bone Yard extends about three quarters of a mile to the south, but directly south of me the view is dominated by “the New Building.” It’s not new anymore but it’s still called that and in a complex where most of the structures are 80 to 100 years old it is new, having been built about 10 years ago. I sometimes work in the New Building, on the “pitch and drip” line. It’s an automated line that adds a chipped “rockface” to the front of treads and sills, and a condensation channel to sills. It uses a larger version of the vacuum lift to load the stone on one side, and another to pick the stone up again at the end to place onto a pallet. Sometimes pieces are too small to use the lift and must be fed and “caught” by hand. That’s true at the splitter too, on occasion.

The other place that I sometimes work is at the 36-inch saw. It does the same thing that the splitter does except that the surface of the stone is smooth, rather than rough. There are two “beds” on either side of the saw, mounted on rails. When one bed is finished being cut it is moved out from the saw shed and the other is moved in to begin sawing it. The saw sits under the tramway and an overhead crane loads raw slabs onto the beds and lifts the finished stone off them. That’s where I come in. As a “hooker” I help the crane operator to place the slabs on an empty bed and when one comes out I prepare the stone and then guide the operator, who sits in a doghouse up above, to lift the stone and “fly” it over to a pallet. The preparation entails removing waste, arranging the pieces into manageable groups and moving the boards that the cutting was done on so that the straps of the crane can be gotten under the edges of the stone to lift it.

One thing about working in a stone mill: you’re either working hard, or hardly working. There’s a lot of down time while you wait for processes to complete before you jump in to do your part. That’s especially true at the 36-inch saw. It can only go so fast through a piece of limestone and if it’s a big slab being cut into small pieces it can take a long time. Part of a hooker’s job is to keep the mill supplied with various items that are used regularly. We make many of our own pallets, sticks need to be cut to go under prepared pieces so that the crane straps can be gotten out, and homosote, cellulite board used to cushion the stone, needs to be cut into various sizes. There’s a table saw down by the 36 to do all of that. Still, there’s only so much of that one can do. I get a lot of reading in, which isn’t bad, but time goes quicker when the work is steady, and then I get to feeling like I’m being interrupted when it’s time to work again.

Most of the year the work is steady at the splitter. (Once I was unhappy sitting around at the 36 but when I went back up to the splitter I realized I was going to have to work again; never satisfied!) But now that it’s winter each slab needs to be warmed up before it can be run, or it doesn’t split well. I can get some more reading in.

It’s 50/50 in the New Building. If you’re on the line and there’s stone to run then it’s ok, but if you’re just an extra hand or there isn’t any stone cut it’s miserable. The foreman of the New Building takes a dim view of workers doing something for themselves on company time. He doesn’t care if what you’re doing is worthless or redundant, long as it’s not pleasurable. I should mention that doesn’t apply to him or Steve, the 64-inch saw operator, which is housed in the New Building. They spend a lot of time sitting at the picnic table joking around.

It’s understandable paying workers during down times. Like those guys on the road crew leaning on their shovels. They aren’t needed at the moment, but they will be needed shortly, and it can’t be done without them. I’m grateful that for the most part I can use that down time to my advantage. But what’s even better is that even if there’s legitimately nothing for me to do, they are willing to pay me just to be there, so that I can get my hours in. They don’t have to do that, and I appreciate it. The other day the splitter operator had to stay home with a sick child. The New Building was fully staffed and the 36 wasn’t running. I wasn’t asked to leave; I was put into the New Building as an extra hand. I asked if I could go home and was told OK. It’s too much work trying to find something to look busy at. I would have been practically in the way!

So that’s it in a nutshell. There’s a lot more, of course, both about the mill and about my part in it. I like it well enough, and I’m proud to be a part of the storied limestone industry. It’s just a line job but there are elements of craftsmanship involved; knowing the stone and how to make it behave or trimming it with a hammer and chisel when it doesn’t split right. I’m learning new things all the time.

I used to strap my loads down up by the splitter when I would pick up there at Hoadley, back when I was a driver. I remember watching the guy who had my job and thinking, “What a boring job!” There was a lot of “sour grapes” in that. Now that I’m in the job I see that there’s a lot more to it than I imagined, and when it comes down to it, I’m super glad that I’m not driving any longer. I can’t tell you how glad I am that that nightmare is over with.

Of course drivers are in demand right now and able to garner some high wages. I would have been stuck with Stone Belt in any case, as the job that I had there was the first and only driving job that I’ve ever seen that gave me a full weekend off. But even if I got another raise and there hadn’t been any personality conflicts I would still be better off where I am now. I was a little apprehensive when I got my first paycheck. It hadn’t been entirely clear what I’d be making, I just knew that it was an opportunity and I wanted to quit driving. It turned out that I was making two dollars more an hour than I had been at Stone Belt, and I’ve gotten a dollar fifty an hour raise since, plus two $1,000 bonuses. I couldn’t believe it; I got my first bonus when I’d only been there for three weeks. Thank my lucky stars! How many people get a raise when they do a career change?

The only thing that I want to add right now is to tell you about the bobcat. No, not the small utility vehicle, we have one of those. We have a real bobcat, a wild predator, that calls Hoadley home. It’s been seen several times, by several different people. I haven’t seen it there at work, but I unmistakably saw a bobcat attempt to cross the road on walnut street where it climbs the hill between Cascades Park and Griffy Lake. It turned around and dashed back into the woods when it saw me coming. That’s close enough that it could have been the same cat, but then again, we know that there are more of them in the area because our bobcat has kittens, and somebody must be the father. We’re not within city limits, but we’re not far out either. I think it’s great that something so wild could be living so close, beneath our very noses.

 

P.S. I'll add a picture of the Bone Yard soon.

Nightmare's End

 

I ain't gonna work on Kelsey's farm no more, no, I ain't gonna work for Kelsey's pa no more.

Kelsey being the daughter of the owner of the trucking company I used to work for. Over the years of my employment she has taken on a larger and larger role at the company, presumably in preparation of taking over when her dad finally retires. It was she who was the architect of the ruse that swindled me out of thousands of dollars.

Today was my last day. I ended up leaving early. I had gone over to say goodby to one of the other drivers. During the course of our conversation I learned that slips had been sent out to sign up for direct deposit, months ago. I never got any slip to sign up for direct deposit. I have been asking for direct deposit for years. Kelsey always says, "We're working on it." Literally, for years; it's that hard to get direct deposit. Now they have it and I wasn't told about it. I went into the dispatch office and asked. They said I should have goten a slip. I said, "Whether real or imagined I feel snubbed," layed down my fuel cards and walked out.

And that's not the last of it. I had six vacation days due me so last week I took five days off, to use them up before my departure. After I left Stone Belt today I took my check to the bank and found that I'd only been paid for two days. I just got off of the phone with Justin, the guy who does payroll and he assures me that I only had those two days coming. Well, isn't that a fine how do you do.

I figured that was the end of it but while I was typing that last paragraph my phone rang. It was Justin. It turnes out that there was a "clerical error" and I will be getting paid for the other three days that I took off. They're afraid of me. No, actually they're afraid of the Department of Labor, but I have no appetite for confrontation. I'll let them dig their own grave.

I have such a work ethic that I was feeling guilty at first, leaving early, but after this last little bit I hope that they really needed me this afternoon. Maybe Kelsey's pa will have to get out and pick up a couple of loads, wouldn't that be rich.

So it's over; not just working for a bad company, but my entire driving career. When I'd tell people that I was moving on I'd wanted to say, "I'm quitting while I'm ahead," but couldn't, because I wasn't done yet. Just like when I used to drive into a stressful area and I'd think, "I've always survived before." Just because I'd done crazy shit and come out unscathed in the past was no guarantee that I was going to do it again. We always survive, until we don't. So until I'd actually hung up my keys I couldn't say that I was ahead. Why, who knows, quitting early today might have actually saved my life. But now it truly is over with and none of the terrible things that could have happened did. I'm done, and I'm ahead.

The nightmare's over.

 

Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

I turned in my notice today. I gave them a week. They only deserve a week. My girlfriend thinks I'm being too generous, that they don't deserve a notice at all. She wishes that I'd wait until the busy season and then just walk out.

She's got a point. They did me wrong. But waiting until the busy season, as quickly as it will actually be here is out of the question. I've already waited enough. The final straw occured back in November. I started looking for another job back then, and was inundated with offers. Drivers are in demand. But I quickly found a position working in a stone mill, not driving at all. I jumped at the chance to get out from behind the wheel. The only problem was that the job wouldn't begin until the spring. One more winter at Stone Belt, one more winter in hell. The worst part was that my employers must have thought that I was all good with their schinanigans, that I wanted to stay. NOT.

Believe me, there are a lot of things wrong with my current job. I've recounted some of the challenges in these pages but what I've described are problems endemic to just being a flatbed truck driver; like having irregular and often long hours, working out in the elements, rain snow or heat wave, and having to deal with traffic. There are many flaws with the company itself, and not all of them trivial; things like bounced pay checks, expensive and poor insurance, inconsistent expectations, and logistical choices that make the job harder, not easier. Oh, I've got a good one, though it is trivial: The yard is across the street from the sewage treatment plant. I don't usually spend a whole lot of time there, but I know it when I do! Welcome home.

There were some good things about the job too, and I've recounted some of those here. Things like driving around Southern Indiana, meeting the people at the quarries and the mills, as well as other places, and keeping active climbing up and down on the trailer, throwing straps and chains and pulling tarps. But the main reason that I stayed with this job was the weekend. I have enjoyed having both Saturday and Sunday completely off. That's rare in a driving job.

And then I discoverd what they'd been doing for the last five years. I took them at their word but something happened that made me investigate and what I found out was that, to make a long story short, they'd been lying to me and cheating me, and everyone in management was aware and complicit. Oh, it's been hard to show up and work for those people these last few months. Afraid that I'd expose them they gave me $4,000 back pay, but that only covers two of the five years. Still, they must think I'm down with it because I really don't know any other way to do my job than well. Then there's the customers who don't deserve a disgruntled employee treating their freight lightly, and of course the safety issue, it's important that the loads I pick up for the other drivers are adequately secured. But I didn't want to start another job somewhere else just to quit in the spring, so I've stuck it out.

It's over now though, if I can just make it through Friday! Light at the end of the tunnel. I'm taking a couple of weeks off and then starting my new job. I'll be starting at the same rate of pay that I now enjoy (not really that great by industry standards for drivers, but I lose nothing), will have a regular schedule working 4 tens and a half day on Friday. Overtime every week and a good start on the weekend. Both Saturday and Sunday off still, I won't have to work out in the elements, and won't have to do crazy stupid stuff like climb around on an uneven load covered with slippery plastic while I try to pull tarps in the wind. The only downside that I can see right now is that it will be boring, a line job, repetative. There are challenges with every job, of course, that's why they call it work.

I'll let you know how it goes.

 

Groundhog Day

 

I was around Switz City on my way to Linton this morning, at about 8:30, when I saw the great Sandhill Crane migration. There were thousands of them! They were in V formations the apex of which was the side of another, that connected to another on and on, cascading across the sky. And their lines were fluid, not straight, but wavering, sometimes breaking up and forming a new V. The best part was how the sun would catch the bright underside of their wings on the upstroke creating a flash of white, setting the whole sky sparkling.

It's not like they filled the sky like they talk about what used to happen in the pre-industrial world. I could see them in the distance and watched as I approached, but I could not see the beginning nor the end of the column. They stretched from horizon to horizon. I should have looked at the odometer while I was under them to see how wide the column was. It was at least a mile, I'm sure. I rolled my window down but was disappointed that I couldn't hear their distinctive trilling over the roar of the wind and my engine.

When I got to my delivery at Bender Lumber in Linton the workers there confirmed that it was the Sandhill Cranes. "They've been around here for about a week," I was told. I don't think they're going to be around there any longer. An hour later, on my way back toward Bloomington they were still passing over, going north. This was a lesser column though, I could see the apex of this group, though I still couldn't see its tail.

It seems a little early for them to be heading north, but then what do I know. Did the groundhog see its shadow today?

 

Eminent Domain

 

As much as I was against the construction of a new terrain highway across Southwestern Indiana I have to admit that after delivering a load in Evansville at 5:00 PM, their time, it sure is nice being able to jump on a super highway and cruise back to the yard. The same was true during our recent trip to Texas. We drove straight through on the return. I shudder to think of those last 100 miles over small highways, tired and stiff. And in the morning on my way to work it's grand to have no stoplights to contend with.

It's a pleasant ride too. Well, in town there's the stress of traffic and merging vehicles (I've got some words on that), but the segment from Bloomington to US 231 is gorgeous. The hills of Southern Indiana clothed in trees and spotted with barns and houses. In one stretch of about five miles there is nothing visible except forest; not a road, not a building of any kind, not even a telephone pole or communication tower. It's beautiful, exhilarating, until you remember that this isn't a picture show, that where you are driving, that very spot was until recently forest too. The two sides were one uninterrupted wild space. Do we even know the consequences of disrupting that contiguity, with so little of our forest land left?

The break is a quarter of a mile wide, bulldozed and steamrolled; take off the hilltops and fill in the valleys. When the road was under construction, the trees removed but the grading not yet started, I couldn't see it. Where IN 45 crossed the barren place the hills to the west were too jumbled. How, I wondered, could a highway be put there? They did it, of course. All that is left of that complex geography is the butt ends of the hills leaning back at a lazy angle from the right of way; one big hump on one side, three smaller ones on the other.

Yup, they had fun with their heavy equipment. I sometimes wonder if that wasn't the point, for them. Harmony Road crosses the highway over a bridge that's a hundred feet high, if it's an inch (actual height: 92 feet). The highway climbs toward it, levels off, declines a little before passing under then begins to climb again. I'm not an engineer, have no idea what exigency may have dictated the shape of the present road, but couldn't they have kept a smooth arc, perhaps at a slightly steeper grade, and built a smaller bridge? Maybe they were just playing around with our tax dollars. One thing's for certain: I don't want to be on that overpass during an earthquake.

Nor is it a smooth ride. In this day in age you'd think they'd know how to make the road surface meet the level of the bridges. Apparently not. There was a jarring bump at each crossing, sometimes so severe that it could cause vehicle damage. Over time they've mitigated this effect either by adding pavement, shaving pavement off or both. These efforts have had varying degrees of success. There's one crossing that I still brace myself for to this day.

Oh, I could go on and on, landslides on the shoulder, collapsed coal mine underneath the road, but I fear that I'm merely bitching again. One last consequence of the highway that I want to mention though; what it has taken from me, personally. It's amazing, really, how much industry there is in the Southern Indiana hills: Quarries, stone mills, saw mills, manufacturing of wood products, the Amish and their enterprising endeavors. I spend a lot of time in some beautiful and remote areas. I'd need to get to them via small Indiana highways, winding through the hills. When I was an over the road driver I hated the small highways, they were so much slower and harder to negotiate while I got paid the same as if I'd breezed in on the freeway. Now I get paid by the hour and it's the interstates that I hate, all that jockeying for position among the big trucks and the four wheelers whipping in and out. On the small highways I get to see the countryside, intimate with the passing year. It was on one such small highway that I had my peak experience. Now, however, I just jump on I 69 for the majority of those trips.

 

Love in the Time of Covid 19

 

Howdy ho you random reader. I'm sure that I have no dedicated following anymore, after my long absences. Blogging used to be my lifeline to sanity, when I was an over the road trucker. I had designed my own webpage back then, as my ISP only offered unstructured space as a home page. It was entitled The Reluctant Trucker. I only became a driver because I needed a job, not for any romantic notion of the open road. When I came in off the road I changed my ISP but didn't like the format of the pre-structured homepage that Comcast offered, so I came over here to blogspot. I was still driving a truck, but instead of moving randomly around the Lower 48 and Canada I reported each day to the same location; my recurring nightmare.

I'm pretty much down with it now, it's not such a nightmare anymore, going into work. There are still aspects of the job that are hellish, to be sure, but overall it's not bad, even sometimes enjoyable. I've got to keep my guard up though, it is precisely when a driver gets comfortable behind the wheel that he is most at risk. We all know that the nightmare could return in less than a second.

So, I find myself with some time on my hands, what with Indiana's stay at home order. I've often contemplated checking in here, but the times I do have grown farther and farther apart, and yet the site remains; so here I am. What, working from home? Not possible, I'm a truck driver, remember? In fact transportation is considered essential and my company is still operating. With Indiana's lax restrictions most businesses other than restaurants are still open too, business as usual. After all, they are each essential unto themselves, right? There's plenty of work for me to do.

No, my isolation is voluntary. I was wondering what the stay at home order was going to mean for my job when I was handed a sheet of paper declaring that I was part of the "Essential Team" of Stone Belt Freight Lines; a development I met with mixed emotions. On the one hand I can little afford to be out of work, on the other I doubt that public health officials are trashing the world economy for nothing, shouldn't we all be doing our part? Still conflicted the day before the stay at home order was to start I was sitting in a line of trucks waiting to be loaded. I had my window down playing solitaire when a guy jumps up onto the step of my truck. He didn't actually put his head through the window, thank goodness, but was well within the six feet of social distancing. He said, "Sorry it's taking so long but we've got four loaders out sick."

Great, so what the f**k are you breathing on me for? I was pissed. I called my boss and told him what had just happened and went on record that I thought what we were doing, continuing to operate as if nothing was out of the ordinary, was wrong. He said that if I didn't want to do it I didn't have to, I could just leave, hang up my keys and let them know when I was ready to come back to work. Taken aback I told him I'd complete this load, delivering to Indianapolis in the morning, and then let him know my decision. I knew I could just quit, I didn't expect to be given a choice in the matter. Could I afford not to take work that was available? Not easily. Was it the right thing to do. Almost certainly, with the only caveat that if too few of us sacrificed would it make a difference? A lame excuse at best.

I probably would have made the same decision in the end, even without this incident. Despite the fact that I rarely get sick and haven't, knock on wood, had the flu in over twenty years the risk remains to be an unwitting carrier with no sign of the illness. And, being a driver the potential is there to not only spread the disease within a community, but to transport it between communities. If what I were doing was essential I'd be all in. I'd be the man for the job. Like I say I don't usually get sick. The work ethic at my company is that when you're sick you work through it. I've been in a room full of sick people without the protection of a flu shot and came out unscathed. On the other hand if I did contract the disease I'm pretty healthy, I'd most likely survive it. But I don't feel that what I do is really essential. I can't in good conscience take the risk to others more vulnerable and the public health system's capacity.

So here I am with a little time on my hands. There's plenty to do around the house, to be sure, but I've been wanting to check in here. I promise that before this is over I'll come back with some more updates on my life and work.

 

Preemptive Retraction

 

Oh, I get a kick out of my post titles sometimes. I wrote a post recently titled Insult to Injury. It was an appropriate title since the post dealt with the Department of Transportation's lack of concern for the motoring public, strangling traffic with closed lanes yet no work being done for weeks at a time. When I reviewed it before publishing I realized that I was merely complaining. I was reminded of the rule that I had back in the day, when I used to write all the time: I could complain, but only if the gripe was presented as somehow interesting or amusing. This was just a bitch fest.

So how is the I 69 construction shaping up? A year later and they're still not finished. INDOT swears they'll be finished soon. They said that the joke around the office is that it'll be done by August 32nd. I'm sorry, but at two years behind schedule I don't find that amusing.

 

Gorgeous Days

 

We haven't had any. Well, about three nice days in the spring. Winter held on tenaciously then gave way immediately to summer with the warmest May on record. June was like July usually is and the heat shows no sign of relenting. One can only wonder what August will be like.

The good news is that we've had rain. The trees and fields are lush and green. Despite the heat it remains the glorious height of the year.

Keep it groovy.

 

Late Spring

 

It's the middle of April and winter just won't let go. We've had a few nice days but mostly it's been cold. Usually by this time the redbuds have bloomed and the trees are beginning to bud but all of the vegetative world is united in holding onto its winter sleep.

The snow was flying today, horizontal in a brutal wind. And yet, as bad as it was there was a change, a sign of hope. On the way back north in early afternoon I saw my first redbud tree, and after that I noticed a tree that was beginning to bud, and then another and another. I would have noticed if they had been budding on the way down. The awakening has begun! The plants know.

 

 

Update

 

Here it is the last day of August. The DOT said that all lanes of I 69 through Bloomington would be open by August. At the end of July it was obvious that wasn't going to happen, but I thought I'd be generous and see if they could pull off a miracle by the end of the month. Hey, two years behind schedule already, what's one more missed deadline?

But it has been a beautiful summer. We really couldn't have asked for a better one. On at least two occasions I found myself immersed in that state of bliss that I'd experienced earlier, my peak experience. So I did carry it with me. I haven't had it lately, but then lately I've been thinking about it, looking for it. I think it just has to sneak up on you. I look forward to when it happens again, and I look forward to a beautiful Autumn.

Well, that's it. Just wanted you to know I've been thinking about you.

 

Refined Savages

 

When I posted that link to the YouTube video of somebody else fighting Darkeater Madir I started to wonder how I could make a video of my own game play. After some trial and error I have figured it out and so offer you this clip of me (us, including my cheering section Cate) battling the Twin Princes.

Unless you actually play the game, Dark Souls III, you'll never really know its depth and complexity. I hope the clip at least gives you some idea of the mythic quality, the grandeur of the environment and subtlety of play that it offers. Enjoy.

 

Rare Moments

 

Peak experience? I'm not sure if it qualifies for that; certainly not a “religious experience.” It may have been related to Zen “satori,” it was certainly all about being in the moment, but in the end was simple, nothing grand.

I was in my big truck on a small two lane highway winding through the hills of Southern Indiana. It was a beautiful day as only high spring days can be; the temperature in the low 70's, low humidity and an intensely blue sky adorned with fluffy clouds. The vegetative world was burgeoning, the trees in full leaf and the pastures thick with grass and wildflowers. I was admiring the landscape when there was a sudden shift, a heightened experience. I was no longer just looking at the landscape, I was a part of it, almost as if I could see the whole scene from above. “Wow, this is it!” I thought, “The very best time of the year!” A thought tried to intrude to say that if this is the top then it's all down hill from here, but I let that trail away ineffectually and reveled in the euphoria of the moment. I can mark no point where the experience ended. It faded in the shifting of my gears, surely, but perhaps I still carry it to this day.

I was blessed to have another such moment not too long ago. It was a mediated experience, but none the less real or intense. I was playing the video game Dark Souls III, fighting a particularly tough boss monster: the dragon Darkeater Midir. During the battle he sometimes goes berserk, charging forward savagely and spewing fire in an ark before him. This can be devastating if you're in his path but if not then it's a fairly safe moment that can be taken to heal or buff. Darkeater was raging and I was running after him with my trusty Wolf Knight Greatsword on my shoulder. In the moment's respite before the dragon turned on me again I was suddenly uplifted in another of those sublime moments. “Wow,” I thought, “I'm fighting a dragon!” Once again what was already completely known was taken to another level, and in this case what was fiction was perceived to be actual fact. I was fighting a dragon and the superb programming of FromSoftware, inc. allowed me to experience it as real.

Please note that the video is not a capture of my gameplay, but is from YouTube.

 

Which Way Do I Go?

 

Crap, it's gone again. When I used to blog regularly I'd often carry you, the reader, with me throughout the day. I'd talk to you, describing what I was doing or thinking about. Most of it was discarded, but there was often something worth relating and when I came to write I'd already have a sort of rough draft. I found myself doing that again. I'm not sure why. The only trouble is that I never sat down to write, until now, and now I can't remember what it was that I was thinking.

I do remember one thing. I was driving through the construction on 37, I mean 69. It was raining. The lanes have shifted in various ways over the course of the project and the water made the old lines show up as prominent as the current lines, which have faded somewhat. It was really bad. I had to consult my knowledge of the roadway at times, which I could since I drive that stretch every day. I don't know how people unfamiliar with the area coped and I wondered how a self driving vehicle would deal with a situation like that. Would it just shut down and ask for manual input? What would happen if one car's software interpreted the lines correctly, but another car in the adjacent lane followed the wrong path? I think transportation departments are going to have to spend a lot more on maintaining their road markings when self driving vehicles become common.

I remembered an incident that happened to me a few years ago. I've told this story before, but that was way back in my original blog The Reluctant Trucker, so it won't hurt to tell it again. I was in a construction zone on I 95 in Connecticut. It wasn't raining but it was dark and the lane markings were faded. Traffic was moderately heavy and I was in the middle lane doing about 50 with cars on either side, but none in front of me, when we came to a lane shift. Earlier the lanes had shifted in an equal, opposite direction and those markings were still visible. With no familiarity with the roadway I didn't know which way to go.

It was a crisis moment. There was no chance to stop before the shift and if I made the wrong choice only a miracle could have prevented an accident, maybe even a pile up. The way that I tell the story I heard a voice in my head that said, “Use the Force Steve.” I actually remember it that way, but it's more likely that's something I commented to myself in the exhilaration after it was all over. After all I was busy using the Force.

I Zen'd it. I let go, my body did the driving. I assume that I picked up cues from the cars that were beside me, that I could only see as lights and shine in my convex mirrors because the result was a smooth 50 mph transition to the new traffic pattern, just as if I knew the road like the back of my hand.

Will artificial intelligence be able to use the force? Perhaps better than we flawed humans.

Will artificial intelligence have a soul? Do we?

Sorry, questions for the discussion group.

 

Sodden Nightmare

 

The world is green again! Regardless that it was a mild winter Spring is most welcome. It makes driving around Southern Indiana a pleasure and the work that I do securing loads a tolerable burden. Well, mostly. Driving is still stressful, always, and while the work may be tolerable it isn't any easier. It's still work.

I remember extolling the virtues of working out of doors to some kid who'd hired on with us when I was building swimming pools. Fresh air and sunshine rather than recycled air and artificial lighting. Healthy physical labor rather than sitting in a cubicle or on an assembly line. I was in my early twenties, he was in his late teens which shows how relative being “a kid” can be.

I am sometimes still “the kid” in a group of friends, but at 59 I'm almost grown up, and I still stand by my recommendation of working out of doors. There's a big difference between what I was doing then and what I'm doing now though. Back then when inclement weather hit I got a day off; today I'm out in it. That's what can make my work sometimes “intolerable,” especially in winter. I put intolerable in quotes because of course I do tolerate it. Why, in these very pages I have numerous examples of times I've done so, and I still keep coming back for more, which brings me to the true subject of this post.

Monday of this week it rained steadily all day. With temperatures in the mid to upper 40's it was cold too. My first assignment of the day was to deliver a load to Heitink, an architectural veneer manufacturer located here in Bloomington. We deliver a lot to them and I'm not sure if it's a wood or a paperboard product, a backing for their veneers I presume, but I know that it definitely has to stay dry. “Are they going to take it today?” I had to ask. Some places who handle moister sensitive materials have provisions for unloading in the rain, like an indoor bay or a roofed pad, but not Heitink, as far as I knew. The dispatchers just shrugged. “I guess I'll take it over there and see,” I said.

”Take it over and see,” my boss echoed.

The road that Heitink is on is also home to Rose and Walker Drywall, another product that must remain dry. Another driver was folding his tarps in the road preparing to deliver some drywall, which was covered with plastic underneath the tarps. He didn't look happy, even gave me a dirty look as I eased by. “Easy dude,” I thought. “Been there, done that (having delivered drywall in the rain before), and I may well be in the same boat.”

I usually just pull into Heitink and start untarping but today I figured I'd better see if they were going to accept the load first. I walked in and looked around until I found a forklift driver who didn't avert his eyes when I looked at him. “Please don't tell me you're a flatbed driver,” he said as I approached.

His greeting made me hopeful. “I am, but I can come back tomorrow if you can't take the load in the rain.”

”Nope, sorry,” he returned. “We've got to take it, we need the material.” My heart sunk. We discussed the logistics of the operation. He wanted me in front of the loading docks so they could get the board inside as quickly as possible. If any other trucks came in they'd just have to wait. They were going to go on break in about five minuets so I was to unstrap and when they came back from break we'd unload. I'd have to peel the tarp back as we went to keep the rest of the load dry. My heart hit bottom. Those tarps are not easy to manage when they're dry, wet they're a nightmare and to peel them back a little at a time even worse. Hey, I'd done it before and survived...

When I got back outside my heart sunk just a wee bit more. I hadn't noticed before but the straps were underneath the tarps. I couldn't unstrap, I'd have to do that as I went and be left to fold the tarps and roll the straps after they were all done. I wondered if they'd send somebody back out with a forklift to put my tarps on the trailer when I was finished. The damn things are heavy enough dry, I was afraid I'd hurt myself if I tried to lift them wet.

Then came the first bit of good news of the day. I discovered that there was a sheet of plastic underneath the tarps. I was able to completely untarp before we started to unload. Of course when I pulled the front tarp off the wind took the plastic and tried to run with it. The other tarp held it in place though and I was able to scramble onto the trailer and avoid any damage. After that I was careful to secure the plastic as I eased the other tarp off. The hooks on the ends of the loosened straps were perfect for weighing it down.

I was able to get the front tarp folded before I heard the forklift bumping down the gravel path that it always comes from at Heitink. The second tarp had come off in a jumble and was going to take some work to straighten before I could fold it. My goal was to have both tarps folded before the forklift left so that I didn't have to ask it to come back. I was alternately up on the trailer peeling back the plastic and throwing straps, and down on the pavement folding my tarp. The rain kept coming down. I finished folding about the same time the lift driver finished unloading.

The lift driver put the tarps onto the trailer then drove over to me. I was expecting the paperwork but noticed that he didn't have any. “The paperwork inside?” I asked. He nodded, then said, “Today's the kind of day why I said I'd never drive a flatbed. A conestoga maybe, but never a flatbed.”

I mumbled something about how my job sometimes sucks, but as he pulled away my true thought was, “What's your point?” I couldn't read him. I'm always ready to be nice but was he just giving me respect or calling me a fool? I'm thinking the latter, or I would have felt the respect. I watched his fat giggle as he bounced back along that gravel path to the dim warehouse where he spends his days.

It's no wonder I was in a foul mood, wet as I was and disrespected to boot. So there I was dripping and shivering in the dispatch office, thinking I'm going to catch my death, when they send me out on another mission without any inquiry about how the delivery went, or anything close to a thank you. I kept hoping that it was going to be a short day because of the rain but it kept going, mission after mission until Herk and Steve were both gone and it was just Dave left when I clocked out, the guy who stays late.

”I'm sure glad this day's over,” I said. Dave laughed like it was some kind of a joke. I slunk out, still sore and thought, “These guys wouldn't last ten minutes doing what I do, on a good day.” That's when it hit me: what I had endured was just a part of my job. No, those dispatchers or that forklift driver wouldn't last ten minutes, but it was their choice not to do what I do. So they sit in an artificially lit office breathing stale air, except on the best of days when the door is propped open, and don't get any exercise. I'm out in the fresh air (never mind the diesel fumes) and get plenty of exercise. Sometimes the weather keeps it real, but I'd rather have it real. I may be overweight, but I'm not fat.

When I got home I peeled off my wet cloths, literally, and took a warm shower. I put on my pjs and started a fire in the wood stove. I'm telling you, you can't get comfort like that without first having endured.

 

Far From Home

 

Quick, write something, anything! My resolve to write isn't just slipping away, it's gone.

The Amish are industrious folk, in my experience. We do quite a bit for the Amish down in Davies County, as I've mentioned before. There's this one guy lives outside of Odon, Etham Wagler. I don't how many pies he's got his fingers in but I know that he farms, raises pigs and makes things out of scrap fiberglass; fencing, livestock feeders and I don't know what-all. It's really nice stuff too. You see the final product and you'd never guess it was pieced together from scrap.

The scrap is where I come in. We haul it from some company out in Pennsylvania, maybe 6 to 10 time a year. He goes through it! His spread isn't the kind of place you'd want to take a sleeper cab so the over the road drivers drop it on our yard and I, or another of our day drivers delivers. I remember being down at his place once with a trainee. I said, “This is the kind of stuff that you don't get to do with a big company.”

So I was down in Odon the other day, delivering some lumber to Stoll's Building Materials, another good Amish name. I used to go through town to get to Stoll's but Etham once had me weigh his load at the grain bin, which is right across the street from Stoll's. I realized it's a lot easier to get in that way, from the back.

I turned onto the road that passes the Wagler estate, by the old one room school house, and slowed up, not that I was going fast in the first place. There were a couple of pick ups with trailers ahead of me with their flashers on, taking up most of the narrow roadway. One had a backhoe on the back, the other some drainage pipe. As I eased around them I thought, “Huh, this is Etham's place.” Then sure enough I saw them in the field. I saw his dad first, the elder Mr. Wagler, he waved at me, and I waved back, then I saw Etham. He spread his arms as if to say WTF, so I did the same and he smiled.

I know it's just a small thing, but it makes me feel as though I belong somehow.

 

CRASH

 

It's getting so that I'm almost afraid to drive anymore. I was in a major accident recently. It had the road shut down for hours. I was making my way through the construction to upgrade IN 37 to I 69 during morning rush hour. Some poor sod going home from his third shift job failed to negotiate a lane shift, at moderate speed. I don't know if he fell asleep or was texting but when everyone else veered to the right, he went straight. I happened to be in the way.

I saw it coming. It wasn't slow motion but I think I can see why people say these things happen in slow motion. There were a tremendous number of thoughts that went through my mind in a very short period of time. I thought, “That's not right, I hope that guy knows something I don't know, or am I doing something wrong?” even as I'm looking for some kind of evasive response. There was nothing that I could do, and even if there had been there was no time to do it in. Still, there was an extra instant, where I still hoped I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing, that it would all be alright.

CRASH, “Nope, he hit me!” The world was then all screaming metal and burning rubber. I tried to take the shoulder but was drawn inexorably into the oncoming lane. Looking at the picture I think you can see why my truck was out of my control. Fortunately there was a break in traffic just there and no one else was involved. The driver of the lead car in the next pack told me that he didn't see the accident, but saw a big truck sliding sideways across the pavement and “knew that wasn't good.”

 

 

I nosed a traffic barrel gently aside and came to a stop, thank goodness. My knee hurt a little bit but other than that I was fine so after a deep breath I started looking for my phone. Everything in the cab had been thrown around and it took a minuet to find it. I called 911 first but they already knew about it. Next I called work to tell them that the best day cab in the fleet had just been totaled. Then I called my girlfriend, because I just really needed to hear a friendly voice.

I was talking with Cate when I heard someone yelling at me, “Hey, Driver, are you OK? Get out of that truck!” There was a short pause then more forcefully, “Get out of that truck!” I opened the door and saw that there was a quarter sized hole in the fuel tank, just below me. Diesel was pouring onto the road. Diesel is a lot less flammable than gasoline, but it can still ignite. In fact the firemen said that with all the sparks that had to have been flying as the frame of my tractor slid across the pavement they were surprised it didn't. I might have been burned to a crisp!

I'm not sure if the fire department got there first or the sheriff. The EMTs got there a little later and the State Police were the last to arrive. Nobody asked me any questions or anything other than was I OK until the State Cop arrived, he was in charge of the accident scene. The others were busy though. A couple of fire fighters threw absorbent material under my tractor to capture the diesel and there was a crowd around the car that had hit me.

I was afraid to go over there. I was sure the guy was dead, looking at his vehicle. I asked someone and they said no, he was still alive. They were trying to get him out of his smashed tin can. They ended up having to cut the roof of the car off. I breathed a sigh of relief at that news. I mean, he hit me after all, but still... I never heard the final outcome but a month after the accident I was told he was still in the hospital.

 

 

There were plenty of witnesses to say that it wasn't my fault, that there was nothing that I could do. The accident is officially unpreventable; my record is clean. After I got back from the clinic where I took my drug test I was afraid work was going to put me into another truck and have me keep on driving. They didn't. In fact they told me to take as much time off as I needed. I came back the next day. I figured I'd better just get right back on that horse that threw me.

This happened back in late September. Originally that phase of I 69 was to be finished by October. If they'd have been anywhere close to schedule then the traffic pattern that caused my wreck wouldn't have been in existence. There have been a lot of wrecks through there. For awhile it seemed that the road was backed up due to an accident once a week or so.

The new estimate on completion of the project is May...of 2018. There's more than a year left that we have to deal with this crap, and it is crap, let me tell you. Sure, the roads under construction, but do there have to be bumps capable of damaging a car's suspension? How's that for INDOT's commitment to public service and a timely completion to the project?

 

Post Mortem

 

I got a notice in the mail the other day informing me that Citizens for Appropriate Rural Roads, CARR, has officially ended their efforts to at first stop, and then hold accountable the Indiana Department of Transportation's I 69 expansion. The new terrain section has already been completed, the damage done, and now they've exhausted their options to have a court consider their grievance of INDOT's negligence and abuse. I never had much hope that it would go anywhere, but still, reading the notice sounded a tiny death knell in my heart.

It was sometime back in the late 80's or early 90's, while I was a clerk at Pygmalion's Art Supply, that my coworker Sandra came into work with the news that she and her husband Thomas had found surveyors on their land southwest of Bloomington. They approached the surveyors and learned, well before most people, that INDOT was considering an I 69 expansion, and that one of the possible routes would cross their land. The Tokarskis (Sandra and Thomas) then formed CARR to try and stop that from happening.

I donated money, I went to rallies, protests and city council meetings. I didn't do as much as I could have, maybe should have but to be honest I was never hopeful that we could stop them. It was obvious that the big boys in Indy wanted to play with their earth moving machines and build a highway, sound economics and the will of the people be damned.

Why, the first study ever done to asses the economic feasibility of the highway, the "Donohue Study," found that they couldn't recommend building it at all. Did that stop INDOT? Heavens no, they just had more studies done, some of which also came back negative, until they got the result they wanted. Remember, I had a front row seat working with Sandra. INDOT wasted a lot of my tax dollars getting "objective scientific backing" for their project (the quotes are for irony, I don't know that anyone in particular said that).

I then had the pleasure of attending one of INDOT's public information meetings where I saw them stand up and say (to paraphrase), "Building this highway is a great idea. We've done blank number of studies, so we know what we're talking about." Oh, was I pissed! I wanted to go add my name to the list of people who wanted to speak but it was long and I knew I'd never make it up there. I'd have cooled down by then anyway and wouldn't have been half so eloquent!

The point was raised anyway, by more than one speaker. The trouble was that CARR was never allowed to present a coherent counter argument at these "information meetings." Instead each speaker was given five minuets. There was huge traffic light on the stage. The light turned green when the speaker began, turned yellow when their time was almost up, and when it turned red they were escorted off of the stage. Anyone who came actually seeking information would find it hard to integrate the dissenting opinion. Or maybe the entire audience was there in dissent. Certainly none of the speakers from the general public that I saw were in favor of the highway.

Poor Tokarskis. The route that was ultimately chosen cut through their land. Not only that, but during the new terrain section of the construction the crews worked 24 hours a day, with big earth moving machinery and dump trucks full of stone. CARR complained and Monroe County made INDOT stop construction at night so that people could sleep, but a judge overturned the order saying that the greater public was served by timely completion of the project, or some such.

Keep that in mind if you would, INDOT's concern for the public and its timeliness. I've got a lot more to say about I 69. I've wanted to talk about if for some time now, but didn't know quite how to begin. I'd finally decided that introducing it a little at a time would be a good strategy and am in fact about half way through the composition of another post that touches on it. Then I got that notice in the mail, felt the death knell in my heart and wanted to share.

 

City Turkey

 

I was down in Amish country the other day. As I approached an intersection two vehicles crossed in front of me, going opposite directions. One was a horse and buggy, the other a little smart car. “How cool,” I thought, “the past meets the future.”

 

*                        *                         *

 

About a year ago I told you about a road trip that my girlfriend and I took to Connecticut, to visit friends for thanksgiving; an over the road trip, in the big truck. Well, we did it again this year. The load that got us out there delivered Tuesday morning in Brooklyn, NY. I've told you before about what a nightmare driving a big rig in NY can be but this trip was supposed to be different. I was delivering limestone treads to a masonry supply store, a business, not a job site, and we had directions in the system, we'd been there before. Looking at the map it looked easy: turn along the shoreline just off the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, follow around the water for a little then turn inland; boom, we're there.

The reality wasn't quite so simple, as you've probably guessed. Cate had the direction all written out, ready to guide me, but the first turn we were supposed to make over the bridge had a sign that read,

 

LOW CLEARANCE PASSENGER CARS ONLY.

 

WTF, these were the directions that my company had given us; a trucking company. They'd said we'd been there before. Had the previous drivers not alerted dispatch that the directions were wrong, or did dispatch just drop that particular ball?

Actually it was doubly my fault. My first mistake was in trusting the directions in the system, always a big no, no. I should have called the customer like I usually do. My second mistake was not noticing on the map that the road we were to turn onto was a parkway. Duh, trucks use expressways, only passenger cars can use parkways. I guess I just wanted to believe it would be easy, and I was so looking forward to that drive along the shoreline.

Not to fear though, I had my GPS turned on with the coordinates of our destination entered. It was a truck route database and I had noticed that it wasn't asking us to turn where our directions had said to. So from there on we would simply follow technology. Cate chucked the paper she was holding and sat back to enjoy the ride.

We were being told where to go but New York is never easy for a truck. At one point I had to go up onto the sidewalk to make a turn, but that's not unusual. Determined not to fail once again in my diligence I double parked on a four lane street to look at the map. I'm so glad that I did because Gipus (GPS) left out a turn entirely. It was a soft right but with an elevated railway before us we couldn't go straight and there were several other options. Gipus let us down again when she told us to turn left to our destination, but we'd been following the elevated railway and there was a solid medium to the left. I had to go down a few blocks and do a U turn under the tracks, but we made it to where we were supposed to be.

Fortunately we were on another four lane road (divided by the railway) so I double parked again with my flashers on and went to see how we were going to unload. There was a fenced yard with equipment and materials that looked promising, but it was locked up and I couldn't find a soul about. I went back to the truck and called the company. I told them I was there with a delivery. The guy on the other end of the line wanted to know where I was. I gave him the address.

”Ah, that's our old location, we haven't been there in a year and a half.”

”Oh, OK, can you please tell me how to get from here to where you are now, in a big truck?”

Silence; a hem and a haw.

”OK, just give me the address and I'll put it in my GPS.” Done, and we were off again.

We retraced our steps at first, then headed into unknown territory. I'm not sure what happened. We were looking for 56th street and were only at 2nd but suddenly Gipus sang the little tune that means we're at the turn, as we were going through the intersection. Then she sang her “uh oh” tune and started thinking about a new route. That happened over and over again as she kept wanting me to turn down streets I couldn't possibly fit down, despite the fact that she was supposedly operating off of a truck friendly data base. At one point she started asking us to make left turns instead of right, which was easier, but then we came to another impossible right at a T and I had to turn left. The way ahead looked doubtful and I was afraid we were going to get into something we'd have to back out of, (can you imagine that?) but it lead to another four lane road and I double parked again to check the map.

Hallelujah, we were close! There was just one more right hand turn and then it was a left onto 56th street and our destination. I negotiated the right OK but then there was a hold up. They were doing construction just before our intersection. I could make the turn, I knew, but the traffic flagger didn't want me to. I'm pointing to the left and he's shaking his head. I lower my window and roll forward to talk to him.

He say's “Go around the block.”

I say, “I've been going around the fucking block all day,” and make the turn, causing him to have to step back out of the way of my slow tracking trailer wheels. I don't remember using the “f” word but Cate assures me that I did. It was a tight squeeze, what with the stupid dump truck parked right there, but I made it and then we were there, our destination, Sandman Building Materials.

We'd arrived, but there was nowhere for us to be. It was a narrow one way street. I wasn't just double parked, I was blocking the entire roadway. There was a worker stacking bags of material on a pallet so I rolled down my window and shouted, “Hey Mister Sandman!” There was no response so I got out of the truck and spoke to him again, then clapped my hands loudly. I get that he probably didn't speak English, but this guy was willfully ignoring me, or maybe he was sleepwalking(?). I gave up on him and started toward the office. A guy on a forklift zipped out of an alleyway, lifted a finger as if to say, “Uno momente,” then barked orders in Spanish. A couple of vehicles were moved, opening up a space for me along the curb.

They started unloading me quickly, with two forklifts, before I was finished unstrapping. I was apprehensive again because this was supposed to be a COD and it was already too late to say “You can't have the product until I have the check.” My fears proved unfounded though as the proprietor had the check all ready. Only when I called in to see what dispatch had planned for us they asked about the check. They asked if it was a certified or cashier's check. “No, it's just a plain old company check.” Dispatch wanted me to go back in and haggle with the people over the kind of check they gave me. I refused. I just don't think that's my place. I was willing to wait there as the afternoon lengthened if they wanted, but I sure wasn't going to go twisting any arms.

Fortunately they let it slide. The afternoon was getting on and even though we'd strategically gotten an early start we found ourselves on the Cross Bronx Expressway at 5 PM, then we ran into the same traffic that we did last year at the Connecticut line. We ultimately weren't able to make it all the way to Tom and Sue's that night but found a spot in a truck stop. That is to say I struggled into a spot that all the other drivers on the CB radio looking for parking places had avoided. Then, to top it off we locked ourselves out of the truck. It's not like I was tired and forgetful or anything, right? Fortunately a very nice hoodlum working in the truck stop jimmied the lock for us, then told us where we could find a bar to have dinner and a few beers in.

I love it when a plan works out!

 

Prodigal Return

 

November woods

      Summer's secrets revealed

 

*                        *                         *

 

I've set a new record for silence. Lamely I said, “But I've nothing to share.”

“You've got a lot to share,” she said, then ticked off a list of things. “Brooklyn, Thanksgiving, the accident, our trip to Italy.”

She's right, of course. I have no reason not to have written in all this time. I've plenty that I could say. I've even been thinking of telling you about the new interstate 69 extension from Evansville to Indianapolis, but have never gotten a handle on just how to start. That's a big subject. Perhaps, if I should continue to write now that I've started, I'll get to that. It's important. It has altered the tenor of my nightmare, some for the better, some for the worse.

But what inspired me to write today has nothing to do with the long list of possible subjects that Cate enumerated. It harkens all the way back to my first trip to Europe, about two years ago. But let me start at the beginning:

Last winter was exceptionally mild. The forecasts for this winter have been all over the place, from another mild season to a brutal one. Our autumn has been mild, for sure, but given recent events I'd lay odds the later prognostication is more likely; “brutal.” It's not yet officially winter and already we've had freezing rain, snow and bitter cold temperatures. Our high today was only 18°.

I've been wearing long underwear, but for today's cold temperatures I dug out my good hiking base layer. It reminded me of where I got it and how lucky I can be.

I was with my daughter touring Wales in a rental car. We'd started out that morning from her home in Leeds, visited two castles and then got to our bed and breakfast as the light was failing. Our plan for the following morning was to take a hike in Snowdonia National Park, a route chosen for it's “many spectacular views of Mt. Snowdon.” True to it's name Snowdonia was covered in snow.

I was apprehensive because I'd left my long johns in Leeds. We were ditching the car outside of London, staying there a few nights, then taking the Eurostar to Paris for four nights, so I was living out of a day pack and had sought to lighten my load. I knew I'd be alright, it's not like we were heading into the back country, but also knew I'd be more comfortable with a thermal under layer. I was resolved to buy one if we saw a department store, which we hadn't in all of Wales, and didn't expect to find one in the quaint little town we were in then. Besides which, in the UK everything closes up at night, unlike here in the States, so even if there had been one...

So what are the odds? Walking into town to find a pub, under the streetlamps, we came across a mountain outfitter's not only open, but with a store wide sale happening. I got an awesome base layer and though I spent more than I would for your run of the mill thermals the sale practically negated the difference between the dollar and the pound. And they are unquestionably better than your run of the mill thermals.

I think I worked up a sweat on the hike. Unfortunately the world was enveloped in fog that morning and we couldn't even see Mt. Snowdon, but still had a great time. I think you can see why digging them out from the bottom drawer this morning brought a smile to my face, why I wanted to share.

 

It occurs to me now that I might have already told you this story. I'm not going to go back and look, nor am I going to worry about it. Why waste all this writing when it's so hard for me to get to doing it anymore? In the past when I've had a long hiatus I've always come back saying, “I'm going to do it, I'm going to write regularly,” then never do. So today there are no promises, only possibilities.

 

Wolf Whistle

 

I saw them looking from across the truck stop, time after time. My first thought was a defensive, “What are you looking at, Buster?” Then I realized that they weren't looking at me at all, they were looking at the beautiful woman I had by my side. A woman in the truck stop is a rare thing and the drivers are lonely. I'd looked at other couples in just the same way before, envious of the lucky driver to have such a companion. This time I got to be that lucky man.

Of course some of the women one sees in truck stops are prostitutes, “lot lizards.” They're never as attractive or smartly dressed as Cate though, no one would mistake her for a whore.

We took another road trip out east, this time to Connecticut, for Thanksgiving. Shoshana had flown back from England to have Thanksgiving with Amir's family so we stopped in Cleveland on the way to see them. We had a full holiday meal with his mother. The timing was perfect since the kids were going to leave Thursday morning to drive to Buffalo to be with Amir's father. I was afraid we'd pack up after dinner and they would take us back to where we'd parked the truck, at a customer of Stonebelt's on the outskirts of Cleveland, but we played Cards Against Humanity till around midnight and we were all beginning to yawn. It was still too short of a visit but damned nice to see my daughter and her man.

I was restless that night, uncomfortable in the confines of the sleeper and I had to pee an inordinate amount, having to climb over Cate, slip my cloths and shoes on and stand behind the dumpster in the frosty stone yard time and again. Sometime before dawn I'd had enough and started my work day on the electronic log. It was a long trek all the way across Pennsylvania, through New Jersey and a bit of New York, past New Haven to Madison. Plus it was going to be one of the busiest travel days of the year, through some of the worst traffic in the nation. An early start was good.

It promised to be a full day but there was plenty of time. I'd calculated the trip and figured there would be a couple of hours to spare on my 11 hour driving time. On top of that we made good time. The load that we were carrying was light so there was no trouble climbing the mountains and could use the upgrades to pass heavier trucks that might have been governed just slightly slower than my truck, making the trip easier.

We ran into traffic in Jersey, of course, but that was to be expected. We were tempted to cross the George Washington Bridge in order to admire the Manhattan skyline but quickly chucked that option for the Tappan Zee Bridge. Traffic would be bad enough on 287 the afternoon before Thanksgiving as it was. Almost to 95 there was an overturned truck on the westbound side, traffic backed up and at a standstill. We were thankful that we weren't going that way.

All in all we were making great time, until we crossed the CT line. Almost immediately traffic slowed to a crawl and the overhead sign read, “Expect delays next 29 miles.” We crawled along. I thought, “Hmm, at 5 mph it will take us an hour to go 5 miles.” Of course it wasn't that slow all the way, traffic opened up occasionally. I wonder if I ever even got to ninth gear though, I'm sure I never got all the way to tenth. There was one time one of the signs said, "Bridgeport (or somewhere) 6 miles, 45 minuets."

I was seriously beginning to wonder if we were going to make it all the way to Madison legally. I was questioning whether I'd go on if my hours ran out. I was in good shape, despite my lack of sleep, but still, if anything were to happen due to some idiot, and there were plenty of those in evidence on the road that afternoon, it would automatically be my fault since I wasn't supposed to have been in that place at that time. And the logs were electronic, there was no possibility of fudging them like in the old days. Fortunately there were a couple of truck stops on the way. If we stopped we'd either have to finish the trip in the morning or have the Schneiters come get us. As it turned out I pulled into the service plaza that sits directly behind their house, where we were going to park for the weekend, with 11 minutes to spare.