Apology

 

I heard the first mourning doves the other day. Their seductive cooing evoked summertime; an experience belied by my senses. I looked around, startled because the trees were still bare, the grass dry and brittle. There might have yet been piles of snow in the shadows.

My crocuses came up, but declined to open because it got cold again. They might be open now though, the sun is shining. I haven't been outside yet this fine morning. I can hear the birds singing; not in mourning, in what sounds to me like jubilation; though I know is just their way.

Do I need to apologize for my use of language? I don't know, I certainly don't mean any harm. In one sense it very definitely expresses my deep frustration at the state of society (again I hear Patti Smith, ”Outside of society...” OK, I'll get over it). That entire post was one of those drunken rambles that I was telling you about, that I later decided had enough merit to let stand. I dunno?

I'll say this because I'm proud of it: I was called a n---- once, by a black man in Memphis, TN. I took it as a compliment.

I'll not retract the word, but I won't use it again. I do apologize though; for the entire shameful history that necessitates my apology.

 

Flood Warning

 

The geese are back. They disappeared so surreptitiously that I never realized they were gone; they who once dominated the yard. I'd seen a few V formations out on the routes but didn't give it another thought. Then, while doing a post trip inspection I rounded the back of the trailer and there were two couples; four geese on the surface of the pond. They were obviously already aware of me, though I was taken by surprise.

The next morning I was pleased to see that something else I hadn't remembered to miss was back: the gentle reflection of the warehouse lights off of liquid water thrown onto the sides of the trailers in the predawn darkness. It's been a “Canadian style” winter. I wondered early on how the fish could survive in a block of ice then forgot about it when winter became commonplace. I hope the fish survived; the pond's not very deep.

Damn the Goose shit!

With four inches of rain and a Winter's worth of snow melt the rivers in Indiana are high. More rain is not only predicted, it's falling. They're building a new bridge over the White River in Martinsville, along my commute. They built a cofferdam to pour a foundation or something. It was fun to watch the water rise against the dam day after day until one day it was simply gone; only a ripple, then not even that. They moved all of their heavy equipment away from the bank. I think they're going to have to move it further up; the water was already lapping at its treads yesterday.

I'd heard about real flooding but it was just an abstraction; until US 224 was closed in front of me due to high water. The first time that I saw the ROAD CLOSED AHEAD sign I had no choice but to make the turn, I was simply following the highway. I got into the left turn lane before the next Road Closed sign and while waiting for an opening noticed that everybody else was going straight ahead, regardless. “There's the bridge right there,” I thought, “the water's not too high. Maybe they just haven't taken down the signs yet, or maybe there's a way around it; at least I'll already be on the other side of the river.” So I put my right turn signal on and fell into line behind everybody else.

Two blocks up the street was barricaded. Beyond the orange and white boards the road disappeared into brown water. “Now that's high water!” I exclaimed, following the other cars up a street to the right. I was still hoping that I could get around the flooding. The first thing I saw, however was a sign that read “Weight Limit 8 tons.”

“Oops, I think I'm a little too heavy!”

Fortunately there was a business on the corner with a parking lot that I could turn into. It wasn't large enough for me to turn around in but it wrapped around the building to the closed road on the far side of the barricade. As I was backing up to go back through the lot the other way a guy came running out of the building and pulled back the barricade, opening the road for me. Whew, a potentially horrible situation was made easy. I had to go miles and miles out of my way but for no reason at all I'd started early that day and I was still on time for my appointment. Sometimes I get lucky.

 

the "N" word

 

Listening to Patti Smith; things don't seem so easy as they did in the Seventies. Still, it's the Truth, only more so. Rock and Roll Nigger! Graffiti Lascaux!

I always wondered about Prometheus's liver. You know, the eagles that feasted on it daily. Humans have this enormous liver, we can deal with toxins, like alcohol. Woodsmoke? And Prometheus stole fire from the gods for us? How did the myth makers know such things, or is it merely coincidence?

Pissing in a River.

People have the Power? I first heard this before Tienanmen Square, where the Peoples' Army opened fire. Yah, you were dreaming. Now we have Egypt, and Libya. Goddess bless them. Is it too little too late?

The night belongs to Love.

 

Another Day, Another Dime

 

A February thaw. It feels like an early spring. I spoke to the birds when I let the cat out. They had nothing to say to me. A couple thrushes did cock their heads to listen to my pathetic whistle. The dawn multitude had much to say to each other though. I'm so glad that I live up here on this ridge top with the forest at my door.

I wrote that last weekend. I apologize for my reticence. Some of you may have seen some drunken scribbles here as I search for an identity other than as a driver that I quickly (oops, one was up for a week) deleted. More on that later, perhaps, but guess what! I'm a driver! Here's my latest misadventure:

The name of this blog is apt. I was sent over the road last week. It was a nightmare. I'm so glad that I only have to fight for a space to park my truck, so that I can sleep, occasionally. And the food...

Joplin Missouri was my terminus. On the way I saw the Arch, my favorite piece of Public Work. An early co-driver of mine once asked, “What's it good for?”

“Would you live in a world without Art?” I asked in reply.

I have spoken before about the many faces of the Arch I have seen: without apparent foundation, or stainless steel edged; but that's all lost in the archive. Unfortunately traffic was tricky both as I crossed the Mississippi, and later when I passed beneath the Arch itself, going back northwest after my first delivery. I didn't have the chance to appreciate it. I stole a few glances, and its reflection in the glass of the downtown skyscrapers surprised me once.

Coming home on I 255, however, I watched the Arch with the City behind it in minute parallax as I traversed the abandoned canal and viable train yards. It's undeniable; it's there; the Gateway.

Is this job really so bad, is it really a nightmare?

I thought my luck was changing when I got a back haul that picked up in Webb City, just north of Joplin, instead of 90 miles further west in Coffeeville Kansas, like the last time I did this run. I pulled into the Flying J on my way to the pick up so that I could clean out the trailer and met gridlock. I never got past the entry and ended up doing a U turn in the drive 20 minutes later.

I was lucky. If I'd gotten into the lot how long would it have taken me to get back out again? And it didn't matter that my trailer was dirty in the end.

Once backed into the dock I had to laugh, I mean really. After getting my empty weight the scale operator told me that the docks were on the opposite corner of the building. He turned to confer with someone then said, “The easy way to do it is to go up 'the trail' along that side of the building, but it's blocked right now. You'll have to go that way and take a left, turn right and straighten out, then back in.” Fair enough.

I headed up “that way” and looked down the first lane to the left. It looked like it might have been possible to get my rig through there except the piles of scrap metal were overflowing into the road so I went further up. I stopped. There was no right to make after the next turn to get straightened out; end of the line. So there I was traipsing through the mud, in the rain, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to the docks. A garbage truck driver stopped and gave me some moral support and I laughed it off but thought, “Dude, you drive a straight truck.”

I ended up doing an S back. The sight side part was easy, wide open, but it narrowed to a bottleneck in the blind side. Fortunately the tire tracks in the mud were easy to follow even in my little convex mirrors. I lined up next to another trailer parked there, then got out to give the dock workers my load information. There was nobody around. I looked to check how I was situated to the dock and...what the hell? That one trailer was parked against the only part of the bay that was parallel to the building, the rest of the docks were set at an angle. It was an angle that was impossible to back straight into because of the piles of scrap aluminum. All I can say is that I'm glad I'm a veteran driver or I might have had trouble there.

It was a heavy load and was immediately apparent that I had a tire low on air. “Great, how long is this going to delay me?” I thought, “I just want to go home.” I got out my air hose that hooks to the inboard compressor via the trailer emergency brake line to air up the flat temporarily, so that I could get out of there. My mistake then was in checking the pressure of the other tires. All eight of those trailer tires were low! I admit; like 99% of my compatriots I merely thump the tires and only get out the gauge when I detect trouble. Usually the loads I deal with aren't heavy enough to worry about it but this one was. So I spent an hour there kneeling in the mud, airing up my tires. Sometimes the angels do smile on us though. I don't know why those tires were all so low, but the pressure held and I never had to go into the shop. One more night on the road and I was headed for home!

I was feeling pretty good Friday, on my way back. The load I was hauling didn't deliver until Monday but I was supposed to try and deliver that day. Then my fleet manager sent me a message that said never mind. He must have called ahead to arrange it and been told no go. All I had to do was drop the trailer on the yard on the north side of Indy. I still had to shuttle the Chicago load to the other side of the building in Plainfield but that was supposed to be ready for me by the time I'd get there. The weekend was just ahead. As I rolled into Indiana listening to WISU a fresh snow delineated the branches of the hardwoods. Things were looking OK. I'd forgotten all of my trials and tribulations. Life wasn't so bad.

Then there was an injury accident that had southbound 465 shut down. I jumped off at Crawfordsville Road and took Lyndhurst south. Lyndhurst is a big wide road both up north and further down. I didn't know, however, that it turns into a two lane residential street in between, with lots of school bus stops! I finally made it to Washington street, my destination but then had to ask, “Am I dyslexic, or what?” The accident was at Sam Jones. I was thinking Washington St. was below Sam Jones, but it's not, it's above it. Oops. With everyone else trying to get around the accident too Washington St. was a mess so I jumped on 465 going back north to Rockville road and followed that all the way out to 267, stop light after stop light.

I don't know if I could have done better but it ended up taking me an extra hour in traffic. I was lucky though, because when I got there the Chicago load still wasn't ready yet. That's an hour I would have had to spend reading or something.

I made it home though, I survived. It could have been a lot worse. So is this job a nightmare, is it hell? Naw, it's all in a day's work.

 

Moon Shadow

 

Moon shadows, long and dark across the snow; the branches of the forest all intertwined. Enough light not to stub my toe before ever I flipped a switch. I flipped it off again. The snow crunches underfoot. The Morning Star watches me as I make my way to work. It's cold, but the White River is still liquid; a negative image.

A young friend wants me to post some drawings here. It's not much, but this is something I've been playing with lately:

 

 

 

 

 

Hammer Down

 

Heading east on I 70 the other morning I got behind a slow poke. I waited with my turn signal flashing till there was a break in the traffic, then jumped into the hammer lane, downshifted, floored the accelerator, and went nowhere. I gained speed slowly and passed the obstruction but by that time I had a whole line of impatient, pissed off vehicles behind me. They let me know it too, as they came around me with their engines roaring and cut in way too close for their safety, forcing me to back off on the gas as I was still trying to gain speed. Get used to it people, trucks are going to piss you off more than they ever have before. It wasn't my old truck pushing 400,000 miles breaking down, you see; I was in a brand new 2011 EPA certified “smart truck” with great fuel economy, minimal emissions and no power. In classic double speak the engine is called a “Torque-max,” as in, “there's no torque, it's maxed out.”

Leave it to me to complain about getting a new truck, right? I'm not really, I'm just telling you about it in as colorful a way as I can, and the above incident is how I learned about the capabilities of my new ride. I needed a new truck. I've recently had several nightmare scenarios not due explicitly to the mechanical failure of that old truck, but certainly exacerbated thereby. Whew, I got rid of that old thing in the nick of time! And I'm all for the fuel economy and reduced emissions, believe me. I don't even want to drive a truck in the first place, but I need a job. The new truck is way welcome and besides my comfort level increasing I have much better visibility now, and the turning radius is shorter. I've survived some of our tighter customers in that old behemoth; I be cruising in style now. I thought about hanging some fuzzy dice off of the Prepass (a transponder that sits where a rear view would be if a truck had one).

 

Happy New Year!

 

It worked! The sun went away so you all plugged in a lot of lights to shine in the early darkness and have called the sun back. It really worked, the days are getting longer already. I'll be damned.

I really just wanted to be sure and post something on 1/1/11. My Finnish friends have a web hotel to keep in touch. Each post shows the time here, and the time there. I posted a New Years greeting at 00:00 EST. I know, I had a whole minute to do it, but as I wasn't watching the ball drop, or have anything more obtrusive than the kitchen clock to tell me what time it was I think I did pretty good. I forgot all about it, in fact and had to scramble at the last second, drunk as I was. So anyway...which year was it that I sent that greeting?

Danielle said that she was talking to her mom this afternoon and looked at the clock. It was 1:11.

Spooky.

2011? Cool. I'm going to party like it's 2012.