The First 'Ho I've Picked Up

It is time to fess up. I've been a truck driver for over two years now and I have never engaged the services of any of the "commercial entertainment" available at some places we park.

This isn't to say I haven't been propositioned on occasion, either in person or over the CB.

Today I ran down to Phoenix, Arizona and dropped my loaded trailer at the PetSmart DC as planned. When I finished with the paperwork and satellite unit dance, it beeped again with the specifics for my next load, the preplan for Colorado.

I'm glad I scrolled down for the notes at the very bottom of the dispatch message or I would have missed it: we're using someone else's trailer for this load. The company in question is called Digby.

Now, Digby owns or is part of another company called Navajo (NAV-A-HO) so when I say I've picked up a 'Ho that is what I meant. What were you thinking?

Oddly enough, my truck is just about the perfect truck to do such dirty work. It is plain white with the smallest-available company decals on the side so if you were to glance at my rig it would look like a Digby/Navajo setup. Hopefully I can stealth into Colorado past the eagle-eyed DOT officers.

Two other happenings to report: a rock has left a second small crack in my windshield, this one towards the drivers side. More of a chip, really, but something I could get hassled over.

Second, my dang locking fuel caps froze shut a few days ago! I went in to fuel at the Flying J in Peculiar, Missouri only to find that on one the key wouldn't even go in and on the other side it would go in but not turn (which I leaned after I bent the crap out of said key). It is close to zero degrees and I need a nearby source of warm liquid to unfreeze the caps so I can fuel and continue down the road... Before you get any more incorrect notions in your head, I went inside the cab of my truck and used my microwave to nuke some bottled water then used that to unfreeze both sides.

A New Coat of Dirt

It took all of one day, but most of my truck is again coated with dirt, sand, salt and whatever other crap they are putting down on the roads nowadays. This was all up in Nebraska and Kansas, as my drive today was on nice clear roads with temps mostly above freezing.

I departed Dodge City, Kansas just before daybreak and ended the day in Gallup, New Mexico with one stop for a power nap and one fueling stop. I was a bit hungry and the fridge is mostly empty, so I went in for an Arby's Crispy Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich and some Potato Bites. Somehow the order got screwed up twice.

There were all these electronic billboards here in New Mexico touting a "Blizzard" of DUI/DWI enforcement, officers around every bush, etc. They must be avoiding my part of the state since I only saw two or three in more than 300 miles. Most of these holiday heavy enforcement notices are baloney, anyways, in my book.

I actually got a Shiny New Preplan for a change! I expected that this load I'm dropping at the PetSmart DC in Phoenix would be backed up with a store load out, and I was right. Up to Colorado Springs, Colorado for Monday morning with two stores in the same city (a first, for me). Since I am planned to be home by Wednesday, there will probably be a load out to Omaha, then one from Council Bluffs down to Carthage as there have been so many other times.

Cloud Waves

I snapped this picture last week when I saw this formation of clouds that looked like breakers hitting a beach from the side:

The House on the Ass-Edge of Civilization

I spent yesterday at the ThermoKing and Volvo dealers getting various parts of my truck and APU serviced, fixed, repaired, greased, examined, spindled and/or mutilated. My complaint list exhausted, the fine folks at the Volvo place even pointed out an indoor wash bay down at the end of their facility that I was welcome to use. It even included a heated power sprayer! Needless to say, I spent about 15 minutes getting the hang of it and washing off most of the salt, sand and other road grit off of my truck.

This morning I met with Ross C., head of operations to empty my spleen over that trip back on December 1st. The one where I had to wait eight hours at the shipper then another twelve at the consignee. Apparently, since no one called them about detention while I was at the shipper we (or should I say, I) am entitled to squat. We went over the particulars and he has sent out some feelers to others in our organization to see if there isn't something can be done, as they say in the south.

I'm glad I went in to talk to dispatch and the planners, as my dispatcher had me off until tomorrow which would have been nice for the laziness factor but not so nice for the paycheck.

Soon after yacking with the locals at HQ a trip plan was sent out over the satellite. The instructions to get to the shipper were telling: (paraphrased) "Go west along a state highway from Omaha about 100 miles. Turn left down a gravel road. Go 6-7 miles and the shipper will be on the left."

Making things ever-so-much-more interesting, the weather report for today is grave. A frosty ice storm is due to blanket much of the region starting in the mid-to-late afternoon. I departed Omaha as soon as I could grab an empty trailer.

The directions were actually pretty accurate, and a few hours later I arrived at a place I describe as The House on the Ass-Edge of Civilization:



I'm pretty sure if you were to follow that road around the bend there you would fall off the face of the planet or something. We're talking the serious boonies here.

As is so often the case with these ad-hoc business locations, the dock situation borders on the ridiculous. Basically, you have to make a left turn into the property, thread your way between (live) power poles, avoid missing a shack on one side and a house on the other, then pivot backward around a stack of pallets obstructing your view to the dock while missing the one pole that other drivers haven't seemed to be able to miss. To wit:



The house you see in the middle of the picture behind the trees has been converted into the office for this place. It is very homey, with a few cats and dogs underfoot.

Here's a shot towards the dock (see how clean my truck looks?) and the poorly placed power pole:



It was 17 degrees when I arrived and there were snow and ice flurries flitting about when I left, plus a lot of fog. I boogied as fast as I safely could to the south to try to stay out of the worst part of the storm, and mostly succeeded. As I headed south into Kansas the temps slowly started to creep up until I arrived in Dodge City, Kansas and a balmy 42 degrees.


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This load is due any time Saturday in Phoenix, Arizona. If I knock out 600-650 miles tomorrow I should be able to roll into Phoenix noonish or so with some hours left over to head out to the next load with.

Now where were we...

Ah yes. I parked near my consignee in Springfield, Missouri last night and was up before the dawn to get checked through the guard gate and get a door assigned. That taken care of, the lumper locusts descended on all of the waiting trucks and we made arrangements to get the freight unloaded.

My appointment time was 0600 and I was there almost an hour early. Eight hours later at 1300 the unloading was complete and I was allowed to leave. Freaking food warehouses.

I was assigned a load I had to pick up in Kansas City, Kansas and shuttle up to Omaha tonight. This involved about 190 miles of driving empty over snowy and icy roads, finding the shipper in a hard-to-get-at location, deducing that they place the shipping papers in back with the shipment instead of in the box meant for that very purpose on the front of the trailer, then hauling the few thousand pounds of styrofoam containers that Omaha Steaks uses to mail its products to its customers to Omaha.

Another four or so hours along snowy and icy roads and I arrived about 45 minutes ahead of schedule.

Now, when I was offered this load I was told it was a drop and hook at the shipper (it was) and it could be dropped at the consignee at any time before the shipping deadline. When I get to Omaha Steaks I'm told in no uncertain terms that not only can I not drop my trailer on their lot, I HAVE TO FREAKING UNLOAD IT MYSELF. Imagine 7-foot tall pallet-size bunches of styrofoam with a cardboard base and shrink wrapped. No real pallets under them, just the floor.

First, I had to wait for another unlucky Hill Bros soul to finish up unloading his 53' trailer then I was allowed into the same door to unload mine. I had thus far been up approximately 20 hours, I was tired and really not interested in fingerprinting all this stuff off my truck. Night dispatch was unconcerned, but did inform me I would be paid $25 for my efforts, even though I was told over the phone and the satellite unit this would be a drop. Bunk.

I had the crap off my trailer in about an hour and then got to take my aching, tired, stinky butt off to the local truck stop and spend more time taking a shower.

My legs were cramping most of the night so I had to sleep stiffly, keeping them straight so I didn't wake up in the agony of clenched muscles.

The Freezin' Season

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A Road Service truck came around after a few hours (they were busy) and had the recalcitrant trailer brakes operating shortly thereafter. One of the things I had tried before calling in for service was to take my regular-sized hammer to the brake drum with a few taps to see if it would pop open. The service guy came with a mini-sledgehammer and knocked the crap out of it and the brake gave up in short order. Must remember to add one of those to the truck soon.

The dispatch came. Not a preplan (what ever happened to those lovely preplans?) but a plan at least. Head east twenty miles to pick up at a Nestle plant then run it down to Springfield, Missouri for a morning unload. It meant a long afternoon and evening drive where the temperature never rose above 16 degrees but the load was moderately heavy so traction was good. I did manage to stop at the Pilot in Troy, Illinois to grab a hot Crispy Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich at the Arby's followed by an epic life-or-death struggle across the frozen parking lot to the Dairy Queen next door.

I swear, the only reason I risked life and limb is that this DQ makes THE BEST blizzard I've ever had. Consistently. Plus, the cups they use are about one size larger for each portion than anyplace else, so if you get a medium blizzard there you know the tummy is going to end up happy.

Arriving in Springfield before midnight I went through three truck stops that I'm familiar with on the east side of town but no luck. I even tried the lot next to a Waffle House that had truck parking, but the only thing available there was a very sketchy ghetto parking spot and I wasn't that desperate (yet). I cruised by the consignee, a food warehouse with fairly strict rules, and knew I couldn't get in until just before my appointment. I settled on a parking lot a few blocks away of a store of some sort that went out of business and who's dock area was converted into some kind of trucking operation. No one was about, the lot was large and I parked off on the side.

I admit it, I left the truck idling last night for the first time since last summer when my APU was broke. When I started it yesterday morning the sights and sounds were unpleasant. Not completely unlike the sights and sounds of this trucker getting up on a very cold morning.

Get Truckin'

Lets say you park your truck one night with near freezing temps and in the middle of heavy rain. The next morning you get up to go deliver your load only to have your truck sound like Dom Deloise attempting to run a marathon. The engine takes several attempts to start and even then only grudgingly continues to turn over.

What do you do? Get truckin'.

You try to open your drivers-side door to do a walkaround in the 10 degree weather, only to find out it is iced shut. Window won't roll down either, and the same goes for the passenger side.

What do you do? Get truckin'.

Eventually you force your way out and try to pop the hood of your truck, only to find that it, too, has frozen solid to the rest of the truck. Carefully, you wiggle it open and take a look, only to later find out that it refuses to latch back in place because the latch itself is frozen.

What do you do? Get truckin'.

The windchill is so low that it feels like -15 or -20 out and your fingers freeze almost as soon as you use them to punch in the codes you need at the pump, as the reefer needs to be topped off. The card reader doesn't want to work, either (who does?) but eventually you get it sorted out and the reefer topped off. While leaving the parking lot of the truck stop, you find out that your transmission is stuck in the low range but that isn't such a bad thing, as your fuel filters are jacked up anyway and your engine is starving itself.

What do you do? Get truckin'.

You manage to arrive a couple miles away at your consignee, via back roads, only to be directed across the street to another facility, then back to the original one because the guard at the first place didn't understand what was going on. After eventually being assigned a door and told to wait for someone to cut the seal off, you proceed to imitate the Keystone Cops as you slip and slide around the back to open the doors.

What do you do? Get truckin'.

Orders are to drop the trailer and get an empty, so you disengage (almost leaving a strip of skin on the very cold gladhand handles) and carefully bobtail across the street where you are ignored at the shipping window for fifteen minutes before someone perks up and assigns you the one trailer in their lot that you could take anyway. Back up and hook up to said trailer to find that the lights work fine but the brakes lines are frozen solid. Attempt various ghetto fixes while waiting for our service department to open, all of which fail, then wait on them to send out Road Service to fix the problem.

What do you do? Get truckin'.