Off to Oregon

My trip out of Minnesota was a load of empty cheese containers (used in Cheese plants). It delivered in Gooding, Idaho and my routing was through South Dakota and Wyoming into Idaho.

Partway through Wyoming, I ran out of hours and had to stop at a truck stop. The afternoon was sunny and clear (see photo below) but by 8 pm that night, the truck stop was enveloped in a fierce winter storm. (see photo).  The next morning, Thanksgiving day,  I-80 was closed due to bad driving conditions, and we had a stay-in-place instruction where our trucks could not move until conditions were better.  While America was watching football, and anticipating the meal of turkey and pie as the delicious aroma, I sat in my cold truck waiting for the highway to open.    Finally, just past noon, the 'All Clear' came down, and I headed towards Idaho, passing through our terminal in Utah for fuel on the way.

That night, I parked near Twin Falls, Idaho and delivered my load early the next morning, which was Friday.  About 30 minutes later, the pre-plan for my next load came through, and I was to stay in place till next Sunday to get loaded for frozen food, headed to southern California, but I was to drop the load at our yard in Utah.  This concerned me because I was scheduled to go west for repairs to Bruce at one of our maintenance terminals.  I didn't see how I could go to Utah, and then back to our terminal for repair, and then back to the Denver terminal in time for my scheduled home time on Dec 2-3.  So I spent the next three days waiting at the truck stop in Idaho.

Early Sunday morning, I was at the shipper getting loaded, when I received a message that I was to meet another driver at the nearby truck stop and swap loads with him. My new load would take me to our terminal where I could have repairs done.

We made the swap, and I headed westbound for my new load's destination: Portland, Oregon. This required me to pass over Deadmans Pass, or Cabbage Patch Hill. When I checked the weather, it was forecast to be snowing.  However, there was a break in the snowfall around noon, so I tried to time my departure to cross over the pass to coincide with the break in the weather.  My hopes of making the pass without bad weather or chaining were crushed when I came to a sign which read:  Chaining required next 5 miles when lights flashing."  ---The lights were flashing.  I rounded a bend in the highway, and there was a big line of trucks pulled off to the side of the road for chaining.  I got out to begin the process, and another truck pulled in behind me.  The driver was a young guy, and he explained that he had never chained up before. I told him that I was new to the process also, and we agreed to help each other as needed.  I had just finished chaining up, when another driver approached me and said that he was new, and could I help show him how to chain. I explained that I was new as well, but I would be glad to try.  We got one of the tires chained up, and he said he could do the rest of them. I got back in my truck and started off.

Driving a truck with chains on, for me, seems a little bit like driving a tank.  The truck bounces and lurches and chugs along as the chains or cables scrape against the highway. Why we were being asked to chain up made no sense to me, as the highway had no snow or ice on it at all.  I had gone maybe 5-6 miles, with many other trucks passing me by going 50-60 miles an hour without any chains.  Finally, at the top of the pass, I pulled over into a chaining area and called my dispatcher and explained my dilemma. He said it would be okay to pull chains off and keep rolling.

Given the confusion about whether chaining continued to be required or not, the two trucks parked ahead of me in the chain-up area were actually putting chains on.  One of the guys came back to my truck as I de-chained, and he explained that he had never chained up before, and could I give him a hand.  I showed him how to chain up the 1st tire, and he said he could take it from there.

Never in my working career, had my inexperience and blind luck helped so many.

The vast Wyoming Prairie

Wyoming Prairie snowstorm

Who says truckers don't have Christmas spirit?  A welcome sight in a dark Wyoming winter night.

Mt. Hood, Oregon

Mt. Hoodie, Truck Stop, USA

Minnesota Misery

All around the Rothsay Minnesota Truck Stop and Restaurant, the black Suburban with the snow plow attachment on the front ran frantically, plowing paths in and around the parking lot and entrance, trying to make it easy for cars and trucks to come and go. Each pass with the plow was soon obliterated by the stubborn storm and its relentless snow and winds. The day grew brighter with the rising sun, but the storm continued. The Qualcomm bird chirped, and the message indicated that my delivery appointment for that day (Friday) had been rescheduled for 4am Monday. The Rothsay Truck Stop and Restaurant would be my home for the weekend.

Hunkered down in the small truck stop, I had to wait out the storm and its aftermath. The bitter winds of Argo blew hard and found their way into the cab of the truck through every crack and hole possible. I had to idle the truck fairly frequently out of fear that the cold temperatures would drain the battery. The truck rocked with each gust and gale and the snow flakes pounded against the windows. I finally made my way inside the truck stop and discovered it to be a little gem. It was not your typical big-chain truck stop with predictable layout and prices, but this was mom and pop, small business America in all its beauty. Showers were only $5 and 24 hour little restaurant had the comfortable feel of someone's kitchen table. Being on tight budget, and normally avoiding such perks, I eventually rewarded myself for during the storm and being grounded for three days by having a shower, and going to the restaurant and having a hot bowl of tomato soup.

Saturday dawned clear and cold. The winds that rocked and howled for the past 24 hours gradually subsided. In the rear view mirror, I could see that something was different than my normal view. This trailer had a set of “trailer tails” which consist of several metal flaps attached to the rear doors to help the wind to mold itself around the rear of the trailer while the truck is moving, thus saving fuel. This particular trailer had a configuration of trailer tails that I hadn't seen before. Normally, the tails are manually deployed just before leaving, and then manually folded up against the doors for when the truck and trailer are not moving. This particular tail could only be folded up when the doors were opened. Otherwise, the tails remained in the deployed position all the time. Looking in the mirror down the side of the trailer, I could see part of the trailer tail protruding from the rear of the trailer. I got out to check, and discovered that the wind gusts had been so strong as to rip the left trailer tail completely from its bottom anchors, leaving it to flap wind. When I reported the damage to mechanical support, they said to just keep going.

It looked like the weather and road conditions for Sunday would be good enough so that I could go ahead and drive the next 100 miles to St. Cloud, MN, the final destination. I looked at congregations there in St Cloud and found one where the timing would work for me to finally attend church. The only problem being that the church was located about six miles from where I could park. I decided that I could walk that for and got up early and drove to St. Cloud, and finally got parked at about 10:30 am. I changed quickly and began the two hour walk. After I'd gone about a mile, I began to think about the truck parked back at the truck stop. I'd be gone for quite a while, would it be safe for that long? I was, after all, responsible for the truck and its load. Yes, as I reviewed things in my head, everything was locked safely, and then I remembered that I had forgotten to bring the security key with me, an important company requirement whenever leaving company equipment. If I walked back to the truck and got the key, I'd never make it to church on time, so I was left with only one option, and that was to go back and spend the rest of Sunday in the truck.

The delivery appointment at 4am Monday morning went smoothly, and I drove about 12 miles to a rest area where I could safely park, and wait for instructions. No sooner had I parked that the dispatch came: Go to New Ulm, MN, and pick up a load of cheese containers and deliver them to Gooding, Idaho. The sun was shining, the roads were clear, and it felt good to finally be moving again. I enjoyed the couple of hour drive to New Ulm. The company instructions to the shipper's location took me all the way through town to a small town called Searle, where I was to turn right onto Main Street. I followed the instructions exactly but things didn't look right. I was met immediately by a 'no truck' sign on Main Street. Luckily, there was a small parking lot where I could turn around, and I pulled in there and called the shipper to clarify the instructions. She was a confused as I was about why the directions took me clear out there. She explained that I needed to turn around and come back into town to their address in town.

Everything went exactly as she told me until I neared 3^rd Street. My hand-written notes from the conversation were unclear. Did she say turn Right or Left at 3^rd Street. If she said turn left, I'd have a problem because there were 'no trucks allowed' signs. To be safe, I pulled over to call her and verify. I didn't want to end up where I shouldn't be. The street was a peaceful tree-lined street and I pulled to the side, and checked my rear view mirror. The trailer still wasn't far enough off the road to be safe, so watching in the mirror I kept easing forward till the trailer was safely off the street. Once the call was finished, and I had my directions clarified, I turned on my signal and began to ease out onto the street. A sudden scratching and jarring noise arose and I stopped and got out to see what was wrong. While looking in the mirror, to be sure I had gotten far enough off from the road for traffic, I had crossed under a heavy branch of a tree lining the street. To my horror, the thick limb had caused significant damage to the cab of the truck. Part of the rear of the cab was smashed, and the upper window in the sleeper lay shattered on my bed. At first glance, it looked like they may have to come and tow the truck to get it moved. My goal to never cause a scratch to my truck was gone. My next thought was that my job could now be in jeopardy. I called my driver manager, and left a message that I had been in an accident. He called back and told me to send in a report to Mechanical services, and also to call the Claims Dept. The gal who took my claim was very kind and understanding. Next, I e-mailed photos of the gruesome damage to everyone, including Mechanical Services. When I spoke to the guy, kind of chuckled and said, “Okay, see that cab extender that's been damaged?” “Yes,” was my quiet reply.

“Get up there, and take it down.”

“Once I get it down, I can go?”

“Yes, you're good to go. Just watch out for tree branches.”

With his simple solution, the immediate crisis was over. I went into my tool box, and found a screw driver that I had curiously purchased for one dollar at the dollar store, and it was just the exact right size to fit the screws that held the damaged panel in place. In about 15 minutes, I had the panel removed, and suddenly, the truck was free, and I could continue on to the shipper, which I did.

But the troubles weren't finished. My manager called and we discussed the accident. When I told him again the details, we discussed what I had done wrong, and then he gave me the speech, which I'm sure he's had to give other new drivers about being aware of my surroundings. He explained that the company basically has a three strikes and your out policy. The math was very simple in my head: Two more, and there goes my job. And there you have one of the fears of my new job, which I battle every time I start to drive. There's a risk for accident to my left, to my right, above me, below me, unpredictable drivers, poorly marked roads leaving little time to react, tight intersections, tight backing at shippers and truck stops, you basically have to be 100% good 100% of the time, because that 1% waiting to cause an accident is always right there beside you, waiting for its opportunity.

With my load on board, and having been duly chastised, and feeling that a failure loomed, ready to sink this truck driving venture that invested so much money and opportunity cost to pursue, and from which I really had no viable Plan B if it were to fail, I pushed in the yellow knob to release the brakes and headed out of town.

My initial plan was to get to my next scheduled fuel stop, Sioux City, South Dakota, but the further I traveled, I could see that I was going to run out of clock hours so I began to watch for a truck stop or rest stop where I could pull in for the night and finally found a small truck stop about 85 miles from the South Dakota border and parked for the night. It was dark when I parked, and the sunny skies from earlier in the day had given way to winds, clouds, and now a cold freezing rain. I checked the weather forecast for my route in the morning: Snow. If there's any peril that scares me it is slick and icy roads. It was snow covered, slick, and icy roads that welcomed me to Minnesota, and it looked like they would be what bid me farewell in the morning. The weight of the sense of failure, and the fear of the gathering storm grew heavy in my chest. I had to talk to someone, and so I called my wife to tell her of my accident. She immediately understood all the possible consequences.

I climbed into bed, but sleep did not come easily. The dark sense of failure at my foolishness in my decision to become a truck driver, the ease at which the accident had happened, in spite of all my efforts to be careful, and the foreboding of the storm and driving conditions that awaited me in the morning all combined together and felt like an anvil on my chest, a dark, heavy anvil.

I replayed the sequence of events that led to the accident again and again in my mind, and the things I should have done which could have so easily prevented it. Somehow, amid the wash of emotions and thoughts, the darkest of nights finally gave way to sleep.

Early the next morning, I awoke and headed out, and a miracle happened. My prayers were answered so neatly, as Bruce and I made out way southward, the bands of snow were either ahead of us, behind us, or to the left, and we drove on wet, but not icy roads all the way to Sioux Falls, where we were welcomed to South Dakota.

With part of Bruce's cab missing, and the trailer tails flapping in the wind behind us like broken wings, we finally limped across the border. The beautiful farms, the nice people, and the lakes, all make Minnesota an attractive place. But for some reason, this one time, I couldn't wait to finally depart Minnesota, and leave its trials and miseries behind.

Trailer Tail ripped from door by strong winds

Saturday Morning at Rothsay, clear, sunny and COLD!

Damage to Bruce

The Tortoise and the Hare

I awoke the next morning in Billings, Montana, having driven the rest of the way from the pass after Bozeman on mostly dry roads. I was worried that my chosen truck stop may not have any parking spots available that night, but thankfully, it did.

The storm with its snow and winds had caught up to me at Billings, while I slept. While the snow was coming down hard, it was just warm enough, and the storm hadn't been in the area long enough for the snow to stick to the highway, so I got onto the interstate and headed east. I wasn't sure about black ice, and therefore went slowly, picking my way carefully over the bridges, each having its yellow sign indicating that bridges could be icy. For nearly 80 miles outside of Billings, I could see a vehicle following behind me. As the truck slowed while working its way up hills, the vehicle slowed as well. I was traveling a a slower pace than other traffic on the highway, and they could at any time have easily passed. Perhaps they too were wary of black ice. Finally, as the morning skies made the world more bright, the pickup truck finally sped up and passed.

Finally, once again, Bruce and I outran the storm's fury and we drove out from under the falling precipitation. We pushed on into the vast prairies of eastern Montana and North Dakota. The sky was filled with low, dark clouds but the storm's precipitation stayed behind us. Finally, just at dark, we pulled into Fargo, North Dakota, and once again were grateful to find a parking spot. If not for the fact that I was out of hours, I would have gladly pushed on further towards the destination, but man's laws can sometimes come with as much fury as those of mother nature.

My cell phone had no internet across Montana and most of North Dakota, so I was glad to have internet back again in Fargo. The forecast for western Minnesota, my destination in the morning called for a Blizzard Warning. I decided to take a look at things in the morning and sent a Qualcomm message to headquarters telling them of the situation. They replied to let them know once I was rolling tomorrow how things looked. I awoke at 3:30 am and looked outside. There was just a bit of snow here and there, but the parking lot was wet but not snow covered. I could drive in these conditions, so off we went. From Fargo, we crossed the state line into Minnesota, and shortly after, the snow began to fall, just in flurries here and there, but becoming increasingly strong and accompanied by very strong winds.

Nothing to be alarmed about, I thought. After all, weather forecasters sometimes place Warnings in order to cover all their bases. This is probably one of those times. Stronger the snow and winds came, sometimes their combined fury rocking the truck, even fully loaded, and sending snow onto the highway so quickly that it seemed to cover with snow almost immediately. Up ahead, I could see the flashing lights of an accident. In the westbound lanes, a large semi truck was being towed back up onto the freeway.

Conditions deteriorated quickly, and I came to the realization that conditions warranted me pulling over and putting on chains. But where could I find a place to do that? This is largely unfamiliar territory to me, and I passed a sign just a ways back that said that next Rest Area was 100 miles ahead. Finally, I had an idea that an off-ramp or on-ramp might be the way to go. Eventually, I came to an off-ramp, and at the subsequent on-ramp, I pulled over into the on ramp lane, and quickly to the shoulder of the interstate. I got out, put my winter coat and gloves on, and got to work doing something I had dreaded for the entire trip, chaining up this rig.

I detached the chains –they're actually cables, not chains, and much easier to use in my opinion. I then lugged them around and spread them out in the snow, trying to make sure that I placed them correctly on the tires. I started with the tires away on the side of the truck away from the highway and traffic. I figured my first few tires would take longer till I had a better system and routine to doing this job. Sure enough, progress was slow, but I had all the chains situated on the tires, and then I went around to the side of the truck that was against the traffic. As I worked away, I noticed that my gloves were wet, my shoes had soaked through to my socks, my pants were wet, actually, everything I was wearing was wet and I was cold. Just as I was about ready to get into the truck and pull forward a few feet to roll the tire further into the chains, I saw the headlights and flashing lights of a snow plow pull up beside me. He told me politely that I could not chain here. It was simply too dangerous. He went on to explain that unless I moved, he'd have to call the state patrol, with the unfinished implication that a citation would certainly follow.

I asked if he could recommend a place to do this job, and he said at the top of an on-ramp, or at a truck stop. In fact, he continued, there was coincidentally a truck stop at the next exit, and he'd be glad to plow me a path to that exit. I took all the chains off all the tires, and simply threw them into the cab of the truck and followed him to the next exit where sure enough, there was a small truck stop. The snow plow driver was doing his job, but he did it very professionally, and I will be always grateful.

At the truck stop, I discovered that the parking was nearly full, so I grabbed a spot, that's not really a parking spot, but a place where truckers park when there are no longer any regular parking spaces available. As I sat there, trying to process these recent rather harrowing events, I looked out the windshield into the storm. Winds were so strong that the falling snow was blowing sideways. Snow was falling so fast, my wipers could hardly keep the windshield clean. I looked around at the other trucks and their drivers hunkered down in this little spot beside the interstate, an unglamorous, yet safe harbor. I opened up my smartphone internet to check the weather forecast and road conditions, and try and figure my next step. The National Weather Service had issued a Blizzard Warning for western Minnesota, and travel was dangerous and not advised. That was good enough for me. I sent a Qualcomm that I had parked safely off the road for now due to weather conditions, and logged off.

There I sat, staring out at the storm raging, feeling defeated. After 1200 miles of racing and wrestling with this storm, in the last 130 miles, just a couple hours from an on-time arrival, Argos had caught up to me, and saved his most savage fury for now. The truck rocked back and forth as it was pushed by the wind gusts, and the snow, driving horizontally in front of me seemed to have to end in sight.

I left the truck running to take full advantage of the heater. My pants were dripping, my shoes soaked and socks squished with water. I was cold, miserable, and totally undecided about what to do next. Would I get another message back...stay on your routing? Get those chains back on that truck and get that load delivered?

Finally, I gave in to a sense that I needed to accomplish one thing yet. I went back out into the driving snow, drug the chains from the cab of the truck, and set about putting chains on the truck. If they came back and said I had to continue, regardless of the dangerous conditions, well, at least I'd be fully chained up and ready to go. If they said okay, you can wait out the storm, then, at least I had some practice installing chains in very adverse conditions. For the second time that day, I unrolled, and spread the chains out in front of the tires, and started trying to figure out the process and rhythm to make this a task that's less intimidating. Just as the sky began to grow bright with the dawn, I had my last chain securely around the tire.

Not too long afterwards, I received an urgent message. Do not move! Stay put until you get word from us that it is safe to do so. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I had made the right decision.

After chasing and outrunning Argos on several occasions, in the end, Argo's slow and steady pace caught up with me in western Minnesota. My delivery appointment had to be re-scheduled till Monday. I'll spend the weekend in my truck, being buffeted by Argos' wind gusts, and finding time at last, to catch up on my blog.

Morning in Fargo, ND. The fun is about to begin.

Truck stop at Rothsay, MN, harbor from the storm

Chained up. Nowhere to go.

Argos' aftermath

Racing with Argos

After the disappointing routing news, I now had no choice but to face off against this menacing storm named Argos. I headed out across Idaho and the skies were cloudy, overcast, and threatening but up ahead, towards the northern horizon, where I was headed, I could see some breaks in the clouds, even an occasional patch of blue sky.

Earlier that morning, after the news was received about the routing, I stepped back to the bed, closed the curtain behind me, knelt down, and poured out my heart to the God I love. I asked for safe travels, and if it were possible, that the storm be stayed on my behalf. After all, I recalled, Jesus had calmed storms before. I placed my trust in Him. In my heart, I sensed fear and trouble ahead, but I watched the blue sky on the horizon, and continued to hope.

My route took me through eastern Idaho, and towards Yellowstone Park. The interstate gave way to a 4-lane divided state highway, then 2-lane rural highway which began to climb up into the mountains, and there, it began to snow. The further the road took me into the mountains and trees, the harder the snow began to fall. Company policy stated that anytime the surface of the road was covered with snow or ice, it was a requirement to chain up, all tires on the two drive axles of the tractor, and if necessary, two of the tires on the trailer. I had chained one tire under supervision once or twice, as part of my training, but to chain up an entire rig would be a new, and no doubt difficult exercise, especially if done on the side of the road, in the blowing and freezing snow.

I had checked road conditions on the Montana website at the last town in Idaho where I still had internet connection on my phone, and it showed that Highway 87 in Montana was completely snow covered. These were chaining conditions. The highway I was on in Idaho continued to accumulate snow which was falling faster and faster until it was almost difficult to see more than about 50 feet ahead. I slowed my speed to compensate for the reduced visibility and deteriorating highway conditions. I began to realize that perhaps I wouldn't need to wait till Highway 87 to figure out if I needed to chain or not. I may have my answer right here on Highway 20. I kept looking for a space to pull off to the side of the road where I'd have enough room to put on chains. There were a few that I passed, but because of the poor visibility in the snowstorm, I didn't see them in enough time to pull over and stop.

Finally, up ahead I could see what looked like a single, solitary gas station by the side of the highway. No town was visible, just this one gas station. But, I had seen it in enough time to stop, and so I did. I jumped out of the truck and ran over to the building near the gas pumps, hoping that someone was around. It turned out to be a tow-truck company specializing in towing big trucks. I went inside and asked them about Highway 87. Was there a pass there? If so, was it steep, and are there places where I can pull over and put on chains? The guys were very helpful and said that there really are no passes on Highway 87, and that I should be okay.

While this information was helpful, I still wasn't 100% convinced of what I was getting into. It's one thing to head into danger, it's another to head into danger, not knowing exactly what lies ahead. Then, up ahead, there was a pullout large enough to pull into and install chains, and in the pullout were two snow plows from the Idaho Dept. of Transportation, and the two drivers were standing outside of their trucks talking. I pulled up along side them, and rolled down the passenger window. If anyone should know what Highway 87 was like, it should be the snowplow drivers shouldn't it?

I explained my dilemma, and they said that they had just plowed the Idaho side of 87 and that I should be fine. They also said that they had seen Montana plows out as well. I explained the company policy about chaining, and one of the drivers asked me if I was loaded. Yes, I explained that I was heavy. “Then, you won't have any trouble, and you won't need to chain,” he said with a confident smile, “Put that truck in gear and get going!” Maybe the Lord of storms hadn't stayed this storm as I had asked, but he did send me an angel.

Soon, the turnoff for 87 came up and I took it. It was obviously a much less traveled road. However, just as the snow plow drivers had promised, the road was clear and mostly dry. Then, up ahead the road began to ascend a small hill. My stress and fear returned far too easily, and I began to wonder what was on the Montana side of this highway. Then, with perfect timing, we crested the hill and all at once, were greeted with a sign welcoming me to Montana, a big huge chunk of blue sky, and a perfectly dry road. My encounter with the storm notwithstanding, my prayers had been answered. I had made it through the mountains safely.

As I made my way down through the mountain valleys on the dry pavement, my fears eased, but I knew my next routing would connect me to I-94 at Bozeman, Montana. Immediately east of Bozeman, I-94 crosses a small pass, really nothing much in the world of mountain passes, but big enough nevertheless, to warrant a Chain Up area, and a Chain Down area on each side of the pass. This was my last mountain pass to be worried about. As I approached Bozeman from the south, I could see that the storm had reassembled, and a major snow squall had filled the valley just west of Bozeman and was headed for the mountain pass. I arrived at I-94 at the same time as the storm, and together we raced east toward the pass. Even though the truck is governed at 61 mph, I had my foot on the accelerator, hoping to somehow coax just a few more feet of distance between me and the storm. But there was one more problem: My clock was down to 1 hour. If I continued to drive for more than the next 60 minutes, I would have an Hours of Service violation. In our company, this is a problem. This only made the race with the storm all the more intense, because if I had to stop here, now, and chain up there was no way I could do that and make it over the pass in an hour. I'd be stranded alongside the road.

I-94 entered a canyon which became more and more narrow and then swung to the left to go over the pass. I checked in my rearview mirror. I was ahead of the storm by about 10 miles now. Finally, we crested the pass and started down the other side. By now, the clock was down to 38 minutes when I saw a rest area up ahead. The rest area was far enough down the other side that we would be out of the mountains. I pulled into the rest stop, set the park brake, and shut off the engine. In the mirror, I could see that the snow was just cresting the pass. We had won the race.

Over the pass at Bozeman, MT with Argos storms right behind.

                                       

Dancing with Argos

Back from home time, my first trip was a beer load out of Colorado to Oregon, but the instructions were for me drop it at the terminal in Idaho. Another driver would pick it up from there, and take it on to its final destination. I picked up my load of beer and headed out of Colorado into the vast highland prairies of Wyoming. About halfway through the day, I realized that I could make our terminal in Utah that night, and if so, why not call my two sons and have them come and meet with me, and go out to dinner to celebrate Thanksgiving a little early, since I wouldn't be there to celebrate with them in person. I made a phone call, and was lucky enough to catch my oldest son by phone, and the arrangements were made. I was thrilled to see my family. I was able to introduce them to Bruce, the truck they'd heard so much about, and let them see this tiny little world that I live in. The went to a nearby fast-food restaurant for an informal Thanksgiving dinner and then the visit was over, way too quickly.

By noon the next day, I was just pulling in to our terminal in Idaho where I dropped my load of beer. Upon arrival, they assigned me a local load to pick up at the terminal, and take out to a large refrigerated warehouse as its final destination, however, I questioned if this load would work for me because I only had two hours available on my clocks, and experience has taught me that grocery warehouses are not usually finished within two hours, so after I expressed my concern, I received another dispatch: A 4-stop delivery in the Boise, Idaho area for tomorrow.

My first delivery was to a large grocery warehouse at 3am, and it was about an hour's drive away. I got up at 1:30 am and was headed over to the bathroom to brush my teeth, when to my surprise, out of the darkness stepped a young man, a fellow driver, and he explained that his battery had died, and could I please give him a jump start. I told him I had a 3am delivery, and I was already tightly scheduled. He assured me that he had the cables all hooked up and ready to go. I pulled around, and had to maneuver into a tight area so the jumper cables would reach, but a few minutes later, we had his truck running.

My first delivery appointment was for 3am and my 2^nd for 7am. I didn't leave my first appointment till after 7am, and didn't hit the second one till 7:30. 3^rd appointment was a crazy backing maneuver around a building and down a small incline, up onto ramps, and to the dock. By the time I hit my last delivery, I had been on duty nearly 14 hours, and my time was quickly running out. I could see that I wasn't going to make it back to the terminal as I had hoped for the night. I asked the seed company where I was delivering if I could park my truck and spend the night. They said yes, and so I spent the night in the parking lot of a seed company. Throughout the night, dark brooding clouds hung over the valley, and left a chill in the air, and then during the night it started to rain and the temperature took a much colder change. This was my introduction to winter storm, Argos.

My load the next morning was a 8am at a refrigerated grocery warehouse just over the border in Oregon. My destination was St. Cloud, Minnesota and the routing took me on a swinging route through southern Idaho and back up the western side of Idaho into southern Montana. As I plotted out the routing given me by the trucking company, out of curiosity, I decided to do a weather check for the mountains I would cross getting into Montana. To my considerable concern, the forecast called for snow on Tuesday and Wednesday. I calculated the miles to go, and the hours needed, and figured that if I could be just two hours at the shipper getting loaded, and depart by 10 am, I should have enough time to get over the mountains and safely parked before the storm hit.

My schedule began to fall apart right away. When I arrived on time at the shipper, I was informed that my scheduled load time was 10am, not 8am. It wasn't till noon before I left. My hopes for getting over the mountains were slipping away. Then, the next delay popped up, since I was this close to one of our terminals, I needed to go by and complete my 45 day evaluation. Had it really been that long as a solo driver already? After I was finished getting loaded, getting fuel, weighing, and adjusting the axles for the weight, I headed over to the terminal for my evaluation. I parked near the maintenance facility because I wanted to see if I could get an extra set of tire chains for the trailer tires, or drag chains. There is a set on the trailer, but they are secured with a padlock. I had spent a lot of time already attempting to get the padlock to open, but no matter how I configured or tried the combination, it refused to open. My plan was to get a couple extra sets of chains, and just carry them on the truck so that regardless of the trailer, if I couldn't get the trailer chains, I'd have an emergency set on the truck.

I went into the maintenance area, and no one was around, but there were plenty of signs around indicating that drivers were not allowed in the maintenance facility.

Outside, I found some barrels with chains inside and the chain sizes written on the barrels. I picked up two sets of chains, which were very rusty from their life in the elements, and lugged them over to the truck and stowed them away. It wasn't until I was in the office and noticed the lady I was speaking to looking at my pants that I realized that the rust from the chains had made some very large stains on my jeans. Not a good impression to leave, since appearance is important to the company!

After waiting around for a few minutes, I was told that the person to do my evaluation was busy, and it'd have to be done sometime later. This was a relief to me, because now, finally, I could get on the road, and hopefully be closer to winning the race with Argos to Montana. It was now, nearly 3pm. About halfway across Idaho, my available hours on my clocks began to dwindle, and parking options up ahead were narrowing, so I pulled into a rest stop for the night. To my left, the angry dark clouds boiled and became darker over the mountains of Idaho.

I began this job with a list of situations that provoked stress and worry for me. One of those is finding a parking space at night while I still have time to find one. Another is going over mountain passes in the winter. There's something about the descent of a mountain pass with gravity tugging at the 40 ton vehicle and load, and trying to fight that gravity on a slick, winding, mountain road. Then, as contemplated my situation, and check various weather forecasts, an idea hit me. Why not ask the company to re-route me over I-80 and then straight north on another interstate from directly to Minnesota. These were already routes routinely traveled by our trucks. As long as the miles were still within reason, why not ask for a change? I sent a message on the Qualcomm expressing my concerns and my solution and was told that I'd have to wait for morning till my driver manager arrived. Only he could authorize routing changes. After 7am when I knew he would arrive, I sent him a Qualcomm message, with all the same information. I knew just arriving at work, he'd be swamped with all the drivers issues from over the night to handle, but the highway to take my new route lay only 20 miles ahead, and so I had to commit right now to one route or the other. Finally, with a desire to get on the road as quickly as I can, I called him. “No,” he said; “You have to stay on the route you were assigned. I can only change routes if Safety Department issues some warnings.” “You have chains onboard, don't you?” “Yes” I responded; “Then use them if you need them.”

Even though I didn't like the answer, at least I had one. Now, it was me, my fears, a truck name Bruce, and a winter storm  the National Weather Service named Argos.

Home Time!

The rule is one day off for each week out.  In the 48 state, or reefer division, which I run in, the minimum time out before home time is granted is three weeks.  With that in mind, I looked very much forward to home time. I hadn't seen my family is so long! 

After my first trip to the midwest with unwanted tater tots, and finding a shipper in the downtown Cincinnati in the early morning hours, I was routed back to Denver, and from there immediately out to Portland, near to a company terminal there for routine maintenance on my truck.  Once I was unloaded, and my truck maintenance work done, I picked up a load of beer in Portland and took it to the mountains of Washington for delivery. From there, I picked up a load of apples at two different locations and headed out to Indiana for delivery.  In addition to home time, I had also scheduled a doctor's appointment to take care of some routine medical necessities.  

When I was dispatched with the apples to Indiana, the dispatch said I'd be swapped out with another driver so I could get my home time worked out.  Once loaded, I left Washington, worked my way through Idaho and into Montana, wondering the whole time when I would get the bird chirp, and new directions.  Finally, the directions came to continue to the our terminal in Indiana, where I would be given a load back to Utah, and from Utah another load back to Denver.  I added up all the days it would take to make that trip, and could easily see that would have me miss my doctor's appointment by at least two days, especially since I live five hours from Denver. 

The situation grew from bad to worse when I arrived in the terminal in Indiana, and unhooked the loaded container of apples. Anytime a live reefer trailer is disconnected from a truck, it sends alarms to the truck ---which for me isn't a problem, because I'm the one who unhooked the trailer, but it also sends alarms to home office.  Almost immediately, I received a call from my Driver Manager, "Why did you unhook?"  "Because I'm here at the terminal for the swap," I replied. "Sorry, forgot to tell you; there's been a change of plans. Go ahead and deliver the load of apples to the destination tomorrow. Then, we'll get you a load back to Denver."  My home time schedule was going from bad to worse.  Finally however, I did get home.  Oh the comforts of family and home!  But I knew it would end soon.  In the big row of shiny trucks in Denver, one of them had a name, Bruce, and I was his driver.  It was time to back to work.

Washington Apple Country

The mighty Columbia

Wyoming prairie, Uintah Mountains

Taillights into the darkness

As I sit here writing down the events of my first trip, I realize that it was one stressful crisis added to the next. I suppose I had a notion that a brand new driver would somehow be eased into the unique stresses and rigors of the job, but that notion was quickly set aside. It was time to sink or swim.

My first load unloaded at a refrigerated warehouse that was interestingly enough built into the side of a mountain at the site of an abandoned quarry (see photos below). I arrived on time, and was told to back into door #7. Unfortunately, door #7 seemed to be cluttered with other trucks in the staging area, so I had to do my best to pull out and back in. It took a couple of rookie tries and missteps, but eventually, the truck was backed successfully up to the door. While the truck was being unloaded, the bird chirped and I had my next 'pre-plan'. When I read it, it really made no sense to me. It said for me to take the empty trailer that was being unloaded to Wisconsin for loading at 5pm. 5 pm in Wisconsin, and I'm here in Missouri? I got on the phone to my driver manager and explained that I didn't think that I could make it from Missouri to Wisconsin in a couple of hours, not to mention the fact that I wasn't actually unloaded yet. Even though it was quiet in the cab of my truck, I could still picture the phone calls and e-mails that must have been flying as they tried to figure out what to do about me, my schedule, and this load of frozen vegetables in Wisconsin. Finally, just as the load was unloaded, my driver manager called back with final instructions. Once unloaded I was to go ahead and head off to Wisconsin and get as far as I can tonight, and then be there by 7am tomorrow morning. Trip planning seemed to be such an important part of this job, but I always seemed to have so little time to do this critical part of my job.

Out came the Rand McNally Trucker's Atlas, and the map program on my smart phone and I plotted my journey to Wisconsin and its frozen vegetables. To get there by 7am, it was obvious that I'd need to make as many miles today as possible, and park for the night somewhere in northern Illinois. This meant driving into the darkness and battling one of my biggest concerns: finding parking (that I can back into) at night. The interstate north was narrow and busy with lots of traffic. I begin to pass truck stops and resist the urge to pull in and secure parking while it's available. Up ahead is my target truck stop. I hope and I pray that I can find parking. The overhead signs on the interstate indicate traffic backed up due to an accident ahead. This is really bad news. Finally, the exit for the truck stop is just ahead and I take the exit, hoping that there's a place I can park, because I really don't have a Plan B. To my dismay, the truck stop is small with just one row of parking --- maybe a dozen trucks at most, but to my relief, there is a spot available with an easy back into. No sooner had I turned the engine off, than a steady stream of trucks begins to flow into the small truck stop. I went into the truck stop to buy a cold drink, and heard someone at the checkout mention that the interstate was closed just ahead due to the accident, and that everyone was coming off the highway to park. I had arrived just in time.

I head north from Missouri into Illinois. Get lucky on a parking space. Early next morning, at the shipper, but wrong one. Turn into the next driveway. Go there, no one there. Go into the office, and it's dark. Inside I can see a hispanic woman cleaning, mopping the floor. She has no idea how to help me, but goes and finds a guy. He says to go to the shipping office. I explain that I did go to the shipping office, and it's dark. He calls around on his radio, and finally finds a guy who will come and help me. The guy shows up finally, takes me out the front door to the mailbox by the front door, and opens it up. Inside, is all the paperwork that I need.

I go and unhook my empty, and locate and hook up to the loaded container. I was told to always stay on the company provided routing. Well, the routing had me leaving this location and headed across the border from Wisconsin to Illinois on a county road which had a weigh station located on it. I really didn't want to go over the weigh station where I could potentially receive a large fine for overweight load without weighing my load first. So, I go back to the office and ask if they have a scale. Yes, they do it just takes $5. After I get hooked up, I go to the scale, and unfortunately in my wallet is four $1 bills and a $20. There are two guys working in the yard next door so I go ask them if they have change. They don't. Back I go to the office and I begin asking around the employees if there's a change machine or if anyone has change for a $20. No one does.

I get on my smartphone app, and find a truck stop about 20 miles away that's on the freeway, but off-route. I try to call dispatch to get permission to go off-route and get weighed, but it's a Saturday, and getting someone on the phone is nearly impossible, so after waiting and waiting, I make an executive decision as captain of the ship that I will go and get weighed at the truck stop in spite of the fact that it's off-route. Getting weighed is a bit of an ordeal, because you have to go ovre the scale, then find a place to park, and then go inside and get your scale ticket. After backing into another tight space, I go in and get my weigh ticket, and then move the tandem axles around to get the trailer load balanced.

Then, I go down the street one exit to where I have been given a fuel stop. Finally, after that's all done, I head towards our terminal in Gary, Indiana. The only thing between me and our terminal is all the crazy freeways and highways of Chicago. Somehow, I manage to get through all the freeways, toll booths, take all the right exits and then follow the exact directions to get to our terminal in Gary, Indiana. It's tiny compared to Denver, and I had to back the loaded trailer into the only space left, and then back up to the only empty there for my next adventure.

Early the next morning, I go back up through all of the Chicago land highways, construction back up to another shipper near where I picked up my load yesterday, and drop my empty and pick up a load of frozen tater tots, and head to a town in southern Ohio for delivery. After driving I arrive early the next morning for my appointment, and have to park but I'm struggling. Finally, a kind guy gets out and helps me.

Finally backed up to the dock and they take several hours. Only to discover that one pallet of frozen tater tots has been rejected due to damaged cartons. I call the home office and explain my dilemma. They instruct me to find a dumpster and dispose of them. Sounds simple enough, right? But if you're a brand new truck driver in a large truck in a strange city, these instructions become more difficult. I call around to food pantrys to see if one of those will accept the donation and come and pick these up? Nope. None of them can come and get them, but one of them will accept the donation if I bring it to them. “Well, how far away are you?” I asked. Oh, not far, I am told just a couple of miles to downtown. I hate downtown driving! One-way streets, narrow streets, tight intersections, but what choice do I have? I put the address in my GPS and hope for the best. I arrive at the food pantry to discover that they can't unload my donation for about an hour or more. My driving clocks are running, and I'm going to be out of time fast, so I ask them if I can't just unload the product and bring it in myself? They finally relent and send a guy out with a load dolly and between the two of us, we get it unloaded fairly quickly.

My next problem is how do I get out of there and to my next location, Cincinnatti, OH. I happen to be parked right in front of a small hotrod shop, and there are a couple of kids working on a car. I go up and ask if they know of the easiest way I can get back out to the interstate but where there are no low bridges, or weight-restricted roads. One kid thinks a minute, and says yeah. Go out here, turn right, to to the next light, and make a left follow that road down, and it will take you right to the interstate.

By now, I have my Truckers' GPS and my phone GPS both going and when I get to the intersection to turn left, the truckers GPS says don't go, it's truck restricted, the phone GPS says I can go that way, but for some reason, it wants me to turn right, and not left, and so what is one to do when the light turns green? The kid seemed to sincerely know what he was talking about, so for this one time, I ignored the GPS guidance and took human advice. It worked perfectly!

On my way to Cincinnati, I realize that the closer I get to the city, that I'm not seeing any parking options at truck stops or anything for that matter, and I only have about one hour left on my clocks.

Suddenly, in answer to prayer, up ahead I see a Rest Area. I pull in, and grab one of the few parking spots left. At first I thought trucks weren't allowed to park for the night there, but I could see other trucks around me obviously there for the night. Another miracle parking spot!

Early the next morning, I headed to downtown Cincinnati to the beer brewery. Thankfully, at 5am the downtown was mostly deserted. A guy in the guard shack was super nice and gave me very helpful instructions about how to proceed. Once I was hooked up to my loaded container, I was now worried about how I could get out of town, and on my way. So many times the directions out of town are not always the reverse of the ones into town. Another trucker was just getting ready to go, and so I asked him if he was familiar with the way out of town. He was so nice. Get hoodked up he said, and you can follow me. Off we went and I followed him and was glad he was there to guide me through the construction zones and many exits to get out of town. Finally, he signaled to exit east while I was to keep north on my route. I flashed my headlights to say thank you, and he blinked his tail lights back at me in the usual trucker acknowledgement. Then, he went right, and I went straight. A friend who had helped and I would never see again.

Stress

As I sit here writing down the events of my first trip, I realize that it was one stressful crisis added to the next. I suppose I had a notion that a brand new driver would somehow be eased into the unique stresses and rigors of the job, but that notion was quickly set aside. It was time to sink or swim.

My first load unloaded at a refrigerated warehouse that was interestingly enough built into the side of a mountain at the site of an abandoned quarry (see photos below). I arrived on time, and was told to back into door #7. Unfortunately, door #7 seemed to be cluttered with other trucks in the staging area, so I had to do my best to pull out and back in. It took a couple of rookie tries and missteps, but eventually, the truck was backed successfully up to the door. While the truck was being unloaded, the bird chirped and I had my next 'pre-plan'. When I read it, it really made no sense to me. It said for me to take the empty trailer that was being unloaded to Wisconsin for loading at 5pm. 5 pm in Wisconsin, and I'm here in Missouri? I got on the phone to my driver manager and explained that I didn't think that I could make it from Missouri to Wisconsin in a couple of hours, not to mention the fact that I wasn't actually unloaded yet. Even though it was quiet in the cab of my truck, I could still picture the phone calls and e-mails that must have been flying as they tried to figure out what to do about me, my schedule, and this load of frozen vegetables in Wisconsin. Finally, just as the load was unloaded, my driver manager called back with final instructions. Once unloaded I was to go ahead and head off to Wisconsin and get as far as I can tonight, and then be there by 7am tomorrow morning. Trip planning seemed to be such an important part of this job, but I always seemed to have so little time to do this critical part of my job.

Out came the Rand McNally Trucker's Atlas, and the map program on my smart phone and I plotted my journey to Wisconsin and its frozen vegetables. To get there by 7am, it was obvious that I'd need to make as many miles today as possible, and park for the night somewhere in northern Illinois. This meant driving into the darkness and battling one of my biggest concerns: finding parking (that I can back into) at night. The interstate north was narrow and busy with lots of traffic. I begin to pass truck stops and resist the urge to pull in and secure parking while it's available. Up ahead is my target truck stop. I hope and I pray that I can find parking. The overhead signs on the interstate indicate traffic backed up due to an accident ahead. This is really bad news. Finally, the exit for the truck stop is just ahead and I take the exit, hoping that there's a place I can park, because I really don't have a Plan B. To my dismay, the truck stop is small with just one row of parking --- maybe a dozen trucks at most, but to my relief, there is a spot available with an easy back into. No sooner had I turned the engine off, than a steady stream of trucks begins to flow into the small truck stop. I went into the truck stop to buy a cold drink, and heard someone at the checkout mention that the interstate was closed just ahead due to the accident, and that everyone was coming off the highway to park. I had arrived just in time.

I head north from Missouri into Illinois. Get lucky on a parking space. Early next morning, at the shipper, but wrong one. Turn into the next driveway. Go there, no one there. Go into the office, and it's dark. Inside I can see a hispanic woman cleaning, mopping the floor. She has no idea how to help me, but goes and finds a guy. He says to go to the shipping office. I explain that I did go to the shipping office, and it's dark. He calls around on his radio, and finally finds a guy who will come and help me. The guy shows up finally, takes me out the front door to the mailbox by the front door, and opens it up. Inside, is all the paperwork that I need.

I go and unhook my empty, and locate and hook up to the loaded container. I was told to always stay on the company provided routing. Well, the routing had me leaving this location and headed across the border from Wisconsin to Illinois on a county road which had a weigh station located on it. I really didn't want to go over the weigh station where I could potentially receive a large fine for overweight load without weighing my load first. So, I go back to the office and ask if they have a scale. Yes, they do it just takes $5. After I get hooked up, I go to the scale, and unfortunately in my wallet is four $1 bills and a $20. There are two guys working in the yard next door so I go ask them if they have change. They don't. Back I go to the office and I begin asking around the employees if there's a change machine or if anyone has change for a $20. No one does.

I get on my smartphone app, and find a truck stop about 20 miles away that's on the freeway, but off-route. I try to call dispatch to get permission to go off-route and get weighed, but it's a Saturday, and getting someone on the phone is nearly impossible, so after waiting and waiting, I make an executive decision as captain of the ship that I will go and get weighed at the truck stop in spite of the fact that it's off-route. Getting weighed is a bit of an ordeal, because you have to go ovre the scale, then find a place to park, and then go inside and get your scale ticket. After backing into another tight space, I go in and get my weigh ticket, and then move the tandem axles around to get the trailer load balanced.

Then, I go down the street one exit to where I have been given a fuel stop. Finally, after that's all done, I head towards our terminal in Gary, Indiana. The only thing between me and our terminal is all the crazy freeways and highways of Chicago. Somehow, I manage to get through all the freeways, toll booths, take all the right exits and then follow the exact directions to get to our terminal in Gary, Indiana. It's tiny compared to Denver, and I had to back the loaded trailer into the only space left, and then back up to the only empty there for my next adventure.

Early the next morning, I go back up through all of the Chicago land highways, construction back up to another shipper near where I picked up my load yesterday, and drop my empty and pick up a load of frozen tater tots, and head to a town in southern Ohio for delivery. After driving I arrive early the next morning for my appointment, and have to park but I'm struggling. Finally, a kind guy gets out and helps me.

Finally backed up to the dock and they take several hours. Only to discover that one pallet of frozen tater tots has been rejected due to damaged cartons. I call the home office and explain my dilemma. They instruct me to find a dumpster and dispose of them. Sounds simple enough, right? But if you're a brand new truck driver in a large truck in a strange city, these instructions become more difficult. I call around to food pantrys to see if one of those will accept the donation and come and pick these up? Nope. None of them can come and get them, but one of them will accept the donation if I bring it to them. “Well, how far away are you?” I asked. Oh, not far, I am told just a couple of miles to downtown. I hate downtown driving! One-way streets, narrow streets, tight intersections, but what choice do I have? I put the address in my GPS and hope for the best. I arrive at the food pantry to discover that they can't unload my donation for about an hour or more. My driving clocks are running, and I'm going to be out of time fast, so I ask them if I can't just unload the product and bring it in myself? They finally relent and send a guy out with a load dolly and between the two of us, we get it unloaded fairly quickly.

My next problem is how do I get out of there and to my next location, Cincinnatti, OH. I happen to be parked right in front of a small hotrod shop, and there are a couple of kids working on a car. I go up and ask if they know of the easiest way I can get back out to the interstate but where there are no low bridges, or weight-restricted roads. One kid thinks a minute, and says yeah. Go out here, turn right, to to the next light, and make a left follow that road down, and it will take you right to the interstate.

By now, I have my Truckers' GPS and my phone GPS both going and when I get to the intersection to turn left, the truckers GPS says don't go, it's truck restricted, the phone GPS says I can go that way, but for some reason, it wants me to turn right, and not left, and so what is one to do when the light turns green? The kid seemed to sincerely know what he was talking about, so for this one time, I ignored the GPS guidance and took human advice. It worked perfectly!

On my way to Cincinnati, I realize that the closer I get to the city, that I'm not seeing any parking options at truck stops or anything for that matter, and I only have about one hour left on my clocks.

Suddenly, in answer to prayer, up ahead I see a Rest Area. I pull in, and grab one of the few parking spots left. At first I thought trucks weren't allowed to park for the night there, but I could see other trucks around me obviously there for the night. Another miracle parking spot!

Early the next morning, I headed to downtown Cincinnati to the beer brewery. Thankfully, at 5am the downtown was mostly deserted. A guy in the guard shack was super nice and gave me very helpful instructions about how to proceed. Once I was hooked up to my loaded container, I was now worried about how I could get out of town, and on my way. So many times the directions out of town are not always the reverse of the ones into town. Another trucker was just getting ready to go, and so I asked him if he was familiar with the way out of town. He was so nice. Get hoodked up he said, and you can follow me. Off we went and I followed him and was glad he was there to guide me through the construction zones and many exits to get out of town. Finally, he signaled to exit east while I was to keep north on my route. I flashed my headlights to say thank you, and he blinked his tail lights back at me in the usual trucker acknowledgement. Then, he went right, and I went straight. A friend who had helped and I would never see again.

A refrigerated warehouse, in a mountain. My first delivery!

The Tater Tots left behind.

My first load

My First Journey

After I passed my solo out tests, I went home for a few days. Something that troubles me with this new job is the extended time away from family. I miss them terribly. It was nice to be home, even if it was just for a few days.

I said my goodbyes and made the five hour drive back to the terminal in Denver. My daughter had given me some photos of my family to post in the truck. She'd helped me pack some of my bags. Unloading, and getting everything stowed in the truck and seeing the photos, only made the missing of my family worse. Nevertheless, here I am back in the terminal to spend the night in the truck, and then the next morning, waiting for my first official load. The anticipation was incredible. Finally, the bird chirped and I had my first load.

I was hoping my first load would not be a beer load and it wasn't. It was a Live load (meaning you back up to the loading dock and wait for them to load your trailer) at a refrigerated foods warehouse and take the load to a small town just outside St. Louis, MO. With my trainer, I'd been up and down I-70 several times, so this would be covering somewhat familiar territory.

I wasn't supposed to load however till 4 in the afternoon, so I spent time carefully mapping out my route to the shipper, and trying to figure out a route back to the shipper in case I missed the turn.

I was so proud of myself when I pulled up to the shipper about 25 minutes ahead of time. I could see some people in a parking lot who were employees and they told me to pull around to the back of the warehouse, find a place to park, and then go inside the shipping office for further instructions. When I got around the backside of the building however, my heart sank. All the parking was very tight. Just the type of scenario I was afraid of. I found a spot and made several very awkward attempts to back in, finally getting parked. It was frustrating for my inexperience to show in front of some many who made it look easy.

I went and checked in on time, and was told they would call me when they had a loading dock for me to back up to. They did say that they were running behind. I went back to my truck and waited and waited. I chose to sit in the seat of the truck and watch other trucks come and go. I wanted to see how others handled the backing into tight docks and tight parking spaces.

Nightfall came and hours passed, and still my phone didn't ring. Eventually, I went back and laid down on my bed with the phone on my chest. I awoke around to the sound of a heavy rain. It was a cold night, and I was expecting the rain to turn to snow. At 1 am, my phone rang. They had a door for me. Fortunately, it wasn't a super tight fit, and I was able to swing around and do a straight-back into the door. Then, more waiting. Occasionally, I would feel the rocking of the truck as a forklift entered the trailer and brought a load of pallets. Finally, around 4am, I was loaded.

My load was a load of gluten-free products. I was diagnosed with celiac disease many years ago, and in the years since, I have probably purchased a semi-load of frozen gluten-free products myself! I made my way back to the Denver terminal where I parked. My daily clocks were all nearly out of time so my only choice was to take the mandated 10-hour rest. I slept only a couple hours and awoke in the early afternoon. I wanted to get on the road as quickly as I could. At this late hour, finding parking along I-70 would be a challenge. I just wanted to get out of town.

First however, I had to fuel and the assigned truck stop nearby. I hate this truck stop. It is small, hard to get into and hard to get out of. After using up valuable time fueling, I got back into Bruce and took the exit out of the truck stop. To exit out of the truck stop, you enter a small road that is built directly under the elevated I-70 above, so giant pillars supporting I-70 are everywhere and it was dark underneath, making it almost seem like a subway.

The only time I'd been here with my trainer, we had continued on I-70 westbound, and so I knew how to do that, but there were no signs anywhere to indicate how to go I-70 eastbound. I decided to go the same way as the westbound freeway entrance, and see if I could see an entrance ramp. I pulled out into what seemed like the underground labyrinth and turned right. Should I be in the right lane or the left lane? Well, I know the westbound ramp is on the right lane, so I'll take that for now. No eastbound signs showed up, so I took went back around and through the truck stop again and back to the same exit. This time I turned right again, and got into the left lane. I came up to the intersection where I had turned right, and could see no I-70 eastbound signs so reluctantly, when the light turned green, I continued on through the intersection. Up ahead, in the darkness of the underground street, I could see bright yellow signs above the road. This could only mean one thing: Low clearance signs!! Oh no! On my first trip, I wasn't even going to get out of Denver, but stuck beneath I-70 just in front of some low clearance signs with irate drivers behind me honking their horns and calling me every name in the book.

Then, out of nowhere my GPS that I had just purchased calmly said at the next intersection to turn left. Where had she been this whole time? I had no idea why she was no help before, and now suddenly, out of the blue, she springs to life with her routing advice...but I welcomed her help now, and so at her direction (really with no other alternative available) I turned left. She took me through a couple of narrow, harrowing intersections, but somehow, she got me back onto I-70 eastbound!

Finally, I was headed out of town and I felt better, but now for my next fear and concern: parking. At this late hour, (darkness was already settling in) all the truck stops would be full. Where was I going to park? I remember stopping with my trainer at a small town in eastern Colorado at a small town truck stop with lots of parking. Surely, I thought, truckers would pass that place by and continue onward looking for the big well-marked truck stops.

It was around 8:30 at night when I came to the exit that I thought was the town. I took the exit, and as I came to the intersection, I realized that I didn't recognize anything. This wasn't what I was looking for. (I would discover later that the town I was looking for was actually 100 miles ahead in western Kansas.) Then, a miracle happened. Up ahead on the other side of I-70, I could see a semi truck parked in a large lot that looked like it was designed for trucks. I made my way over to the lot and backed up right next to the truck. (Big trucks seem to like to park next to each other for some reason). Then, I realized that it was probably rude of me with my reefer running to back up to this guy who was probably sound asleep and disturb his sleep with my noisy reefer unit where there was plenty of parking in this lot. So, I pulled up and moved to the other side of the lot. Just to protect myself, I went in to the Subway sandwich shop and asked if it was okay to park my truck here. The kid said it was okay. To show my gratitude, I told him I'd be back to order a sandwich soon as I was settled in. When I went back, the shop was closed.

So, I went back to my truck and went to bed. Early the next morning when I woke up, the other truck was gone, but another May truck was parked next to me. I went and introduced myself, and told him that this was my first night and morning on my own. I forgot his name, but he was very, very nice. His truck was just like mine, his GPS was like mine, so he took some time to give me lots of tips and pointers. He wrote his phone number down on a piece of paper, and I told him I might call him from time to time for advice. I went to the convenience store nearby to brush my teeth. When I got back, he had left. I reached in my pocket to save his number in my phone, and realized that the piece of paper was missing. I would never be able to thank him for his memorable help.

And so began and ended my first day as an official truck driver. I took off in the early morning hours headed into the Kansas darkness. The reality of my decision to be a truck driver was really beginning to smother me with fear and sadness.

When I'm at my end, when I've gone as far as I can go, and when I've gotten myself into a situation so far, so deep, and so wrong that there seems no way out, I feel instinctively to seek help from the only source who could provide hope at this point in my life, my Father in Heaven, my God. I can only imagine the times he has had to tell me, “Really, Vally?” “You get yourself into these impossible and distressing situations, and only turn to me when it's all but too late?” Yes, I'm sad to say that He does know my track record very well. But something happened that early morning as my headlights cut a narrow beam in the darkness, and the very first shades of dawn's light began to mark the sky ahead, suddenly, I wasn't alone in that truck. It was one of those moments that only a heart and a soul can truly comprehend, but I felt love, true love, almost like a heavenly hug. After I felt that I had disappointed and failed everyone in my life who loved me or depended on me with this career change decision, at the end of this road, nevertheless, I felt love and peace. It was what I needed to get through the challenges that lay ahead on my first trip as a truck driver.

Bruce

Dear Reader, meet Bruce, my truck.  I never understood why my wife insisted that each of our vehicles have an official name, and personality to match, but it has always been so for our many married years, and so one of the first things I did after being assigned my new truck was to petition my family for a name.

It was necessary to point out the this truck was powered by a Detroit Diesel engine.  A beautiful piece of engineering in my opinion. Bruce also had qualities of being quiet, stable, a hard worker without complaint.  Once I had provided my family with the qualities of the truck, Bruce was the name.

Bruce is a 2016 Freightliner Cascadia Evolution.  Did I ever tell you that I love this truck?  It has a 12-speed automatic transmission.  Well, it's not automatic in the true sense of the word, it's still a regular 12-speed transmission, it just has a very high-tech shifting mechanism added to the standard transmission which uses air pressure and a lot of computer code I'm sure, but it's truly mind boggling to see how it all works.

My right shoulder has had two largely unsuccessful surgeries, and I must confess that it is nice not to have to add the chore, the responsibility, and yes, the distraction of shifting to my otherwise many duties of learning to drive this truck in the craziest of situations.

Like the warriors and cowboys, where horse and rider become one, communicating with each other through things as simple as the touch of a knee, or the pause in stride, so Bruce and I communicate and work together.  Because of his reliance on cruise control and automatic shifting, I have to help him understand what's going on ahead. It's taken a few weeks to understand what he's trying to do, and how I can best be of assistance, but we are getting there.