The Circle is Completed (for now)

When I began my truck driving career, I anticipated that it could take one of three possible courses:

1) Gain enough experience to get a well-paying truck driving job with a route and home time that worked for me. Also the flexibility to be located nearly any where in the country.
2) A career in a related field that I could qualify for, such as heavy truck insurance.
3) Once I had sufficient experience, to qualify for a job as a driver manager, logistics planner, or driver recruiter.

Everything has its opposite. In my case, the excitement of being on the road, headed for a destination three states away, has often been balanced by the feelings of deep longing for my family, and an uncomfortable fear that my career choice had impacted them more than I anticipated.  My feelings often went from thrill to regret, all within the same hour.  Consecutive days stuck sitting in a truck stop while the snow and slush piled up, and shivering in the cold truck didn't help.  The cold sapped my energy and it often drained my desire a truck driver, Shivering in a cold truck, wondering why you were doing this when I could be home in a warm home with a kitchen, furnace, and family, happened on more than one occasion.

The clash of all these thoughts, and deep feelings led me to the conclusion that I should be more diligent in keeping all of my "Plan B" options open.

While dropping Bruce off to the dealership in Salt Lake City, I drove past the terminal of one of our competitors and I didn't realize they had such a large terminal here, and it prompted a thought that I should go to their website and see if they have any career-track openings. This I did dealership in the waiting area and using the free wifi.  They had an opening, and I took some time to apply, not thinking that I would hear ever---or certainly at least for a long time.

The next day my phone rang with a number that I didn't recognize, and I nearly declined the call since I do get a few solicitation calls, but I answered it, and it turned out to be a recruiter for that company.  24 hours later, I was offered the job.

This was a nearly completely unanticipated and sudden change of events and plans for me.  However, the more I thought about the opportunity, the more it felt good to me.  I told them I would accept the job. This current load therefore turns out to be my last.

The load was for a load of food for grocery store distribution and to be picked up from downtown Cincinnati.  Getting to the location was incredibly stressful. I passed under three overpasses with signs of 13'9" -- a mere 3 inches of clearance from my trailer's stated height.  Had they recently added a three inch layer of asphalt on top of the roadway? I slowed down to a crawl and eased under the first bridge. Nothing happened. Whether there was indeed three inches of clearance between the top of my trailer and the bridge, or three eights of an inch, I don't know. I only know we successfully passed beneath all three bridges.

Finally, we were loaded with a heavy load, and I took off and promptly got lost in downtown Cincinnati after the interstate on ramp I intended to take was blocked by police for what was probably an accident.  I tried following signs to another on ramp, but only succeeded in being more lost and more certain that this was not going to end well.  Incredibly, at just the right moment, an on ramp appeared --- going the wrong direction --- but I didn't care. It got me onto an interstate highway, and out of these narrow, confusing, city streets.

As we headed west along I-70, it occured to me that for the foreseeable future---maybe forever, this could be the last time I ever drive a semi truck.  I can't imagine anyone else driving Bruce.  Not Bruce!  We've been through everything together---snowy roads, lost downtown, heavy loads, light loads, and countless nights at truck stops.  No one knows Bruce and his incredible dependability better than me.

As I write this, I'm stopped in Colby, Kansas at what could possibly be my last night on the road. The routing of this last load is interesting.  I recall my first load out of Denver headed to Missouri, parking at a small lot in eastern Colorado, and waking up the next morning to see another truck from our company parked next door.  I remember that driver and his encouragement and help, and then headed out into the dark early Kansas morning, feeling incredibly foolish as I pushed onward into the predawn darkness of the Kansas morning, every mile being one mile further from my home, my routines, and my family, and feeling like an incredible fool. I remember at this dark moment of despair, the unanticipated feeling of love and peace from God. No other source could have visited that truck cab in such a powerful way that cold autumn morning.

And now here I am, taking basically the same route, only in reverse, westbound through a Kansas afternoon, headed back to more time with family, and headed towards a new career sitting at a desk. How will this new career turn play out for this  star-crossed traveler? It feels good, and I'll give it my best because after all, life itself is the greatest journey of all, and perhaps, just like the song says: Some day, you'll know where you are.

The open Kansas prairie. Headed westbound on our last load. I will miss Bruce and his many faithful miles.

A Rainy Night in Memphis (and Georgia)

After the load was unloaded, I crossed the bridge over the mighty Mississippi and stopped at a truck stop in Memphis. Bruce and I were welcomed to Memphis by thunder and lightening, and then it began to rain. The rain was heavy and relentless. The rain would come in a downpour, and then become a steady drizzle just long enough for the clouds to reload, and then the next deluge would hit again. The waves of rain continued regularly throughout the night. I asked someone from the area if it rains a lot in Memphis. He said that it certainly does.

The storm not withstanding, I realized one thing right away: I was no longer in the snow belt. I had to quickly lose about three layers of clothing, and all but one layer of warm bedding. Outside, the temperatures were in the 60's. Finally, the next trip plan came over the computer. Interestingly, the next trip was picking up a load where we had dropped our inbound load just a few hours earlier, at the exact same warehouse. Our next load assignment was to new load to Lebanon, Tennessee, which is just a few miles east of Nashville. The loading process for our outbound trailer was slow, and we weren't loaded till nearly eight hours later. To arrive at Lebanon by 6AM, I had to be on the road by about 2Am, so off into the stormy night we went.

I love the south! Our route on I-40 took us over the massive Mississippi and directly past the stunning skyline of Memphis at night. On the other side of the city, the interstate was less busy and through fog, rain, and inadequate headlights, I could see that we had entered hill country. The trees alongside the road grew tall and thick. I wished I could be making the drive during daylight hours and see the beauty of the hills of Tennessee.

There was a long line of trucks waiting to enter the warehouse facility where I was to unload. One by one, drivers would pull forward to the guard shack, get out of the truck, and stand there at the window fo the guard shack doing all the paperwork in order to be let inside. The process seemed to be taking an unusually long time. Finally, it was my turn, and I got out of the cab with my paperwork and walked up to the window to the guard shack. “Smoker 52” the lady at the counter said into a CB microphone. Probably in her mid sixties, she was slow and meticulous. In the pre-dawn darkness, she held up a magnifying to the paperwork so that she could see it more clearly. Information had to be written down and transferred from one form to another.

When she addressed me, I immediately fell in love with her accent. What was it...? Not quite southern, not really Hillbilly, but her kind, pleasant, and warm demeanor matched the accent perfectly. Sweet and friendly are how I would describe her. I didn't mind one bit. I wished I could have stayed and chatted with her.  She assigned me door 37.  As I was leaving, I heard her key the CB radio mike and announce in her down-home accent: "Smoker 37".  Well, at least now I knew what that meant.

At the warehouse, I discovered a very challenging backing situation. I was to back into door 37 but there were already trucks backed up to the two joining docks at 36 and 38. To make matters more challenging. The area to maneuver for backing was very small, which essentially made each backing maneuver an 'alley dock', basically a 90 degree angle back into the open dock. For me, personally, this a very challenging backing situation, one part science, one part art, and one part experience. I have none of any of those. One reason I find these backing situations difficult is because in these warehouses with tight backing space, while one truck is backing into a dock, all other traffic comes to a halt, and everyone stops and waits for the truck to complete the backing maneuver. So, not only is the pressure on to back into a very tight space without hitting anything else, one must also do so quickly, while all the other drivers are waiting, watching, evaluating, criticizing, and then no doubt complaining when you start taking too long. When I am in a difficult situation and feeling rushed by others, the pressure mounts dramatically. It's just the way my mind works.

My first attempt started out well, but the trailer was too close to the truck nearest to me. I decided to abort the attempt with literally only about two inches of space between the two trailers. Next attempt I pulled further ahead and started backing. One of the things that makes such backing difficult is that once the trailer has begun to pivot, it is nearly impossible to see how much clearance you have on the right-hand side, or the “blind side” of the truck. As the rear of the trailer entered into the space between the two trucks, things looked okay on my side, but I couldn't see the clearance on the blind side. So, I exited the truck, and walked back to the rear of the truck to take a look.

I asked the guy who was sitting in dock 36 if he wouldn't mind to watch my blind side and let me know if I was getting too close to his truck. I recognized him from the shipper I had just come from. He had also been loading there. He was extremely kind, and very helpful to me. Older than me, and obviously very experienced, he was only too happy to help. His assistance is one of those moments in my trucking career that I will never forget.

As soon as I was backed up, the next truck in line pulled up and was attempting to back into a slot near me in exactly the same conditions. Since I had been the recipient of such kindly assistance, I felt to return the favor. I jumped out and asked the driver if I could be of help. She was a new driver like me, about my age, from Idaho Falls, Idaho, and she had a load of potatoes. She said that these types of backing situations always made her nervous, and that she wasn't very good at them. I assured her that I felt the same way. I'm afraid I'm probably didn't render nearly as helpful assistance as that of the kind gentleman was who assisted me, but soon, she had her truck backed up to her dock. By now, the sun had begun to light the sky, and with the new day, and the stress of tight backing maneuvers completed, things were good.

As I sift through the events of the last few days, I am reminded that certain angels have unawares helped in my undertaking of this career change. While he only stood at the rear of the trailer and motioned me to continue backing, something in his kind and gentle manner are what I recall. He will never know that I will never forget him.  He was a true gentleman. He will never know that I will never forget him. I never asked his name. As a professional driver with years of experience, he's probably forgotten about the whole thing already. So I've decided that I never know when I may by chance---completely unaware---be an angel for someone. As I sit here in the cab of my truck writing this entry. A brand new, shiny red Volvo backed up into the space next to me. The driver was a little lady, gray hair, couldn't have weighed 100 pounds. Since most trucks are all the same length, when you are backed up next to each other, it's easy to look out your window and see the driver next to you. As she shut off her truck and glanced my way, I smiled and waved. Her face lit up and she smiled and waved back to me. Once she walked around to my side of the truck, I asked her how she liked being a truck driver. She said that she loved it. After a while, she rolled the windows down and blasted blues music and started to do a little dance. She was having a good time. Whether my smile and wave had anything to do in prompting her truck stop dance, I don't know. I doubt it. But dear reader, please smile at someone today. They may not even smile back. I have missed countless opportunities when I felt that I should have smiled, said a kind word, stopped and let a car into my lane in front of me. I'll try to do better. Will you join me? You wouldn't want to miss a chance to be an angel; would you? 

The next load plan came right away. We were to headed further south into Dixie by taking our empty trailer down to Atlanta, Georgia, and pick up a load of groceries, and we are now headed back to northern Indiana with our load.

For three days, I've been reading the constant stream of notices on the computer about bad road conditions and drivers on hold throughout California, Oregon, Idaho and Washington. Some drivers had been sitting there for three days waiting out the storm. In my mind, I could picture the driving snow, the ice built up on the windshield, the cold temperatures inside the cab. I looked out the cab of my truck. People were wearing shorts. I have the windows down to stay cool, and I just took a walk---in a T-shirt.

Highlands of Georgia.

There's always grass in Kentucky.

Parked in Kentucky, washed clean by the rains of Georgia and Memphis.

   

Heavy On My Mind

It happened so many times before so almost out of instinct, I began checking weather for the usual northerly routes and trying to anticipate the next load. Once this load for southern Illinois was unloaded, I was nearly certain of one thing: Wherever it was snowing and bitterly cold, that's exactly where my next load would be.

It takes forever to scroll down through the frustratingly slow computer screens to find out where a load is headed. First, you have to slowly move the cursor down through all the load details such as PO Number, weight, bill of lading number, and so on. These will all eventually be important details,but right now, I'm trying to see where the load is headed, and if there's enough time to get there. Finally, screen after screen had passed, and there were the instructions that I had been anticipating slowly rolled into view on the screen: “Deliver on time to West Memphis, Arkansas.” I could hardly believe my luck.

After the trailer was empty I headed directly south for several and swapped loads with a driver who lived nearby was going on home time and so we swapped trailers and I picked up his load and headed south, at last.

“Don't worry about the weight,” the driver mentioned as we were finished. “Even though it looks heavy on the gauge, it's still okay.” He said that he never scaled the load because the overall total weight of the cargo was low, and indeed it was. This however was one of those times when my gut instinct was telling me to cross a scale and get the load weights exactly. So what if it cost eleven dollars? An overweight citation can run into the thousands of dollars. Usually, if the dashboard gauge shows 61 or lower, your weight on the drive axles is okay. The gauge was showing nearly 63, way over my comfort level. The Arkansas state line was only about 20 miles up ahead, and even though my smart phone app didn't show any scales on the route, I knew from experience, that wherever there's a state line, a truck weight station is bound to be close by.

I punched in directions to the nearest truck stop with scales, which happened to be in Arkansas, and we hit the interstate headed south. We crossed the state line into Arkansas and had only eight miles to cover before we hit the truck stop. I sighed a relief that we were going to make it but just then, the interstate bent around some trees and there in the waning evening light was the sign: “Weight Station Ahead. All Trucks Must Exit”.

“You may not believe it,” I was going to argue, “But I just picked up this load, and I'm headed to the nearest truck stop to weigh the load on a certified scale.” I knew the officials would have no choice but to issue the citation. Numbers are, after all, numbers, and they don't lie. How would I ever tell my wife about this new expense? Then, I held onto a glimmer of hope that perhaps the weight station would be closed. That hope was quickly dashed by the next sign in bright green letters. The station was OPEN.

At most weight stations, a small on board transponder communicates with a computer at the weight station. Scales are placed in the highway just before the weight station, and the truck's weight, while it is still on the highway is sent to the officers at the weight station. If the officer likes what he sees, then your on board transponder will flash a green light, meaning that you can continue without the need to stop at the station. A red light means that the trucker must pull in for an additional, more detailed scale process, and potentially an inspection of shipping documents, and an inspection of the truck to ensure that it is in safe mechanical condition.

  We approached the point where the signal is transmitted. I heard the beeping from the equipment, and looked up to see the green light flashing. We had been given permission to bypass! Now, curious more than anything, but just to be safe in case any more weight stations popped up, I stopped at the truck stop and scaled the load. The drive axles were 460 pounds overweight. I slid the tandems around, and got the load legal and continued on our way. I arrived in Memphis grateful for two things: To be in the south out of the snow, and to have seen a green light when I so desperately needed one.

61,  the magic number. Anything higher, and you may be overweight.

Frigid Send Off to South

Maybe I gained favor with the load planners, maybe they just had sympathy for my months-long saga of winter conditions as a new driver. However it came to be, I finally got to go south, to Dixie!

After Bruce got his repairs, we headed out of Utah taking a load to Illinois. Then, about an hour into the trip, an notice came through to swap loads with another unit in Rawlings, Wyoming. The new load was also going to Illinois, but the the southern part of the state.

It was dark and snowing when I arrived at the designated truck stop, and finally found my colleague parked in the remote parking lot. The entire truck stop was covered in about eight inches of snow, and trucks were getting stuck in the parking lot. My new load was a load of apples, and very, very light. Light loads in the winter are a mixture of good news and bad. news Good because light loads are easier to pull up grades, easier to get up to speed when merging onto an interstate. The bad part comes in when roads are slick because heavy loads sometimes are usually to keep traction, particularly when pulling up a steep grade. Also, light loads are more susceptible to blow-over risk during high winds, a common occurrence in Wyoming in the winter. Early the next morning, we headed out into the darkness of a wintery Wyoming morning, punching a hole 13 feet six inches high through the cold wind and swirling snow flakes. The roads were good in spots, and lousy in others. Always, the roads seemed to end, just when I was beginning to worry. And so we continued along, good conditions...bad conditions...until we made it to Nebraska where the skies and the roads both became clear and most welcome.

Off to the south horizon however, I could see the obvious signs of a major storm, and the on board computer was alive all day with notes about a major ice storm down south---directly in the areas I was headed to. Due to the hazardous conditions caused by the ice storm, a safety hold was put in place, so, nearly out of hours, and headed directly into the path of the ice storm, I parked in Lincoln, Nebraska and waited for the go ahead. Once the all-clear came, we continued eastbound and continued to our final destination, southern Illinois.

Rawlings, WY --leaving truck stop in a snow storm. Headed south!

Waiting out the ice storm in Nebraska near Missouri border

Ice storm day 2 -- my neighbor at the truck stop. Cold send off for a southern  trip!

America's Circulatory System

We humans are always buying, selling, and trading stuff and we have been doing this for a long, long time. Of course all this buying, selling, trading, building, making and growing things to sell, requires transportation. Through time, we've used camels, donkeys, wagons, boats, and ships, and now our modern transportation system is an often overlooked wonder of our times. It's just what humans do. We are always moving things around!

Practically everything you have or touch on any given day was transported, probably multiple times. The shoes you wear, the milk in your refrigerator, your new bed with those number settings, the car in your driveway, even the mail sitting on the kitchen table that you just brought in from the mail box, it was all transported---and most likely, it was transported by a truck.

I'm sitting at a truck stop in Missouri as I write this, and pulling by me on their way out of the facility is a constant parade of trucks. A tanker truck full of some kind of hazardous chemical just left. A truck hauling some kind of grain was right behind the tanker, and parked over there is a double-trailer package truck making sure that all those online orders are delivered on time. My last load was a load of apples, and now I'm hauling 18 tons of of jams and jellies.

I recently read a description of the trucking industry as the circulatory system of our country, and from what I can see, this is a very appropriate description. Drive down any interstate in any part of the country any time day or night, rain or shine, snow or heat, and what will you see? You'll see trucks moving along through this country's highway veins and arteries like the red blood cells carrying oxygen throughout the body. Without trucking, our modern way of life as we know it would be in serious jeopardy.

Each truck has a story. There's a shipper who loaded the truck; there's a consignee who receives the goods. There's a bill of lading to describe and sometimes transfer ownership of the goods. And in every truck, there's at least one driver. So all that stuff in your life and mine, it came by truck but trucks don't just go from here to there all by themselves (yet)...there was a pair of hands on that steering wheel, a set of eyes looking in the mirror while backing up to the dock. There was perhaps a lonely night in an obscure, dark truck stop---another night away from home.

In my opinion, truck drivers are some of our true American heroes. Many are small business owners. They put together enough money to get a loan or a lease and get a truck of their own. Trucking is one of the great small business generators in our economy. Truck drivers are young, middle-aged, and many could have, or should have retired years ago, but there they are, still driving. Many new immigrants to this country find their way into trucking. Truckers are men, women, couples, cowboys, city folk, military veterans, and more. Trucking truly is a whole cross section of Americans, all working very hard to survive and to secure part of the American dream for themselves.

I've been in the world of trucking just long enough to have met some incredibly nice, helpful people. People who by the very nature of this industry, I will never see or speak to again. Some truckers for sure are careless, lazy, and rude...but most of the ones that I've met and had the occasion to interact with have been very nice.

One day, I was picking up a load at a large beer distillery. The procedures for picking up a load it seemed, were always changing, and so one could never be too comfortable in the routine. This time, the procedure required all incoming trucks to back up to just three available warehouse doors to have some packing material loaded in each incoming empty trailer. After check in at the gate, there was a mad rush for the three doors. I swung around and started backing up to the middle door, only to realize about halfway through my maneuver that I had cutoff a truck coming from the other direction, and clearly intending to back up to the same door that I was. After I completed my backing and while waiting for the material to be loaded, the truck next to me was able to reset and then backed up to the loading dock immediately next to me. I got out of my truck and went over to apologize to the driver for the inconvenience I had no doubt caused. The driver next to me turned out to be a young lady. She was very nice, and said that it wasn't a problem at all, in fact, that another driver from my company had helped her out earlier in the day to understand the new routine. “That's great.” I said “It's like we're one big brotherhoo....” and then I caught myself. It's not really a brotherhood if there are women here too. “It's like a big neighborhood.” I continued, correcting my near mistake. However clumsy my words that day, I did feel part of a unique culture of hard working and dedicated Americans.

So whatever you touch, see, or use, a pair of hands brought that to you. I have been introduced to the grand miraculous circulatory network of hard working men and women, America's truckers.

Yes, you can purchase the Freightliner Cascadia in a variety of colors. (A truck stop in southern Illinois).

Yes, you can purchase the Freightliner Cascadia in White, if you really want to.

Orange Trees, Orange Lights

It had been raining for two days by the time I backed up to the loading dock in Stockton, California. By the time my load was finally finished, it was nearly 11 pm and much to late to find parking at any truck stops or parking areas, so I parked --- along with several other trucks --- on the street outside.
All night long, the rain continued, and early the next morning, the rain persisted.  I decided to walk about a mile or so to a nearby fast food place to get something to eat.  Along the way, I passed someone's yard who had an orange tree in their front yard next Some of the oranges had fallen to the ground.  I love oranges and was tempted! Just down the road, I passed a palm tree in another yard. A sight not too uncommon. I was at last in the land of orange and palm trees!  My little spot of paradise away from winter wouldn't  unfortunately last for long.

The load I had taken was to be delivered in Portland, Oregon which meant I'd be taking  I-5 up through the mountain ranges of northern California and southern Oregon.  I decided to delay my departure for about 12 hours because I-5 was closed due to winter conditions. My short respite from winter storms was officially over.

Next dispatch was a load of hardware from Portland  Oregon to a large retail store in eastern Oregon. When I arrived, the area had been blanked by about six inches of snow just the day before. Apparently rain in California is snow in Oregon. This was a 'drop and pick' where I dropped the loaded container and picked up the empty.  This operation sounds easy and simple in theory, but events soon proved that theories can sometimes have exceptions.

The store had three loading docks. One dock was occupied by a trailer from another company. The middle dock by a trailer from our company, the empty that I was to pick up, and the third dock was vacant and it looked like the perfect spot to back up my loaded trailer.  The first challenge was trying to back up into the dock. There wasn't much room to maneuver at all without pulling out into the busy street. This required waiting till there was a break in the traffic, pulling out into the street and then backing up, pulling up into the busy street again to re-position, and backing up again.
Finally, after about 30 minutes of exasperating backing, I had the trailer ready for its final back up to the dock and I went inside to give my paperwork to the Receiving Department. It was then that they told me that they are unable to use that vacant dock for our trailers. I would therefore need to back up to the middle dock where our empty trailer was already.

The simplicity of my drop and hook operated just changed.  I had to disconnect from the loaded trailer, and connect to the empty container at the dock and pull it up and back it off into a corner out of the way, then disconnect from the empty and go back and hook up again to the loaded trailer and move it over one spot to the middle dock, and get it backed up ready for unloading, and then, the final step to back and hook up to the empty trailer. The entire process took a while, but finally, my drop and hook operations was completed. Another satisfied customer!

I headed about 20 miles down the road to my next shipper where my empty trailer was loaded, destined for Denver.  Once loaded, Bruce was climbing up the first mountain grade, when a bright orange light appeared on the dash...the famous 'check engine' light.  These have popped up before, and when I contacted our on-the-road team, they always checked the computer diagnostics remotely and said in effect: "It's nothing serious; keep on driving." This was the answer I was expecting this time, but instead the message came back: "Stop in at the Idaho or Utah terminal and have the shop look at it."

Spent the next two days sitting at a truck stop on a weather/safety hold while a winter storm raged, and then headed out to Utah.  The shop manager told me that the work that needed to be done was covered by warranty, and I should take the truck over the the dealership.  This I did and was told they couldn't have repairs finished till two days later.  So I'm right now on a couple of days wait while Bruce is having his repairs completed. Meanwhile, all around as I sit, the winter storms continue. When will this relentless winter end?  Or, when will I be able to take a load south where I don't need to worry about snow and Ice for a few days?

Yes, I was tempted!

Palm tree in the wind and rain, California.

From Orange trees to winter storm, northern CA

When the storm hits, everyone's looking for a parking spot. Burley, Idaho

A Mountain and a Clock

Christmas home time came and went much too quickly.  Soon, I found myself transferring my load of Christmas gifts received, and groceries from my car into Bruce.  Memories of being with my family still running through my mind made this a very tough transition to make. It was one of those times when the true costs of this job, of being away from loved ones for extended periods, rubs raw.

I'd been assigned  a load of pet food going from Denver, CO to Boise, ID.   This was  a 'drop and pick' meaning that I would drop off an empty and pick up a trailer already pre-loaded, and it turned out to be very loaded--45,000 pounds, our heaviest load so far.  The brakes creaked and groaned under the strain of slowing and stopping almost 40 tons of cargo and vehicle.  Bruce lumbered up the interstate ramp more slowly than normal, straining to get the heavy load up to highway speed.

We spent the first night parked at a parking area just outside of Cheyenne, WY.  When I awoke the next morning, I discovered that we were in a snowstorm.  We creeped along the snowy highway over the highlands and dropped down into Laramie, WY where the storm changed to clouds and winds, very strong winds.  Overhead highway signs indicated that the interstate was closed to all empty or light-weight high profile vehicles due to winds gusting at over 60 mph.  Just a week earlier, I had come along this same route with a load of furniture that barely weighed 20,000 pounds.  If I had been pulling that load today, I would be parked along the interstate waiting out the storm, but for once, a heavy load proved to be a blessing. It would help to keep my wheels securely on the highway.

After the load was delivered, I went to our Idaho terminal to await the next dispatch which soon followed:  A load of frozen food being delivered near San Francisco, CA.  Thick freezing fog settled in the valley and everything was wet and cold, freezing cold.  The cold temperatures prove to be nice in a way, since company policy is that the truck is to remain idling at temperatures below 10 degrees. When I shut down for the night, the temperature was 8 degrees, which meant the cab heater could operate all night!  I always seemed to sleep better falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of Bruce's large diesel engine idling, and knowing that when I woke up in the morning, I would be greeted by a cabin warm and pleasant.

The next day I headed across the Idaho border to Oregon and spent nearly seven hours being loaded with our frozen food. The route to California was a new one for me, so I didn't want to head out at night without knowing the parking situation better, so I decided since it was so late to spend a 2nd night at the Idaho terminal and then cover most of the miles the next day.

Early the next morning, the on board thermometer registered a cold zero degrees. We headed southbound, Bruce punching a hole 13 feet six inches high and 72 feet long into the cold morning fog.  The fog was thick and at its thickest, enveloped the highway so that vision was difficult. Progress slowed as the fog wrapped itself around the way ahead and refused to relent.

Finally, as we climbed up mountains to higher elevations we began to get an occasional break from the fog (see photo below) and for about 10 minutes enjoyed clear, dry roads, snowy mountains glowing at daybreak, and a flawless blue sky, but then just as it seemed this view would continue, we were plunged back into the maddening grip of the fog.

The fog was a problem for more reasons than the very limited visibility and dangerous driving conditions that it created.  I needed to cover a lot of miles today in order to make parking work.

Our route would take us south down a two-lane highway through western Oregon and then into northern Nevada.  The route then followed I-80 along its crossing of Nevada, through Reno, and up over Donner Pass of the Sierra Nevada mountains before dropping down into the fertile valleys of Sacramento and coastal California. My weather app on my phone showed that a major storm was due to hit Donner Pass Sunday morning, while all day Saturday the skies would be sunny and the highway dry and clear.  I had made up my mind that come what may, I was going to cross this mountain in favorable conditions.  That meant that we absolutely had to make it over the mountain pass and at least into Sacramento in about 10 hours.  A driver can legally drive only 11 hours per day. I never like to drive more than 10, leaving the last hour as a cushion for unexpected delays enroute. The math showed that this scramble over the mountain would be workable IF we could maintain a relatively decent rate of speed.  The fog was slowing progress for way too long.

Finally, we hit I-80 and swung west towards Reno.  I stopped at a truck stop just outside Winnemucca, NV to double-check the remaining trip.  If there was no delay of any kind, then it still appeared possible to clear the mountain and find parking at the only major truck stop that I could find in Sacramento.  We had to park early also, for since it appeared that there was only one truck stop providing parking, it would no doubt fill up early in the day.

We began the long climb up the eastward slope of Donner Pass. Bruce handled the long climb very well, and was able to maintain a respectable speed given the weight of our load and the elevation gain.  At the top of the pass I pulled into a rest stop to double-check my figures.  As soon as the truck came to a stop, I stopped the driving clock. We had two hours and nine minutes before I was out of driving time today.  If I was still driving in two hours and 10 minutes, I would be in violation and subject to a ticket, fine, and penalty. This was it. The plan simply had to work because I simply had no Plan B---not even a remote one---available to me.

I exited the rest area, and pushed back into the flow of traffic of I-80 and began our descent, more of a plunge really down the west side of the mountain range. The speed limit for truck traffic in California is generally 55 mph, not the 60 we had been making through Nevada.  The second challenge was the rapid descent of the highway down the mountain slope.  We had to carefully pick our way down the mountainside due to sharp curves, and frequent reduced speed zones for trucks due to the degree of the downhill grade.

I kept one eye on the on board computer as it counted down the available driving time:  1 hour 36 minutes remaining. Eagerly, I scanned the upcoming highway signs for an idea of the mileage left. Finally, there it was Sacramento: 72 miles.  The clock continued its methodical countdown with no regard for my tenuous situation. 1 hour 28 minutes remaining...where is that mileage sign...48 miles to go....Is this going to work?  Finally, the mountain slope became foothills, and the freeway added a couple more lanes and the freeway became thick with metro traffic.

"Please" I whispered under my breath, "No one have any accidents, no rush-hour traffic is allowed today!"  My prayers were answered and traffic continued to move at freeway speeds. 22 miles to go, 58 minutes remaining.  Finally, with just 40 minutes left of the clock, the sign for the truck stop became visible up ahead, and I took the exit and pulled into the truck stop. Now the next challenge was to find a parking place, and suddenly I realized that everyone else was parking for the same reason that I was. Tomorrow was New Year's Day and very few businesses would be open on the holiday to accept their shipments. So what do truckers do when they can't deliver?  They go to the nearest truck stop and wait. In this case, the nearest truck stop was also the only truck stop around for miles and miles.  Fortunately, at the very back of the truck stop there were a handful of empty spots and I backed into one and shut the truck down with about 30 minutes on the drive clock.  My earnest prayers had once again provided me with blessings, and I felt very thankful.

8 Degrees at shutdown, morning would bring zero.

A break from the fog at weigh station Idaho/Oregon border.

High deserts of Nevada along I-80

I looked around at the green grass, the occasional palm tree, and noted the temperature: 52 degrees. The zero degrees that the journey had started with seemed now to be a world away.