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.