I fueled at the terminal early the next morning and then set out for Blythewood, South Carolina. My confidence had been shaken by the debacle in Orlando, so it didn’t help when I toppled over a stack of wooden pallets in Blythewood as I backed into the dock. I even exacerbated the error by running over and crushing some of them. My confidence was officially rattled, and the familiar thoughts of quitting began to emerge once again. I could not understand why this was so damned hard for me.
Mathematics can be thrown out the window when backing a big truck. No two backing maneuvers are ever the same. Sometimes, there is a large staging area to do a nice big setup, and sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes, the setup is between two other trucks, and the target is not even visible to the driver. There are all sorts of contingencies that factor into a backing maneuver. What it boils down to is intuition, and that only comes with experience. Some drivers boast that they were always good at backing. I seriously doubt that a single driver exists who was capable of masterful backing early in his or her career. Nevertheless, my spirit was crushed as I left Blythewood.
We went back to Auburndale to pick up a load going to a Coca-Cola warehouse in Atlanta. I should not have been surprised to see that the Atlanta warehouse was a miserably crowded place with a miniscule docking area. I nervously backed in between two other trucks with, perhaps, two or three inches clearance on either side. After almost taking out the mirror of the truck on my blind side, I made it to the dock and fought the urge to puke as my heart raced in my rapid breathing made me lightheaded. I’d never had this many problems at my first company, but I’d never had to perform precision backing, at this level, in flatbed trucking. I was truly getting a trial by fire and, thus far, I had repeatedly burned the crap out of myself.
After that, we went back to the Coke syrup plant to pick up another load and then, mercifully, headed back to Scottsboro for a 34-hour restart. The first week on the Coke fleet left me feeling like I’d been chewed up by a meat grinder.
I dropped my loaded trailer at a Scottsboro truck stop in preparation to bobtail home. As I walked back to the cab, I felt a suspicious "plop" followed by a warm sensation on my left ear. After dropping my load at the truck stop, a passing bird dropped its load on me. It seemed like an appropriate exclamation point to this hellish week!
Week 24: Low Times in High Springs
We left for Tampa, Florida on Sunday and, mercifully, this week started out smoothly. After delivering in Tampa, we picked up a load in Auburndale to take to Atlanta. We spent the night at a Georgia rest area and got up at 3am to go to Atlanta.
I had been on the interstate for about fifteen minutes when another truck passed me in the hammer lane. He had gone only a few feet past when I heard a loud BANG! Rubber and debris flew from beneath his trailer and violently pelted my windshield. Just a few moments earlier, I had bemoaned the impossibility of finding a palatable cup of coffee at a rest area. Now, I didn’t need one; I was awake!
I was going back to the Coca-Cola warehouse, the one with the tiny docks. My nightmare continued when I actually did ding the mirror of the truck on my blind side this time. I got out to assess the damage to find the other driver already out of his truck. He was a lanky, middle-aged man who wore an understandably sour look as he stared at his dented mirror while refusing to look at me. I surveyed both sides of the mirror and saw that the damage confined itself to a little ding on the back. I offered my sincere apologies and awaited a response, but the man continued to ignore my presence. He grimaced at the mirror as if it were covered in baboon excrement. I felt terrible, but with his refusal to reply, I simply returned to my truck.
A few minutes later, he walked up to my window and broke his vow of silence.
“Did you see my mirror?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m gonna have to replace that mirror,” he added.
“So,” I asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I’m gonna have to replace that mirror,” he repeated.
There was no question in my mind that the functionality of the mirror had not been compromised, but if he wanted to replace it for cosmetic purposes, that was his prerogative. After all, the damage was because of my error.
“Okay,” I said, “we can file an accident report and my company’s insurance will take care of your damage.”
At that, he just walked away. I then watched him exit the shipper with his paperwork and simply drive off. I never heard from him again.
Apparently, he expected me to just start throwing money at him. I acknowledged my error, and it made me sick to my stomach, but I wasn’t about to give him carte blanche to my wallet. I was willing to make reparations through the proper channels, but I believe that he saw a golden opportunity for a quick buck. At any rate, this event caused the balance of my fragile confidence to teeter even more precariously to the "cow pie" side of the fence.
After this catastrophe, we picked up at the Coke syrup plant in Atlanta to deliver to Jacksonville. The problem was that it was scheduled for a 3am delivery, and I didn’t have the hours left to do it. I alerted dispatch to this problem, and they instructed me to go ahead and pick it up; they would change the appointment time. This sounded reasonable, so I picked it up and went to the Pilot in Byron, Georgia to shut down for the night. Shortly after I arrived, I got a Qualcomm message from dispatch stating that the customer had to have this delivery by 3am. Since I was out of hours to drive, I told dispatch they’d have to assign another driver to this load if the appointment time could not be changed. Dispatch agreed to send another driver, so I unhooked from the trailer and parked the bobtail in the spot next to it in order to make the transition easier. Then, I went in the truck stop for a shower and came back to go to bed. I figured the other driver would wake me when he arrived.
I awoke a little before 2am, and no one had shown up for the load. I called dispatch to find out what was going on.
“You’ve been taken off this load. Another driver will be there in about an hour and a half to get it,” said the dispatcher.
“Well,” I replied, “the entire point of swapping this load was so it could be in Jacksonville by 3am. It’s 2am now. What time is it going to be in an hour and a half?”
He took a moment to compute this mathematical conundrum and replied with, “Let me get back to you.”
Ultimately, I was reassigned to the load and instructed to get it there as soon as possible.
I arrived in Jacksonville at 9am only to be told by the Receiving Department that they could not unload me until 10pm. I called dispatch again and now, they wanted me to take it to High Springs, Florida. Dispatch had fumbled, thrown an interception, and been tackled for a safety in the execution of this game plan. Unfortunately, I was the one suffering the hits from the big, ugly linebackers. I was ready to punt and go rub some dirt on my wounds.
As I drove to High Springs, the number of four-wheelers who hunkered down as they passed to peer up into my truck bewildered me. I wasn’t sure what they expected to see, but I figured their curiosity should be rewarded with…something. I blew a nonpartisan kiss to both men and women as I met their gawks. I’m not sure all of them interpreted it in the benevolent manner it was intended, but at least they got the satisfaction of knowing their effort was not met with apathy.
In High Springs, I finally ridded myself of this cumbersome albatross of a load, and then I got a series of three eighty-eight mile runs from High Springs to Jacksonville and back. I called it The Trifecta from Hell. It was hot, sweaty work, and I wasn’t making much money on these short runs.
It would only get worse. The hellish three-peat ended with me putting a ding on the left front fender of my truck while trying to back into a dock. I believe my exhaustion diminished my capacity to pay attention, but that’s still no excuse. I should have stopped before I allowed them to push me that hard. Fortunately, the damage did not involve another vehicle, and it was minor, but it was still noticeable. I had no choice but to report it to t
he Accident Department. I wondered what the hell was happening to me. I had made a lot of backing errors lately. My concern, however, rapidly morphed into indifference. I was so exhausted, I just didn’t care.
After getting some rest, I agreed to take a weekend run to Lewisville, Texas instead of going home. After the Trifecta from Hell, I needed the money. I spent the night at the TA in Baldwin, Florida and set out on Saturday morning. I made it all the way to Talluah, Louisiana for the night. It had been a smooth day for a change.
Detour: Fitness, Hygiene, and Diet on the Road
Based on its research, the Transportation Research Board (TRB) says that the obesity in trucking is rampant. In response to the research, the Associated Press notes that many truckers do not wear seat belts because their stomachs get in the way; one in four have sleep apnea, and half of all truckers smoke compared to about one-fifth of all Americans.[24] All of these are risk factors for high blood pressure, heart disease, and diabetes. New studies reveal that truck drivers top the list of the most obese groups of workers in the United States.[25] Apparently, trucking poses a challenge for a healthy lifestyle. Dr. Martin Moore-Ede, a Toronto researcher, claims that truck drivers live ten to fifteen years less than the average North American male. Is there really anything a trucker can do to battle against a lifestyle that is not conducive to healthy living?
Trucking does not compare to an ordinary job. An OTR trucker does not have the option of hitting Gold’s Gym after work every day, and few appear to have taken the advice of Chuck Norris with the purchase of a Total Gym. While there is a handful of drivers who pay attention to their health, the majority is among the unhealthiest eaters on the planet.
There are many reasons for the lack of healthy habits on the road. For a National driver, spending three to six weeks (or more) living in a truck simply has a way of chipping away resolve. After working fourteen hours, it is often difficult to muster the motivation to prepare a healthy meal. Fatigue and stress can highlight the appeal of comfort food in a restaurant. After veering off the path of healthy eating on the road, I can attest to the difficulty of getting back on track. Boredom and loneliness are the perfect scapegoats for an unhealthy meal or snack.
Author’s Note: Fortunately, most major truck stops now offer fresh fruit, fresh salads, and more healthy meal and snack options than in years past. Eating healthy on the road is still a herculean task, but there are better options than there used to be.
While it may not be possible to regularly get a gym-quality workout on the road, some drivers take a creative approach to avoid the dreaded trucker’s physique. A Wisconsin driver decided to start a walking routine. Instead of waiting around for his truck to be unloaded, he walked a mile or so into the nearest town. It is also a good idea to park at the back of a truck stop. This forces additional walking in the course of a typical day. Another driver I met stored a fold-up bicycle in his truck. Not only did it give him an enjoyable way to stay fit, it provided added mobility during downtime. It obviously worked for him, as he was lean and muscular. Also, some travel centers, like TA, have added fitness rooms and wellness programs to make it a little easier for drivers who care about their health.
The only limit to finding ways to stay fit on the road is the driver’s creativity. I have seen a driver skipping rope at a truck stop, and another pumping iron on a weight bench beside his truck. Personally, I carry a set of dumbbells and resistance bands on the road, and I walk as much as I can. When I can’t walk, I use a portable stepper that I store in the sleeper berth. It cost about fifty bucks. I generally prepare my own meals, but I sometimes fall victim to an insatiable craving for the greasy fare of the road. The best advice for any driver is to cook most meals in the truck, avoid fast foods and buffets, and exercise for at least a few minutes a day. Even Bojangles chicken, my personal weakness, seems less appealing when I watch a driver, with belly fat hanging almost to his knees, waddle toward the truck stop after having parked as close to the buffet as humanly possible.
Personal hygiene is another issue that proves challenging for some drivers. While there are those who swear they shower daily, I find it impractical to attempt a daily shower on the road. While it is theoretically possible, the sacrifice of sleep time would seem to outweigh the positives. My personal goal is to get a “real” shower every other day while settling for a quick wipe down with baby wipes on subsequent days. For me, this is a more practical goal that is usually attainable. When that isn’t possible, I keep a large plastic bowl that can be filled with water and used as a wash basin for a sponge bath. I also have a bottle of No Rinse shampoo on board that serves as an alternative to the real thing in a pinch. There’s really no excuse for a driver to go around emanating body odor.
The major truck stop chains are, ordinarily, good about providing clean shower facilities. With the purchase of fuel, the driver gets a free shower. Among the nicest shower facilities I have encountered is at the Bosselman Travel Center in Grand Island, Nebraska. They are always clean, and they are almost large enough for a three-on-three basketball game. As an added touch, the staff leaves a pair of Hershey’s kisses for the driver.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, I have encountered shower facilities that reflected a lower standard of work ethics. The most disgusting shower I ever saw was at an independent truck stop in Winnie, Texas. Used towels lay askew, and I would have bet that the shower’s last cleaning occurred during the Bill Clinton administration. I asked for my money back and took a bird bath in the truck.
I have also seen drivers who neglect oral hygiene. It never ceases to amaze me that while all major trucking companies offer dental plans, I see too many drivers with missing or disgusting teeth. I admit that it can be challenging to keep a medical or dental appointment, but I would take time off work, or even quit, before I’d let my teeth rot and fall out. I believe the majority of truckers care about personal hygiene, but a select few lend credence to the negative Hollywood stereotype.
More than once, I’ve watched a male driver flirt with a waitress or cashier at a truck stop while he is dirty and emanating a foul odor. His teeth (if he has them) are stained with coffee and nicotine and his butt crack peeks unassumingly above the back of his greasy Levi’s. Still, he thinks he is God’s gift to women. As one driver puts it, “People, in general, are either nasty or clean. Their occupation has little to do with it.”
I tend to agree.
Week 25: Driver "Appreciation"
Sunday was another smooth day. I saw a goat casually munching grass on the shoulder of I-20 as I drove through Louisiana. You never know what you are going to see out here. I made a brief stop in Haughton, Louisiana, a small community just east of Shreveport, where my family lived for a couple of years when I was a teenager.
I hold fond memories of Haughton as it served as a mentor for my entry into the world of young adulthood. My best friend, Jay, and I used to camp out on weekends and climb atop abandoned oil derricks to look out upon the landscape and share our hopes and dreams.
I stopped at the TA in Terrell, Texas for the night and got a Qualcomm message shortly thereafter saying that a Driver Appreciation luncheon would be held at the Marietta, Georgia terminal next week. The company held a Driver Appreciation luncheon about once a month at various terminals, but it was simply luck of the draw for a driver to actually be able to attend. Over the course of two years, I attended exactly zero Driver Appreciation luncheons. I was out making money for the company while the office and maintenance staff "appreciated" me by stuffing their faces with turkey and dressing. While I don’t mean to kick sand in the face of a generous gesture, the fact remains that it is the office and shop personnel who benefit most from Driver Appreciation luncheons. I think a more sincere gesture might be a Christmas bonus, or extra paid vacation days for drivers who stay out on major holidays or, at least, a restaurant certificate that the driver can actually use. If a company actually wants to show driver appreciation, there are better ways to do it than to throw a lunch th
at the vast majority of drivers can’t attend.
A more telling indicator of driver appreciation occurred later in my career when I spent Christmas Day in my truck at a snowbound Columbus, Ohio terminal. Drivers were "appreciated" that day by being locked out of the terminal. I sent a message to the staff, which read:
Kudos to Columbus terminal for locking drivers out on Christmas Day. I guess you failed to take into account that while you are at home having dinner and exchanging gifts with your families, some of us are spending Christmas at a truck terminal in need of a shower. Ho, ho, freaking ho!
The delivery to Lewisville was satisfactory, and then we went to pick up another load from the terminal in Wilmer, Texas to deliver to Vonore, Tennessee. Wading through the molasses of Dallas morning traffic was about as fun as a habanero sauce enema.
After delivering to Vonore, I expected dispatch to send me home for my restart following the weekend Texas run. It turned out that "Bob," my dispatcher, had other ideas. After a heated rift with Dispatcher Bob, he finally allowed me to go home. I began to toy with the idea of leaving the Coke fleet and switching to the National fleet. The National fleet paid more, and Dispatcher Bob was something of a festering bag of shit.
I did not have adequate hours to drive to Scottsboro, so I spent the night at a dusty Tennessee truck stop in Niota called Crazy Ed’s. I had an unexpectedly good meal at the restaurant inside, and it lifted my spirits a little. However, I found myself becoming disillusioned with trucking again. Had this whole thing just been a huge mistake?
Spirit of the Road Page 11