I had intended to give my new travel stove a test run tonight, but I was too drained to mess with it. I settled for a cold sandwich and a warm, welcoming bed.
The next day went more smoothly even though it rained again for most of the day. Our next load was going to Sidney, Nebraska. The directions I received appeared more as if I’d be looking for "Hoot Owl Holler" in the Okefenokee Swamp. The Sidney customer was so far out in the sticks, even my supplemental software couldn’t find it.
The next day was an uneventful driving day of 643 miles. While getting fuel in Aurora, Nebraska, a truck hauling livestock, or a "bull runner" pulled into the fuel island next to me. A gentle breeze wafted the odoriferous ensemble in my direction. In my Navy days, I smelled beer and pickled egg farts that were more palatable. There isn’t enough gold in Ft. Knox to entice me to drive a bull runner.
The skies finally cleared and the rain subsided. We made it all the way to the Wal-Mart in Lexington, Nebraska. There were no parking spots when we arrived, but a truck pulled out just as I was about to pass behind him. I pointed to the sky and said, “I owe you one.”
Kitty sensed that we were at a place that would provide her with a treat, so she became excited and vocal. She slept most of the time when the truck was moving, but sometimes, she grew tired of the endless miles and became inspired to perform a feline concert as we rolled down the road to voice her discontent. She was a vocal cat to begin with, and a Meow medley at an inopportune time often made me irritable as well. In spite of this, it was much better out here with her company. She was worth every bit of the trouble and extra work. On this evening, I treated her appeals with an all-you-can-eat portion of a roasted lemon chicken. After gorging herself, she climbed into the sleeper and curled up in a euphoric slumber.
We rolled into Sidney on Friday morning, and the directions were not as bad as I had feared. I had no trouble finding the place, but I almost got stuck in the mud while we were there. Thank goodness for the inter-axle differential switch in the cab. This causes both axles on the rear of the tractor to work in conjunction as drive axles.
Sidney, Nebraska owes its origins to the transcontinental railroad. Founded in 1867 by the Union Pacific, the town grew up around the military base of Fort Sidney, where soldiers guarded the railroad against Indian attacks.[33] Sidney prospered greatly when gold was discovered in the Black Hills in 1874. The community also served as the railhead for equipment and supplies moving north. Shortage of sleeping accommodations led to the establishment of the world’s first all-night theater, and a front street lined with eighty saloons, gaming halls, brothels, and boarding houses. This earned Sidney the moniker of Sinful Sidney: The Toughest Town in the Western Frontier.[34]
While I was more of a mudslinger than a gunslinger in Sidney, I was happy to live to tell the tale. We picked up our next load in McCook, Nebraska, which was destined for Brownsville, Texas with a stop-off in Houston.
On the way to Texas, I encountered a Kodak moment on US23 just past Oberlin, Kansas. A row of at least a dozen cows stood side-by-side, pointing their hindquarters through the fence and toward the highway. They seemed to be issuing a collective “bovine moon” to all passersby. This provided a welcome laugh.
After spending the night in Wakeeney, I discovered that there is actually an Oz museum in Kansas. I would have given anything to click my heels together three times when I got wedged in behind a school bus at a truck stop in Oklahoma City. As I waited helplessly for the entire pubescent caravan to disembark, I watched most of the adolescent boys frantically pump their arms in an effort to coerce me into blowing the road horn. Engulfed by the wave of pre-teens, I merely shook my head and said, “This can’t be happening.”
We spent the night in Denton, Texas where a Lot Lizard knocked on my window as I was reading my USA Today. “Lot Lizard” is a term used to refer to truck stop prostitutes. The drug-induced haze of the lizard inspired a mixed feeling of disgust and pity. My lizard encounters have been infrequent; most truck stops have taken measures to eliminate the scourge. There are, however, still a few Texas truck stops with lizard infestations.
After an invitation for "commercial company," her pitiable and unkempt appearance elicited a simple and concise “no” from me. I then rolled up my window, knowing that nightmares probably waited in the sleeper berth.
Detour: Lot Lizards
Many consider lot lizards to be the lowest rung on the ladder of the oldest profession. The girls and women who shuttle between the shadows of trucks seeking money in exchange for sexual favors have long since abandoned any shred of self-respect. These women are often trying to support a drug habit, and there is little sympathy for what many consider the scourge of the trucking industry.
My first lizard encounter occurred when I was riding with Ringo. After purchasing a hot dog at a Florida truck stop, an old purple Plymouth Duster, that looked like it had collided with a telephone pole, blocked my path to Ringo’s truck. Two scantily dressed women, appearing to be in their late twenties, occupied the decrepit vehicle. The blonde woman on the passenger’s side beckoned me down to her level and inquired as to whether I would be interested in “commercial company”.
I could tell that, at some point, this woman had been pretty. The bone structure of her face was angelic, but acne now peppered her features, and her eyes were glassy with a drug-induced haze. I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I actually thought I saw stretch marks on her cheeks.
My first thought was, “I wonder how that happened?”
Sadly, I thought I probably knew.
Who are the women willing to rent their bodies to strangers driving big rigs? According to an article by Max Heine, they range from teenage runaways to aging, battered spouses. Many turn tricks part time and, for others, it is a full-time job. Many are seeking drug money, and most show a frightening lack of concern for sexually transmitted diseases. Heine goes on to say that the one thing common to most of them is a tragic background of abuse.[35]
Despite their often worn down appearance, lot lizards retain their marketability because over-the-road trucking has a way of highlighting basic needs. Truckers are accustomed to pulling out their wallets for things taken for granted at home, such as a meal or a shower. Some truckers succumb to the loneliness of the road and are willing to pull out their wallet for company as well. I have personally talked to one trucker who claimed to have paid a Lot lizard twenty dollars just to sit in his truck and talk to him. He was not looking for sex—just company.
Most truckers, however, view Lot lizards with disgust and reproach. The few who are willing to pay the price for sex may, ultimately, pay a much higher price in the form of a sexually transmitted disease.
As one driver says, “To watch one girl get into twenty trucks in the course of one night is pretty damn frightening! What on earth are these guys thinking?”
Lizard infestation at truck stops has reduced dramatically in recent years. Many truck stops have taken a tough stance by hiring security, putting up fences, and increasing lighting. Most truck stop managers are quick to call law enforcement at the report of a lizard sighting. Truck stops care about their image, but the lizard scourge is still a problem in some areas.
Many drivers take personal measures to repel lizards. A "No Lot Lizards" sticker can be purchased in most major truck stops. Some drivers paint a woman’s name on the door, and others display an “I Love My Wife” bumper sticker. A creative method employed by one driver showed a bra and a giant pair of panties hanging in plain view at the front of the cab. There are various lizard-repelling techniques, but none will deter the most determined from banging on the door in the middle of the night.
A more recent lizard encounter of mine occurred at a truck stop in Huntsville, Texas. I looked up from reading my USA Today to see that I was too late to hide from an approaching lizard. The woman appeared to be in her forties or fifties, and her shorts were at least two sizes too small. Rolls of flesh on her upper body fought the good fight to escape th
e bonds of a stained halter-top. As she stepped up to my window, an insincere smile revealed a missing row of teeth, and the unmistakable smell of alcohol and tobacco assaulted my senses.
“My name is Merle,” she crooned. “Are ‘ya lookin’ for some company?”
It was with a mixture of disgust and pity in observing this particular Merle was downright haggard. (No disrespect intended toward the country music legend.)
Though I cannot help feeling a degree of sympathy for a lizard, it has a strict boundary. I am more inclined to give a twenty dollar tip to a hardworking waitress than to a skanky Lot lizard with no regard for her own (or anyone else’s) health and well-being.
Week 31: A Loose Nut in Texas
Sunday was a short day as we drove just over two hundred miles to Huntsville, Texas. The brutal Texas heat was like a sweltering fist that knocks you back when you open the door, and makes you whimper with its wrathful assault.
Huntsville is located in the East Texas Piney Woods on the I-45 corridor between Houston and Dallas. Huntsville became the home of Sam Houston, who served as President of the Republic of Texas. A 67-foot statue commemorates Houston’s life in Huntsville and it is the world’s largest statue of an American hero.[36] Travelers on I-45 are hard-pressed to miss it.
It was too hot to remain outdoors for long, so I stayed in the truck and played computer games for most of the day. We left on Monday morning for the stop-off delivery in Houston. It went well except for having trouble locating the customer—none of the buildings bore numbers. After the stop-off delivery, we were off to Brownsville, Texas.
Brownsville is the southernmost city in Texas lying on the U.S.-Mexico border. It is the largest city in the Rio Grande Valley, in both size and population. On December 25, 2004, Brownsville had its first measurable snowfall in 109 years. With one and a half inches of snow, Brownsville recorded its first-ever White Christmas. The snow was later sold on eBay.[37]
On the way to Brownsville, a four-wheeler passed me on US77 just south of Victoria, Texas. My attention immediately piqued as a fiery display of sparks spewed from beneath the boat trailer towed by the four-wheeler. I did a double-take before realizing that the boat trailer was missing a tire, and the driver appeared oblivious to the scorching trail he left behind. The driver of a container truck passed me a minute later, and I warned him about the four-wheeler on the CB. He said that he’d been behind this guy when the tire flew off. We talked for a few minutes in an attempt to discern what kind of drugs the four-wheeler might be abusing. How could he be oblivious to what was happening?
It took about twenty miles, but Sparky finally pulled to the shoulder. I felt sure that the boat trailer did not contain the only loose nut here.
Brownsville was not fun. The customer was on a dirt road! To make matters worse, my directions provided the incorrect name of the client. I passed it by at least three times as I drove in circles. If not for assistance from a local, I may never have found it. After finding it, I almost wished I hadn’t. Docking required a blindside maneuver off the tiny dirt road. The heat was more brutal than ever, and I was a sweaty, dirty wreck by the time I finally docked.
After delivery, I parked on the side of the dirt road next to Rio Grande Tool Company, hoping I wouldn’t get a ticket for spending the night there. Fortunately, no one bothered me.
We waited until 9am for dispatch to send us to Laredo the next day. I ran US83 parallel to the Rio Grande. I saw almost no truck stops along a desolate highway, so I was thankful that I had not filled my gigantic coffee mug this morning.
I would not have thought it possible, but Laredo seemed even hotter. Laredo’s positioning between Mexican mountains to the west and the Gulf of Mexico to the east is responsible for its sweltering weather. The deserts of Northern Mexico also influence much of Laredo’s hot and dry weather, and the mountain range cuts off the moisture from the ocean.
The searing heat was not the only challenge in Laredo. Dozens of trucks rumbled about the shipper’s docking area in apparent disarray. The tempers of many drivers rose to the degree of the relentless summer heat as vehicles blocked and impeded one another’s path. To make matters worse, few of the shipping personnel spoke adequate English. I combed my memory for a few Spanish phrases from my distant past, but all I could retrieve was, “¿Cómo estás?”, “¿Dónde está el baño?”, and “¡Feliz Navidad!”
When I finally received my dock assignment, I discovered that another driver had stolen it from me. Shipping then told me to take any available dock but, when I took one, they came out and asked me to move again. By the time I reached the grand finale of this three-ring circus, I’d had my fill of Laredo.
This load’s destination was Denver. Mercifully, we got out of Laredo and found a little truck stop in Dilley, Texas to stay for the night. As I prepared to heat up some canned food for supper, I spied a Church’s Chicken across the road—then, all bets were off! I filled up on Church’s (after giving Kitty a generous share) and then went to bed with Kitty in a blissful slumber at my feet.
I drove all day on Wednesday after stopping in Big Spring, Texas to replace a headlight. I slept poorly because of suffering charley horses in the arches of my feet all night. This still sometimes happened after a long day of driving or after using the clutch a lot. The countless small Texas towns we had passed through today required plenty of stop-and-go driving. After my initial screams of agony from my feet contracting into talons, I got up three or four times to apply Tiger Balm to my arches. This provided temporary relief, but I had little success in going back to sleep before the next painful episode ensued.
I was tired and cranky as we left the next morning, and the experience in Denver would do nothing to improve my attitude. I had to back into the dock off Denver’s busy Brighton Boulevard while traffic impatiently waited on me. It became even more nerve-wracking as some of the vehicles refused to wait. While backing into the dock, I also had to ensure that I wasn’t about to run over an impatient four-wheeler. The customer provided no traffic control; they just left me to my own devices.
I was so rattled by the time I got into the dock that I called dispatch and told them I would refuse to deliver there again without traffic control. The blame for an accident, in all likelihood, would fall squarely on the shoulders of the truck driver. I went to the Pilot in Denver after delivery and had yet another argument with dispatch. They wanted me to pick up another load today despite my lack of hours. I was completely drained and had nothing left to offer on this day. We spent the night in Denver.
We received a load assignment on Friday morning from the Purina plant in Denver to Tampa, Florida. I went to Purina and learned that the freight would not be ready until the next morning. For that reason, we went back to the Pilot and spent the rest of the day watching movies.
I returned to Purina Saturday morning to find out the load still wasn’t ready. I wanted the Tampa run, but this was getting silly. I called dispatch to see if they could take me off this assignment and put me on one that actually existed. They found a Budweiser load from Fort Collins, Colorado to Columbus, Mississippi. This wasn’t as good as the Tampa run—it was akin to having a T-bone under your nose and suddenly having it snatched away and replaced with pimento loaf. However, the Tampa run wasn’t of much use if I could not get the freight. I was content to set out for the Anheuser-Busch plant in Fort Collins.
Fort Collins enjoys a thriving beer culture. There are three microbreweries in the city, which include the New Belgium Brewing Company, the Odell Brewing Company, and the Fort Collins Brewery. Fort Collins also plays host to the annual Colorado Brewer’s Festival.
After arriving in Fort Collins, the security guard could not find my pickup number for the load.
Here we go again!
I had to park and wait for about an hour while the dispatcher carefully extracted his head from his rectum. Upon successful extraction, he gave me another load offering. I had a choice between San Diego, Los Angeles, or El Paso, Texas. I did not relish the
idea of returning to the Texas heat, but I wanted to go home next week, so I took El Paso.
We got our load of beer and headed back toward Denver. We passed by John Elway’s Chevrolet dealership, and I was hoping to get a glimpse of John selling a car. To my disappointment, he wasn’t there.
We spent the night at the Tomahawk truck stop in Fountain, Colorado where I had dinner at a quaint little restaurant called Biscuits Café. The service was friendly and the atmosphere was soothing, both in stark contrast to all of the earlier events of the week. Unfortunately, next week was destined to see little improvement.
Week 32: A Cracked Radiator
After a long driving day, I was unable to locate the TA in Albuquerque, New Mexico where I was supposed to get fuel. This truck stop is off the beaten path and many drivers have trouble finding it if they’ve never been there before. The company provided a "fuel solution" in an effort to minimize fuel costs. After a call to dispatch, they allowed me to fuel in Lemitar, New Mexico instead.
We encountered one of the more uniquely named cities when we drove through Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Formerly called Hot Springs, the city took the name of a popular radio program in 1950 when Truth or Consequences host Ralph Edwards promised to do the program from the first town that named itself after the show.[38] Truth or Consequences is renowned for its year-round beautiful climate and is a popular retirement community. It was also the fictional hometown of Cactus Jack, one of the professional wrestling personas of Mick Foley.
We wrapped up the day at a truck stop in Vado, New Mexico, which was only about an hour from our destination in El Paso. The truck stop suffered an unbelievable fly infestation; they blanketed the windshield and the outside of the vehicle to the point where it became unsettling. It deterred me from going inside the facility until they slowly began to thin out. Cow pastures encompassed the area around the two truck stops there, which helped to explain the abundance of flies.
Spirit of the Road Page 13