With my keys clutched firmly in my hand and a smile inspired by the lovely setting, my spirits soared as I climbed into the truck to back into the dock. When I was halfway to the dock, the low-level air alarm screamed a deafening and continuous tone. A few seconds later, the trailer spring brakes engaged. When air pressure goes below 90psi, it triggers the low-level air alarm. If it drops below 60psi, a fail-safe mechanism causes the trailer spring brakes to engage. With my brief moment of bliss rudely interrupted, I was back to a cold, hard reality of trucking: Shit happens when you least expect it!
The truck was not going to budge until the air pressure was back up. I tried every trick I knew, but the air pressure was down for the count. My hoses were intact, so I assumed the compressor had died. By this time, I was on a first name basis with the company Breakdown Department.
I made another uncomfortable march into the Receiving Department.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I announced with chagrin, “but I think my air compressor died, and I’m stuck in your docking area until road service gets here.”
“This just isn’t your day,” smiled the woman from behind the desk.
An hour and a half later, a service truck arrived. Kitty immediately jumped to the driver’s windowsill to investigate the mechanic. As luck would have it, the mechanic was a cat lover too, so we talked about cats while he worked.
The air compressor was fine. He said the air dryer kept purging and needed a new valve. He fixed it in about five minutes after identifying the problem. Despite the back-to-back disasters, the beautiful weather, friendly conversation, and lovely setting lifted my spirits again. For the first time, maybe ever, I understood that attitude is a state of mind rather than a result of events.
An equally profound truth was that my logbook had no hours remaining. I called dispatch to tell them I’d be doing a 34-hour restart. After delivering and thanking the Receiving Department for their patience and understanding, we went to a small truck stop in Ballston Lake, New York. I called Brian to tell him about my day and thank him for showing me the door-opening trick.
“It really saved my ass today!” I assured him.
A pub was next to the truck stop, and I instinctively felt that a Guinness with my name on it waited inside, especially since I wasn’t driving tomorrow. A light rain had invaded this beautiful day, but it failed to dampen my spirits as I trudged to the bar, enjoying the music of the raindrops bouncing off my umbrella. I was happy and proud to have weathered today’s storm with a smile.
I spent the next day walking around Ballston Lake and watching movies in the truck. The rain had subsided, leaving the weather balmy and in the high 50’s.
On Wednesday, dispatch gave me two pre-planned loads designed to get me home on Monday. We picked up the first one in Fort Edwards, New York. Heavy construction impeded the drop lot, making it hard to maneuver the empty trailer into a slot. A year ago, precision maneuvering like that would have caused me to soil my pants.
After picking up the load, I decided to make it a short day. We spent the night in a service area ninety miles north of New York City. For the first time ever, I tried a famous Nathan’s hot dog. It wasn’t bad, but I didn’t see cause for a fuss. I guess I wasn’t accustomed to hearing my hot dog go “snap” when I bit into it.
South Boston, Virginia was the next destination, home of the “I ain’t got no quarters” cashier. We left at 1am after my unsuccessful attempt to sleep. It rained all day with an intensity that can aptly be called a "frog strangler." Every time I needed to watch for a road sign, it poured even more vigorously. The mad rainstorm exacerbated the congestion through Baltimore and around Washington, D.C., slowing traffic to a wheezing crawl. Nonetheless, we made it to South Boston where my favorite cashier was absent this time. I could not resist another indulgence of Bojangle’s chicken and, afterward, I slept like a baby.
The delivery to Dollar General the next morning went fine, and then we picked up the next load in Richmond. Like Dollar General, the shipper in Richmond was slow, but the rain had stopped and a lovely day began to blossom. This load delivered to Anniston, Alabama Sunday evening, and then we’d be homeward bound. After loading in Richmond, we spent the night in Salisbury, North Carolina.
Salisbury is home to famed North Carolina soft drink, Cheerwine. The Carolina Beverage Corporation of Salisbury has produced Cheerwine since 1917. Cheerwine is unusual among sodas for what the company calls “its cherry taste and rich burgundy color.”[80] I tried a Cheerwine in Salisbury, and I’ll admit to its unique blend.
We arrived in Tallapoosa, Georgia on Saturday afternoon. We were only thirty-eight miles away from tomorrow evening’s delivery. I planned to stay up as late as I wanted and then sleep with impunity. I relished the idea of not setting the alarm.
Detour: The Image of Truckers
If we are to believe the stereotypical image painted by Hollywood, the average trucker is an uneducated, unkempt redneck who never quite mastered the art of taking a shower. Movies such as the Stephen Spielberg classic Duel, Stephen King’s Maximum Overdrive, and Jeepers Creepers go so far as to make truckers look like psychopathic murderers. A more recent Lifetime movie, Big Driver, based on a Stephen King short story portrays a trucker as a brutal rapist. Although I remain a Stephen King fan, his work certainly goes a long way toward casting the image of truckers back into the Stone Age. The typical Hollywood trucker wears an old stained baseball cap, adorns his ample midsection with plenty of flannel, hits on every woman he sees while hiding his wedding ring, and answers to a name such as Cletus, Earl, or Scooter.
Not to single out Mr. King, but it would be nice if a writer of his stature and influence would portray a fictional trucker as the vast majority of us really are: hardworking and honest men and women who leave their families behind for days and weeks to deliver freight across the country.
Sadly, however, the formulation of any stereotype commonly stems from a small kernel of truth. I see plenty of unshaven drivers with, perhaps, a streak of fifth-wheel grease on their tee shirt and splotches of mud here and there. I am occasionally one of those individuals myself. The nature of the work is not glamorous, and it is often impossible to avoid falling victim to unkemptness.
Even so, a handful of drivers take it a step further and serve as embarrassing ambassadors to the industry. Once, at a truck stop in Tallapoosa, Georgia, I watched a dirty and ragged-looking man approach my truck. I considered crawling into the sleeper berth to avoid a vagrant’s appeal for money. However, as he came closer, I discerned a company logo on his tattered cap—he was a driver!
Truckers are not known as fashion plates nor, should they be. I, for one, dress for comfort on the road and do not attempt to impress Mr. Blackwell. Nonetheless, when a driver gets to the point where he is indistinguishable from a beggar, perhaps it is time for him to reevaluate his personal grooming habits.
In reality, the majority of truckers do not fit the stereotypical image. Most truckers are easygoing, good-hearted people, and they are more educated than many might think. According to a profile in Newport Communications, about half of truckers have some college education, and approximately 90% have a high school diploma or equivalent.
Truck drivers come from all walks of life, and plenty of college graduates drive trucks. Doctors, lawyers, nurses, police officers, CPA’s, and even members of MENSA are current or former truck drivers. Former Colorado U.S. Senate Representative, Ben Nighthorse Campbell was also a truck driver. Through trucking, Mr. Campbell financed his college education and earned his degree from San Jose State University. This former trucker also competed in the 1964 Olympics as a member of the U.S. Judo team. Other famous names of erstwhile truck drivers include Chevy Chase, James Cameron, Viggo Mortensen, Richard Pryor, Charles Bronson, Liam Neeson, Sean Connery, and Elvis Presley. The future "King" drove for the aptly named Crown Electric Company. A musician for whom a young Presley auditioned advised him: “Stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a
singer.”[81]
Misunderstanding and lack of education on the part of the motoring public also contribute to the negative image of truckers. A common complaint pertains to truckers “riding beside each other” and preventing four-wheelers from passing. The public may not be aware that most major trucking companies govern their trucks to have top speeds of 65mph or less. Because of this, trucks are often stuck beside one another longer than they would like to be. This is just as frustrating to the trucker attempting to pass as to the cars stuck behind him.
Another complaint is: “Why do you truckers put your turn signal on right when I get beside you?”
Professional truck drivers look ahead for long distances to see potential hazards or slow-moving traffic. Many times, they are asking you to either hurry up or to back off, especially if you have been riding alongside for a while. We do not think we own the road; we are just asking you to work with us.[82]
A complaint fired directly at me by an angry four-wheeler was, “Why did you wait until I got in the right lane to pass you, and then decide to move over?”
First, the right lane is not for passing. Passing a big truck on the right is never a good idea. Second, trucks have to give ample passing room to the vehicle they are passing before moving back into the right lane. Imagine if all truckers drove like cars—swerving between lanes like a demon. With patience, everybody wins!
In the glory days of trucking, truckers were the Knights of the Road, always willing to help a motorist in distress. When the lyrical stories of C.W. McCall permeated the radio airwaves in the 1970’s and Smokey and the Bandit cast truckers in a heroic light, young boys euphorically pumped their arms when a mighty diesel passed.
Nowadays, that image is tarnished at best, and there is no single answer to explain it. One explanation lies in the explosion of traffic volume in the last few years. It is impossible to know if someone really needs help when so many cars and trucks pull onto the shoulder. In addition, insurance regulations that did not exist in the "glory days" now prevent truckers from picking up a motorist no matter what the circumstances. Truckers are dollar signs to lawyers, and if we pick someone up and then have an accident, our career is over, and possibly our freedom as well. It is a sad fact that a good deed is often too great a risk to our own well-being and to the loads we are hauling.
There are also many ways that truckers exacerbate their own negative image. A lack of basic personal grooming is one of the worst culprits. No one expects a trucker to look like a CEO, but it isn’t asking much to expect him to shower regularly, brush his teeth, and throw on a fresh pair of clothing every couple of days. Most truckers do maintain an acceptable level of hygiene, but they aren’t the ones remembered by the general public.
Turning on the CB radio is almost certain to formulate a negative image of truckers. The excessive use of profanity, threats, bigotry, gay bashing, womanizing, and general ignorance makes truckers appear as ill-bred knuckle draggers. The drivers who do not act that way generally do not participate in those conversations. Thus, it seems to the casual listener that all truckers are like that. I have made little mention of the CB radio in this chronicle, and the reason is simple; my CB remains off at least 95% of the time. I know many drivers who share in this practice. I’m not sure that truckers will ever decide to clean up the airwaves but, until that time, the On/Off switch provides a viable alternative.
The condition of many truck stops also illuminates truckers in a negative light. Some truck stops literally smell like a urinal. While a large part of truck stop cleanliness responsibility falls upon the facility management, drivers need to bear their share as well. There is no reason for a driver to haphazardly discard trash and pee bottles at a truck stop. This is absolutely disgusting, and I make no excuse for the drivers who are too lazy to walk to the trashcan. I would like to see truck stops impose a stiff penalty to any driver caught throwing a pee bottle anywhere besides a waste receptacle. On the same note, truck stops need to be better at removing waste on a regular schedule. Nothing is more sickening than to walk across the parking lot when the wind wafts an odor of rotting food and urine directly into your face.
There are things that both truckers and the motoring public can do for an image makeover. Truckers should pay heed to personal hygiene and appearance. We don’t need to dress for an opera opening, but our appearance (and fragrance) should not be offensive. We are the professional drivers, and we should act accordingly. Stop tailgating, stop speeding through construction zones and do not bully four-wheelers. Those who are unable to share the road with professionalism and respect should not be behind the wheel of a 40-ton vehicle.
Dispose of trash in the proper place. Enough said!
Finally, treating waitresses and cashiers with respect, presenting ourselves to customers and shippers in a professional manner, and cleaning up our filthy mouths on the CB would go a long way toward improving our image.
The motoring public could also use an education on sharing the road with trucks. A simple understanding of what trucks can (and cannot) do would alleviate plenty of road rage and middle fingers. Please remind yourself that the trucks annoying you are the main reason you enjoy the comfort and standard of living that you have. Point to anything you own, and know that a truck delivered it to the place you got it.
Trucks and truckers are here to stay. Our public perception lies largely in our own hands.
Week 49 and 50: Searching for Elvis
We arrived in Anniston over an hour early and were in the dock by 9pm. It took a mere three and a half hours after that for the leisurely lumpers to unload the truck. It was after 3am when we got home.
I stayed home three days longer than planned due to a horrible crick in my neck, for which I went to a chiropractor three times. I could barely lift a cup of coffee with my right arm, much less shift the gears in a big rig.
After a week at home, I still did not have a full range of motion in my right arm. The pain was still intense, but I sucked it up and hit the road anyway. Truckers do not get sick days, and I needed to get back on the road if I wanted to make any money.
We left on Monday, and the searing pain that shot from my arm to my neck the first time I shifted gears almost made me shut the truck off and go back to the house. After rubbing an ungodly amount of Tiger Balm on my neck and shoulder and taking a couple of Naproxen tablets, the pain dulled… just a little.
We picked up our initial load in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Muscle Shoals is probably one of the world’s most unassuming "music capitals" because of remaining unspoiled by the music industry. FAME Studios has made a staggering contribution to American popular music from the 1960’s up to today. Many artists have gone to Muscle Shoals in order to escape the limelight and record their signature works. The list of artists who have recorded in Muscle Shoals reads like a Who’s Who of the music industry: Percy Sledge, Eric Clapton, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers, Cher, Jimmy Buffet, Joe Cocker, Jerry Lee Lewis, The Rolling Stones, and Carrie Underwood… just to name a few. [83]
At the Muscle Shoals shipper, I had to blindside into a dock around another truck. This time, I did it with so much grace and ease that another driver commented that I’d made it look easy. My neck and shoulder were still giving me fits, but the compliment made me forget about the pain for a moment.
This load would be going to Pratt, Kansas. After loading, I stopped to weigh at a truck stop in Tuscumbia, Alabama. Tuscumbia is the hometown of Helen Keller and the location of the Alabama Music Hall of Fame.[84] I decided to shut down for the evening in Tuscumbia because it was already getting dark.
We left at 2:30am the next morning and the pain in my neck, shoulder, and arm continued to induce intermittent girlish whimpers from me. I honestly did not know whether I’d make it through this run.
I stopped for fuel at Love’s in Morrilton, Arkansas and decided to add some coolant since the level looked a little low. Not thinking, I opened the coolant reservoir cap too fast and was deluged with a hot coolant sh
ower. The blunder also caused the cap to become a projectile. As I recovered from my coolant bath, I realized the cap could have spewed just about anywhere. I searched for a few minutes but could not find it anywhere. After confirming the truck stop did not have a replacement cap, I spotted an auto parts store across the road. In a long shot, I walked over to see if they had a cap that would fit a Freightliner…they didn’t. I returned to the truck, preparing to cap the reservoir with a rag and duct tape to get me to the next truck stop when I happened to see the cap neatly lodged between two hoses. I breathed a sigh of relief, but this little adventure had cost me almost an hour.
We made it to Billings, Oklahoma for the night without further incident. As I prepared the evening meal, I noted that my muscles were losing tone. I am unable to exercise while my neck and shoulder are dysfunctional, and I have no idea how long I’ll be riding the pine on the sidelines.
The delivery to Pratt went smoothly. Called the Gateway to the High Plains, the area surrounding Pratt, Kansas is a rolling plain of green grassland, broken by the Ninnescah River and the hills along Elm and Turkey creeks. What began as a practical joke is now one of Pratt’s unique features.[85] There are two water towers in the town, one painted with the word “Hot” and the other, “Cold”.
The frosty morning air in Pratt took me by surprise. When I stepped out of the truck, it quickly became apparent that sandals were inappropriate footwear. After changing into something more appropriate, we went to Salina, Kansas for the next load.
Salina was home to the "Last Great Aviation Record" when world-renowned adventurer Steve Fossett took off from the Salina airport in the Virgin Atlantic Global Flyer to attempt the first solo, non-stop, non-refueled trip around the world by airplane. Fossett completed the record-breaking flight on March 3, 2005 when he landed back at the Salina airport sixty-seven hours, one minute, and ten seconds later.[86]
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