Grad Class Complete – Ready to Ship Out

So here I sit in the breakroom at The Yard in Dallas. The break room is empty except for me and the glow of my laptop. (Too poetic? I’ll scale back a little.) Allow me to recap the last few days.

Tuesday, October 23rd – I woke up at 5:40 in my third finishing trainer’s truck parked at the Garden City Travel Plaza in Garden City, Kansas. It was freaking freezing in the truck! Lowry, my third finishing trainer in three weeks, liked the cold. He was already out of the truck and had been for a couple of hours. My final training tour complete, I would be hopping on a bus at 8:00 a.m. and heading back to The Yard. I finished packing, grabbed my toothbrush and contacts and headed towards the building. It was a dark, foggy morning and the smell was BAD.

Garden City is surrounded by feedlots and when cows get fed they eventually have to poop. Well they evidently poop a lot and being surrounded by pooping cows means that no matter which way the winds blow, you get the the resulting smell. The fog seemed to make the smell wetter, and worse.

We had arrived in Holcomb, Kansas, the day before when we were scheduled to pick up a load of beef and truck it on up to Pennsylvania. The Tyson plant (which smelled even worse that feedlots) processes a lot of cows, but they had not yet processed the beef that we were supposed to pick up so we dropped our trailer at the plant and headed eight miles east to Garden City to hangout at least in the vicinity of creature comforts. We would be calling in every couple of hours to see if our load was ready, but they had until 6:00 p.m. this evening to complete the order. Since I was heading back to Dallas, Lowry would be making the trip by himself, unless he got another trainee.

After I popped my contacts in and brushed my teeth I went into the driver’s lounge to sit down with my Droid and peruse the news of the day in a warmer environment. Lowry was already in the lounge watching a rerun of Married with Children.

We went in and had breakfast and then returned to the truck where I waited another minutes for my cab ride to the bus station. Jim, the small town cabbie, was only minutes late and it was only a 10 minute drive to the station. The sun was up by the time we left and I had a nice, relaxing bus ride back to Dallas. The Kansas scenery was as flat as you would expect, but beautiful in its own way. We drove by and through small towns with churches and two block long block long business districts. The homesteads we could see seemed to be well kept.  It was me and three hispanic passengers until we got to Dodge City where we picked up a few more passengers, including a couple of punks who got acquainted with each other n a loud, profanity-laced conversation. I can cuss as good as the next guy, I’m a truck driver, but I also know when to dial it down. These guys did not.

In Oklahoma City we had to change buses. We lost a few and picked up a dozen or so new passengers. There was a short white chick who was also a loud talker and had a smart comment and shrill laugh for almost every comment her new friends made. A lot of young, smoking, tattooed people, along with middle-aged and older men who looked like they had just gotten out of prison. Fortunately I wasn’t exposed to any extreme BO and didn’t even have to sit next to anybody. Thirteen hours after I got on the bus, I was able to stumble off the bus. I collected my bags and dragged them out to the curb where the Stevens-contracted van was to pick me up. I was back at America;s Worst and checked into my room by 10 p.m. All the outlets had power in this room. I was impressed.

I caught a 6:15 shuttle to The Yard and bumped into one of my buddies from Orientation 2 and we shared stories until Grad class started at 8:00. With eight grads in the room we were treated to a steady stream of speakers on topics ranging from Hours of Service (damn, is there a lot to remember and even more to get penalized for), to Produce (damn, is there a lot to remember and you don’t ever want a load to go bad), to Meat (ditto) to truck and driver manager assignments. By the end of the somewhat reasonable day, we had a pretty good feel for what we would be facing as a rookie solo driver.

We wouldn’t be able to see or get on our trucks yet. In fact, a couple of drivers would be traveling to recover trucks. These were trucks that were either abandoned or otherwise left in cities across the country. One of my buddies was going to HOUSTON(!), my town, to recover a truck. I later heard that they never send somebody to their home town to recover the truck because of the increased odds that they will never see that driver again.

On Thursday morning, after a presentation on the outstanding Stevens truck leasing program (the Alliance fleet) we went out to complete out Yard checklists and see about our trucks. I had been assigned a 2011 Peterbilt and one of the other guys had been assigned a 2011 Freightliner. We each wanted what the other had. The Peterbilt had 100,000 less miles but was super dirty. It was a master bath-sized ashtray. The Freightliner was super clean. And the guy still wanted to trade. So we went back into talk to the truck assigner, who pitched a low grade hissy fit at all the work that would require. We stayed silent and he took a couple of minutes and made the switch. It was done.

It was a pretty truck. But alas, it had a sordid history.

Of course, it wasn’t done. I went through that Freightliner like a dose of salts through a widow woman (a phrase used an old boss of  mine – I have no idea what it means, but it sounds cool). In addition to the scrapes and scratches, I found that the headlights didn’t work, one of the tail lights stayed lit even with the ignition switch off, and the emergency flashers could not be turned off unless the ignition was off. Surely the crack technicians would deal with that problem in a few hours. Turns out they don’t have the diagnostic equipment required to deal with this kind of problem on a Freightliner. A Kenworth they could have fixed, but my unit would have to go to a Freightliner dealer. Sigh.

So I had to return to the ray of sunshine truck assigner and tell him I needed another truck. “See?” he said. Sigh.

So after spending two nights at the America’s Worst motel, it is highly likely I will be spending yet another night at that Minus Four Star establishment. Sigh.

I’ll let you know how things turn out.

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Back to Yada, Yada – Here’s the L.A. Part

Evidently, the 20 hours of sleep Isaac Hayes got since he upchucked did him some good because he drove the rest of the way into California. I  do not believe he slept during this six hours but he stopped to pee about every hour or so, whether it was a legitimate rest stop or not. I was just along for the ride. Hey, at least I got to see the scenery along the way. Amazing as it may seem, the scenery did change almost the second we crossed the AZ / CA state line. California is a BEAUTIFUL state.

That’s not to say they haven’t messed it up some. Observe the blight on the landscape they created along the Sonny Bono and Christopher Columbus Freeways between Palm Springs and Beaumont. They took what might have been nice, untouched countryside and touched it.

Windmills as far as the eye can see. Thousands of them. Big. Not- so-big. Three propeller and even two propeller models. Wow!

We rolled on into greater L.A. and Isaac Hayes said his first words of the trip. We were going to stop at a truck stop to get something to eat. He muttered that this place was an exit or two from the TAs we’d be spending time at but the food was better and it was cheaper. Okay, I thought.

We got to the Three Sisters Truck Stop and it was a small one. It could accommodate maybe 40 trucks. Isaac hayes backed us into a space and got out without saying a word. By the time I got my contact lense stuff and got out of the truck he was already out of site. I walked to the only building that could have been a restaurant (it did have “Restaurant” on the front of it) and went to the men’s room to pop my eyes in. When I walked out to the restaurant area I saw Isaac Hayes sitting at one of the end booths with his face buried in his hands again.

I sat down in the booth across from him, it was a tight fit, and he didn’t move. After 60 seconds or so he didn’t move or make a sound. “Alright,” I said softly, “I’ll sit over there.” And I moved to the booth across the aisle. the food was mediocre, at best, and I dropped FIFTEEN STINKIN’ BUCKS! Isaac Hayes just sat over there doing I don’t know what. I got back to the truck 20 minutes before he did and when he finally did come back we drove over to the TA East in Ontario and parked.  He went back to his bunk and went to sleep. I wandered around the truck stop, got a shower in, walked to the mall on the other side of the freeway (not good timing right after a shower), and came back to wander around some more.

Here’s a look at the TA East at sunset. It holds more than 500 trucks.              Its twin to the West holds just as many. That’s a whole lotta trucks, eh?

On my last excursion around the lot I returned to an empty truck. A few minutes later I heard the driver door being unlocked and then opened. Then nothing. After a few moments, Isaac Hayed struggled into his seat and leaned over the steering wheel. “Are you okay,” I asked, knowing i wouldn’t get an answer. “Do I need to call somebody?” Nothing but mumbling.

I walked up to the store and asked if they had any kind of medical staff available for situations like this. I mean, there was a clinic building out in the front parking lot. “No,” was the answer.

So on the way back to the truck, I dialed 9-1-1. No he doesn’t have chest pains. No, he doesn’t have pain shooting down his left arm. I don’t know if this has happened to him before. Just get your ambulance over here. We’re parked just to the right after you come through the truck entrance. I’ll be there to direct you to the right truck. Yes, I’ll put the emergency flashers on. This certainly does seem like an emergency.

Mere minutes later I heard sirens. They, a paramedic vehicle and a fire truck, pulled in a couple minutes after that. They pulled around in front of the truck. The paramedics seemed a bit dim and the head honcho, who got out of the fire truck, seemed a bit bossy.

“Well, why isn’t he down out of the truck?” he demanded.

“He’s in pretty bad shape and, trust me, he won’t hear a word I say,” I replied. “You guys are in charge now. Why don’t you go tell him?”

They spent a few moments checking things out on the driver’s side of the cab and then got him down and onto a gurney. They had more questions for me that I couldn’t answer and then went back to work on him. He was quiet and compliant. The quiet part I could definitely identify with.

While the med guys were doing whatever they were doing I talked to the guy who drove the fire truck. They visit this place a LOT, he said. They call it “The Circus” because of all the weirdness they witness on a regular basis. He never did get specific, but my imagination was working pretty hard.

After another 10 minutes they told me which hospital he would be going to and one of the medics, who couldn’t give me any details (privacy issues), mouthed the word blood sugar, and off they went to the hospital. I would have the truck to myself tonight. I called Safety back in Dallas and they told me that an escort would be sent to me tomorrow to take me to a secure yard.

The next day I got a call from my Counselor at about the same time as my escort arrived, a crusty older woman with a young black student with her. Interesting, I thought. The counselor they would be arranging for me to take a bus back to The Yard. “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s our policy,” she replied.

I was simply not going to spend three days on a bus to get back to Dallas when I felt they could either fly me or find a trainer in the area to take over and finish my three weeks. If they were offering a bus ride, I was going to take the bus and just go home.

I terminated the call abruptly. Minutes later they called back and said they had identified a finishing trainer that was on his way to Ontario. He would pick me up the next day. I should get the truck over to the secure lot pronto..

So, I followed my escort. When I got there I spoke to my counselor again and was told that I should now go back to the hotel right next to the truck stop. How am I supposed to  get there and does she realize I have five bags / 150 pounds worth of stuff. She gave me some Nike (Just Do It) answer. There happened to be another Stevens driver at this lot who was about to take a few days off. I asked what he would recommend and he instantly told me about a motel less than a mile away who would put me up for about $50 a night. He even said he would be happy to get me over there and even offered to stop at a truck stop down the street who would give me an advance for a minimal fee. What a nice guy. And it came together just like he said. I just had to figure out how to talk my new trainer into coming over here to get me instead of going right to the TA.

I got my advance, checked into the motel (it was MUCH nicer than America’s Worst where I stayed when I visited The Yard), and settled in for  the evening. The motel was right in the middle of a dozen fast food and other restaurants and there was a Wal-Mart nearby. I walked back to the truck, about three quarters of a mile away, and picked up all my dirty clothes. Laundry at the truck stop in the morning. I found a gourmet Chinese food place and got three meals worth of food for about $6.00. I ate half and put the rest into the mini-fridge in the room. I’d nuke up the rest in the morning for a late breakfast. I then took another shower, which felt goooood.

My plan was to have all my stuff at the truck so my new trainer could come and pick me up and not have to make another stop. I had already tried to negotiate a late check out from the motel but the Indian (dot on forehead) owner who was so friendly at check in turned into a ruthless merchant and said, “Fine, but you will pay.” Sigh.

So the next morning, I got the wash started and took a load of my stuff back to the truck. When I got back I put the wet clothes into the dryer and went back to the room to shower and eat my late reheated Chinese food brunch. Then I packed up whatever I had in my room, took it over to the truck stop laundry three doors down, and carried the whole mess back to the truck where I spent four loooong hours waiting for my new trainer, who had graciously consented to come and pick me up.

He was pretty much on time and we got back to the TA by 5:00 p.m. We got to know each other on the ride and after we got parked at the TA West. Unlike Isaac Hayes, Trent, a large (in height and weight) LIKED to talk. In fact, he talked a lot. I pretty much got his life story in the first ninety minutes we were together. But he was a  nice guy who also asked questions about me. It appeared that this new partnership would work out. The only negative was the rather strange funky smell in the cab. Oh, well.

The next afternoon (yes, I spent yet another almost day at the TA) I drove less than a mile and dropped our load. The place was literally around the corner from the TA. The backin was a BITCH – shallow and narrow. While there we got a preplan for our next load, produce up north in Santa Maria, California,perhaps a four hour drive. Rather than stay in L.A. for another night, I took us most of the way to our destination. Of course it was dark by the time we left greater L.A. I bet the scenery up 101 through Santa Barbara was spectacular. All I saw was lights. And the traffic was surprisingly (at least to me) heavy. About three hours into the drive it was getting late, we both had to use the restroom, and we stumbled upon the only rest area between L.A. and Santa Maria. I pulled in and tucked right behind the only other semi at the stop. I love it when a plan comes together. It was my first night at a rest area. Not bad. It wasn’t an ideal place to deal with my contacts (no vanity or counter, just disgusting sinks) and there were several people using the rest stop, even at this time of night. The really weird thing was, like most rest stops anymore, there are no paper towels, just air “dryers.” The configuration of this mens room had, from left to right, two sinks next to two urinals. The sink on the right’s dryer was to its right, about a foot from the urinal. Too close for comfort, I didn’t care if it was California. I made sure I got the sink on the left.

The truck was parked perhaps 20 steps from the building but only five steps from the highway. It was a loud night and even the cars put out a little shock wave that you could feel in the cab. But we survived. The mens room was still busy the next morning. I used the sink and dryer on the left.

Back to Mexico then Fort Worth, Atlanta and L.A.

Allow me to catch y’all up on my adventures with Isaac Hayes. They didn’t begin or end with much promise  but at least there was a good bit of misery and uncertainty in between.

After Isaac Hayes took over driving I vaguely remember waking from my nap in the lower bunk to an emergency stop along the freeway. I wasn’t sure what was up but wasn’t concerned enough to ask and fell back asleep. We arrived at our delivery northwest of Laredo a couple of hours early and were allowed through the security gate and were instructed to park until we got further instructions.

An  hour later we got our further instructions back up to door number 8. After another hour and a half we were instructed to pull away from the door (we figured that because of all the bouncing around we were already unloaded – no, we still looked pretty much loaded) and park until we got further instructions, which we eventually got but only after I suggested that we check in with the receiving office. There we were told that we had to go to a different warehouse a couple blocks away. Isaac Hayes explanation was that they receive checks the load at the first warehouse to make sure it’s all there and then makes us go to a second warehouse where they actually unload it. Alrighty then.

An hour later we backed up to the designated door and waited another couple of hours for the lumpers to unload us. Finally, we got the go ahead to go on ahead and leave.  What a system.

I drove us back to the Stevens yard in Laredo where we dumped the trailer and allowed Isaac Hayes to get his second “random” drug test in three days.  We also waited for our next load assignment. I actually knew somebody in the driver’s lounge this time. He had been a trainer at the 45 degree backing area during Orientation 1. Not sure if I mentioned him before but he had been blown up in Viet Nam or the Gulf War or something. This became evident when he removed his cap. I counted three wisps of hair left on his scalp. For that reason, I named him Napalm. Hey, I was developing a network.

Napalm and I laughed about training and some of the stupid rules Stevens has laid out for their trainee teams. He had gone out as a trainer for one of my Houston buddies, Tatts. Actually he was Tatts’ initial trainer, got booted out of the trainer team after he verbally abused a trainee who was walking behind a backing truck talking on his cell phone (the dickfead richly deserved the abuse), then reinstated. Unfortunbately, Tatts and Napalm never finished their training because, I believe, Napalm broke one of the stupid training rules, probably the “no driving between 3 and 7 a.m. (Central Time)” rule or “you gotta let the truck rest for eight hours” rule. Conflicting stories there.

We got our new assignment and would have to pick up a trailer at the same place I had picked up a load of broccoli with Dudley four weeks earlier. We were currently scheduled for a 19:30 pickup. That got bumped to “don’t call us, we’ll call you.”  We needed fuel so we headed out to the Pilot on the north side Laredo (Remember? This was truck stop grand central station in South Texas.)

After fueling we each grabbed some grub and settled in until we got the call.  At about 11 p.m. the message finally came. I drove us in, hooked up to our trailer, dealt with the shipper’s agent and we were on our way to the Yard in Dallas with a mixed load of produce.

Isaac Hayes’ truck’s inspection sticker was expired so before leaving the state, he’d need an inspection. He was also going to replace the right steer tire and get a new Qualcomm unit since the one he had now didn’t put out any audio.

Taking a truck back to The Yard meant we had to endure Yard Protocol. The truck and trailer would have to be inspected, and the both of us had to jump through whatever hoops were required. The hoops for Isaac Hayes and I were minimal so we just had to hang loose until his truck got the required service. It would be almost two days before we could go get our next load and get the hell out of town.

I had a couple of buddies in the current Orientation 2 class so I had old friends to talk to and even made a few new ones. I took a couple of showers and took the opportunity to do my laundry before we headed out. I even managed to scam some free lunches and dinners as though I was a student in the Orientation 2 class. That saved me some money on food. But golly is it tiring just sitting around. I saw Isaac Hayes a few times but he never deigned to acknowledge my existence. What charisma!

We were dispatched to pick up an import load at the intermodal terminal. That’s the most sophisticated freight facility I’ve ever seen. Everything was automated. You touched in your truck and load information at an ATM-like station on the way in and got a little printout that told you what area, section and parking space your load was in. Since this was my first time at the port, I had to stop in and give them my vitals, copy of CDL, fingerprints, loyalty oath, etc. On the way out we had to touch in some more information and we finally exited. Pretty slick.

The load was sealed but in looking through the access door we saw that most of the boxes had tumbled off the back two pallets. What to do? Call produce and O,S & D. (Overages, Shortages and Damages) and report in. “Thanks for the info,” they said. “Nothing we can do about it now.”

Hey, we communicated the information.

Our route to the east passed but a few miles from my daughter’s place. She was kind enough to meet me at the Flying J near her house and take some of the stuff I had packed that I really didn’t need. She also brought me a few TABs and bananas. It was nice to see her and Big AL, my granddaughter, again. Isaac Hayes didn’t think it was worthwhile to even acknowledge them, which came as no surprise.

The load was bound for Atlanta, so we hit the road. It was a quiet ride. Isaac Hayes continued his quiet, somnolent ways, and stopped every couple of hours – on the freeway. Turns out he was stopping to pee. Yeah, that’s safe. In Alabama he cleverly stopped on an upslope, meaning he had to really work to get the truck up to speed.

We pulled into the refrigerated warehouse on the southwest side of Atlanta at the appointed hour and got unloaded. It only took about four hours. I then drove us to the Petro truckstop where I had stopped with Dudley so many weeks ago. We did an overnight there and since we were not scheduled to pick up our next load for about 36 hours, I really got to know the place. I spent time in the TV room, the movie theater, the restaurant and just wandering around the store and the lot. Quite an interesting assemblage of trucker humanity. A lot of couples walking hand in hand. I’m sure they were all traveling together. Since I lived there for almost 12 years I tried making contact with a few old friends. Actually connected with one but was not able to persuade anybody to come and see me. Sigh.

The day after tomorrow finally came and we set off for another warehouse, a Kraft facility I believe, in Union City on the extreme south side of Atlanta off I-85. It was a clean drop and hook and we were off to southern California. Isaac Hayes was sleeping more than 18 hours a day now. It was like driving solo, which, theoretically, is the whole idea. While driving, it was actually more comfortable with Isaac Hayes in the back, sleeping or on the phone or peeing.

Now the company-issued route plan to L.A. had us taking a more northerly route across I-40. Because Isaac Hayes had to stop at this bank, he elected to take I-20 and make a stop in Dallas on Monday. So we did. Trouble is, when we stopped in Dallas, parking behind a Sam’s Club on I-30, he discovered that because it was a bank holiday (Columbus Day? I thought that because he was a conquering racist they weren’t celebrating his day anymore.) his bank was  closed. I asked what bank it was and he said Bank of America. I asked if he had to talk to his personal banker at this particular branch and he said no, he just had to talk to any banker at any branch. You know how many B of As we had passed over the last four days? Dozens!

Well, at least I got a chance to stock up on a few snacks at the Wal-Mart right next to the Sam’s. I drove us out of  Dallas and we got as far as Pecos. Texas where we packed it in for the night. I went in to the truck stop to take out my contacts, and when I got back, Isaac Hayes was gone. He got back a short while later. He mumbled something about getting a bowl of chili at the truckstop restaurant.  Fine. I wasn’t hungry anyway. The onliest meal he bought for me was a second piece of pizza he got at the Sam’s where we grabbed a cheapo hot dog before he went to the (closed) bank in Dallas.

He started us out the next morning without a word. I was getting used to silence.

After about 50 minutes on the road, we had just reached the end of I-20 and were traveling west on I-30, Isaac Hayes barfed on himself. He pretty much covered his right leg and the splatter emanated from there. I didn’t get hit, but my green journal did. The smell didn’t get to me right away, but it got to me. I handed him half a dozen sheets of paper towel and then another half dozen. Ii gave him an empty plastic grocery bag to put the soiled towels in. I asked if he could continue driving. He didn’t respond other than to say it must have been the chili, but he kept driving. He drove the remaining half hour to a TA on the east side of El Paso. I went to put my eyes in while he cleaned up.

I’m sorry, but I had no pity for the dude. This is the frame of mind I was in: after I put my contacts in I went into the restaurant and got a to-go breakfast. He was pretty much done cleaning up and he made it clear that he wouldn’t be driving anymore that day. So I pulled out of the fuel lane and Isaac Hayes directed me where to park.

ASIDE: As uncommunicative as Isaac Hayes was, he had a real micromanagement streak. In previous days he had told me to:

1. Get out of a warehouse complex the same way I had come in. (Very helpful.)
2. Throw the trash into that (pointing) trash can. (Thanks a pantload.)

He now told me to pull ahead and park by that (pointing) trash can. Even though there were dozens of open parking places that I would have been able to simply pull into. Those was pretty much the last words we exchanged that day.

So I ate my breakfast (grin) and set off for parts west.

I gotta tell you, El Paso is a neat and clean town. Traffic was a bit thick but I eventually got to the open road and I was in New Mexico. Through the desert I drove and finally reached Arizona. I was on the lookout for my first saguaro cactus. I found it in a ravine about 40 minutes into the state. They multiplied quickly. While I had visited Tucson several times this was the first time I had driven there from the east. In previous visits I was there on an expense account and staying at four or five star resorts.  Trust me when I tell you, I did not get even close to those neighborhoods in my 18 wheeler. NOTHING looked familiar.

Heading north out of Tucson I finally saw something that looked familiar. Check out the photo.

I’ve seen these windmill blades hundreds of times being hauled by truck, but never by the competition. CURSES!

Luckily I arrived in Phoenix at rush hour. Roads were packed with thousands of people wanting to get home as quickly as possible. That meant they absolutely had to cut off the truck driver to get to their exits. To complicate matters it was sunset and for miles I was looking directly into the setting sun. I was starting to get terminal squint. Finally the sun went behind the clouds, gave me a spectacular sunset, which I will reveal in my next post.

I Broke My Trainer

Sitting bored spitless in Ontario, California, waiting on a delivery, low and behold my trainer had an “episode.” He been sick for a few days and looked bad enough that I thought “the call” would be in order. So I dialed 911.

He didn’t fight it, and off the went to the hospital he went. It appears to be a blood sugar problem and word is he was close to a diabetic coma.

So here I still sit in Ontario California, waiting for an escort vehicle that will escort me to a secure yard. I think they should just let me pick up another load, but they’re still not letting me make the rules.

Sigh.

UPDATE: I later learned his blood sugar level was 600. I’m told this equates to death. Dude owes me.

OTR Training – Phase II, Day 1 – Finishing Trainer Style

Dallas – October 1. 2012

Well (Have you noticed that I use that term a lot?), I was all set to go out for three weeks with another trainee, but having  been dumped by two different trainees I was waiting for a finishing trainer.  It was Monday morning. After a bad night with the worst roommate to-date (I had four different roommates in six days) I was pretty much awake by 4:44 a.m. “Why,” you might ask? I found out later in the day from this roommate – who stayed up until past midnight and needed the television on all the time – that when he was getting in bed, he discovered it had been taken over by “bed bugs.” I use quotes because what he described (they were “HUGE”) could not possibly have been bed bugs, because bed bugs are almost microscopic. But I will concede that he found that there were bugs in his bed, which is a bad thing unto itself. My daughter and grandchildren had been on that bed. I haven’t said anything to my daughter about it, but I’m guessing she knows now.

But I digress (Have you noticed that I use that term a lot, too?). I fought my way onto one of the earliest buses (even though I was one of the later arrivals at the bus stop), and got to the 8:30 a.m. roll call we were all required to attend shortly before 7:00. Before Stevens’ own standup comic, the training coordinator had even made his appearance, I was summoned to his empire where I was told that they had a trainer waiting at the Super 8 motel down the street. The guy they had originally assigned to him had neglected to bring his stuff from the America’s Worst this morning and would have to go back to the hotel so he had been put back on the shelf. Go get your stuff and hustle out to the  Yellow Cab waiting outside. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY for this opportunity of a lifetime.

So I got my hundred and fifty pounds worth of stuff together and schlepped it out to the waiting Yellow Cab that was being driven by a surly old dude who HAD TO GET SOMEBODY TO THE AIRPORT. So into the cab I got and down to the Super 8 we drove. We found my driver’s truck, a 2012 Peterbilt, and as promised, he was finishing his breakfast at the nearby IHOP. We had a conversation,  although I was lucky to get five percent of the message. He spoke in a very low, soft voice.  Ten minutes later he got to the truck and helped me hoist my stuff up and in the cab. Then he told me he was being picked up in a few minutes and had some personal things to attend to. He added that I should be ready to roll at 8 p.m. We were delivering a load of pork to Laredo.

Hurry, hurry, hurry?  What the f-  What the hell?

Also, while I expected that a driver who was leasing his truck would have a microwave and a refrigerator. No such luck. The final strike in this finishing trainer strikeout was, he had no (zero, zip,nada) space for me in his truck. At least in Dudley’s truck I had my 16-inch square space plus a little shelf turf I had commandeered for my contact lens case and eyeglasses. Now I had more stuff and no space. Sigh.

Isaac Hayes (he looks just like him and speaks in that low-voiced drawl – I can almost hear him melodically saying “Hello Chirren” like in South Park) at least consented to taking me back to The Yard, where I could hang out with more conveniences and an internet connection. He said he would call before he headed back to the truck and stop back by The Yard if I needed a ride back to his truck. So I spent the day online and chatting with some of my training buddies who hadn’t been dispatched yet. We plotted who we would work for after we dumped this worthless company.

In addition to the above activities I also managed to grab a shower over at the trucker’s lounge. It was like being back in high school only we at least had our own shower cubicles, privacy not included. As luck would have it I got the same sweet cabbie to give me a ride back to the truck where I kinda, sorta put my things away, meaning I hoisted everything five feet up to my bunk. Sigh.

Isaac Hayes got back to the truck at the appointed hour (that, at least, was a good sign) and I drove us off the lot and onto the freeway. We stopped for fuel a dozen miles down the road and before we had driven another dozen miles Isaac Hayes disappeared into the back and took himself a two and a half hour snooze.

I drove with minimal gear grindage as far as Austin. Isaac Hayes finally woke up as I was pulling off the freeway for a construction / accident (really couldn’t figure out which) detour. Even though it was 12:30 a.m. the traffic was pretty thick. We went to the first turnaround and most of the cars were exiting to turnaround onto that side freeway and headed back to I-35 so I did too. I’m not sure if it was a mistake or not, but we got in a stoppage at the ramp back onto I-35 that lasted just over 30 minutes. I cleverly suggested that we use that time to do our post trip inspection. Surprisingly, he agreed. So I did a walkaround right there on the elevated ramp, and as the Qualcomm clicked 30 minutes, the traffic started moving. Since I was not supposed to drive past midnight, Isaac Hayes jumped into the driver seat and drove us the rest of the way to Laredo. Day one. rather night one, was in the can.

FLASHBACK: 8/26/12 – Time Off In Troutdale, OR

After waking up at 9:00 a.m. or so at the TA in Troutdale, Dudley and I walked about a block down the street where there was a Love’s with our showers and drink refills. After my shower I put a call into Pammie’s cousin who lived in the area. Looking up their number I noted that their house was less than five blocks from where I was standing. Wow! Unfortunately I had to leave a voicemail. Giving it a second thought: Sunday. Cousin was a Lutheran school teacher. Church.

We had a delivery to make and I knew we would not be coming back to this truck stop. Oh, well.

We took our load of orange juice to the grocery warehouse. I had evidently learned from my very bad birthday driving experience and got us to the warehouse waiting lot without incident. The warehouse was situated on an almost residential street, but that was not uncommon for greater Portland. The ubiquitous trees made almost every street look residential. Pretty cool.

Actually it was pretty cool. The temperature was 59 degrees when we walked to the Love’s and it was in the mid-60s now. I walked into the guard shack and stated my business, presenting my paperwork at the same time. I asked them to be gentle since it was my first delivery. They were. They instructed me to pull through the appropriate gate so they could check the seal.

On my way back to my truck I passed another driver walking up to the shack. “Careful, Dude,” I said in a low voice. “Those guards are in a baaaad mood today.”

“Really?” he replied.

I  nodded and walked on.

When I had pulled in and met the guard at the back of the trailer the guard asked if I had told the other driver that they were in a bad mood. I just smiled and he passed us on through to Door 29.

The door was in the middle of three open spaces. Hallelujah. The odds of me hitting another truck had just sunk to almost nothing. After some coaching by Dudley and a couple of pull ups I nestled back against the door seal and went into the receiving office with my paperwork. I was motioned “over there” someplace to deal with the lumper prince. I went over to a trash receptacle where I had seen him talking to other truck drivers and waited. After perhaps 20 minutes of no conversations with anybody I went back and tried to clarify where “over there” was. He pointed to a station across the big room where the lumper prince received us lowly truckers. Over I marched and within a few minutes he told me to go wait in the truck until I was released. Two and a half hours and a bunch of rocking and rolling later I got the call on my cell phone and I went back into the warehouse to finalize things.

We then set out for Jubitz, the Cadillac of truck stops in the Pacific Northwest. “It has everything,” I was told, “even a chiropractor.” Big deal.

Jubitz was about three quarters of a mile into an industrial area of north Portland within half a mile of the Columbia River. I managed to find a pull through (meaning I wouldn’t have to back in) parking spot perhaps 150 yards from the main building. I would walk that distance many times over the next three days. Dudley wanted a couple of days to reset and he got it plus one more day. Anything over three days and the days would not count towards my 35 days of OTR training. I got to know the place pretty good.

Around 2:00 p.m. I heard from Pammie’s cousin and we made arrangements for them to drive from near the TA over to Jubitz to pick me up so we could go someplace for dinner. Cuz put her husband on the line and he seemed to know right where I was. They would pick me up at 4:30.

Dudley’s associate came and picked him up way before I made my way over to the appointed pickup spot in front of the Jubitz night club. Seriously, they have a nightclub called The Ponderosa. It’s entrance had two diesel stacks on either side of the double doors and as I walked through the doors just to see what was going on, a light confrontation was concluding. A bigger, older bouncer type guy was escorting (without any touching) a smaller, younger trucker looking dude out of the club. The escortee was saying how he didn’t need the night club, He could go back to his own truck and his own beer and have a good time. The D.O.T. would NOT be pleased.

My dinner companions arrived at the appointed time, and we went to a retail / commercial area about a mile and a half away where we saw a BJ’s Brewhouse. I’d had an excellent burger at the BJ’s in The Woodlands, Texas, so I said I thought it looked like a good choice. Seating was not a problem since it wasn’t even 5:00 p.m. yet. The hostess still asked something about a reservation. I looked around the empty restaurant. Whatever.

Cuz and her hubby outside BJs. They provided a delightful two hours of semi-normalcy. THANK YOU BOTH!

Seated by a window, the two of them talked about how they got together and what they’d been doing for the last 40 years and I explained how I had gotten into truck driving. It was a delightful couple of hours. While cuz was a native of my home town and we  caught up on the small town gossip, hubbie was a Portland native and gave me a course titled Portland 101. The evening ended too soon but, this being Sunday, Monday was a work day for cuz. Hubbie, the snake, is retired. After they drove me back to the truck stop, I got on my laptop and cranked out a couple more entries for this blog. I was asleep by 9:30 and never did hear Dudley come “home.”