Driving Into the Storm of the CENTURY (Make that Decade, Maybe)

My alarm went off for the second morning in a row at 1:40. I had already been up about an hour earlier and even though I had barely slept since then, I guess I was asleep because I was in the middle of a dream and my hands fumbled to turn the alarm on my Droid off.  I was at a TA, in Bloomfield, Pennsylvania, and had less than 350 miles to go to my drop in Andover, Massachusetts.

Knowing that I was heading into what was being hyped as the Storm of the Century, dubbed Nemo by the Weather Channel, I made a last minute decision that I should stock up before I got there. Since there was a Walmart across the freeway that I had been too lazy to walk to the evening before, I gave them a call to see if they were 18-wheeler- friendly. No problem, they said. Just park over by the garden center.

I got my roast pork, frozen veggies, some protein bars, a six pack of protein drinks, a package of precooked pork links, an eight pack of Coke Zero, two bananas, two trays of on sale Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and hit the road for Massachusetts. I’d put myself about 30 minutes behind schedule but I didn’t want to be stranded at some roadside rest and be without my daily [gluten-free] bread.

It was dark, I was still a bit groggy, and before long I was seeing mist on my windshield. That’s not good, I thought. And while I thought I might be able to make up some time once I got on the road I had forgotten how mountainous eastern Pennsylvania is. And that carries into downstate New York and even Massachusetts. There were numerous times I was in seventh(!) gear struggling up hills. After a stop at a fake Pilot – it had NO parking and NO coffee other than at the overpriced Dunkin Donuts in the store – and having to get another truck out of my way just so I could make it around the fuel island, I spent about 20  minutes climbing a mountain from a dead stop. But for that little break, I might have made my drop on time.

At my last bio break in Connecticut, I stopped at a turnpike plaza to take care of some serious business and even with an attendant actually in the men’s room I picked the stall with no toilet paper! When I visited the McDonalds to get a “$1.00 any size coffee” I had seen advertised on a dozen billboards on the way in, I was charged $2.25. You see, the dollar coffee isn’t valid at tollway plazas. Who do they think they are, the government?

Well at least the roads were now dry and I would only be 15 minutes late for my drop. I called ahead and they said no problem. It was snowing very lightly as I pulled into the refrigerated warehouse. Although I went to the wrong side of the house first, I got to the correct set of doors expeditiously and was even met  by a lumper on my way to the receiving office. He directed to back up to Door 17 and they’d get me unloaded quickly. “Who are you, really?” I asked, “and do you work here?”

He smiled and nodded and I got backed into Door 17. Within 25 minutes they had me unloaded and ready to roll. I already had a pre plan for a pick up 42 miles north of there in New Hampshire. The address was 1 Chocolate Way, so I was already thinking samples.

I called ahead to make sure they’d be there and that it would be okay to come early since it was 10:30 and my appointment wasn’t until 2 p.m. No problem, he said, they’d be going home at 2:00. So with the snow picking up a bit, I hit the road north. The snow started falling heavier and there were only tracks on the roadway. About five miles out I called again to make sure they hadn’t been dismissed because of the weather. No, come on, they said.

I found my way to the end of Chocolate Way, Lindt and Sprungli was the only business on it surprise, surprise, and located the shipping office with the help of a plow guy. Yes, it was snowing harder with each passing minute. I was directed to Door 11 and informed they didn’t do samples (dang!). But it was a nice crew and they had me loaded within an hour. I ‘d identified a TA truck stop less than 10 miles away. My Nav Chick wanted me to go back roads but the geography guy at Chocolate Way (a native of East Africa, interestingly enough) suggested getting back to the tollway. I shoulda listened to him.

As I approached the main road outside the industrial park, I programmed Nav Chick to take me to the TA. As she was “Finding Route” I took a left on the back road and thought, this isn’t so bad. After a mile or so, Nav Chick had not found the route and there was no place to stop to try again. So I mushed on.

Things were going swimmingly, or should I say sleddingly, until I crossed the tollway and came to a stop sign. Cars were lined up behind me so I figured I should keep moving. I knew I had to take a left, and then stay to the left where the road forked about 30 yards up the road. I made my move. There was a moderate incline on the road I would be taking so I got my momentum up. As I hit the bottom of the hill, I felt my drive wheels slipping to the right.

Scheisse!  I was using German profanity and I don’t even speak German. I had a mental image of me and my big rig sliding slowly into the ditch and not being able to drive out. I was estimating how much the wrecker bill would be and thought, I can’t afford that!

So I kept my foot on the accelerator and tried not to spin the wheels too much. I was glad I only had a 15,000 pound load. I willed myself slowly up the hill. As soon as I was flattened out again, I saw the “No Trucks Except for Local Deliveries” sign. Scheisse, wieder!

I was committed now. Onward. I meandered through a rural residential area and eventually crossed the tollway again. I looked at the map on my QualComm and saw that the roadway kept getting farther from the tollway. As I was passing through the southern side of what I thought was Greenland (New Hampshire, not the country) the houses were increasing in number and getting closer together. A county road plow was approaching from the other direction so I stopped, right in the middle of my lane (I counted eight vehicles behind me) and put my hand out the window. He was almost past me when he noticed and stopped. He rolled down his window.

“Friend, can you tell me if there’s a TA up ahead?” I hopefully inquired.

“Yeah,” he answered.”Stay right as you drive into town and take a right at the traffic light. It’s just a quarter mile down on the right.”  Sehr beruhigend zu wissen! 

So I got to the TA, found a nice drive through spot – it being only half full at the moment – and set the parking brake.

Phshew! I don’t how long I’ll be here, it’s 24 hours later and the show has stopped, but I got my spot and the restrooms and restaurant are but a short walk through the snow. In fact, I made the short walk at about 4 p.m. and partook of the all you can eat fish special at the Country Pride Restaurant. I consumed more food in one sitting than I had in a long, long time. Back in the truck I booted up my laptop, called the family, perused the internet and discovered that I could get live video feeds on the Weather Channel website. So I caught up on the progress of the storm and how long we could expect to be pummeled.

The communications signal was so strong I was able to watch a movie on Crackle with a minimal number of burps. “Vacancy” with Luke Wilson and Kate Beckinsale was a scare the pants off you flick but I managed to finish it before I ran out of gas.

The plows were working until I shut down at about 8:30. I didn’t wake up until 7:30 and although there was less snow than I was expecting the lot looked to be full. I didn’t venture outside until about 11:00. I didn’t see a truck moving or even a human being until about 10:30. I got fully dressed, put on my parka and tall rubber boots and ventured outside. It was 18 degrees, but it didn’t feel particularly cold. Maybe my Minnesota bred blood was reclaiming my system.

Inside, I got a cup of coffee and, the place being full of truckers, listened to the conversations. Couple of guys predicted we wouldn’t be out of here until Tuesday (it’s Saturday now). And that was only IF the second storm (second storm?!?) heading our way, didn’t arrive early.

Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Connecticut had all roads shut down, except for emergencies. Maine wouldn’t be reopening their highways until 7 p.m. at the earliest.

So here I sit in Greenland, New Hampshire, waiting until the roads reopen. Hope it’s tomorrow and not Tuesday.

Advertisement

Flashback – My First Trip to Canada

Canada One, Mid- November 2012 – I finally got to Waterloo where I was to pick up a load of meat bound for Montreal, Quebec, Canada. I got to the meat plant and drove past the entrance to the shipping office. In backing up the street, I tried to nail a car that was behind me in the street, but the clever bugger backed up quick enough to avoid contact. In the parking area I met another Stevens Driver, Buddy Nguyen. (I changed the first name, in keeping with my policy of not naming names, but kept his last name because fully 50 percent of all Vietnamese are named Nguyen.) Buddy had a couple of weeks on me, longevity-wise, and would also be heading to Montreal.

He seemed like a nice enough kid and used to be a chef at a Japanese steakhouse not 15 miles from where I live in Texas. What were the odds?!? He gave me a couple of king fruit (I think) that his father in law had grown in his back yard just outside of Washington D.C. They were good. Kind of a cross between an apple and a star fruit.

Upon reaching the shipping clerk I found I had to wait a few hours to get loaded. Since I had the time, and I had the points necessary for a shower at Pilot /Flying J back in Evansdale, about eight miles east of the plant, I left my trailer at the plant and bobtailed it back to the Flying J where I enjoyed a nice hot shower. Walking back to my tractor I got the call from the plant that they were ready to load. I scooted back to the meat plant in time to back up to my door and get loaded. Unfortunately, it was another couple of hours before I got loaded an another couple of hours after that before the international FDA inspectors blessed the mean before I could hit the road. Buddy was all done and had left a couple of hours earlier.

So I hit the road. I got to the mega I-80 truck stop in Eastern Iowa where I spent the night. I was up at 9:00 busted it through Illinois and Michigan and made it to the border in Detroit by 8 p.m. Snaking through the last mile before the toll bridge was a bit anxious but I evidently found the right path. A whopping $26.25 to cross the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor, Ontario, Canada, and I found myself approaching the Canadian customs station. Would I have to exit the truck? Would he have a ton of questions? Would my truck need the rubber glove level inspection? Will I need a rubber glove inspection? I had no answers. Yet.

I was the only vehicle in the neighborhood as I crept up to the booth. For trucks, they have windows that are at semi-window-level. I pulled up to the window, popped my air brakes and, noting a sign that said Turn Off Engine, I shut down. The first thing the border agent did when he opened the window was point at another sign that said “Do Not Engage Air Brakes.” Damn. He explained that he had ear plugs in so it didn’t phase him, but the ear-splitting sound made when the air brakes are engaged actually hurt. And when you’re dealing with dozens of trucks a day, you can evidently get repetitive ear drum disease or something. It made sense, and I apologized and admitted that I was a rookie and could he please be gentle.

He was. He asked what I was carrying, where it was from, where it was going, how often do I travel into Canada, and do I have anybody else with me. I had the answers. He also asked if I had any weapons on board. No, I replied.

And he said I could proceed. Now it was my turn for a question. Where could I park and wait for my company to clear me to proceed? He told me there was a place seven stoplights in where I could stop.

Unknown territory. I collected the paperwork I had given him and pulled away from his window. Before I got to the third stoplight I had lost track of how many I had encountered. After what I thought was the sixth stoplight, and seeing what I thought was the edge of town ahead, I spied a lot with a couple of semis parked in it. It was a shallow lot in front of what appeared to be a truck repair place. Since it was now 9 p.m. on a Saturday night and quite dark, the establishment was closed. I carefully pulled in, pulled ahead, and backed between the two truck that were already parked there. They looked deserted too. I QualCommed a message in saying I was in Canada and do I need a reinspection. Nothing. This address seemed to be within a block of the broker that was handling our load. I got out of the truck and walked a couple of blocks back towards the border. I found the address and can say without fear of contradiction, it was not a building that housed brokers. I walked back to my truck and waited. After another 10 minutes, I got the blessed message that reinspection wold not be required and that I could proceed.

Phshew!

So I cranked up rig again, eased out of the lot and started heading northeast up Canada 401. Again, it was dark. Driving in the dark is like driving in a tunnel. Fortunately, once I got past all the construction at the outskirts of town, it was clear sailing. The next challenge would be finding a place to spend the night.

SPECIAL NOTE: While I had my smart phone with me, I couldn’t use it. Once you cross into this foreign country, special rates apply. And I didn’t have the money to pay those special rates.

I had done a bit of research before I got this far so I knew there were truck stops, even in Canada, and figured I’d find one. The challenge was to find one before I ran out of driving hours.

The first truck stop I came to was in Chatham. It didn’t feel right, plus I was past it before I realized it was there. I came to a couple of rest stop plazas, like we have on tollways here in the states, and pulled into one to pee. I wasn’t absolutely certain they allowed overnight parking, so since I had another couple of hours, I continued on. Two plus hours into Ontario, I was approaching London. A sign indicated a Flying J at the next exit. I pulled in. It was a pretty good-sized lot and it was less than half full. I found a nice spot that I could pull into, parked it, did my Post Trip Inspection, and headed in to take care of business before I turned in.

Since I didn’t have to be at my delivery until 1:00 a.m. I was ahead of schedule and would not be able to leave this location until I could reach my destination and have a little time for unloading and getting to a safe haven for my next 10 hour break. This mean I would be at this Flying J for about 18 hours. I turned in and would figure a way to pass the time tomorrow. When I woke, it was sunny, bright, and cold. I took a walk about a third of a mile down the road to a little commercial area that had what looked like a restaurant. It turned out to be a glorified donut shop so I hiked back to the FJ and had an overpriced breakfast at the Denny’s there. The waitress was nice and actually rammed through a substitution for the pancakes on my order, but they don’t have the $3.99 Grand Slam.

I wiled away a few hours watching television. I saw my first episode of Cash Cab. Cute concept where a quiz show host / taxi cab drivers picks up a fare and poses questions to them. Big winners may walk away with a few hundred bucks. I believe this episode was in Toronto but I’ve since seen an episode that took place in New York City. Also saw a couple of documentaries on airplane disasters. Also interesting.

Hanging out at this Canadian truck stop also exposed me to the trucking business north of the border. You buy your diesel in litres, drive kilometers, and have your choice of how to get your gross weight – pounds or kilograms. The clerks were very nice and the coffee was better than average.

Mid afternoon rolled around and the time finally came to leave. The trip through Toronto involved more traffic than I would have thought.  A lot of the same stores that we have in the states but also a lot of Canada-only chains. Their airport was busy. Perhaps the thing that surprised me most were all the residential highrises, even this far from the city centre. A very cosmopolitan metroplex.

As I drove my way to Quebec, the sun set and I was in darkness once again. I had a fuel stop at a Fifth Wheel in Cornwall, Ontario, just a few miles from the Quebec border. It was very cold and I was not looking forward to getting out and dealing with the hoses and pumps. Imagine my surprise when a young lad came bounding out to take care of things for me. I had only to walk inside to take care of the financial arrangements. I wasn’t buying a full tank, perhaps only 60 gallons and I asked the clerk if that qualified for a shower. It didn’t quite measure up but he said he’d spring for a shower just the same. I was very appreciative.

Until I got to the shower. They had heat for the store and the restaurant, but evidently the didn’t feel it was worthwhile to heat the hallways and the shower rooms. This would be a quick one. Back out to the parking lot and in my truck, it was past 10 p.m. and I was within a couple of hours from my destination. It would be a looong couple of hours. Everything was in French Nav Chick had trouble with her lefts and rights and easts and wests. I had to do a dozen miles of turnarounds and backtracking. But I finally got to the refrigerated warehouse and who did I see? My new buddy Buddy.

He shared a little more food and pointed me to the people I had to talk to. The receiving clerk could not speak much English and she was surly to boot. The lead lumper was a little more kindly and even took his fee in American dollars. But by the time they got me unloaded, I was out of hours. They told me I could park on the street but I found a place on their property and camped out for the night. Ten hours is a long time when you’re up and awake and still have six hours to kill. I took two longish walks. The first was about six blocks down the street to a golf club (yes golf club) where I got a cup of coffee. Nobody golfing outside but a handful of people playing virtual golf inside.

My second walk was about a mile to a commercial area that actually had a truck stop with perhaps 20 overnight slots. I thought about heading back and driving over but didn’t want to risk an hours of service violation or getting back and having no spots available. Their restaurant was a little to pricey for me so I went to a strip mall next door and got a middle quality Gyro platter from a Middle Eastern counter service restaurant.

Mid afternoon finally arrived and I set out for my next pickup, a load of cheese from a factory in Boonville, NY. This meant a drive back down Canada 401 to Lansdowne, Ontario, and across what I am sure is a beautiful region called Land of 1000 Islands. Too bad it was dark. The border crossing with an empty trailer was a breeze. Didn’t take more than five minutes.

I continued down I-81 to Watertown, NY where I was routed onto country roads for the 40 mile trip through Lowville to Boonville. In the middle of the latter town I saw a patron stumble out of a bar and light up a cigarette. For some reason I was suddenly nostalgic and almost parked my truck to run in and get a Seven & Seven. But I fought the temptation and made my way to the cheese plant on the southwest side of town. It was an older facility so the warehouse doors were pretty tight. After waiting for an hour and a half, I finally got a door of my own and within another 90  minutes was making my way back out of town. The land was nothing but rolling hills and dairy farms. Would have been gorgeous. In the daylight.

Back on I-81 I was hoping for a truck stop within the first hour. The only one I past, was well past the exit I needed to take. I don’t like leaving freeways if I don’t know where I’m going. I got to the northwest corner of Syracuse where there was supposed to be a Pilot. Never saw the exit for it so I headed west on the New York Tollway. Within 20 miles I came to a rest stop / plaza and pulled in. There were no legit slots left at 2 a.m. so I found a space at the back of the lot and shoehorned myself in and slept like a rock. It was good to be back in the real America, even if it was in Yankeeland.

I had survived my first trip to Canada. It was not without its anxiety producing moments, but I think I could do it again. Practice would make perfect.