By The Time I Get To Phoenix

Well here I am finally in the "Valley of the Sun," Phoenix, Arizona and my tractor parked at the company headquarters. I have once again learned that it isn’t always “what” you know but rather “who” you know when it comes to getting what you want. This truism was evident in my more than three-week effort to get down this way with several near-misses.

I’ve spent the weekend here in the Phoenix “burbs” having arrived early Friday evening amidst all the news about the two T.V. news helicopters that collided here earlier in the day. Rather than deal with the unknown parking situation at the terminal on a weekend night, and wanting to make the trip to pick me up as easy as possible on my various hosts, I chose to drive beyond the headquarters facility to the nearest Rest Area some 30+ miles further down I-10, half-way it seemed to Tucson.

Since arriving, with more than two days to spare before my scheduled delivery, I’ve visited with friends and family and spent two nights sleeping in a regular bed, although my niece Zoe’s was a little short. I also managed to get a much-needed haircut. I’ve seen some relatives I haven’t seen in more than a dozen years, many of them just young kids the last time I saw them. Now they’re married with young families of their own. Clearly the next generation has a firm foothold and is about to take over.

Last night I stayed in my truck and after resting only three hours was on my way to a five a.m. delivery of my 45,600 pound load of bottled water. The shipment originated in Stockton, Ca., and was picked up Thursday morning at nine a.m. with the final destination a local “Sparkletts” distributor here in Phoenix. The more than 700 mile trip was uneventful but I did enjoy some more unique sights and experiences along the way. Among them, crossing the treacherous “Grapevine” a mountain pass along I-5 100 miles or so south of Bakersfield. A major route between northern and southern California the pass is located at the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley. Along the way there were plenty of trucks, lines of them traveling in both directions. As we neared the bottom of the long, steep downhill grade semis were limited to a speed of 40 mph. Finally and suddenly at the bottom, you find yourself in the community of Valencia and the "Magic Mountain" amusement park a short distance to the west and just 26 miles from Los Angeles. Time to change the radio to my favorite oldies station, K-EARTH One-Oh-One!

The company headquarters is everything I had imagined. A complex of 11 modern buildings. A “Driver’s Center,” 9 or 10 lanes for fueling up, and of course “Building 1,” where the “Administration” hangs out. I spent a wad at the company store this morning, buying several shirts and also a number of tools to help me in my job.

The weather here has been just as expected ... HOT! Although “cooler” than recent temperatures it was still in the high 90’s and up to 104 degrees during the day, “not bad” the locals say. On Saturday I saw a distant dust storm in the area and was glad that we weren’t in the midst of it. Onerous looking to say the least!

I’ve now driven more than 21,000 miles since hitting the road with my mentor and more than 7500 miles since going solo 32 days ago. Where I’m headed next? Who knows?

Stuck in Sumner

Well it could be worse, I suppose. I could be stuck in Lodi as “Creedence” sings about. I’ve been through Lodi, California recently and no offense, but there’s nicer places. The song however seems to closely fit my situation, ‘cept the Lodi part.

"Just about a year ago, I set out on the road,
Seekin’ my fame and fortune, lookin’ for a pot of gold.
Things got bad, and things got worse, I guess you will know the tune.
Oh Lord, Stuck in Lodi again."

Having just recently received my own truck I’d noted with my driver manager before I left Lewiston that it appeared to be near it’s required 30,000 mile periodic servicing. She put it off saying to let her know when it was past the 120-thousand mile mark. She couldn’t set up an appointment, I was told, until it had reached that magic number. (At the time it had just over 118-thousand on it’s odometer). So with the passage of time as well as a number of miles I finally had an opportunity this past Friday to have the work done when I arrived here at the Sumner, Washington terminal for a log book class, required of all new drivers.

I checked in with the service department and after they scanned the records on their computer system, it turned out the truck is more than 6,000 miles past due for servicing. The service writer told me they couldn’t allow me another trip until the truck had been serviced, and initially indicated it probably wouldn’t be done until Sunday. Bottom line, we should have had the truck serviced when I initially brought it up with my DM. The reality ... they didn’t get it finished until this afternoon ... it’s now Monday. So, here I was ... stuck in Sumner for the weekend. I did spend some time with both my youngest boys on Thursday night and Friday, but their busy lives along with wants and needs has limited our time together. Meanwhile on Saturday and Sunday a couple of different friends came and picked me up for eats, refreshment and company. Now with Monday evening fast approaching I’m without an assignment and not sure when I’ll get one. If not late this afternoon, no doubt tomorrow morning sometime. So, here I am, still stuck in Sumner.

Terminals are places where Swift conducts it’s business with it’s drivers. There are more than thirty of them scattered around the country. There you’ll find terminal and fleet managers, driver managers, safety people, trainers, shops for maintenance and repair, receptionists to greet the public and other support staff. It’s a place for drivers to relax and to park their trucks knowing they’ll be secure. You'll also find lots of trailers, either empty ones or those waiting transfer to other locales. There’s a driver lounge which can vary greatly in size, comfort and amenities with televisions also of varying dimensions depending on the terminal. There’s sinks, coffee pots and microwaves for preparing meals and vending machines as well as coin-operated washers and dryers. In fact I did my laundry (one load of color, one of whites) just last night. There are class rooms and other offices and there are “drop boxes” where drivers leave the paperwork in designated envelopes for their completed trips. Without submitting the paperwork drivers won’t get paid.

The Sumner terminal is one of the nicer ones I’ve had the opportunity to visit (not perfect, but nice none-the-less). It’s a newer facility with a large bathroom and several showers. The required log book class was timely with a good instructor who answered a number of questions I had wondered about since going “solo.” Keeping a legal log book is one of those time-consuming “pains” of being a long-haul trucker. I understand the D.O.T.’s reasoning, but they’re still a major nuisance. Kind of like a diary every quarter-hour of every day has to be accounted for, as it occurs. There are four categories for your entries. “Off Duty,” “Sleeper Berth,” “Driving” and “Off Duty (Not Driving).” If you get stopped by the State Patrol, or at a state Inspection or Weigh Station, and your log book is not up to date it can cost you literally hundreds of dollars in fines. If you find yourself involved in a serious accident, regardless who’s at fault, how you have entered your last “Change of Duty” could be the difference between spending the night a free man, or in jail. It can be that important! So, if you’re like me, and always wondered what those truckers were dutifully doing with pen in hand, as they sat behind the wheel of their stopped truck, wonder no more! They’re no doubt updating their log book.

My latest trip from Tracy, California to nearby Puyallup went fairly well. I actually got to drive the greatest majority of it on the Interstate, northbound on I-5. I drove over, for at least the second time, the “Veterans Memorial Bridge.” It’s a huge high level roadway spanning a section of California’s Lake Shasta. Far below one could see dozens of large houseboats as well as other pleasure craft. It was quite a sight from that high vantage point. Unfortunately it was raining steadily that morning and I could imagine the vacationers weren’t enjoying their time on the water quite as much as they had hoped. Later that afternoon I climbed northern California’s “Anderson Grade Summit” and experienced one of the worse downpours I’d ever witnessed. The storm, less than 20 miles south of the Oregon border, included everything a good rain storm is known for, heavy rain with hail, rolling thunder and lightning. Some cars and vans pulled over to wait it out, while others, like me, crawled ahead with headlights on. In my rearview mirrors I could hardly make out anything except the occasional faint traces of headlights from cars behind. The temperature dropped from the low 80’s to 61 degrees in just a matter of minutes. I don’t believe, that during this short trucking career of mine, I’ve seen daytime temperatures as low. It was pretty nasty, with limited visibility and my wipers running at full throttle, but the truck got a needed washing and I doubt there was a bug to be seen anywhere on the mirrors or front end, where they often congregate, by the thousands!

I spent that evening, Wednesday night the 18th, at the “Seven Feathers Casino, Hotel and Resort” located near Canyonville, Oregon and about 25 miles south of Roseburg. I parked my truck about a mile distant at the Seven Feathers Truck & Travel Center all part of the same complex which included free shuttle service to the casino. The casino and other buildings encompassing the “resort” as well as “RV Park” were first class. Unlike several of the Indian casinos I’ve come across in other recent trips across Oregon this one had a Craps table, and that my friend is my game of choice. Admittedly I couldn’t resist and after several hours I gave back all the winnings -- plus a little more -- of what I had acquired a week or so earlier while spending my 34 hour reset at a Sparks, Nevada truck stop. Easy-come, easy-go as they say, but there’ll be other days! And despite the loss I slept well that night at the truck stop.

I’m hoping they’ll get me down to Phoenix within the next week or so. There I’m planning to spend a few days visiting friends and family and check out the company headquarters. Got to save a little money for my visit to the company store as well. I’m looking forward to it, despite the current temperatures well past 100 degrees. More, as the story unfolds ...

A Day In A New Life

(Here’s an entry written several weeks ago, recently discovered but one I overlooked posting. Just a little something written on my second day out).

It’s 8:30 a.m. Saturday June 30th and I’m 335 miles into my first loaded trip as a solo driver. My rig is a 2007 Volvo VNL 670 with a 400+ horsepower Cummins Diesel engine. My destination is Sparks, Nevada, and I’m about half-way there. I’m just south of the small town of Jordan Valley, Oregon as I slice through the southwest corner of the state. My route takes me from Lewiston south on highway 95 and then west on I-80 at Winnemucka, Nevada. It’s an easy, uncomplicated trip.

After hooking up a trailer late yesterday afternoon at the Lewiston terminal I only have to drop it off at our Sparks terminal outside Reno. A “T-Call” as it’s referred to, meaning another driver will pick up the trailer and deliver it to it’s destination. In this case a Longs Drug Store distribution center in Patterson, Ca. A lot of people will have me to thank when nature calls and they partake of their share of the 21,732 lbs of “Bathroom Tissue” I’m carrying.

I’ve run out of hours per D.O.T. regulations. After taking a “nap” break near Parma, Idaho of 4 1/2 hours I hit the road again only to realize I had just a couple of hours left of the 14 hours of “on duty” time I’m allowed. I had no choice, I would have to take a 10 hour break. I would have been better off had I just stayed where I was in Parma and taken my entire 10 hours there. As it is, the clock starts all over again from this stop. Being a rookie, I’m allowed some mistakes, besides I’ve plenty of time to complete this trip and I can use the time for rest and to relax a bit.

So here I am hidden behind my cab curtains along a wide spot on the road and plenty of time on my hands. I’m out of range for making cell phone calls, which would help wile away the hours. It’s 81 degrees outside and my ACs on with the remote-controlled radio tuned to an oldies station playing the Guess Who’s 70’s hit “No Time.” My laptop is powered through a 450 watt inverter that converts the 12 Volt DC in-cab power to 115 AC for home appliances etc.

I’m driving a less than one year old Volvo tractor with a little more than 100,000 miles. As I get some mileage behind me I’m learning the best way to organize and stay organized in my confined quarters. One things for sure, if you don’t constantly keep straightening after yourself you could quickly get disorganized. Just as Brigham Young once said, “A place for everything, and everything in it’s place.” Reminds me of the small camper trailers I would sleep in with one of my ex brother-in-laws, only my home is even smaller! That same brother-in-law is celebrating his birthday today and I reminded myself last night that I’ll want to give him a caall today. He was born on the exact middle day of the century, so you can figure out his age. I’ll only tell you he’s ALOT older than me!

One disappointment with my new truck is that it doesn’t allow space for a refrigerator. One can adapt by sitting the fridge on the passenger seat using bungee cords to secure it, but that’s not my style. As my son Sean would say, “I don’t roll that way!” But I’ll have to figure out something so I can store at least a small amount of cold foods.

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It’s 12:35 in the afternoon now and after some rest in my bunk I’ve woken and visited outside of the rig. My in-dash temperature guage says it’s 85 degrees outside, although I would have thought it maybe a bit warmer. The truck has been idling for the entire morning to keep me cool. I’m not sure how much fuel I’ve used while sleeping, but I’m glad I’m not an owner-operator. I forgot to reset the meter on the readout to give me an idea, but I suspect I’ve burned a couple of gallons. I’ve slept well and maybe woke up momentarily twice the last few hours. My mattress is comfortable but not the quality pillow-mattress my mentor had in his truck. I’m hoping to rectify that in the next few weeks.

I can’t believe I’ve been so lucky to get through these last couple of months fairly unscathed and with a bright, shiny new rig to do my work. In a few more hours I’ll have rested the required ten and I’ll be on my way once again. I expect I’ll arrive at my destination around 1 a.m. in the morning. Where my next assignment will take me, I have no idea...

"Rome Wasn't Built In A Day"

It’s been two weeks to the day since I struck out on my own with my first solo trip out of Lewiston. Since then, during my five trips so far, I’ve hauled, among other things, 12,000 lbs. of cardboard for Boise Cascade, 45,000 lbs of various wines to two different distributors in Boise, as well as hay for a Monteview, Idaho farmer. That's right, hay! More than 41,000 lbs of it to be exact in large 1900-2000 lb. bales destined for a Kingsburg, California dairy farm, some 930 miles away. When I first read the assignment I thought to myself, “I’ve never heard of either one of these towns!”

This job can sure get awful dirty at times and that dairy was as dusty as it gets! Not only that, I had a crew of local flies in side my cab that decided to hitch a ride. It was a couple of days before I finally showed the last one out my opened passenger window, somewhere near Wheeler Ridge, Ca.

Right now I have a trailer load of unknown product I picked up this afternoon from our Swift terminal in Troutdale, Oregon. The load is due anytime tomorrow for delivery to a Wal-Mart distribution center near Hermiston, Or. It’s been a nice drive the last couple of hours eastbound along I-84 and the Columbia River Gorge. Tonight I'll sleep at "Biggs Junction" with my home state of Washington in sight, just across the Columbia. Just a few days ago I delivered a load of Proctor & Gamble products loaded at an Oxnard, California warehouse to another Wal-Mart DC just outside Sparks, Nevada. After running out of hours, per the D.O.T.’s “70 hour rule,” I sat most of Sunday and all day Monday for a “34 hour reset” of “off duty” time at a Sparks, NV. truck stop. Surprisingly I never visited neighboring Reno, one of my all-time favorite towns. It’s just not as fun when you’re by yourself. :(

Now with a little time on the road I’m beginning to create some habits and routines to stay organized and to be as efficient as I can. One things for certain: the limited space I have is much more noticeable as a solo driver than it ever was when I was with my instructor during those 6 weeks. With Dennis we weren’t really “living” in the truck, but just using it mostly as a tool for our work. There’s a big difference. With me this is my "home." Not only do I use it to accomplish my work, but I “live” in it’s confined space as best I can. It’s a good thing I can count on it moving as the constant change in scenery makes it all worthwhile. And thanks to whoever invented Velcro. It sure comes in handy for keeping things in their place! You'd be surprised what a guy with a little time can do with some "hook and loop" tape and his tools of the trade and other essentials.

Twice in the last week I’ve had the opportunity to cross over California’s 7000 foot Donner Pass near the Nevada border. Named after the ill-fated Donner Party of pioneers that struggled nearby for survival during the winter storms of 1846-1847. Of the 83 people who were trapped east of the pass, only 45 survived to reach California, some of them resorting to cannibalism to stay alive. Despite it’s history it is unquestionably among the most beautiful stretches of mountain pass in the states as it traverses the rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains. I only wish someone had been with me to share in it's grandeur.

In this work I seem to lose track of days as they turn into nights and nights again evolve into days. I often forget what day it is and have to write things down or I find myself at a loss to remember where I was ... just yesterday. I had expected to post to this blog more often. There are so many things I could write about, my experiences along the road and things I’ve seen or thought, but there are three things one needs in order to maintain this commentary. Time, energy and the Internet. Without all three the job just doesn’t get done. I’ve been pretty busy since going “solo,” logging more than 4400 miles so far, and time is limited allowing me it seems just enough to rest and recover for my next leg in the journey. When I do have some time to spare I often lack the energy to do much writing. (This is a lot of work, believe me!) Then, of course, one needs access to the Internet in order to post. But the stars have once again aligned over Henrietta and the opportunity has presented itself, so here’s a little story I’d like to share.

On my second day out, Saturday June 30th, I found myself in a sleepy (and I do mean “sleepy”) little town called “Rome.” In the middle of nowhere in the southeast corner of Oregon, it’s not far from the borders of two other states. This little commune lies along a stretch of “no man’s land” on highway 95 between Nampa, Idaho and Winnemucca, Nevada. (I don’t make these names up!) Apparently the town was named for some peculiar geologic formations that suggested the ruined temples of Rome, Italy. (I know what your thinking. Where’s he come up with this stuff?) Not found on any map I wouldn’t have known the place existed were it not for the road sign indicating it was up ahead. “Good,” I thought, I needed to take a quick bathroom break and pick me up a little thirst quencher with the temperature well into the 90s. I found the wide spot in the road with a few buildings encompassing an “R-V Park” and a little road-side store with a sign on top reading “Rome Station.” I was fortunate enough to find the picture at the top of this post of the very structure of which I write on the Internet, thanks to the Salem, Oregon Public Library. Who woulda thought! Although the photo was taken in 1963, let me tell ya, the building looks about the same! After securing the truck I approached and noticed a handwritten sign in one of the windows, “Customer Appreciation Day” it read. “Go around back for free food and refreshments. Music provided by the Sage Creek Band.” Wow! I thought, “My lucky day. Free food AND musical entertainment!”

As I walked around to the back of the building I noticed, among three large shade trees, a small group of people, some seated while others milled about and visited. I guessed there must have been about 40 people in all, men, women and children. Some were seated at an assortment of picnic tables and nearby were a couple of tables full of food. There was a large Bar-B-Que as well, manned by what could have been your “typical truck driver,” watching over a huge side of beef as it turned slowly and glistened from the sauce that had been applied. While I was looking at three large Igloo coolers of refreshment, in an effort to figure out what was inside, a young college-aged girl walked up and described what was contained in each, “Lemonade, iced tea and some kind of fruit punch.” I chose the lemonade and, as I’m often apt to do, struck up a conversation. She was from Rome (Oregon, not Italy) but going to school in Sacramento where her mom lives. Her dad owns the little store and she was visiting for “a week or so.” She said she loved coming home as it was so quiet at night. I asked her how many people live in Rome, to which she replied “Oh, probably about 30.” From the look of things I wasn’t the only “outsider.”

Looking around most of the men appeared to be the hard working rancher or farmer types I’ve come to know and appreciate since moving to Yakima. You could tell I wasn’t far off in my assumptions by not only the attire they wore, but by the conversations I overheard. “Lost one of my cattle yesterday” one said to another. Believe me when I say, these guys weren’t just “dressing up cowboy,” they were cowboy! The women, mothers of their children, helpmates and dutiful companions were engaged in their own conversations about cooking, family and home. “Salt of the earth” some would say.

After eating two helpings of food, along with several cups of lemonade, I returned to my table with yet another plate containing a mix of salads, (garden, potato and macaroni). Sitting down again I finally struck up a conversation with the older couple who had been sitting across from me. Their teenaged grandson it turns out was sitting to my left. We were the only ones at the table. I wish I had a camera as this 60ish gentleman who sat across from me had the kind of rugged and chiseled good looks you’d expect to see in a character from an old-west movie, right down to the hat he wore with the silver hair underneath. One of those “good guys” who’d probably end up dead mid-way through the second act. It turns out I was right when I thought to myself, “I bet this guy could tell you some interesting stories.”

After some chit-chat I learn his name is Glenn. He tells me he was born and raised right there in Rome. He spoke of his grandfather who came from “Missoura” in 1898 and built the first road in the area, just “a mile or so up the highway ... back when there was nothing and nobody here.” “And now there’s Rome!” he explained. I responded, “And Rome wasn’t built in a day, was it?” He replied, with a chuckle “No, it took two days!

Glenn went on to tell me (just a little) about the 25 years he spent in ”the Alaskan bush“ roping and corralling wild cattle "left there by Russians." He said there were years that would go by when he wouldn’t see a single human being, ”not a soul.“ After a few stints at other activities, including one on an Alaskan crab fishing boat, he’s been back home in Rome for the last five years or so. He now spends his time teaching his grandson the rapidly fading art of making arrowheads, which he sells to neighbors and passersby. As we parted and shook hands he mentioned that I should look for the ”Arrowheads“ sign up the road heading toward Jordan Valley and ”stop in sometime.“

Glenn’s writing a book about his experiences in the Alaskan wild using a computer and speech recognition software that he says works well. Good thing ‘cause he ”sure as heck can’t type.“ He relies not only on memory but his ”25 years of notes“ he kept during those solitary times. Mainly he says he’s writing his story for his posterity, so he won’t be forgotten. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance again to see Glenn, but I sure hope so. And if I do, I’ll be sure and ask if I can take his picture. By-the-way the Sage Creek Band? They weren’t bad at all. Lots of good old classic country music. Don Gibson, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline. You know the kind.

As always thanks to all those who take the time to visit and especially for the compliments. We’ll ”talk“ again soon!

Finally My Own Truck!

On Tuesday afternoon June 26th after winding up my 42 days of mentor training and getting the paperwork and road test out of the way, I was directed outside the terminal building to a Freightliner truck looking for a new owner. My new Driver Manager (DM) handed me the keys and said “Here, go and check it out and see what you think.” Well to say the least I was excited but that quickly waned when I climbed inside the just freshly detailed cab and, after a couple of minutes figuring out how to start it, I realized it had nearly 756,000 miles! I was bummed! I hadn’t seen or heard of a company truck with as many miles. So after talking with a former fellow student who checked it out with me I decided to return to my D.M. “What do you think?” she asked. “Well, you know it’s got like 755,600 miles on it, and I was hoping for something a little newer, something I could look forward to fixing up and having for a while.” (I was hoping for something with maybe 300,000 miles or so, but as they say, “beggars can’t be choosers”). She mentioned that if I had a truck with that kind of mileage that I would be high on the list to get a new one (not necessarily a brand-new one), but she wasn’t sure when that might happen. It could be a month, or three or more months down the road. I wasn’t happy with the uncertainty, which of course wasn’t her fault, but I’m not one that likes to deal much in uncertainties.

So, I asked if there were any other options, and not batting an eye she said she’d speak to the guy in charge of assigning new drivers their trucks and see what other possibilities there might be. That didn’t take long as “the guy” sits about ten feet away. Within a few minutes the three of us got together and a number of options were reviewed. First, the company would pay me to ride a bus down to the Swift terminal in Lathorpe, Ca., where there was a truck available. (Not the most pleasant thought - a bus ride of that length). Secondly there was another truck down near Mountain Home, Idaho. They could probably get me a ride with another driver to rendezvous with it. There was another truck scheduled to come in to Lewiston later that night, but they knew nothing about it. “The guy” suggested I shouldn’t stand around waiting for it, as it could have a number of problems and be in the shop for days before it was drivable. So, I asked, “What would you do if you were me?” He suggested that I go pick up a truck somewhere, being pretty confident that at least it would be road worthy. (If your truck is moving you’re making money ... otherwise nada!)

Then my DM spoke of a truck in Caldwell, Id. that had been left there by a driver. Neither knew much information on any of the trucks. At least two of them were Freightliners and you could bet they were all high mileage, as it’s been several years since the company had purchased any. Then my DM told me she knew the Caldwell truck was a “fairly new” Volvo and she remembered that the driver was very happy when he got it as it didn’t have a lot of miles. She knew too that the driver had taken “meticulous care” off it. Weeelll ... that sounded like the best bet for me! So after one night and another half a day of trying to secure a ride down to Caldwell (a whole ‘nother story!) I was finally on board an older Freightliner with a driver named “Norm” for the five hour ride down south. Norm was headed for California and would drop me off along the way. My truck had been left at a truck stop that also serves as a “drop yard” for Swift trailers. I was told I would find the keys at the stop’s fuel desk. Once I had it, I could spend the night there and in the morning hook up an empty trailer and make the trek back to Lewiston. I needed a day to get my things in it and spend a little time setting her up. My DM was more than accommodating.

We arrived at the truck stop at about 10:30 p.m. Wednesday. It was dark as we drove the long line of trailers but in the short distance we could see a Volvo, which most likely would be my new truck. Confirming the correct truck number, that it was indeed the truck I had come to retrieve, the first thing I noticed was that it had a skylight above the cab. Not all of them do, but this one did and that was a plus! As we drew closer I could see that it appeared, from the outside anyway, to be in very good condition. Finally after unlocking the front driver’s door I climbed in. I was shocked! This truck looked and smelled like a new rig! Plastic still protecting the top bunk mattress and on the carpeting below. Quickly I started her up and fumbling with the in-dash electronic read-out I found that it had 117,914 miles on it. Now that may sound like a lot but with a long-haul truck it’s really very little. Just barely broken in! For all intents and purposes this truck was brand new! I was giddy! I couldn’t believe my luck! All the way down I worried whether I had made the right decision, as this was one I would have to live with for a while. My worries, as all of those so far during this journey have been, were a waste of time! I was so excited that my plans to spend the night before returning to Lewiston were put aside. I wanted to drive my new truck right now! I wanted to feel the freedom that was in store for me and experience what it all would be like to hit the open road with no one calling the shots, ‘cept me. Unfortunately I had forgotten to bring my flashlight and it was just too dark to find an empty trailer. I resigned myself to organizing what few things I had brought along, reading up on the truck manuals, and bedding down for the night.

I didn’t get much sleep as I kept waking up and checking out things I hadn’t thought of before. How do I get the idle to stay on? How does this work? Where do I put my things? What do all those symbols on the bright dash display mean? What am I going to do with all this space! Finally the next morning at 6:45 the moment I had waited for, for so long had finally arrived. I gingerly hooked up an empty trailer, checking and double checking the connections, and, after getting my log book in order, I slowly drove truck #300294 the short distance across the dirt lot and onto I-84N beginning the mostly scenic 270 mile trip back to Lewiston.

The next day Friday the 29th was spent getting all my belongings from my car and organizing them. Among other chores I had the truck washed (on the company dime) and then got to spend some time with my Academy roommate Thomas who just finished up with his mentor. He’ll be taking a week or so off to return to his home in Montana before getting his own truck assignment. We’re still planning to hook up together on a number of excursions around the country in the months ahead. Once we’ve got our feet on firm ground, and a few weeks behind the wheel, we’ll look at making some firm plans.

I’ve spent nearly all that I have for some food and other supplies from Wal-Mart (Yep, my life has deteriorated to this) with just a few dollars left for some shopping at a truck stop along the way. I need a road atlas, a three pound hammer, and a couple of other “tools of the trade” to get me through the next few days until payday on Tuesday. The road beyond looks bright and I’ve got my sunglasses on for the miles that lie ahead across the northern Nevada desert. The oldies keep coming from my radio with the Beach Boys in the background. Wow, and to think I get paid for this!

The truck pictured above is very similar to my own, except mine is white in color. Would have preferred the red but Swift thinks otherwise. Hope to have a good digital camera soon, so I can show the real thing. Thanks for checking in, there's more coming soon!