A Long Way From Home: A Trucker's Life Through A Woman's Eye Volume 6

By C L Miller

It started out so innocently. I was working for a Las Vegas construction company in the accounting department. My husband, Harry, was driving one of the company's delivery trucks that took supplies to the job sites around the city. One weekend he had an out-of-town run and I got permission to go along for the ride. I was hooked before we'd traveled twenty miles.
Truck driving school lasted about four weeks. There were twenty students in the class and only two women, a ratio that reflects the entire industry. I was learning a new skill at age fifty-four, so very different from the quiet and predictable desk jobs I had done in the past.
Being a woman in a man's world can be challenging, is rarely boring, and is surprisingly comfortable. I have been treated with respect by my fellow Drivers and accepted with out hesitation or condescension. There are no barriers.
If, a half-dozen yeas ago, someone had told me I'd be doing this job today, I would have laughed them off. Ten years ago, I would have assumed them to be certifiably insane.
Yet, here I am.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C L Miller
• Release date: Jul 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005634650

C L Miller

C L Miller is a sixty-two year old woman truck driver who teams with her husband. They drive over-the-road in the United States and Canada. Prior to getting her CDL, she worked in a library and in accounting.She calls this new adventure her ‘mid-life crisis career” and has recorded her journeys in the continuing series “A Long Way From Home: A Trucker’s Life Through A Woman’s Eye”. She occasionally detours into fiction, as in “Pivotals” and “First Fruits”.She welcomes comments and questions, and can be contacted at [e-mail].

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A LONG WAY FROM HOME:

A Trucker's Life Through A Woman's Eye

Volume 6

By C L Miller

Dedicated to

Sophie and Shelby

Forever in my heart

C L Miller was fifty-four years old when she went on the road as truck driver with her husband. They drove over-the-road in the United States and Canada. Prior to getting her commercial driver’s license, she worked in a library and in accounting. She called this new adventure her mid-life crisis job and recorded her journeys in the continuing series A Long Way From Home: A Trucker's Life Through A Woman's Eye.

She occasionally detours into fiction, as in Pivotals and First Fruits.

She welcomes comments and questions and can be contacted at

[e-mail]

Copyright 2015 

by C L Miller 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Regulations

On the edge

As the crow flies

Timed travel

Coming and going

In the long run

Life is a beach

Philosophically

Write or wrong

Give me one good reason...

Northern highlights

Clueless

General Vicinity

Alignment

Shifting gears

Pedal pushers

Dancing in circles

Time for a change

And so it goes

Clear sailing

Kerfuffles

Good timing

Beyond the weather

Ringside seats

Dust mite happen

Clear and cold

Re-Flectivity

The chill is gone

All on board

Words of wisdom

Weather or not

Pre-heating

Test pattern

Now you tell me!

Old impressions

Spring forward!

I believe

A moving tale

In other words

Defrost cycle

Watch your language

The little things

Hear-two-four

Numberology

Gardening

Water pressure

Making room

Kisses

Regulations

July 11, 2013

We decided to test the New Directive Hours of Service by a run from San Diego to Boston. It had the added advantages of pay, getting us out of the heat, and giving us something to do. While Boston is not our first choice of destination, it's been a long cold winter and we haven't been up that way in a while. It was reefer but not Sec-1, and a fairly comfortable travel time, so we figured it would keep us busy and out of trouble.

We stayed put in Las Vegas over the 4th, although we were too far out of town to see the fireworks. A wildfire up Mt Charleston probably set back the festivities on the north side of town, and it was too hot to stand outside anyway. Overall, it was a quiet evening.

Since the only big draw to Southern California was cooler temperatures, we decided to head south on Saturday morning. Friday afternoon we joined Rosa for lunch at Zapata's, then set our sights on Primm. On several recent trips we had noticed that Whiskey Pete's was adding a truck stop. It flies under the Flying J flag, but a quick stop on a previous trip gave us a preview of what seemed to be a nice place. Our overnight stay cemented the impression. Very nice showers, a Driver's lounge and laundry being set up, and convenient accessibility to an outlet mall and three large casinos offering restaurants, a movie theater, and a small amusement park.

We arrived in Ontario about noon local time. It was a (relatively) comfortable eighty-five degrees, a thirty degree drop from Las Vegas. I took advantage of the cooler temperature to get laundry done in preparation for our Boston run.

In general, I believe it is more difficult to do something badly that you are naturally talented at than vice versa. For example, a musician who must act as if he doesn't know music, a dancer who must pretend to be awkward, or an orator who must dumb-down her vocabulary. I site Jack Benny's off-key violin playing, Jennifer Grey's early clumsy attempts in Dirty Dancing, and a slew of speakers who have had to bite off words of more than one syllable. Most of us can do something fairly well one time that we normally can't do at all. It's the other way that's the struggle.

Our bi-annual DOT Medical Exam was due before mid-August so we took advantage of the clinic at the Ontario East T/A. Unfortunately the doctor was not IN but another waiting patient suggested a facility a few blocks away. He should have followed his own advice. The second office charged us less for two exams than the first would have for just one. The staff was pleasant and efficient in a very organized office. I am pleased to report that I can see Line 5 without my glasses, I don't have diabetes or high blood pressure, and I still have a pulse.

The highlight for me was stepping on the scale. I'm here to tell you that without any dieting or exercising I have lost ONE POUND since my last exam! Yes!! At this rate I will get down to my ideal weight in sixty-seven years. That is a goal I can live with.

Our Boston run got off to an early start. Tom suggested we backtrack up I-15 to a major eastbound freeway, but we opted to head directly out I-8. As I drove down El Cajon the coolness of San Diego was replaced by triple-digit temperatures. I was half-afraid to stop the truck for fear the tires would melt to the pavement. By the time we swapped driving duty east of Phoenix it was in the low 100's. Harry drove all night and I got back on duty just after sunrise on I-25 south of Albuquerque. The morning temperatures were perfect and we stayed comfortable all day.

Wednesday got off to a bad start. I went on duty in Rolla, Missouri in a thunderstorm. Ten miles out the wiper blades skidded to a halt in a downpour. I limped into the next truck stop on our route and woke Harry. He ran a few tests and decided we might have a burnt-out wiper motor. Fortunately it's a fairly easy fix and the nearest repair shop had the parts in stock and could get us in that afternoon. Unfortunately the nearest repair shop was seventy five miles away and it was still raining. There was also a scale in between and we were fairly certain that the Inspector would frown on our vertical non-operational wipers. Our only choice was to wait out the rain and hope no one noticed the position of the blades.

We reported our situation to Dispatch. After a few deliberations they decided it was simpler for us to be late than try to transfer the cargo to another truck. It was a sealed load and the unbroken chain-of-custody was a priority. Friday it should be delivered, and Friday it would have to be. We got to the repair shop without incident -- although I discovered it isn't easy to see through leaded glass -- and the work was done by evening. By then it had already been a trying day, so we called a halt to further progress until Thursday morning. A good night's rest got us ready to tackle the final leg of our run.

As usual, we entertained ourselves with Radio Classics. On many shows the sponsor had a representative who was also a cast member. At the very least, the script included a complimentary reference to the product. George and Gracie described the delights of Maxwell House Coffee. Don Wilson made sure that Jack, Mary, and Dennis were offered Jello. Fibber McGee and Molly had Harlow Waxy Wilcox extolling the virtues of Johnson's Wax.

The commercials were entertainment in their own right, especially Waxy. He took any opportunity, however obscure, to promote his stuff. Half the time Fibber either interrupted him or laughed him off the stage -- which I guess you can get away with when you are Number One in the ratings.

One of this week's episodes got my attention. Apparently any surface -- furniture, floor, or woodwork -- that is treated with Johnson's Wax will repel dust. According to Waxy, Dust comes into the house on shoes and clothes, and through open doors. But it won't stick to any treated area, making housework an easier task. I gave that one some thought. The dust comes in, and tries to land on your coffee tables and desk. Nope, it just slides right off. But wait, it also won't stick to your wood floors. So, where does it go? Does it pile up in tiny mounds on the carpet? Does it float a half-inch above the bare floors? Does it cling hopelessly to the drapes? I'm not sure how that makes for a cleaner home. It's also rather clear that the concept of Truth in Advertising was still in the future.

The first chink in the New Hours of Service regulations has already appeared. Drivers who transport livestock are now exempt from the mandated 30-minute break because (you guessed it!) the ANIMALS might overheat. Another Driver suggested his type of cargo might be next -- fresh fruits and vegetables; cooled or not, lettuce isn't going to do well if it sits for the arbitrary 34-hour reset. We debated the loss of 4,000 cubic feet of hothouse flowers or 35,000 pounds of rotten tomatoes. And will Someone pay us twice our normal rate because we spend two days in a safe haven with their pharmaceuticals on board and our reefer running?

One of the boredom-breakers on long trips is trying to figure out What's going on? in a scene beyond our windshield. Many times it's fairly obvious -- dented front fender on one car that matches dented rear bumper on another -- but occasionally it sparks an absurdly long discussion. Case in point: We were moseying along I-44 somewhere and noticed a Highway Patrol car making use of the Authorized Vehicle Only crossover (which many motorists think means THEY can authorize for their own use, but that's another story). The Officer's appearance in front of us caused no undue alarm until we saw where he/she was going. A dark blue semi was parked on the right-hand shoulder. Two Highway Patrol cars were already stationed behind it. When Car Three arrived, the Officer from Car One got out and cautiously approached the truck on the passenger side, one hand on his holster. The Officer in Car Two was standing behind his open drivers-side car door, also with a hand on his holster. Whatever was going on, Officer One wanted double-backup before he even got out of his car. We were thinking this may not have been a routine traffic stop. Harry thought it might be a stolen truck (there were no visible logos). I voted for the contents of the trailer. We will probably never know.

We stopped for my 30-minute at a truck stop. The Driver next to us opened his door to get a pedestrian's attention. In his hurry he left his door open so he had to swing wide. By swinging wide, he walked into our passenger side mirror. Remember I told you the joke going around about FedEx and UPS merging and being called FedUps? You got the picture.

Is it just me?

I saw a headline that informed the Readers that (surprise!) the surviving Boston Marathon bomber has pleaded Not Guilty to whatever charges have been aimed at him. I don't know what the brothers’ motivation for the bombing was, but I'm guessing the Message included Death to the Capitalist Pigs (or however Americans are labeled these days). Isn't there a bit of irony here? Had an American set off a similar situation, he or she would (at best) be facing a life imprisonment without benefit of any plea being heard, provided he or she wasn't beheaded in the street first. So the message is similar to the lack of logic in flag burning: Do something to prove your dissident point of view that refutes or repudiates the point of view you are trying to prove.

Thursday evening found us in New York State, closing in on Boston. Our final bow to Regulations is our Semi-Annual (and I sure hope I got the bi- and semi- correctly) Truck Inspection, not to be confused with the JBWC Truck Inspection. The wiper blade situation was actually well-timed as we would not have passed SATI with them inoperable. That event is scheduled for Friday. Until then, I'm off to sleep so I can do my part if needed to get us through to the Consignee.

On the edge

July 18, 2013

Our vehicle repairs had just begun. We got to our Consignee in Boston several hours ahead of schedule. As we waited for Receiving to arrive, another truck pulled in. The Driver noticed a puddle of coolant under our truck, never a good thing. We got unloaded and headed for the nearest truck repair shop, about twenty-five miles away. As I mentioned previously, freeway routes through Boston are mostly subterranean. Nothing makes you break out in a sweat like the prospect of a total engine shutdown on a busy Friday morning in a long tunnel. We spent a few pointless minutes wondering how the tow truck would get to us. Towing us out would be near to impossible since we had three inches of clearance when we were level to the roof of the tunnel. Fortunately, we made it to the shop without further incident.

Of course, there was no way the repair shop could get us in on Friday; even Monday was iffy. We certainly couldn't go anywhere in the truck even if we had somewhere to go -- the nearest truck stop was forty-five miles away in New Hampshire -- so we started shopping for a nearby hotel. We discovered that cheap lodging in Boston is not even in our price range for one night, much less for three -- or possibly vice versa, but you get the picture. Then the repair shop recommended a Holiday Inn Express (our favorite hangout in Evansville) and said they give a discount for customers. Discount is hardly the word, as the hotel lopped nearly fifty percent off the typical rate. This one was conveniently located across the street from a nice mall and a couple good restaurants.

Lesson: When Life hands you truck trouble, you make plans to tour Boston by bus. It turned out to be a bit more complicated than that, but it was still well worth it. As time-consuming as it was, it was still preferable to the alternative of traveling in an unknown city with no idea of parking locations or fees.

The first bus picked us up at the mall. It met another bus at a transfer terminal. Bus 2 took us to a train station that had tracks being repaired so we caught a shuttle to another train station that took us into Boston.

We discovered that the buses always have the right-of-way, mainly because they do as they please and the motorists yield to the larger vehicle. The most important lesson I learned from all this shuffling is future caution about sitting in bus seats without being certain they are dry. I made a mental note to shower and put my jeans in the laundry bag when I got back to the hotel.

When we finally got to Boston we boarded a trolley that took us on a two-hour tour -- complete with narration -- of greater Boston and Cambridge. If you have ever been to the area, I hope this brings back memories. If you haven't, I can only suggest you go sometime soon. I cannot begin to fully describe what we saw, so I will just give you the highlights.

The route consisted of twenty one separate stops, allowing us unlimited on/off privileges. We picked up the tour near Boston Common at the steps of the Massachusetts State House, a gold-toned domed building. From there we went past Mass Gen, crossed the Charles River, wandered around Cambridge, decided we were going to take the Charles River Cruise, re-crossed the river, got Cheers, saw the Boston Public Library (at which landmark Harry had to tie me to my seat), ducked a fly ball at Fenway Park (just kidding -- they weren't playing), went through the theater district and Chinatown, crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon (with a moment of silence), wondered Whom might be sitting at a table in any of the world famous eateries, cruised near Boston Harbor (tea, anyone?), saluted the USS Constitution, were reminded that Paul Revere walked the last leg of his famous ride, and waved at the Mallard Family in bronze.

We stayed on the trolley and went back to the ferry boat dock. The cruise was sold out but they were taking back-up passengers and we got a seat. We never actually sat down as I'd rather stand up in the fresh air than sit inside. It was forty-five minutes of wonderful scenes of Boston on one side and Cambridge on the other, nicely narrated by a young man with fierce and unrequited loyalties to the Red Sox. The cities have deliberately maintained their individuality -- Boston with striking high-rise buildings of amazing design and Cambridge looking like nothing has been touched since 1775. The river itself is lined with trees, full of ducks and other water fowl, and dotted with small sailboats, a gondola, and an occasional rowing team. The weather cooperated with mildly overcast sky and a pleasant breeze. We got chatting with a local couple and they gave us a few more tidbits of information. It is one of the better hours I have spent in recent memory.

Trivias for the day:

President Kennedy originally intended Cambridge to be the site of NASA (logical with its proximity to MIT) but President Johnson moved it to Houston when it was his decision. Had it gone as planned, the phrase might have been Boston, we have a problem.

The John Hancock building is an interesting angular design consisting a huge glass panels. When it was first built a flaw caused some of the corners to disengage in the wind and hurtle to the ground. The city hired people to watch the panels -- they changed color just before they fell out -- and blow a whistle to warn others of an impending crash. Amazingly, although dozens of panes fell, no one was injured. At one point the Company threatened to sue the Construction Engineer. After a moment of silence he said (more or less): Bring it on. Guess who carries my insurance! They worked it out peacefully.

Bostonians are superstitious. They are uncomfortable with change, kind of an if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it attitude. For example, there is a Citco sign near Fenway Park that relates to a long-gone facility. When a home run is hit, the sign flashes C-it-co. The City wanted to remove the sign. The Red Sox protested. The sign stayed.

Several members of the Hoar family, prominent in 1800's Massachusetts, were graduates of Harvard. The college has a long tradition of naming buildings after its past presidents and alumni benefactors. A certain House had been dedicated to one of the Hoars. After careful consideration, they decided to use another name.

There is a bridge across the Charles River that is so positioned in relation to a railroad track that it is possible to have a plane over a helicopter over a car over a train over a boat over a swimmer and all being observed by a pedestrian, at the same moment.

The entire Commonwealth of Massachusetts has some of the strictest anti-smoking laws in the nation. Boston and Cambridge do their part to discourage the practice by not providing any ash trays. I watched a single smoker light up and be immediately surrounded by others. It was like moths to a flame (pun intended) and they were clearly seeking safety in numbers -- from the police, and possibly from others who might grab the cigarette from their lips and put it out on their eyelids.

Don't use a taxi service, regardless of the distance you need to travel.

For the record, we also learned that the underground freeway system in Boston was recent and deliberate. Until a few years ago a series of highways criss-crossed the city, making the commute hours and nearly every other time of day a traffic nightmare. One building burnt to the ground less than four blocks from a fire station because the engine couldn't get across the road. Money was allocated and a schedule was proposed (neither of which stayed in range), resulting in the Auto Underground. Our trolley tour guide said that prior to the change, he would often travel at speeds of less than one mile per hour. When the highways went down the City turned the pavement into grass, and a fine job they did of that project. Picture a four-lane park that now runs through your Downtown. Bravo.

After a late lunch at the food court in a beautiful mall that opens directly to the boat dock, we headed back to our return route. The trolley dropped us on the far side of Boston Common and it was a huge party goin' on. There were outdoor plays, concerts, and one performance by a half-dozen dancers, each poised on single stilts a full fifty feet off the ground. I have no idea how they balanced, but it was acrobatic like I've never seen. It was getting late enough that we had to be sure we could get back to the hotel, although I might have considered sleeping in that magnificent park.

Our return trip went without incident and we were in our room by 10:00pm. Our trolley tour tickets were two-fers if we went on subsequent days, but a check of Sunday bus and train schedules made it look difficult to manage. That was a disappointment, but we had filled our Saturday well and were satisfied. Besides, we might still be shut down on Monday when the public transportation would run much more conveniently. It ain't over til it's over.

I know it seems weird, but I felt like we were on the edge of the country in Boston. No doubt New Englanders have the same feeling when they visit Seattle or San Diego. I guess I'm beginning to get accustomed to playing in center field.

Monday started quietly. We had checked bus and train times, which were much more convenient on weekdays, but the daytime temperature had soared. It isn't hot for Las Vegas, but it isn't pleasant for Boston with the higher humidity. We took advantage of the relatively cool morning and traipsed to the nearby mall. Attached to the mall is a Market Basket, another fine grocery store. It also had a nice deli -- not quite up to that of the Giant Eagle, but more than adequate -- and the shelf prices were reasonable. As we hiked back up to the hotel we noticed a recognizable building beyond some trees. Turned out we had a Walmart within Frisbee distance.

I introduced Harry to George. We are now style- and color-coordinated. If I give my hair a good buzz cut we may be indistinguishable.

I suddenly realized I will be going through The Sixties again. I wonder if it will be better the second time around.

All our mingling with other cultures -- American and otherwise -- has made one thing very clear: Laughter sounds the same in every accent and language. A few other sounds have merged. We were in a Dunkin' Donuts and two young girls were excitedly sharing the selections with their parents. From the accents I assumed German was the native language so I could only guess what they were suggesting, until both of them said Sprinkles! It seems some words know no boundaries.

As is typical, as soon as you think you might be able to use a product, but before you actually purchase it, you will find yourself wishing you'd been more efficient in the ordering process. Remember that nifty little scanner from a couple weeks ago? We might have killed for one this weekend. We had the signed bill of lading from our San Diego to Boston run all sealed up in a TripPak envelope, but no way to send it off. As Monday wound down without the truck and the closest truck stop way beyond walking distance, we realized that Boston, we have a problem. Fortunately FedEx accepted a faxed copy, but our next call was to the scanner people. It's in the mail!

The temperature dropped in the evening so we walked to a nearby Texas Roadhouse. We were seated in a booth next to an off-duty employee who was in for dinner. There was a steady stream of her co-workers going past our table, including our server and the assistant manager. We knew we could have said almost anything and gotten the same smile.

AM: How is everything here?

We: Delicious. (This has got to be the worst meal I've ever eaten!)

AM: Good.

Server: Can I get you anything else?

We: More iced tea would be great. (I'm on fire!)

Server: I'll be right back with your drink.

Tuesday brought the news that the repair shop wouldn't have time to even assess our truck's illness until Friday. Fine time to tell us that! Harry took a taxi to the shop and moved the truck to another shop who promised to be under the hood by Wednesday. We shall see.

While he was gone I got into a conversation with a set of Drivers who were also staying at the hotel. They run as a threesome and are in Boston every Monday night, so the hotel is familiar on both sides. They haul three truckloads of fresh fish from Florida to Boston, New York City, Baltimore, and occasionally Philadelphia. The return trip is fish from the first three cities