6/19/10

Guess what will get your attention in a hurry.  Sitting at a CBP checkpoint and seeing the guy with the dog coming barrel-assing toward the cab of your truck.  Honestly officer, the trailer was sealed up when I got it.  Turns out he wasn't coming for me.  He was after the cargo van next to me.  Some might think that his dog had smelled drugs or something, but this is Arizona, home of SB1070.  We know the real story, don't we?

I get waved through those checkpoints (all of 'em, not just Arizona's) with a smile and a nod. Sometimes it ain't so bad to be Whitey. Speaking of which, have you ever noticed that the white people in the Southwest are some of the whitest white people in America? Hell, even in Michigan we get tanned a little in the summer. The white folks out here must go hogwild with the SPF 30 or something. I don't know.

I don't recall a lot of specifics about today's driving, which usually means that the drive was pretty good.  It also usually means that I was pretty tired.  I was up and rolling wicked early this morning in order to keep to my noon dispatch, so that part wasn't so peachy.  Otherwise just a long and steady drive. 

After I made my drop at the border (as in - 30 yards from the fence, no kidding), I sent in my 'dropped trailer' form.  I expected my new assignment to come through, but instead I got a message telling me that I had sent the wrong forms.  I was not at Stop 2.  I was at a relay point.  I needed to send the corresponding forms so that I could be dispatched to my next pickup.  I muttered something about weekend dispatchers and did as I was told, then checked my Qualcomm to confirm that I was right.  It says right there on the relay form that we don't send that one at a border location... err... nevermind.  I guess I'm the bonehead this time around.  In my defense though, that form used to say it wasn't for border locations.  I swear.

Anyhow, I had to scoot over to our drop yard a couple of miles away and grab my next loaded trailer.  It was ready and waiting, paperwork and all.  That's always a plus.  1,725 kilograms of foam should make for a nice and easy ride across to Texas.  Beauty.  I had managed to preserve enough of my 70 hour clock to get through that border checkpoint and on to Benson before my time ran out.

And that, my friends, brings several days of hard driving to a merciful end.  I'm not too proud to say that I am worn out.  Nobody will ever mistake me for a super trucker.  The week wraps up with a beefy 3,874 miles in the books.  I'll spend the next couple of days finishing out this run, but next payday will reflect just under $1,500 in earnings.  I'm guessing that my safety bonus will be on that check too, so the tax withholding will be a sight to behold.

I can work nine hours tomorrow and seven hours on Monday.  That should be enough to get me to the Dallas area ahead of Tuesday morning's delivery.  For now though, relaxation and baseball.  I am parked close enough to a Motel 6 so I have a speedy wi-fi connection.  The Tigers are going for eight in a row against these pitiful National League teams.  This is good.