You know, it's funny. After a good night of sleep and a cool rainy morning that allowed me to get lots of rest, today was all set up for a good long drive. The traffic through Phoenix wasn't bad and, once I got past Tucson and out of the rain, everything was rolling along perfectly as planned. The only challenges were mundane things like deciding whether to get fuel in Anthony, Texas or to wait until I reached Van Horn. Then, as we say around here, things took a turn...
I was almost out of Arizona when I felt a little pop and a shimmy coming from the rear of my truck. How amusing that I would blow a drive tire while I was on my way to Laredo for new drive tires, I thought. I had no idea where I was at the time, but there was an exit ramp right in front of me so I took it. As I coasted around the curve, the shimmy got worse and worse, but the ramp wasn't wide enough to allow me to stop on the shoulder. So I kept coasting. As luck would have it, I coasted right around the corner and into a truck stop. Well that was certainly fortuitous.
I got out to check on my tires and immediately smelled something burning. All of my tires were fine though. Uh oh. The opening where my drive shaft enters something that I am told is called the "pumpkin" was glowing red like a coal furnace. That can't be good.
In light of recent discussions concerning the cognitive abilities of folks at various levels within my company, I must note that everything today has been handled with absolute efficiency. I got right through to the road service department, without any waiting on hold, and spoke with the gentleman who expanded my understanding of the word 'pumpkin.' After a brief chat, he confirmed that which I already suspected. "You need to call dispatch and have them set up a relay. That truck ain't going anywhere."
I called and got a weekend dispatcher on the phone. I gave him the rundown on the situation and he said that he would make a note of it. A short time later, an old man came driving over from the shop at the truck stop where I was parked. He took a quick look at the scene of the damage, nodded his head, and drove away. I'm not entirely sure what was said between him and our road service guys, but I can only assume that he was confirming that the needed repairs would be beyond his capacity. A few minutes after that, I got a call from one of the load planners. (We'll forgive her for sharing the name of an ex-girlfriend of mine. I'm sure she means no offense.) She took the relevant information concerning my location and set up a relay for someone else to come and take my loaded trailer, at which point I lost three hundred bucks by not going all the way to Laredo. Bummer.
I received a satellite message after another half hour or so, spelling out what would happen next. My truck would be towed to El Paso and I would be put in a motel. In the morning, my truck would go to the Kenworth dealer. Another driver was being sent to the truck stop where I had broken down in order to retrieve my load and pull it to Laredo. The lengthy tow was being ordered on account of my company's favorable relationship with the Kenworth dealer in El Paso, and they apologized for my inconvenience.
The whole affair was handled with an impressive level of professionalism and communication. Quite frankly, it surprised me a little bit. Recent events notwithstanding, I generally have had decent experiences with the road service folks. They haven't always been terribly efficient at communicating with the operations folks though. Having everything pulled together and arranged so quickly was nice to see. Being kept fully informed along the way was simply stunning.
Nothing to do at that point but wait for the relay truck and the tow truck. I was told that the tow truck would arrive in about four hours, so I had lots of time to kill. At 5pm Mountain time I received a message giving me the inbound relay truck's number and indicating that it would arrive at 4pm. Going back in time - now that would be really impressive. Obviously the time wasn't meant to be specific. The message was just to inform me that another truck had been assigned and that it was on the way. Okay, good. Back to the waiting.
At roughly the time that I was expecting the tow truck to arrive, a guy who had been on the board in Nogales all day showed up to take my loaded trailer. The tow truck showed up an hour later. Five hours, four hours... Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
So then I got to ride all the way across to El Paso with a tow truck driver who didn't speak much English. I don't speak much Spanish. Whole lot of staring out the window on that trip. We got to the towing company's yard in El Paso at around 2am local time. I thought that my day was done. I was wrong. The arrangement that had been made with the towing company stipulated that I was to get a ComChek number to pay for the tow. The guy in the road service department who took my call seemed to have a pretty good idea of what was going on, but apparently there are some hurdles to getting such a sizeable sum of money through the computer system. We got 'er done eventually.
So now my day was over, right? Well, not just yet. I still had to find somewhere to lay my head down. The earlier message detailing the steps that were being taken had mentioned that I should "stay somewhere decent." That certainly leaves some room for interpretation but I'm not one to waste the company's money intentionally. Since a motel room is just a place with a bed and a shower as far as I'm concerned, the right thing to do seemed to be to look for a cheap location. I had spotted a few signs on the way into town advertising rooms in the neighborhood of $40 a night, so that didn't sound too bad. The poor tow truck driver got stuck driving me from one place to the next, only to find that none of them had any vacancy. El Paso is a happening kinda town, it would seem. I finally found a place to stay at the Days Inn right down the street from the Kenworth dealer. $56 a night ain't quite as cheap as some of the other places, but given that I arrived at 3am on a Saturday night, I guess beggars can't be choosers. Finally, my day was finished.
Even with the loss of 800 miles, my week wraps up with 2,640. I also got $120 in layover pay for my weekend of sitting at that McDonald's in Texas, so overall I can't really complain. I'm not sure how long it will take to get my truck back, but it's out of my hands at this point so I won't sweat it.
I thought it would never get here, but bedtime has most certainly arrived.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
2/19/10
On a fairly regular basis, I wake in the morning without any substantial knowledge of where I am. Sometimes I look out the window and it all comes back to me. Other times, it takes a little bit of investigation. I saw trees when I looked outside today. That's unusual. After a couple of seconds I still had no idea, so I looked at my log from yesterday and then it made sense. I was parked in front of my consignee in Norwalk. Okay then.
By the time a guy opened the door to the receiving area, two other drivers already were waiting. They had arrived after me but I wasn't in any hurry, so it didn't bother me that the fella told me to back into a given dock after those two were finished. I'll take an extra hour of sleep over an early dock assignment every day and twice on Sunday.
Once my turn came up, it was time for the forklift guy to take his lunch break. This also didn't bother me, as the roach coach was arriving just then to serve the factory workers. The lass behind the counter made me a mean grilled cheese sandwich and all was right with the world. Once the guy came back to work, I was unloaded rather quickly.
My next pickup was scheduled for 2pm but I decided to head over directly (at 10am) and take my chances. The shipper was a little importer/exporter outfit (not named Vandelay Industries) on the edge of Chinatown. My directions were okay - take this exit, go down here, customer on the right. "On the right" meant that the place was along a little side street to the right, but I saw the name of the company on the side of the building so I had no trouble finding it. The lot was a tight mutha though.
For reference, you see an 18' box truck in the dock nearest Main Street, next to a 26' box truck. My little machine is around 70' long. As I swung out through the driveway, into the part of the street where the 'Sotello' is in this picture, I wasn't quite sure how I would manage to get squarely into the dock. My truck was jacked at an angle relative to my trailer and the gate along the edge of the driveway dictated that I wouldn't be making any major adjustments, whether or not those adjustments needed to be made. After I eased past the gate in reverse and swung my truck back in front of the trailer... I found that I was perfectly squared to the dock. It actually looked like I knew what I was doing. Beauty.
I was at the shipper for an hour and a half or so, during which I got a kick out of watching the business that was taking place. Various little trucks would show up with a pallet or two. Some were like the box trucks pictured above. Some were the type of trucks that are more generally associated with uniform rental companies. Some were the standard cargo vans that you can pick up at your neighborhood Ford dealer. And still others were rickety old pickup trucks that looked like they could fall apart at any moment. Quite often, immediately after one of the smaller trucks had dropped off a pallet, I would feel my trailer bounce under the weight of the forklift. I think they call this 'cross-dock consolidation' or something.
Once I was loaded, I received some advice from one of the guys on the dock. Go down here and take a right, then a right over there, then get on 5 southbound, then look for 10 to Santa Monica. I followed his directions to the letter, including the part about taking I-10 toward Santa Monica.
♫ We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die ♫
Damn it! I know that Santa Monica is to the west of Los Angeles. I know that! Why did I listen to that guy? When you're in a place where they apparently don't like words such as 'east' and 'west' on their highway signs, you need to know that Santa Monica is along the ocean and San Bernardino is out toward the desert. I knew this, damn it. But I stupidly followed the directions that I was given and wound up going the wrong way. No problem though, I thought. We'll just get off the freeway and turn around.
The next half hour was probably as bizarre as you could imagine. Quite a few of the roads were impassable for a big truck, so I found myself trying to spot wide enough turns while keeping the freeway in sight. Sometimes I would lose sight of the freeway and then spot it again after going around a few corners. The only trouble, of course, was that there are freeways everywhere in that neck of the woods. Somehow, after a little bit of stress and a lot of amusement, I wound up on the 101 northbound. I thought I was already on the north side of I-10, meaning that I would have been going the wrong way, but it turns out that I-10 was a mile in front of me. I caught the ramp to the east and chalked up another win for the good guys.
Setting aside the fact that I have yet another wicked heavy load to pull, this afternoon's drive was pretty easy. The traffic got lighter and lighter as I got out of the L.A. area. Since I had been loaded well ahead of my 2pm appointment time, I was able to make it to the Phoenix suburbs at a reasonable hour and call it a night at the Pilot in Avondale. The great J.T. was kind enough to drive down and extend some hospitality, for which I was rather grateful. There's even a rumor that my Swedish buddy Sjoe stopped by and enjoyed a libation or two. I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor.
I'm due in Laredo by Monday morning, so a couple of ~500 mile days tomorrow and Sunday should do the trick. Another day, another dollar.
By the time a guy opened the door to the receiving area, two other drivers already were waiting. They had arrived after me but I wasn't in any hurry, so it didn't bother me that the fella told me to back into a given dock after those two were finished. I'll take an extra hour of sleep over an early dock assignment every day and twice on Sunday.
Once my turn came up, it was time for the forklift guy to take his lunch break. This also didn't bother me, as the roach coach was arriving just then to serve the factory workers. The lass behind the counter made me a mean grilled cheese sandwich and all was right with the world. Once the guy came back to work, I was unloaded rather quickly.
My next pickup was scheduled for 2pm but I decided to head over directly (at 10am) and take my chances. The shipper was a little importer/exporter outfit (not named Vandelay Industries) on the edge of Chinatown. My directions were okay - take this exit, go down here, customer on the right. "On the right" meant that the place was along a little side street to the right, but I saw the name of the company on the side of the building so I had no trouble finding it. The lot was a tight mutha though.
For reference, you see an 18' box truck in the dock nearest Main Street, next to a 26' box truck. My little machine is around 70' long. As I swung out through the driveway, into the part of the street where the 'Sotello' is in this picture, I wasn't quite sure how I would manage to get squarely into the dock. My truck was jacked at an angle relative to my trailer and the gate along the edge of the driveway dictated that I wouldn't be making any major adjustments, whether or not those adjustments needed to be made. After I eased past the gate in reverse and swung my truck back in front of the trailer... I found that I was perfectly squared to the dock. It actually looked like I knew what I was doing. Beauty.
I was at the shipper for an hour and a half or so, during which I got a kick out of watching the business that was taking place. Various little trucks would show up with a pallet or two. Some were like the box trucks pictured above. Some were the type of trucks that are more generally associated with uniform rental companies. Some were the standard cargo vans that you can pick up at your neighborhood Ford dealer. And still others were rickety old pickup trucks that looked like they could fall apart at any moment. Quite often, immediately after one of the smaller trucks had dropped off a pallet, I would feel my trailer bounce under the weight of the forklift. I think they call this 'cross-dock consolidation' or something.
Once I was loaded, I received some advice from one of the guys on the dock. Go down here and take a right, then a right over there, then get on 5 southbound, then look for 10 to Santa Monica. I followed his directions to the letter, including the part about taking I-10 toward Santa Monica.
♫ We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die ♫
Damn it! I know that Santa Monica is to the west of Los Angeles. I know that! Why did I listen to that guy? When you're in a place where they apparently don't like words such as 'east' and 'west' on their highway signs, you need to know that Santa Monica is along the ocean and San Bernardino is out toward the desert. I knew this, damn it. But I stupidly followed the directions that I was given and wound up going the wrong way. No problem though, I thought. We'll just get off the freeway and turn around.
The next half hour was probably as bizarre as you could imagine. Quite a few of the roads were impassable for a big truck, so I found myself trying to spot wide enough turns while keeping the freeway in sight. Sometimes I would lose sight of the freeway and then spot it again after going around a few corners. The only trouble, of course, was that there are freeways everywhere in that neck of the woods. Somehow, after a little bit of stress and a lot of amusement, I wound up on the 101 northbound. I thought I was already on the north side of I-10, meaning that I would have been going the wrong way, but it turns out that I-10 was a mile in front of me. I caught the ramp to the east and chalked up another win for the good guys.
Setting aside the fact that I have yet another wicked heavy load to pull, this afternoon's drive was pretty easy. The traffic got lighter and lighter as I got out of the L.A. area. Since I had been loaded well ahead of my 2pm appointment time, I was able to make it to the Phoenix suburbs at a reasonable hour and call it a night at the Pilot in Avondale. The great J.T. was kind enough to drive down and extend some hospitality, for which I was rather grateful. There's even a rumor that my Swedish buddy Sjoe stopped by and enjoyed a libation or two. I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor.
I'm due in Laredo by Monday morning, so a couple of ~500 mile days tomorrow and Sunday should do the trick. Another day, another dollar.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
2/18/10
In light of how inefficiently I did my job today, I'm now 100% certain that it's time to head home for a few days. Alas, it looks like I'll be working just a little while longer. I awoke to find a pre-planned assignment that came through as soon as I fired up my truck. Picking up in Los Angeles tomorrow afternoon and going to Laredo. Big paycheck and a chance to deal with my balding drive tires - not too shabby. Maybe that message about my tires was in the computer after all. I'll wait until I get to Laredo and then send in my request for home time. That should work pretty well in terms of getting me home around the end of the month.
I made a fairly uneventful trip into California, over the mountains, and into the valley this morning. Then my brain decided to take some time off and leave the work to the rest of me. As I merged from I-15 onto I-10, I got out of the 'exit only' lane and joined the flow of traffic. A few miles later I realized/remembered that I needed to have stayed in the 'exit only' lane for the truck stop. Shit.
I had two options at this point. I could find somewhere to turn around and head back to the truck stop, or I could continue onward and leave my parking fortunes in the hands of a higher power. I'll bet you can guess which one I chose.
I hadn't planned to drive to my consignee today, so consequently I hadn't checked the directions to my consignee yet. Traffic on I-10 and I-605 was wicked heavy and there was no chance for me to read the screen on my Qualcomm unit, so I had to rely on the computerized voice lady. Yeah, that's asking for trouble. She reads everything phonetically, such that the street names are always mangled, but I can usually interpret that part well enough. The bigger issue is the shorthand abbreviations that tend to comprise the bulk of our directions. The computer voice lady speaks absolute gibberish when she gets to that part.
I got onto I-5 and found my exit without any trouble, then tried to square what I had heard on the Qualcomm with what I was seeing in front of me. I thought I had it figured out. I was wrong. I wound up cruising all the way through Norwalk in the wrong direction before getting stopped at a red light and having a chance to read what the directions actually said. It turns out that they really weren't all that complicated. I caught I-605 to the north and then got back on I-5 southbound to try again. Everything matched up with my directions, but every street along the way had 'No Parking' signs from corner to corner. I made my last turn onto the street with my consignee and... didn't see any more 'No Parking' signs. Beauty.
A brief walking excursion allowed me to discover that there is a McDonald's within three quarters of a mile or so. McNuggets for dinner. And they were fresh and everything. Groovy.
I'm pretty sure that this trip satisfies my 2010 quota of runs to the West Coast. Three times a year is plenty for me. (I'm aware that this is only my second trip out here this year. The end of December is close enough to count, as far as I'm concerned.) Let's just hope that whatever awaits me in L.A. tomorrow is nice and close to the freeway.
I made a fairly uneventful trip into California, over the mountains, and into the valley this morning. Then my brain decided to take some time off and leave the work to the rest of me. As I merged from I-15 onto I-10, I got out of the 'exit only' lane and joined the flow of traffic. A few miles later I realized/remembered that I needed to have stayed in the 'exit only' lane for the truck stop. Shit.
I had two options at this point. I could find somewhere to turn around and head back to the truck stop, or I could continue onward and leave my parking fortunes in the hands of a higher power. I'll bet you can guess which one I chose.
I hadn't planned to drive to my consignee today, so consequently I hadn't checked the directions to my consignee yet. Traffic on I-10 and I-605 was wicked heavy and there was no chance for me to read the screen on my Qualcomm unit, so I had to rely on the computerized voice lady. Yeah, that's asking for trouble. She reads everything phonetically, such that the street names are always mangled, but I can usually interpret that part well enough. The bigger issue is the shorthand abbreviations that tend to comprise the bulk of our directions. The computer voice lady speaks absolute gibberish when she gets to that part.
I got onto I-5 and found my exit without any trouble, then tried to square what I had heard on the Qualcomm with what I was seeing in front of me. I thought I had it figured out. I was wrong. I wound up cruising all the way through Norwalk in the wrong direction before getting stopped at a red light and having a chance to read what the directions actually said. It turns out that they really weren't all that complicated. I caught I-605 to the north and then got back on I-5 southbound to try again. Everything matched up with my directions, but every street along the way had 'No Parking' signs from corner to corner. I made my last turn onto the street with my consignee and... didn't see any more 'No Parking' signs. Beauty.
A brief walking excursion allowed me to discover that there is a McDonald's within three quarters of a mile or so. McNuggets for dinner. And they were fresh and everything. Groovy.
I'm pretty sure that this trip satisfies my 2010 quota of runs to the West Coast. Three times a year is plenty for me. (I'm aware that this is only my second trip out here this year. The end of December is close enough to count, as far as I'm concerned.) Let's just hope that whatever awaits me in L.A. tomorrow is nice and close to the freeway.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
2/17/10
Ahh yes, a good day with all of the elements needed to make life easy. Sunny skies, dry roads, light traffic, no waiting in line at the fuel pump, exploding trailer tires... Wait a second. What was that last part? Exploding trailer tires? I don't think I signed up for that.
I did manage to get a good night's sleep last night and the day went about as smoothly as possible, until the aforementioned explosion. I was cruising across Arizona with full fuel tanks and another few driving hours at my disposal when I heard a sound that I'm not really supposed to hear. KABOOM! I'm no expert on the subject but I think it's better to hear that kind of noise coming from behind you than it would be to hear it coming from in front of you. In front, there are steer tires and an engine. Really bad news if anything up there explodes. A blown trailer tire doesn't require anything more than a visit from a service truck. So at least I had that going for me... which is nice.
I made a call to our road service department and got a "service adviser" on the line within 15 minutes. Slight improvement, I suppose. This guy seemed to have his act together and, after a very brief conversation, he said that he would send me a message letting me know who was coming to help me. After a few minutes I got the message. The Love's in Joseph City was sending a truck, expected to arrive in approximately 60 minutes.
The 60 minutes turned out to be 120 minutes. I wasn't too pleased about the extra wait but, after hearing the guy's excuse, I really couldn't be mad at him. It was too funny. It turns out that the repair truck needed gas in order to make the trip to my location in the middle of nowhere. They do sell gas at Love's truck stops, of course, but the repair shop pays with a company credit card. This company credit card is kept in a locked drawer, for obvious reasons. You know, thievery and so forth. Anyhow, when the dude got the call to bring me a new tire, he went to get the card and put some gas in the truck. And... nobody could find the key to the drawer. The boss had to come in with his extra key and unlock the drawer.
In any event, I was off to the side of an exit ramp that appeared to exist for no reason other than that I might blow a tire and need a place to park. Very convenient. As such, I didn't mind kicking back in the bunk and waiting for the guy to show up. The only issue was the 14 hour rule. Despite the fact that I had been resting for quite a while and my day had been unusually relaxing, the bureaucrats behind their desks said that I was rapidly getting tired.
How to get screwed by the feds, Volume 9000: Spend a few minutes assessing the situation and placing your reflective triangles on the ground. Spend another twenty minutes or so on the phone, waiting on hold and then speaking with your road service department. Wait ten minutes or so before receiving your satellite message with information about the repair shop. Wait two hours for the repair guy to show up. Then watch the clock tick away steadily as he takes his time replacing the tire and completing his paperwork.
I was shooting for the Petro on the east side of Kingman. This was 160 miles from where my tire repair was being done. 160 miles would require around two and a half hours of driving, plus whatever time was added by dragging a heavy load across the mountains. I was legal until 12:30am Eastern, since I left Tucumcari at 10:30am this morning. The mathematically inclined readers among you may have concluded by now that I needed to be back on the road by 10pm. Those few extra minutes from the slow climbs wouldn't be a huge deal as long as I could get to the Petro somewhere around 12:30am.
The repair guy was done working at 9:50pm. He just needed to get some information for the paperwork and I would be on my way, I was told. He handed me the receipt and bade me adieu at 10:10pm. So I got to the Petro... when I got to the Petro. Don't worry about it. Close enough for government work.
I don't imagine I'll have a terribly long day tomorrow, going from here to either the Con-way yard in Fontana or the truck stop in Ontario. (Largely depending on how hungry I am whenever I get there, so the odds would favor the T/A.) Then an early morning drive down to Norwalk for my delivery and my request for home time finally will have to be drawn from its holster.
The damned fabric softener dispenser just took my $1.25. Bastards.
I did manage to get a good night's sleep last night and the day went about as smoothly as possible, until the aforementioned explosion. I was cruising across Arizona with full fuel tanks and another few driving hours at my disposal when I heard a sound that I'm not really supposed to hear. KABOOM! I'm no expert on the subject but I think it's better to hear that kind of noise coming from behind you than it would be to hear it coming from in front of you. In front, there are steer tires and an engine. Really bad news if anything up there explodes. A blown trailer tire doesn't require anything more than a visit from a service truck. So at least I had that going for me... which is nice.
I made a call to our road service department and got a "service adviser" on the line within 15 minutes. Slight improvement, I suppose. This guy seemed to have his act together and, after a very brief conversation, he said that he would send me a message letting me know who was coming to help me. After a few minutes I got the message. The Love's in Joseph City was sending a truck, expected to arrive in approximately 60 minutes.
The 60 minutes turned out to be 120 minutes. I wasn't too pleased about the extra wait but, after hearing the guy's excuse, I really couldn't be mad at him. It was too funny. It turns out that the repair truck needed gas in order to make the trip to my location in the middle of nowhere. They do sell gas at Love's truck stops, of course, but the repair shop pays with a company credit card. This company credit card is kept in a locked drawer, for obvious reasons. You know, thievery and so forth. Anyhow, when the dude got the call to bring me a new tire, he went to get the card and put some gas in the truck. And... nobody could find the key to the drawer. The boss had to come in with his extra key and unlock the drawer.
In any event, I was off to the side of an exit ramp that appeared to exist for no reason other than that I might blow a tire and need a place to park. Very convenient. As such, I didn't mind kicking back in the bunk and waiting for the guy to show up. The only issue was the 14 hour rule. Despite the fact that I had been resting for quite a while and my day had been unusually relaxing, the bureaucrats behind their desks said that I was rapidly getting tired.
How to get screwed by the feds, Volume 9000: Spend a few minutes assessing the situation and placing your reflective triangles on the ground. Spend another twenty minutes or so on the phone, waiting on hold and then speaking with your road service department. Wait ten minutes or so before receiving your satellite message with information about the repair shop. Wait two hours for the repair guy to show up. Then watch the clock tick away steadily as he takes his time replacing the tire and completing his paperwork.
I was shooting for the Petro on the east side of Kingman. This was 160 miles from where my tire repair was being done. 160 miles would require around two and a half hours of driving, plus whatever time was added by dragging a heavy load across the mountains. I was legal until 12:30am Eastern, since I left Tucumcari at 10:30am this morning. The mathematically inclined readers among you may have concluded by now that I needed to be back on the road by 10pm. Those few extra minutes from the slow climbs wouldn't be a huge deal as long as I could get to the Petro somewhere around 12:30am.
The repair guy was done working at 9:50pm. He just needed to get some information for the paperwork and I would be on my way, I was told. He handed me the receipt and bade me adieu at 10:10pm. So I got to the Petro... when I got to the Petro. Don't worry about it. Close enough for government work.
I don't imagine I'll have a terribly long day tomorrow, going from here to either the Con-way yard in Fontana or the truck stop in Ontario. (Largely depending on how hungry I am whenever I get there, so the odds would favor the T/A.) Then an early morning drive down to Norwalk for my delivery and my request for home time finally will have to be drawn from its holster.
The damned fabric softener dispenser just took my $1.25. Bastards.
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