Life on the Road – Trucking News Blog

I’m still using the Cobra Bluetooth headsets I wrote a post about back around January. I would still recommend them. I’ve never had a complaint from anyone at the other end of any conversation. I hear them and they hear me fine, despite all the truck noise. Now I’m in the process of searching for a new GPS to replace my ancient, but still performing Invion unit. QVC has offered nothing new in terms of any new technology or a deal that I could afford. Maybe closer to Christmas the situation will change. I noticed at a T/A that the price of the 7″ Cobra “truck” GPS has dropped once again to $349.97 from $399. It’s a “special” – good only until the end of August. Some special.

I believe it once was $499, which was an insane price. I have not met one driver with the expensive Rand McNally truck GPS or the Cobra unit. Anything over $199 for any GPS is just not going to fly with drivers in this economy. I have an “active” GPS on my phone which I could easily use instead of my present GPS. My cell GPS costs me nothing in and of itself. I’ve told Cobra that they’re going to be stuck with a lot of their 7″ truck GPS until that price really drops. T/A has told me that, just like at the beginning of the year, they’re not selling. Technology wise, there is nothing new going on with global positioning systems anywhere that I hear about. Slapping a Bluetooth feature on any unit is pointless. I have ideas, but the manufacturers seem to know it all – NOT.

Let’s move on. Listen, I can’t take it anymore. If I see one more driver sitting in a restaurant eating himself to death, I’m just going have to yell at him. While I was eating my salad at a T/A the other day, there was a driver killing himself with food. He had trouble sitting at the table he was at. It wasn’t even a booth. He was so fat he had to use the wall to hold himself upright. He could hardly walk to get more food. I could see and hear from 20 feet away that he was having trouble breathing. At one point, I thought he was going to faint. He was sweating profusely and constantly wiping his face with paper napkins in between bites. What am I supposed to do? I don’t want anybody telling me what to do. But I’m screaming inside – DRIVER STOP EATING FOR GOODNESS SAKES! He was on his 4th plate of ribs, potatoes and fried chicken. Roll after roll after roll. He had numerous desserts. It’s right in my face, I just can’t help but watch this disaster in progress.

I took this photo of another driver “walking” his little dog when I was in Kansas City the other day. It’s a good thing there was a McDonald’s nearby – I was worried he might eat the darn pooch. I know, I know, I’m just terrible, horrible, etc. But I can’t help it. Poor guy could hardly get in the cab of his truck. I still have trouble in my new KW getting past the tight two front seats into the bunk. And I’ve lost 25 pounds! How the heck does this guy or the driver in the T/A do it? How does a “doctor” clear this guy to drive or pass him through a DOT physical? I have no idea. I’m nowhere near this guys girth and it took a top cardiologist to clear me to drive again.

At the terminal this morning, there were too many drivers still smoking. And, no, they are NOT all thin – they are FAT. Fat and smoking are suicide. Don’t give me that crap that your BP is fine and you’ve been smoking without any problem since high school – and you’ve tried to quit, but you just can’t. Thank goodness, I never picked up the habit. Chris used to smoke when she was pregnant with our son,but she decided she had enough and stopped, just like that. No lame excuses. Just did it. Threw the Pall Mall Gold’s all in the garbage. And, the truck stops keep pushing cheaper and more dangerous 3rd rate brands of cigarettes to drivers along with candy and fatty junk foods. “Driver, want CANDY, they’re two for one.driver, want CANDY, they’re two for..

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First, an update from the idiots of the IRS. The GPS you use in your truck is NOT a business expense and you CANNOT deduct it. It is LUXURY ITEM. And, if you don’t have receipts for your steel toe boots and your work gloves, no matter what they cost – the IRS will NOT allow the deduction. When asked of the IRS functionary in Colorado, “What is the name of your supervisor?” – her response was “My supervisor.” My wife then said, “Fine, so when I mail the letter I’m going to write to your supervisor, I’ll address it to MY SUPERVISOR.

Moving forward, I’ve always said that short haul trips – anything under 500 miles – are always trouble. Today’s load from Bonner Springs KS to Tahlequah OK is no exception. It’s a 45K lbs. load of brick. I get there, they load it, I secure it. I get my bills and drive down the road. My cell rings – that’s the phone that the IRS is also not allowing as a business deduction – and it’s someone that sounds like my mother from the safety  department. It’s got to be a revolving door over there, because I don’t know who is who anymore. “How many straps do you have on the load?” I look behind me at the cargo and I count eight. “The shipper says you do not have enough securement on the load.” I respond by telling her that, fine, I’ll stop and “readjust” things.

So I stop and didn’t realize that I put two extra straps on the front and back pallets – for a total of 10 straps plus v-board edge protectors. That’s 50K lbs. of securement for the 45K load. When the loader looked at the trailer and then gave me the bills, he said, “Have a nice day.” I didn’t bother calling my mother back. But, then, a wee bit later comes the QUALCOM from Percy. “Thanks for doing what’s needed, even if it’s after the fact.” I’ve gotten other cute “messages” from him in the past. I said to myself, screw you Percy, you little so forth and so on. Later, when I sat down, for a chef salad at the Pilot/FJ, I looked out the window at the sky and the clouds and said to myself “I’m so over this.” I felt calmer and my BP stabilized.

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I said yesterday that I was listening to Willie’s Place on XM 13. Well, a man can only take so much. When Bill Mack aka The Midnight Cowboy – broke out his 78′s and started “spinning” The Mills Brothers – Blue Hawaii I had to draw the line somewhere. Mack said he “loves Hawaiian music.” OMG. Mack speaks of his upcoming “discussion” with Willie Nelson like a preacher looks forward the second coming. Hey Bill, I’m glad you’re still broadcasting – the old time drivers luv ya – but it’s all too much for this driver to handle. Back to my Sugarland CD. A 35ish redhead in a red tank and white short shorts just asked me if I wanted a “date.” Why do I leave my window open? She actually looked clean. She’s probably work’n her way over to the “J.” Thanks, but no thanks – I’m “spoken” for. Oh, here’s comes another one – older  – in a black camisole with jeans. She’s walk’n away from the “J” – the sheriff must be driving around the parking lot.

I’m in North Kansas City MO. There is a FJ – Flying J -off exit 57 – I 435 – Walker St. I rarely park there. There is no “sit down” food service at this location – no Denny’s or Subway or anything. The FJ “deli” inside has nothing but unhealthy junk. A 3000 calorie 12 inch schlong-like “sausage” colored with red die in a greasy pig’s blanket “roll” is NOT food! FJ wouldn’t know what a “deli” is if one hit them over the head. So here’s what I do – go down a few lights, drive into the corporate park on the right, make a legal u-turn and go back out and down Walker St. about 500 yards. Then I make a right just before I-435, then another right and there is truck parking behind Subway, Wendy’s and McDonald’s – all three of which are right next to each other. Convenient and far less stressful than the FJ. Not a lot of truck parking here, but if you get there early enough there is space for about 8 semi’s and a few tractors bobtailing.

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The photo you’re looking at here was taken by the Associated Press – AP. It used to be a Greyhound bus. I stress “used to be.” It was going from Los Angeles to Sacramento CA – carrying 36 passengers.

About 1:30 am, an SUV overturned in front of the bus. The Greyhound hit the SUV, then slammed into a concrete center divider and clipped another vehicle. The bus then went off the right shoulder of the highway and went down a 15 foot embankment before smashing into a tree.

The bus driver was killed. Five others died and nine people were seriously injured. The three women in the SUV were killed. The “accident” happened on Highway 99 in Fresno. The bus driver had an excellent safety record and had been employed by Greyhound since 1978. No one is sure at this point why the SUV had overturned on the road. I only hope there wasn’t a truck driver on the bus headed to a job orientation somewhere or to pick up a truck.

As you are aware, it was only a few weeks ago that I was on a bus – a Greyhound bus – from Tampa to Birmingham – trying to sleep while the bus was flying through the night – at about the same time of the morning as this accident occurred. I saw the story on my cell just before I went to bed the other night. I felt absolutely terrible for the driver of the bus and his surviving relatives. I’m not a big fan of Greyhound/Trailways, but the drivers, many of whom have worked there for a long time, have a tough job. They put up with a lot of BS from the riff-raff that travel on the busses. They have to deal with the same traffic nonsense as we truckers do. And, their schedules are just a nutty as ours. I’m sure they’ll find that the driver was just doing his job and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was just joking, but in one of my previous posts, before I left the house to go back to work, I made reference to my fear of being killed in a Greyhound that rolled off the road into a ditch.

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It’s positively brutal out here. Right now I’m in Grand Bay MS and it’s 105 degrees. I had to tarp a load of 13′ 6″ high insulation yesterday down in Deland FL – it was 115 degrees in the sun. I’m pumping in the Gatorade big time and trying to spend more time inside the truck stops – travel centers – taking advantage of their air conditioning vs. staying in the truck.

Rackets – that’s our world right now. Everything is a racket. I went into Verizon the other day to attempt to upgrade my Droid Eris to either an Incredible or the newer Motorola Droid X. They had little or no stock on these “smart” phones. To simply upgrade, the customer is required to sign a two-year contract extension. If you want to cancel the service, because you want to switch over to AT&T, which right now exclusively offers the iPhone, Verizon will hit you with a $350 cancellation free. If you extend your contract and the phone is in stock, a $20 monthly “tether” fee applies to connect the unit to your laptop. There is an additional $30 fee per month for internet. And, if you’re not on a “family” type plan, which provides for unlimited texting, you will pay through the nose for messaging. I have a nationwide plan so I can text, e-mail and make calls from just about everywhere, and as you know, that “privilege” isn’t cheap.

The reason this racket exists is because Verizon and AT&T are essentially paying off our “supposed” representatives in Congress to turn the other way when it comes to this rip-off of consumers. Congress, is, of course, the biggest racket going. The providers of cell “service” should NOT be selling phones. And visa versa. This nonsense, where if you choose not to sign a contract with AT&T or Verizon, or anyone of the few other cell service providers, the cost of the phone goes from $199 to $599, is equally absurd. But, when “our” Congress is bought and paid for by the phone, oil, power, health and finance industries, there is little, if any, impedance for the “people” to be protected by these shysters. Trucking, unfortunately, can’t seem to muster up enough dough to pay off the Congress, because they’re out-spent by the shippers and receivers of the Fortune 1000. OOIDA, with half or more of its membership dead or broke will never be able to change that.

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Huddle House. Franklin VA. I haven’t eaten all day. So much for a health regiment. I arrived at my receiver this morning and, what else, waited until the rocket scientists there could figure out how to get it off my trailer. There was no pre-trip sent. At about 2:30 pm, I sent a message. Since I have nothing in my truck and there is absolutely nothing around as far as services (no Subway or anything) where I am, I said I’m moving to the nearest truck stop. Well, the closest one I could find was one off US58 in Franklin about 45 minutes west. It’s a BP station that is not being boycotted with a Huddle House on the property. Across the street is a Wal-Mart that I refuse to shop in. I don’t care if there are trucks parked over there. Here, there is space for about five trucks. Hourly  is allowed. Yeah right, I’m here for the night.

I go in the Huddle House. My “old self” used to love this place – big juicy cheeseburgers, salty sweet potato fries and sugary key lime pie. Top it all off with a large strawberry shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. But I don’t eat that anymore. I looked at the shiny plastic menu. The only thing I could order would be a small side salad or a club sandwich. The three folks, a older gentlemen and two teenagers were on duty. The ‘”short yellow bus” must have dropped them off just before their shift started after lunch. I could instantly tell there was not much brain power going on here. One of them was “doing” the garbage wearing plastic gloves, but didn’t change them when going to back to handling the food. The “chef” at least seemed to have clean hands. I used the rest room to wash my hands and there was a notice asking if anyone had any information about who “trashed” the men’s room two weeks ago, they should contact the “unit” manager. No reward, yet.

So I order the club sandwich. The “waiter” asks me “Crispy or grilled?” Crispy or grilled? A club sandwich? A new “country” thing perhaps? Who knows. I say I want a club sandwich. The kid says, “Yes, sir”, and points to the chicken club sandwich photo on the menu. Thank goodness the Huddle House menu uses photos or their employees would never know what you wanted. I say that’s a chicken sandwich. “Isn’t what you want?” No, I want a club sandwich. It is on the menu on page three. The problem is, there is no photo of it. “Oh”, he says and amazingly writes something down on his pad and takes it up to the old chef guy. He studies it. The other person working there as part of this trio – a girl with a hanging belly – she’s not pregnant – comes over to assist in the effort. Confusion and anxiety ensue.

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“No driver, I don’t think so. You are a moron and you don’t belong behind the wheel of a big rig. You need to find a job where you can use that vast brainpower you seem to believe you have. I suggest an assembly job, in, MEXICO! Now move that truck out of my way or I’ll surely do it for you.”

“Take I264 go thru tunnel, cross drawbridge, rd will bear rt around curve, do not go straight, bear rt as rd straightens out, go 1/4 mile to XT10 right to Tidewater Drive, merge, go to Cromwell Rd, go left and follow and turns into Ingleside, stay left get in left hand lane on lhs brown bldg.”

“The load is ready at 3pm.”

I’ve now been back in trucking, hum, let’s see, about three whole days – 36 hours. I left the house on the bus – the Greyhound bus – Sunday. I survived the trip, barely, with no sleep. Spent all day at the terminal on Monday listening to whiny drivers moan, groan and complain about everything. Got the new truck. Company, meanwhile, was confused on whether the DOT physical I spend $80 on was good “enough” for them to let me drive. I did a piss test at some really creepy clinic in downtown Birmingham. APU on new truck breaks down – spent two hours getting loose wires repaired at Thermo King dealer. Tuesday, they’re still confused about my driving. I could have stayed home. They finally ask me to go pick up and shuttle some MT trailers. No problem. Good opportunity to test drive the new truck with a different transmission than I ‘m used to. New high tech talking QUALCOM has no instruction manual. It talks to you, and I can’t shut off the annoying female voice.

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And I’m still being ostracized by Facebook for asking too many people to be my friend. Actually, being so nervous just sitting waiting here for a truck has "activated" my OCD behavior, and like rubbing door knobs or predicting my future based on whether a traffic light stays green or not, I just mindlessly keep pressing "add as friend." What an utterly stupid waste of time thing to do. I should be mowing the lawn instead. I need to make money.

Even more depressing is listening to practically everyone in the world talk about Twitter. Last night on David Letterman, actress Kristin Chenoweth, looking mighty fine and tan, was talking about her getting almost immediate action from Starbucks when she tweeted about receiving rude service from one of their employees. OK, so she’s a Tony and Emmy award winner. She’s a star. She’s rich. I’m still just a truck-less trucker who, by the way, isn’t making a cent just sitting here at home waiting.

Then I found a trucker who has 11,687 Twitter followers. He’s even selling t-shirts. As far as I’m concerned, unless your getting paid cash money for doing something, other than fishing, or snorkeling in the Bahamas or cruising to Mexico, then it’s a waste of time, right? Anyway, whenever I tried tweaking anything on Twitter, all I get is "Twitter is over capacity." I did, however, manage to SWOM. Hey, I’m trying my best to go "tribal" and integrate all the social media tools available to me. Did I just say that? What a bunch of BS.

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absolutely, positively not ready to go anywhere. Do you remember the song by John Denver and the Mamas and Papas? That was the theme of my day. I drove to Office Depot to fax the DOT physical and release forms from the cardiologist to my company. That started a chain of phone calls and e-mails just as if I had never been absent a day from work. My DM (dispatcher) and the Operations Manager are in the process of locating a tractor for me. Because I have a TWIC card, HAZMAT endorsement, security clearance and can go into Canada, I will get priority over other drivers that are also waiting for trucks.

So I’m on standby. Like waiting for a load. Like being a tow truck driver. A fireman. It’s stressful. The call could come in at any time and I’ll be on a Greyhound or plane to somewhere. I asked them to please try to give me at least 24 hours notice before I have to leave the house. I’ve told you this numerous time already, but it bears constant repeating – if I did not have the right doctor – cardiologist – handling my case – one who treats me with respect and understands the challenges of trucking – going back to work and dealing with all the paperwork, meds and jumping through DOT hoops, etc. – would be an impossible and frustrating affair.

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Yes, I know you drink it. I’ve seen you buy it at truck stops. I know it’s in your truck. It shouldn’t be, but it is. We know alcohol and driving don’t mix. But, it is part of trucking. Truck drivers drink beer. There are many truckers with huge beer bellies. Many look like they’re just about to give birth to a baby gorilla. Drinking beer is one of those “unspoken” things about trucking like jock itch, depression, marijuana, sex and selling stuff that “falls” off your truck.

I’ve never understood why “travel centers” sell beer. But then I don’t understand why they sell cigarettes or boat loads of candy and two day old hot dogs. I see truckers parked in a truck stop – travel center – walking to and from the “store” with a twelve pack of Bud and a carton of Merits. That driver and his rig are gone the next morning. Where did all that alcohol go? Am I being naive?

I can’t drink anything because of all the meds I take. When I did drink, and I wasn’t a big beer drinker, it just didn’t agree with me. Before I finished a glass of wine, I perspired so much I need to change my shirt. I looked like I was having a heart attack. After sharing a pitcher of sangria, I would get angry and want to fight anyone and everyone. I was OK with mixed drinks, but could never consume more than two a day, actually two a week. Beer would just bloat me up big time. I couldn’t drink beer without wearing pants with an elastic waist. Straight liquor was out. I could never develop a taste for vodka, scotch or Jim Beam whiskey. I once had moon shine and thought parts of my face were falling off.

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