Trucking; Once Around The Sun

It's coming up on one year behind the wheel of a big rig for me, and I'm happy to report that I have lived to tell about it.  My anniversary with Schneider National is coming in early June, but I started driving school in April of last year.  Here are some stats:  I've currently driven about eighty thousand miles, that's more than three times around the earth.  I'm hoping to have one hundred thousand by June.  I've driven in 27 states.  I've had about ten flat tires on trailers I've picked up, in that situation you can usually drive it to a tire dealer in the area, a little nerve racking, but not a big deal.  I've had one blowout on the front passenger side of my truck while driving.  That left me sitting on the shoulder of highway 10 in Florida for about eight hours waiting for a mechanic to get to me.  I am on my second truck, the first one was taken out of service after rolling over 750,000 miles, 65,000 of those by me.  I've traversed the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains over twenty times, sometimes through snowstorms, sometimes at night, a few times both.  Probably the biggest event of my career so far happened,as I write this, about five hours ago, south of Richmond, Virginia.  I pulled out of an intersection on a green light in too high of a gear going uphill with a full load, and broke a drive axle.  I had to sit in the second of four lanes of traffic for about an hour, blocking traffic for miles while waiting for a tow truck.  Things like that are surreal, but not nearly as bad as one might think a situation like that could be.  I'm proud to say that I haven't had any accidents, and haven't hurt myself.  Accidents are a common thing in this industry, it's hard to maneuver a big truck with a 53' trailer around the country without bumping a fixed object, or worse, another vehicle.  The truth is, I come really close on a daily basis, and that's part of the game.  This is the first job I've ever looked forward to when I wake up in the morning, I love being on the move.  Doing something that you can enjoy changes everything for the better.  Roll on!

 

Bring in the Clowns

For a short period of time I lived in a small band practice space in a dark and desolate area of Milwaukee.  One night I was coming home and ran into a couple about my age in the hallway, and invited them in for a beer.  They were both dragging emormous paper mache heads and had clown paint tattooed on their faces.  They claimed to be coming home from their "circus", which I took to be their two person street act.  They seemed to be genuinely pleasant and forthcoming, and we talked for awile.  As open minded as I could ever hope to be, I still couldn't shake the idea of thier face tattoos, and the repercussions such a commitment would have on their lives.  On one hand, they represented a freedom of spirit I could only dream of possesing, on the other hand, they seemed somehow doomed to a life that I couldn't see as anything but certain misery, no matter what decisions they may make in the future.   Did they encompass everything I loved about this country, or had they gone too far?  Could I possibly hope to suppress judgement of someone with the tattooed face of a circus clown?  I felt myself and my father entangled in a battle within my psyche, over whether these were fine, upstanding citizens and artists, or crazy people, in whose presence I myself was certainly crazy to invite into my space.  We're all clowns, sure, but who is willing to admit it to the world?

Made in the USA

I spent the majority of my twenties working in a muffler factory.  Starting out performing the most menial tasks on the line, I eventually worked my way into the inspection office and a management position.  Our plant employed about ninety people, and ninety percent of them, if you could state thier attitude towards the work that they did in two words, those words would be "fuck it."  They hated their coworkers, hated their bosses, hated the company, and hated the government.  Most of the products made, mufflers for all kinds of machinery, steel parts for big equipment, and motorcycle frames, among many other things, barely passed inspection, if inspected at all, before being shipped out.  Everyone, as far as I was concerned, was payed quite well.  The parking lot was always full of the latest model trucks with aftermarket rims and custom paint jobs, usually a four-wheeler or snowmobile in the back.  Most folks knew all the tricks to get around putting any effort at all into their work.  In 2002, the plant was closed, and work orders and equipment shipped south, no one could understand why.  Must be the fault of the big bosses, and conspiring Mexicans, they mused.  Sloth, shoddy workmanship, and bad will towards men, made in the USA.

The Dead Bird Trick

When I was seven years old, in the deep of Wisconsin winter, I discovered a dead bird outside.  It just seemed stuck, eyes open, magically frozen in place.  I decided that I would take the bird inside the house, thaw it over the heat register in my room, hence bringing it back to life.  I fully believed that this would work.  I knew that I couldn't let my family know about my ploy, not because of any doubts on my part, but because I knew that they wouldn't believe my idea would work.  When I was eventually caught in the act of thawing the bird, and automatically chastised for my junior sorcery, I would forever believe that my family's doubts were what killed any chance of that bird ever again taking flight.  We all forget about the magic of childhood, it's a given.  When I want a glimpse into the unyeilding faith of my youth, I remember trying to give the gift of life to a dead bird.

Celebrity Baseball

When I was a little boy, growing up in central Wisconsin, I frequently spotted celebrities around my little hometown.  Often I would see them at the park by my house, playing baseball.  I saw Phil Collins there, and "Silver Spoons" star Rick Schroeder.  I met the guitar player from the band Yes downtown, and caught a glimpse of the bass player from the metal powerhouse Voivod grabbing a burger for the road at Hardee's.  Of course these people weren't who I thought they were, but at the time, it wasn't so unreasonable to think that the faces on the T.V. lived just north of town.  The borders of Clark County might as well have been the edge of the universe.  Sometimes I used to think that I was the only real person, and everything else was just an intricate play set up by God.  Perhaps there were more "real people", but they were in other worlds, in their own play.  Pretty heavy philosophy for a twelve year old.  Maybe my grip on reality was stronger then than it is now.  Anything is, in fact, possible, if you believe it to be.  My sisters would pick on me relentlessly every time I came home from the park with another celebrity sighting, planting the early seeds for the skeptic I would one day blossom into