Three
Days in the Trucker’s Life
December
13-14 2017
The
Ranch Hand at Montpelier, Idaho, was our roost for the night.
Turning off the truck and the bunk heater before sleep seemed a good
idea. The Passenger woke in the wee hours, comfortable in position,
but any movement necessitated warming a new spot on the sheets. A
few hours later, after the Trucker had flipped the heater switch, she
found it necessary to wake him with a request to turn off the oven.
Starting the day at 16 degrees made a chilly walk to the ladies’
room. The night was still dark; it would be several hours til the
eastern sky showed light. Forecast for this area was a “freezing
fog” warning.
Driving
west on Route 80, the sky gradually lightened and day began. With
light, the work of freezing fog became visible. Every tree, bush,
grass blade, fence wire, roof, was coated as if sprayed, with the
most delicate of white crystals. Like snow, and yet not. Intricate
designs, not one repeated. The slightest touch of a finger melted
them away as if they’d never been. Fog obscured the road ahead,
and the beauty of hills and valleys. But roadsides were a wondrous
sight.
Hour
after hour we rolled west, little variance in the amount of traffic
or the temperature, which had dropped to 8 then hovered around 20
degrees. Freezing fog continued to offer us beauty throughout the
day.
Time was passed by reading aloud the autobiography of David
Pawson,
Not as Bad as the Truth,
until the Passenger’s throat was too raw to continue. She then
turned to stitchery, only to break her remaining needle of proper
size. How does one break a needle on Aida cloth??
Ever the
provider, the Trucker located a WalMart at Burley, Idaho, the GPS
assuring us trucks were welcome. Not until we were swinging wide to
enter the lot, did a sign come into our view proclaiming an unwelcome
and threat of fine for trucks. The Boot and Shoe Outlet next door
held a sign proclaiming trucks would be “booted,” and charged
handsomely for the privilege of the “boot.” A restaurant further
down echoed similar sentiment.
All those empty lots, but no room at
the inn, as it were. Really, all needed was a needle and #318 DMC
floss! Jerome, Idaho, was the next try, and yielded up a friendly
WalMart. Not only was the Passenger re-supplied, but a lunch break
was taken while parked in the lot. Lasagna for the Trucker, chicken
and rice for the Passenger.
By
afternoon, we reached the Stage Stop near Boise, Idaho. A dirt and
gravel lot. A small building long on western-themed amenities and short
on patrons, at the moment. It boasted restaurant, convenience store,
restrooms. Showers, laundry, exercise room with four pieces of
equipment, and a theater room with free popcorn were reached by a
wide staircase to the second floor.
We learned that adjoining the
theater room (which was showing a movie that interested neither of
us) was a small private lounge with cushy recliners. As the
temperature and condition of the lot were not conducive to the brisk
walk the Passenger was longing for, recliners at least offered a
comfortable change in sitting position. She had already paced the
convenience store and hallway enough to warrant curious looks from
staff and clerks, and was not dressed for the exercise room, so this
was where relaxation happened for a few hours, he with the remote,
she with stitching.
Then
it was on to a rest area a few miles down the road, so that the
truck’s pass through the Boise truck scales would be on the current
day’s record. Already a row of sleeping trucks were lined up,
motors or generators purring a deep rumble against the cold, exhaust
floating lazily out of their stacks like so many sleeping dragons.
At the edge of dark, even though yet two hours earlier by our
EST internal clocks, it was called a day. The Trucker soon joined
the ranks of sleeping dragons, while his Passenger struggled with
thoughts, emotions, and sleeplessness.
A
cell phone chirp at 10:15pm EST heralded a terse note from the
Trucker Son, regarding snow blowing past his window. You know your
child has become an adult and carries matching responsibilities when
the forecast for snow brings dread instead of dancing. A motherly
promise to pray for his safety went unanswered; the sandman must have
intervened.
The
2:00AM alarm sent the sandman scurrying from the Passenger’s eyes
only 90 minutes after he had arrived. A quick trot through the 22
degree chill, then down the road to WinnCo Foods warehouse.
The
Trucker stops at the guard shack, runs in his paperwork, and is
assigned door 126. Stopping a few feet from the door, he again
enters the cold to open trailer doors before backing to the dock.
Then another run to the office with his paperwork. Now we wait.
The
clock stands at 2:30AM EST. Truckers are under strict warning that
engines are not to be idled, under pain of a hefty fine. At 26
degrees outdoors, the cab and bunk chill quickly. Though a perfect
night to view the annual Geminid Meteor shower, it would take a walk
down the road, away from warehouse and truck light pollution. The
truck’s relative warmth and safety prevails. A nap would be in
order, but as a call to pull out could come at any moment, said nap is
not an option.
The
call never comes. At 5:45am, the Trucker reaches his limit, and
checks back at the office. Yes, they were done, miraculously, just
now! The truck pulled forward, the doors closed, the stop at the
guard shack, and we are off. Ten minutes down the road, a TA fuel
stop and free hot shower, with points earned by the fuel purchase.
The fuel/shower routine is as efficient as it is welcome. In 40
minutes the truck is moving on. By 7:30am, a rest area at Ontario,
Oregon, still cloaked in darkness. Naptime.
On
the road again at 10am. The Trucker is refreshed, the Passenger not
so much. An attempt at reading aloud assures the Passenger this will
not be a day for speaking. The low grade fever she is wearing would
have come in handy for warmth yesterday. Freezing fog again
overspreads the area, and the truck rolls west on Route 84. A noon
breakfast stop happens at the cafe in North Powder, Oregon, in Oregon
Trail area.
Damp, misty weather creates mud that covers the parking
lot.
Indoors, a small dining area creatively capable of seating 42
diners at once. Homemade Christmas cheer lines the walls and
windowsills.
A wood burning stove sends out welcoming rays of heat.
An extremely clean, beautiful restroom, faucet already running until
turned off by the Passenger. A nook holding a small gift shop,
complete with first aid supplies, jewelry, scarves, gloves, books,
and much more, all with a Christian theme. Back at the table, food arrives. Portions were
plentiful.
A few stereotypical locals with vintage pickups containing dogs, stopped in for
breakfast and were greeted by name. A rack of free paperbacks and
magazines by the door included a farming quarterly featuring a
professional rat killer complete with photo evidence.
Route
84 led us into the mountains of Oregon, still accompanied by freezing
fog and its attendant loveliness. The fog thickened, until while
coming down out of the mountains, the Trucker became highly uneasy
about the possibility of encountering another truck in the fog and
being unable to stop in time. Or being on the receiving end of an
encounter by a truck coming up behind. Thankfully, at no time did
roads become slick.
By
2pm, an email appeared, containing location, amount, and pickup
number for the assigned backhaul. Apples, to be found in Tieton,
Washington. The Trucker ponders contacting his second delivery point
to inquire about moving his delivery time from Friday morning to
Thursday afternoon.
Route 84 carried us along the Columbia River,
where at one point, the marvel of a dam appeared. Water bursting out
of the spillway, created a mini Niagara. Workers’ vehicles were
parked on the dam itself, and somewhere near were locks to raise
water levels for passing barges. And the sun has appeared, our first
sighting in two days.
By
phone, the Trucker reaches the warehouse location where the remaining
pallets on his trailer are to be deposited. They are actually quite
busy tomorrow. Yes, they will take the load today. Be there by
2:30pm local time. That can happen. And the mountain pass in the
Columbia River Gorge leading to the re-load point can be traveled
tonight, before tomorrow’s rain potentially turns icy on the steep
grades. And, while the passenger can enjoy the night view across the
gorge without actually seeing how far it is to “down.”
A strong
wind has kicked up, bringing concern to the Trucker’s face, and
even more complete attention to the wheel and road. The Passenger
hangs onto the slim comfort that given wind direction, if the empty
trailer is caught and flipped by wind (a distinct possibility), it
will be blown into the mountainside on the left, and not down
the mountainside on the right.
And
so, three days on the road have passed. More are to come, Lord
willing and the traffic doesn’t rise.
