Yesterday was the big day. Sunny central California. Just a smidge of a nip to be felt in shaded areas, though the Californians, mostly, were bundled in hoodies and winter coats.
BerkTek spools of wire to Hayward, where the Trucker didn't even have to back to a loading dock. Then into the traffic, and a few miles to Union City, for another delivery of wire. Very tight quarters this time, and the Trucker amazed even himself by swinging round and backing perfectly to the dock in one sweep. The Passenger was not amazed. She's come to expect such competence, even in a rental that has attitudes all its own.
We did get a chuckle out of the directions provided for this stop:
Ahem Avenue. Sounds like someone being caught in the act!
It was a typo - actually Ahern Avenue, to be exact.
A few minutes drive away as the crow flies, our final stop to deliver flooring supplies. Sadly, we were not crows. Nearly an hour of traffic later, arrival. Unloading was immediate, into an immaculately organized warehouse.
Back to play in the traffic, as the Trucker says. Including a trip over the San Francisco Bay on the Richmond Bridge. A lovely sight, but a bit out of the Passenger's comfort zone.
Forgive the bug graveyard decorating
the windshield in photos. Just Nevada
wildlife that came along for the ride.
Then, on to Finley for a reload of pears for the Philadelphia Market. More traffic. It never ends. This Passenger is....annoyed?...awed?...aggravated?...at the four wheeled vehicles that continually duck and dodge around an eighteen wheeler to "get there first." Do they realize they are putting their lives on the line? One of these times, when a trucker allows a few car lengths between his rig and the next for stopping, and not one but three little cars squirt around his bumper (a blind spot) into that space, he just may not be able to stop for them?
The route wound through places where the rich come to play. And through wine country, where rows of grapevines circled the hills and a sweet, grapey, winey smell filled the air.
The hill in the center back of the photo has a vineyard on it.
It had been twelve hours since the Trucker breakfasted, but the pressure was on to arrive at the loading point, and no place along the way with truck parking anyway. Eventually, the Scully Packing House came into view. So glad we had not stopped to eat, as we arrive just behind another truck, and a half hour before quitting time.
The man at the check in gate told us to follow as he led the other truck a mile down the road to a packing house where most of our load would be. Directed to back in off the road side by side, we watched as a wheeled ramp was rolled up and secured. A tow motor carried stacks of boxes out the door, set them down, and a skid loader slid its tines into the pallet and buzzed up the ramp and into the trailer. Very efficient and coordinated.
Nearly missed getting this guy on the photo. The tow
motor did the first run, then the skid loader took over.
A shot of the Penske rental. The Trucker told a friend he had
his doubts about the truck at first, but over the last two days has
really come to dislike it!
The truck loading ahead of us was run by an Indian couple about the age of the Trucker and his Passenger. They were from Toronto and driving team, expecting to have their load of pears back at Toronto in forty-eight hours. The lady obtained her license after raising their two sons, incidentally the same ages as our two sons. She told me in heavily accented English that the only difficulty they had when driving team was neither one wanted to give up the driver's seat! But using electronic logging required them to share. She was a beautiful woman, and by all appearances very cherished by her husband. (As the Passenger is by hers!) When they were ready to leave, she came to say an affectionate goodbye, even though we'd only just met. Another brief connection, with no opportunity follow through.
Then it was the Penske's turn, and very soon - as the workers wanted to finish as badly as we did - the load was accomplished, the truck weighed (how nice there was a scales on the premises), paperwork signed, and we were done.
Now a few minutes for personal needs!
The hombre went left, his Passenger, right.
Round the back of the mujeres' outbuilding.
The trailer wasn't going anywhere, soon.
And was the yellow chain between them
securing the building or the trailer?
On the road again. As the sun set in the west, the Penske rental rolled east. The "little engine that might" as the Trucker termed it, toiled up into the mountains. No place for a truck to park presented itself. Finally, a small convenience store with a lot behind it. The sign required registration and payment, but no one seemed to be about. The Trucker, exhausted after a short night, eighteen hours of heavy traffic, climbing in and out of the truck, schedules and deadlines, parked and collapsed into his bunk.
The dust settled soundlessly around the Penske. A clear, sky adorned with a sprinkle of stars flung around the moonlight's edges provided a canopy of beauty. The Penske and its inhabitants slept undisturbed.
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