Haboob!

Monday, September 9, 2002

By morning I had received my trailer ID and load assignment. I was going to Phoenix! (Actually, Buckeye, about thirty miles west of Phoenix.) And, after that, my first long-distance run: to Oakland, California! I would be able to spend the night at home. Not exactly the world traveling I had been expecting; on the other hand, it would give me a chance to exchange laundry (dirty for clean) and to sleep in my own bed. Well—my other bed; I will be sleeping far more nights in the truck than at home from now on; so I may as well think of that as my bed.

I got up early enough, but by the time I had showered, had breakfast, and visited with my STL, it was already nearly noon. I coupled the trailer to the truck and off I went.

I can tell that something I'll have to adjust in my mind is how long it takes to drive places at 63 or 55 mph. (In California, the maximum speed limit for trucks is 55.) By car it's just a five hour trip from our house to the Fontana OC; but by truck it's closer to seven. So it was quite late by the time I had delivered the trailer I was towing to the Buckeye Wal-Mart and finally met up with Michael.

Of course, with Michael, it's never too late for a gourmet dinner. Even though it was after midnight, he fixed me some Shrimp Scampi, which we ate before I tumbled into bed.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

I got a bit of a late start, but according to my calculations, I had five hours to spare…so why worry? Michael and I dumped a few things into the truck I needed, including my stereo speakers from my desktop computer and a pair of scissors. Then I kissed him goodbye and took off.

For a change, it didn't take long to find my pick-up: A condiments manufacturer a few miles away, in Buckeye. It was easy to find and the yard had plenty of room in which to maneuver. I dropped off the empty trailer, coupled to the pre-loaded trailer, and was about to leave when I realized the tandems (the trailer's wheels in the back) had been slid all the way to the rear for loading. A couple of days previous, I would have left them there; but now I knew it was just for loading and slid them forward so they would be legal in California, my destination.

(The tandems are positioned, generally, for weight: The further forward they are, the more evenly weight in the trailer is distributed between them and the drive wheels on the back of the tractor. The fifth wheel can also be slid for a similar purpose, except it shifts weight between the drives and the steer wheels in front. All this adjusting is necessary for a heavy load, to keep the weight on each set of tires legal. For a light load, like my few pallets of mustard, weight isn't an issue but a few states, like California, specify that the tandems must be no further back than five holes on the tandem-adjusting rack. So, I had to slide the tandems.)

Sliding the tandems means getting out of the tractor, pulling the tandem release pin (some pin—it's more like a girder) until the locking pins have retracted, getting back in the tractor, releasing the tractor brakes but not the trailer brakes, moving slowing forward or back the estimated number of inches needed, getting out, checking to see if the locking pins are near the desired location (and, if not, getting back in the tractor and re-adjusting), finally releasing the tandem release pin, getting back in the tractor, and moving a bit forward or back, as needed, so that the locking pins snap into place.

I was sweating by the time I was done.

One reason I was sweating, besides the obvious, is that it had actually rained a lot in the Phoenix area the previous two days and even that morning; and the humidity was unusually high. So, I gratefully got back in the truck, cranked up the air conditioning, and headed for California.

A storm paced me as I drove, towering ominously over my left shoulder. I could see areas where rain had fallen; the desert was puddled.

(When I was a kid in Vermont, our teacher told us that when it rains in the desert, immediately flowers bloom profusely. I've lived in Arizona for over six years, now…how come I've never seen that happen?)

As I neared the California border, I saw a wall of creamy brown approach. It didn't quite look like rain. What was it? Suddenly I realized, it was a sand storm. I'd been in one when I was kid, when our family made our first trip to Arizona. With the windows closed, it wasn't a problem except for visibility.

I recognized this as something called a haboob. We get them in Phoenix every now and then, especially in summer.

Immediately following the haboob was actual rain. It fell in sheets; I couldn't see far ahead and what I could see of the traffic was moving erratically. When I spotted the sign for a rest area, I pulled in. Amazingly, there was room for me! So I parked to wait out the storm. After all, if it began so quickly, it would be likely to end the same way.

That gave me time to arrange for decent music.

The car stereo in the truck receives radio stations all right, but of course that doesn't work well over-the-road: As soon as you find a station you like, it begins to fade. (Why is it I never tune into a station just as I coming into its range, instead of leaving it?) The unit also plays cassettes, and I brought a few; but the fidelity on a cassette is dreadful, compared to the sound quality of FM stereo.

I had originally brought with me a little device I bought years ago. You plug it into a portable CD player headphone jack, and it broadcasts the sound onto the FM band, where any nearby FM radio can pick it up. Previously, I hadn't had time to test it. Now I did, and it worked! Instead of using it on a CD player, I plugged it directly into the headphone output of my laptop. I had several hours' worth of music sitting on the hard disk, waiting to be played. I set the jukebox program, Windows Media Player, to shuffle all the sound files on my hard disk, and, since the storm was over, I pulled out onto the highway and continued to California.

It was great. It sounded pretty good—a little fuzzy, sometimes, as I entered an area where the FM frequency I had chosen was already being used by a local station. I went through the California state line inspection station, and past Blythe. Long before I got to Indio, however, the experiment had to be labeled a failure. The battery in the FM broadcaster would only last an hour before needing to be replaced.

By the time I got to Fontana OC, it was already later than I had planned. Still, it seemed I could make my on-time delivery to Oakland. But, first, I had to fuel.

Fontana has fuel pumps for Schneider trucks. Our trucks have two fuel tanks, so the fuel pumps are paired, too. They are connected so there is one price, but two pumps. I got to use my brand-new fuel card, and was ready to go.

Except, I planned to grab some dinner inside, and there was someone parked in front of me. So I waited…and waited…and waited. I was afraid to leave the truck to try and find the guy, for fear he would show up and move his truck while I was looking for him, and then I'd be the one blocking the way. Finally, after nearly an hour, he came along (getting a dirty look from me) and moved his truck, and I tried to find a place to park so I could run inside without blocking anyone.

The front part of the yard was unusually crowded, so I drove towards the back. When I got in sight of the rear area, it looked odd, for two reasons.

1. There were no trucks there at all, no trucks, trailers, or anything.
2. It glistened: It had just been paved, or was in the process of being paved.

I couldn't park there.

But I had planned on it; I hadn't left enough room to turn around if I couldn't. One of the first rules of the Smith System taught to us in class: Leave Yourself An Out. And I hadn't.

It took another half hour for me to creep back-and-forth, back-and-forth, trying to get the truck turned around. Finally, I got 'er done and backed the truck into an opening that had come available while I was stuck in the yard. I got my dinner (to go) and headed back to the freeway…but now, it was seeming less likely I would be able to make my 9 AM delivery time in Oakland.

Construction between Fontana on the I-10 and I-5 slowed me further—an hour of doing 35 mph, instead of the legal max of 55.

Heading north on I-5, I came upon a very steep hill that had any number of trucks moving very slowly. Since I only had a light load, it wasn't a problem for me and I would have been able to pass them—except that there was a very clearly marked Truck Lane I had to stay in. When I reached the crest of the hill, after several miles, a sign warned of the descent ahead: six miles of 6% grade…and a posted truck speed limit of 35! Worse, even slower trucks ahead of me kept me moving at a crawl.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw an exit sign to the town of Grapevine.

Ah…Grapevine! This was the dreaded Grapevine, the mountain pass that truckers dread. I'd read and heard about it before, but had never run it myself until now…and I had run it at night, not at all frightened because I didn't know I was running it. It's a rite of passage, and I had all but missed it!

However, I was going to miss my delivery time. I found a truck stop, sent in the macro to advise a late delivery, and turned in for the night.