Valentine's Day: A Personal History

On my way to Florida.  I delivered my load to Sherman, Texas, on Tuesday morning, and then went on down to Dallas to put the truck in the shop there for the oil change and some other things that needed to be repaired.
Last time I was in Dallas, the wait to get in the shop was 72 hours, so I figured I'd have some down time there. Well, when I got there, the wait time was down to 18 hours. I had thought about going up to see my good friend Billy Day, but it didn't work out.
It was time for my DOT physical (which all truck drivers must have), so I was able to get that done yesterday morning (Wednesday). Everything went well.
The truck was out of the shop early in the evening yesterday, so I told Schneider I'd be ready to go this morning. I went about 7 miles from the Schneider Operating Center in Dallas, to Desoto, Texas, to pick up a load from a Wal-mart distribution center that is going down to Alachua, Florida, to a Wal-mart DC I've been to several times. Plenty of time on the load, and the miles are decent. It's drop-and-hook on both ends (which means I just pick up and drop the trailer; no live load or unload), so that's nice.
Even nicer is that I will be passing close to where my Daddy lives in Florida tomorrow. He is in Atlanta with work this week, but is leaving tomorrow, so it's possible that we can arrange to meet each other en route and see each other. I hope it works out.
I may also get to see my good friend (also Terry's good friend), Van, who lives in Live Oak. Van is a friend I've known for a long time (since about 1982); we are both from Rome, Georgia, and we both went to college (along with Terry) in Dallas. Van also went on to seminary, and graduated from the same school as Mike Huckabee (Southwestern Seminary in Forth Worth), but they went there at different times.
Books and movies on the road.   I haven't written about what I've been reading or watching lately, so I thought I'd throw that into this entry. I'm always reading several things at any given time, but I usually have a couple of books that I'm more focused on than others, most of the time something fiction and non-fiction.
I recently finished the excellent sequel to the novel which serves as a sort of namesake and inspiration (thanks to Terry) for this blog, and enjoyed it thoroughly. I also read a collection of four novellas, Different Seasons, by Stephen King. Very good. The stories that served as the inspiration for the movies The Shawshank Redemption and Stand By Me are from that book. My favorite novella in the collection was “Breathing Lessons.” Excellent recreational reading.
I'm currently reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, which is anything but recreational reading. It's really a philosophical treatise in the form of a novel. I'm enjoying it, and it's provoking lots of thought, as all of Rand's writings (fiction and non-fiction) are apt to do. It was published first in 1943, and the story is as relevant and prophetic today as it was then – perhaps more so.
As for movies, I have been able to finish the last 2 movies of the Spiderman series, and enjoyed them both. I will say that the first two movies were excellent, and the last one was merely so-so in comparison. Special effects were amazing, so for that reason alone, it was a worthy watch.
Currently have the movie Elizabeth cued up, but haven't started it yet. Looking forward to it, though.
I've watched some other stuff, but I can't remember what they were right offhand, so that speaks for itself, I suppose. :-)
One night earlier this week, I was able to catch one of the episodes of the excellent PBS series from the 1980's about the civil rights movement, Eyes on the Prize.  I've seen the whole series, but it's been a long time, and I enjoyed the episode I did see. After seeing that, especially as someone who grew up in the South and saw the vestiges of that sad legacy closely at times, I am amazed at the transformations that took place, and I am sympathetic to the anger and impatience of many African-Americans who still feel the residue of injustice on every level.
Valentine's Day.   First of all, if you have someone in your life with whom you have celebrated this special day, I hope you enjoyed it and were able to renew commitments to all that this day represents.  I don't technically fall into that category, but while I was driving today and listening to all the talk on the radio about this day, my mind wandered to thoughts of my own Ghosts of Valentines Past.
And, as sometimes happens in this blog when something is on my mind, I thought to write about it somewhat. Feel free to peer over my shoulder as I do so.
M. H.   1971. Trenton, Georgia. I was in kindergarten at the First United Methodist Church. I had several friends, I'm sure, but the one I remember from that time is M. She was a little younger than me, a few months, maybe, and she was small of frame, a head shorter than I was (not saying much at five years old). She had brown hair, short, not even shoulder length; brown eyes that swallowed the world.
I don't remember how we became friends, barely remember anything about those days.
But she was the first girl I ever kissed and to whom I uttered those three words “I Love You”.
We were friends into first and second grade. I used to walk to her house to play regularly. She had an older brother (who was in third grade or so at the time) who used to tease us unmercifully. We usually played board games, but I don't remember what they were. I have a flash of her mom serving cookies and milk to us out in a room that had been converted from a garage.
The only other image from those days is this: one day, maybe when we were in first grade, we were, for some strange reason, standing in the front of my house (had she come to my house that to play? I have no memory of it. Just this moment that is still magic to recall.). We face each other. I look down into those brown eyes (do you still have those lovely brown eyes somewhere in this world, M.H?), and said, from my heart, though I had no idea what it portended: “M.H., I love you.”
And, six years old, planted as passionate a kiss on those upturned lips as I could muster, and drew her close into my encircled arms.
From there, memory fails. What happened next? What did she say? I only know that we were not in the same class for second grade – and we sort of lost what connection we had. And after second grade, I moved away.
Oh yes – I do remember one thing about that first, and innocent, but faithful, kiss: my best friend, who lived across the street from me, Charles, happened to be in his front yard when the Kiss That Shook The World occurred. I had not noticed. Indeed, how could I? My world was those brown eyes.
“ I'm gonna tell.”
“ I don't care!” My arm around M's shoulders in protective defiance. Us against the world.
Screen fades to black.
K.W.   1973. Fairmount, Georgia. Third grade. A teacher (who was very pretty in her own right), Ms. Gamble. Not Miss Gamble. Ms. Gamble. Why do I remember that?
I remember even less about this time, but I do remember K.W. Playing on the playground, chasing each other. Liking each other. Different than M. and me – no declarations of love, no kisses of devotion.
I mostly remember another boy, and our vying for her attentions: Timmy. I remember one day at recess in the spring chasing him down, angry at him for some imagined offense I can't remember, tackling him, and holding his arms down on the ground. The only time I remember doing anything like that.
And K. standing nearby, half hidden by the oak tree she was peering around.
And her heart-rending verdict: “ Allan, you're nothing but a bully.”
Far from the declamation of the hero status I sought from her.
The only other thing I remember is that we moved after third grade, and I remember feeling awful that I wouldn't be able to tell K. good-bye, wouldn't see her the next school year. Thinking about how I wish I could go out to a local camp, where her father was the manager (or whatever they would have called it) and where she lived, to see her before we left.
Happy Valentine's Day, K.W., wherever you are.
(She is probably married to Timomy.)
Zoe [not her real name.].   Fast-forward to the summer of 1980. Rome, Georgia. I'm 15. Between 9 ^thand 10 ^thgrades. Church youth camp, somewhere in Alabama (my first). The previous summer, I'd had an awakening of faith that was to chart the course of my life for most of the next 25 years. Very active in my church and its youth group.
Because I worked in the bus ministry of the church, I hadn't really gotten to know many people in the youth group, which in those years numbered over a hundred kids.
That summer, I met several friends who were to form the core of my associations all the way through high school, and beyond. Among them was Zoe.
She was younger than me by a little less than two years. I don't remember how we met or started our friendship (though, by then I had started journaling copiously, so I know those memories are written down in journals I have), but by the end of that week of camp, I was smitten.
My favorite memory from that first youth camp is on Thursday night, the last night of camp, standing around a campfire, singing. Zoe is to my left. My eyes are closed in the reverence of the moment. I feel a hand reach for mine, and that became all the world I knew. Zoe's hand in mine.
But, alas, Zoe's affections were directed towards someone else: a boy named R.
But, over the next few years, we became best friends. We'd go out, but never on “dates” -- well, we did double-date several times, but we both had others for dates.
But the flame that was sparked at that campfire never went away for me.
I feared, though, that if I ever pursued it, the magic of our special friendship, a treasure to us both, would evaporate, a casualty of a thing God had not intended, to my grief.
One of my favorite memories of those days was when I was a senior in high school. Zoe was in 10 ^thgrade, and we were both active in the Drama Club together. Our production that year was a musical, “ Sock Hop”. I got to play a guy named Spud. Zoe played my old girlfriend. So, for a moment, on the stage, I got to pretend.
I was planning to go into the ministry, and so, when I graduated from high school, I moved away to Dallas, Texas, to go to school. But Zoe and I wrote to each other often, and our friendship remained strong.
Christmas 1983. I went to Georgia for the holidays.
One of the people I saw was Zoe. We went to lunch one day. And we started talking, as we always did, about anything and everything. At one point, I joked about asking Zoe out for a date. I don't remember why (but the memory is preserved in my journals somewhere from that time), but at one point, I confessed to her that I had always secretly liked her, but didn't want to spoil our wonderful friendship.
She had felt the same way, she said.
What? Was I really hearing this? Something I had dreamed about so often for the four years I'd known her?
The rest of that Christmas may well be the most magical time of my life.
Then, life interrupted. I had to go back to school in Dallas.
But, we stayed in touch, our friendship still a rich treasure, made even more beautiful by our accidentally discovered affections.
Zoe was the first girl I can say that I was in love with in a way that was more than just a childhood crush. I fully expected and intended to marry her at the right time. It was all I wanted.
The spring of one year – not too long after that magic Christmas, but I can't remember exactly how long – probably 1985 – I called Zoe.
“ Hello.”
“ Hello.” Something sounds different. What?
“ Allan, I've got something to tell you.”
“ Okay.”
“ I'm engaged.”
My heart's world fell into a million pieces, and nothing but an empty void remained.
“ Praise God! I'm happy for you.”
“ What?”
“ Well, I want what God wants [no I didn't], and if that's his plan for you, I'm happy for you [but I wasn't, not at that moment, not until much later].”
“ That's not the reaction I expected.”
Our conversation ended. And, as well, the special friendship – the most special I've ever had with a girl/woman besides my wife Charlotte -- but her story comes later.
It took a long, long time to heal that broken heart. And, I think the capacity of my heart was diminished for a long time. Of course, it took much longer because I cloaked my feelings in the guise of submission to God's perfect will.
S.    1993. Chicago, Illinois. I was working and living in full-time ministry at JPUSA, an intentional Christian community in the Uptown neighborhood on the near-north side of the city. West Wilson Avenue.
In May of that year, S. expressed an interest in getting to know each other. So we did. In JPUSA parlance, dating is called “ happening”. As in, “S. and Allan are happening.”
We became good friends. I thought I fell in love.
I ended up asking her to marry me. She said she'd have to think about it. That was all the answer I needed. We ended things.
My heart was broken, but not nearly so much as it had been with M. I wrote about it in a poem from that time that I insert below, if you care to read it. Not good poetry, but at least this time I didn't hide my feelings. Or not as much.
10/21/1993
“ The Breaking”
        I
I said: “I love you.”
She said: “I'm not so sure.”
Part of me died
as the bottom fell out
for a one-way slide
express trip down
goin' out of my mind.
         II
Grief and anger
vie for expression:
why couldn't she
receive my affection?
Emotions all awry--
my love was misplaced;
from my heart the cry:
“ was it all a mistake?”
What do I do
with this love I have now
all tattered and torn,
a worthless vow?
        III
Life goes on
dragging me behind
as I fight to get her
out of my mind.
Healing and wholeness
seem so far away;
but I must hold on
to words you say:
“ Don't give up;
don't be afraid:
my purpose for you
won't be delayed.”
         IV
I choose to give you
the pain I bear;
I choose to hope
and reject despair.
Thank you, Father
for your love so true;
please help me
to trust in you.
Charlotte M.     Not long after S. and I broke up, I started dating Charlotte, who also lived and worked at JPUSA. We had met early in 1992 when we both shared the overnight shift at the homeless shelter JPUSA operated.
I had a huge crush on her after that, but she ended up getting engaged to someone else in the ministry, and, as before, I figured that was God's perfect will, so who was I to question it? (I've made up for all that lack of questioning in the last few years, though. Ha ha)
For that reason, when S. expressed an interest in me later on, I was open to it. I reasoned that if I couldn't have what I originally wanted, and viewed as the best, I would be content with whatever God ordained. Such was my life in those days.
Anyway, Charlotte's engagement ended, my relationship with S. ended, and we happened to be working in the same office at that time, not 10 feet from one another. We became best friends (though casual friendships were not encouraged at JPUSA), and eventually, started “happening.”
We became engaged, and in March of 1995, got married in Florida, where we had moved.
I had found the true love of my life. Charlotte was the woman I had been waiting my whole life for.
We enjoyed, from the standpoint of anyone who could observe us, a wonderful and happy marriage.
But there were underlying problems, old wounds, silent and unsung, that began to cripple our union after several years. And when, in 2001, I became ill, violently, suddenly, many of those things that were lurking beneath the surface of my own heart, and our marriage, were let loose in tornadic force.
Our marriage, sweet and precious to us both, was a casualty of that turbulent time.
Tomorrow, the day after Valentine's Day, will mark three years since our divorce was final.
We are still friends, have always been friendly, and we, each in our own way, still love each other. We don't talk often, but when we do, it's enjoyable for us both.
I have not believed in the notion of there being just one right person for another in a long time, but if there were such a thing, Charlotte was truly that for me. The love of a lifetime.
I still miss her some days. Including today.
Happy Valentine's Day, Charlotte. Always.
I include below a poem I wrote for Charlotte on Valentine's Day several years ago, before the bad things got so bad. It is my favorite poem of all that I've ever written.
"Knowing You"
02/14/2000
Sometimes when I look at you,
when you turn just so,
I know that I knew you
before we were us.
Memory fails to recall
where I have seen your face,
now more familiar than all
I have known before.
Then, past memory's
bounds, in night's visions
glorious, my eye sees
you, whom I have known,



And I know that I have loved
you in my dreams,
while waiting for my beloved:
you, my chosen one.
******************************
So, until next time . . . Happy Valentine's Day . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . .
Allan

Chillin' In Checotah

Chilling out in Checotah. Last time I wrote, a few days ago, I was in Des Moines, Iowa. I had picked up a load going to Danville, Illinois, which is near the border with Indiana. I delivered to an AutoZone distribution center there. No problems. I shut down at a little truck stop there in Danville. No restaurant, but there was a small deli with some decent lasagna and a cute girl. A good combo any time.

Saturday, I spent all day running trailers all around Illinois. First, I had to take the empty trailer I had about 100 miles to drop it at a place there. Then, I bobtailed (which means driving a truck with no trailer) 150 miles north to a K-Mart distribution center (forget where it was, sorry) to get another empty trailer, and then take that 150 miles to Peoria to pick up a loaded trailer. So basically all I did Saturday was to move empty trailers around, but I'm paid the same for all those miles, so it really didn't matter.

I picked up the load in Peoria at a place that makes steel wire in very heavy coils. I had 44,785 pounds which brought the total weight of my truck (with a full fuel tank) to just over 79,000 pounds. The legal limit is 80,000, so you can tell it was close in any case.

I went a few miles from Peoria, to Morton, Illinois, where there was a truck stop and scaled the load to make sure all the axles were within legal limits. The trailer axles were about 2400 pounds over. When that happens, you have to “slide the tandems”, which means that you have to slide the trailer axles either forward or backward to shift the weight. I had to slide the tandems back to the 17 ^th hole (some states have limits on how far back the tandems can be slid; California is most restrictive at the 5 ^th hole). I prefer having the tandems as far forward as possible, usually between the 5 ^th and 8 ^th holes, because it means a smaller turning arc getting around corners, and it's generally easier backing into spaces at truck stops.

Anyway, now you may consider yourself a little more educated on the art of balancing loads on a truck. Sometimes, you can't legally balance the load. You have to go back to the shipper, and have them take something off, or reload it. That's something no one wants to do.

Or you can drive with too much weight. And if I choose to do that, I pay any fines (which can be hundreds of dollars). No thanks, I'll pass.

This load was going in the right direction: The Great State of Texas! Always a great choice for me. I'm delivering to Sherman.

Sunday (yesterday), I made it to Joplin, Missouri, before shutting down.

I didn't realize it until after I was shut down, but the nice sunshine, clear skies, and temps in the mid-40's I was enjoying yesterday in Joplin were to be replaced about 3:30 this morning by the sounds of hail dropping on my truck, followed by several hours of an ice storm, punctuated by rolling thunder.

It was bad enough to cause me to delay getting on the road until just past noon, and moving my delivery time up 24 hours to tomorrow. By the time I was rolling, the temps had gotten up to around 31 or 32, and the roads were just wet, and it was raining a little bit. Not too bad.

I made it to Checotah, not very far, but I wouldn't have been able to make it to deliver this load today before the place closed, so I decided to just shut down here.

Tomorrow, I'll deliver this load in Sherman, and then go on down to Dallas. The truck is due for an oil change, and there are several other things that need to be fixed (including an electrical short), so it will be in the shop for a day, maybe two or more. I won't know til I get there and see how far behind the shop is.

I've also got to get my annual DOT physical, so I'll do that while in Dallas.

I've got some other stuff to do also, including gathering up all my logbooks and stuff to send to Georgia so my Mama (bless her heart for all she does for me in helping me take care of stuff there in Rome; if it weren't for her keeping tabs on my mail and taking care of these important matters, it would be much harder for me to be on the road the way I am. So, thanks Mammy. I appreciate it – and you.) can drop all that junk off to the folks that do my taxes, and I can collect my loot from the IRS.

I had thought about trying to get my car from Dallas to Atlanta during the time my truck will be in the shop, but have changed my mind (what else have I got to do all day besides think, come up with plans, and then change my mind?).

If the truck will be in the shop longer than I want it to be, I might use the time to drive up to the Paris area and see my good friend, Billy Day. I'd like that very much.

Seeing Terry in St. Louis. It just so happened, to the surprise of us both, that our paths crossed just east of St. Louis yesterday. We were able to meet going opposite directions at the Pilot truck stop in Troy, Illinois, and see one another for the first time since we officially stopped teaming back in January. We enjoyed a very nice visit. We both miss our teaming days in many ways. We could not have planned it any better, and it just happened sort of on its own. I'd known he was going through St. Louis, but I thought he'd be long-gone by the time I got there.

But he wasn't. And I'm glad.

People in my world. Driving a truck, especially without a wife and kids to go home to, is a very solitary life. And I like it that way. If I didn't like it, I'd do something else, you may be sure. I drive a truck because I want to.

And yet, even in that ocean of solitude, there are moments when I cross paths with others. Usually, it's just for a moment at a shipper or consignee, picking up or delivering a load, someone in a truck stop, a restaurant, sometimes as simple as a wave from another Schneider driver or a kid who pumps their arm in a passing car in a “Blow Your Horn” signal. Sometimes, it's a pretty girl who smiles as she passes, or collects money for a bottled water. Sometimes, it's a girl named Heidi in a sports bar in Chesapeake.

I love those moments of connection, interaction, even if it's only a few seconds. They lend variety to the stark landscape of driving alone across this beautiful country of ours. They remind me that I'm still part of a larger fabric of people, and all those people have their stories.

I share two such moments from the past week: in Des Moines, when I was in the Flying J sitting with my laptop, checking e-mail, writing in this blog, and listening to music, a guy came in with his laptop, and sat at the next table facing in my direction.

He started talking to me, asking me about how I connect to the net, how I liked it. Then we started talking about computer games (he likes to play World of Warcraft, an online game with literally millions of active players who interact with each other on an incredible level), and then it graduated to more personal stuff.

He recently divorced, and just came back on the road after driving a truck locally for 16 years. He has kids, and told me how much he misses them. He talked about how much driving over the road had changed since he left that world so long ago.

I talked about my own divorce, and how driving a truck after that horrible time let me grieve and begin to heal my heart in a unique way.

We connected, and I think if were just guys who lived in the same town and worked regular jobs, we could probably be friends.

But, two hours or less after crossing paths, we went our separate ways. But I think we were both richer for the experience. I know I was.

Another path-crossing: when I delivered the load I had last Friday to the AutoZone in Danville, Illinois, I backed into the dock they assigned me, and took my paperwork into the office. Another driver, from a local company, was already in there. He had been in there a while, and I could tell he was very frustrated.

He saw my cap with the “Schneider” logo on it, and he asked me how I liked driving for Schneider, and how long I had been driving for them. I told him that I liked driving for Schneider. I told him that if I wasn't happy with Schneider, it wouldn't take long for me to go somewhere else.

He told me that he had been with Schneider for seven months, including going through their training in Green Bay, Wisconsin. In his words, “and every single day of that seven months was horrible.”

I told him that it probably wouldn't have taken me seven months of “ horrible” days to jump ship. He told me some of his experiences. Some were really bad.

But I also quickly realized that his own disposition and perspective probably had as much to do with his unhappy experience as Schneider did.

A few minutes later, he was on his phone talking to someone in his family, or a friend, complaining about his experience at AutoZone, and several times he said, “I'm about ready to walk out of this place!”

At that time, another Schneider driver came in, and started talking about the intricacies of how the military sets up explosive charges, for much longer and in much more detail than I was interested in hearing about. I didn't care how long the fuse had to be with an explosive charge that was so large. I just wished he'd shut up.

The reason he launched into his one-man guest lecture at the Explosives Institute annual conference is because warning signs outside the AutoZone had warned drivers that “No Weapons, Explosives, Firearms Allowed on This Property”.

Those signs are for the same people who need the warning on hair dryers to heed: “Do Not Use in Shower or Tub”.

Talking to the guy who had the bad experience at Schneider (and probably many other places in his life) reminded me of my own conviction, from recent years especially, that any person's happiness has as much to do with the choices they make, the attitudes they adopt, the perspective they have as any circumstances they are in.

Most of the time, when I hear drivers complain about their company (and drivers of every company complain), I think to myself that those people would not be any happier working for a different company. At the same time, I think it's true, in general, that someone who's happy at one company could probably be happy at most any company.

For much of my life, I was in an attitude of waiting, hoping, searching, praying for the next thing that would be the key to contentment and happiness in my life. When I was in college, I was looking forward to the day I could be in full-time ministry. When I was single, I was looking forward to the day I would marry the girl of my dreams. When I got married, and started working in the financial industry instead of going into some type of ministry job, I kept hoping that the real thing would come along at the right time. And I kept hoping that some major areas of my marriage would fix themselves.

Then, I got sick, and lost my health, my nice job, and much of what I viewed as my life at that time.

I became frustrated, angry, and bitter that so much of the things I had been waiting on, looking for, believing for, praying for, had either not come or had been taken away from me. I thought my life was over.

Piece by piece, my life felt like it was being ripped from its moorings, the anchor that had held me in place. This all occurred over a period of several years. I ended up getting my health back, but ended up losing my marriage and my faith was in tatters.

Slowly, over a period of days, months, and years, I was able to let go of my anger and bitterness, though sometimes reluctantly. It's a despicable twist of either human nature, or my own personality, that I'd rather be able to blame someone or something else for the way my life has turned out. It's too scary to take responsibility for my choices, good or bad. It's a horrible weight to bear.

But, at some point, I realized that I wasn't waiting on something to happen, someone to come, some place to go or task to perform. I wasn't waiting on God to come riding in on a white horse to deliver the miracle that would make everything all right.

I realized that I am responsible for my life, for the choices I make, for good or ill. I had to face the daunting, horrible, wonderful, terrifying truth that had eluded me most of my life, usually wearing the cloak of my faith: I am the steward of my life, the gift that has been given to me, responsible for making choices consistent with those values, goals, truths, and gifts that I choose to embrace.

There is no one to blame for how my life turns out; there is no one who is going to come magically rescue me from the task before me to make choices, and take responsibility for the life I live.

So much of my life, I searched outside of myself for the approval that would validate what I was doing, how I was doing it. I sought it, craved it, from my parents, then from my friends, from my precious wife, and God.

The awful secret and the trap that suddenly sprang shut upon me when my life started crumbling was that searching outside myself for what I felt was lacking, for approval or to be completed or whatever, was never going to work. I could never be enough, do enough, be good enough. It was an impossible burden.

And the burden I had placed, unknowingly to them, upon others was also an impossible one. No one can be responsible for the happiness, freedom, existence of anyone else.

What a wonderful gift to realize at last that I am responsible for my life, my choices, my happiness, my security. No one else. Nothing else.

I am thankful every day for the blessing of that gift.

I live out my realization of this gift imperfectly – it's still so easy to fall back into old patterns, old habits of thinking, behaving, relating. But I'm learning, growing, every day, and every day I am appreciating in new ways the wonder and power, and responsibility, that stems from this gift.

You may find your path different than mine. Probably do. But I hope that whatever path you are on, it is one that you have chosen, one you have taken responsibility for, embraced, wholly, good and ill, and that you are trying to make choices consistent with that path and its journey.

In that spirit, until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . .

Allan, who is currently listening to some Resurrection Band

Hello From Des Moines!

Hello from Des Moines! Well, it took a long time, but I finally made my delivery to Omaha this morning. When I wrote last Sunday night from Beaver, Utah, I was trying to take my time and stay behind the horrible winter storm that went through the Rockies earlier this week. I managed to do it. But I had to just creep along to do it.

Monday, I woke up ready to start driving, and discovered that my trailer brakes had frozen during the night (I usually don't set them at night if it's really cold, but I forgot Sunday night). It took quite a while to get everything unstuck and I could get on the road. I made it to Green River, Utah. Not very far, but when I started to catch up to the back of the bad winter stuff, and the roads started getting bad, I decided to stop.

The part of the drive I was dreading most was going on I-70 through Colorado, especially over Vail Pass and the rest of the way into Denver. Tuesday, I was about 70 miles from the Pass, and they lifted the chain restrictions. Close call. The roads were still pretty rough in spots, but not as bad as they had been earlier. I just took it slow and easy and didn't have any problems. I shut down just west of Denver.

Yesterday, I made it the rest of the way from Denver to Omaha. Again, I was right behind the winter weather, but missed the worst of it. I was thankful.

I delivered my load in Omaha this morning, and then picked up my next load over here near Des Moines. It's going to Danville, Illinois, and I will deliver tomorrow afternoon there. As I go southeast into Illinois down I-74, the weather should improve dramatically. I've got a live unload tomorrow in Danville, so I'll get my next load sometime on Saturday morning, I suppose.

Most days lately, I have been too cold to feel very motivated to get out my laptop. I just huddle up in my sleeping bag, turn my bunk heater on, and have been watching videos, or reading, or just laying in my bunk listening to XM radio, especially during Tuesday night's election coverage (which to me was much more exciting than Sunday's Super Bowl).

But, tonight, in spite of the cold, I decided to come inside the Flying J where I'm spending the night, and do some writing, checking and responding to e-mail, and just some catching up on blogs and other stuff I read on the net.

Terry. We talk most days. Terry is in Ohio right now, at the Schneider OC in Seville. I don't know where he's going from there – when we talked earlier about some of what happened in the Republican contest today (Mitt Romney dropped out; John McCain spoke at CPAC, the Conservative Political Action Conference going on right now in Washington), he didn't have his next load yet.

Politics. I'll keep this short: I was pleased with how Tuesday turned out for the Republicans. This election cycle is proving to be the most exciting to me since 1980. And XM radio is great for political junkies with all the news, talk radio, and the XM POTUS channel, which is 24/7 coverage of the elections and related stuff.

Personal. Even with the winter weather and the roads being what they are sometimes, I am loving my life on the road as much as I ever have. I am more settled and content on every level of my life than I can remember being in a long time. I am enjoying my solo experience more now than when I first started driving three years ago – at that time, I was still reeling in grief from my divorce, dealing with all kinds of personal growth pains, struggling with my faith (part of the personal growth pains), and just sort of lost in some ways. Being on the road at that time was good for me because it let me start sorting through some of those things, but there were some hard days. I valued my solitude then, needed it, but didn't enjoy it sometimes.

Now, I'm in a better place, and I'm enjoying my freedom and solitude a lot more of the time. I love what I'm doing, love the life I'm living, and don't want it to change any time soon.

At least not today.

More personal. My nephew, Justin, is in the Navy, as I have said in earlier blog entries. He's going out on February 19 ^th for his 6-month deployment at sea with his group. His mom (my sister), dad, and his sisters are going to get to go up to see him off, along with his Mema (my Mama). I am not going to be able to be there (because of the situation of trying to get my car from Dallas to Atlanta, and taking some time off in Georgia soon after that), but my thoughts will be there in full.

I was just thinking about that today, and this upcoming election, and just thought how thankful I am for those men and women who have decided to give themselves in service to their country. I admire that, and am thankful for all of them, always.

So, to my nephew Justin, Terry's son Elliott, and others (like my cousin Tiffany who recently signed up for the Marines), I salute you. You have my deepest, most profound gratitude and respect. Thank you. You are all remarkable young adults.

And, to Justin in particular (though he may never read these words himself), be safe, you are in my prayers, and I love you, buddy. Stay comfy! (An inside joke he will smile at if he ever hears of this.)

So long, from Des Moines, Iowa – until next time, keep the wheels rollin' . . .

“Go East – I mean West – Young Man!”

“ Go East – I mean West – Young Man!” Last time I wrote in this blog, I was in Dallas taking a 34-hour restart (which resets your 70 hour clock back to 0). It was Saturday. A little more than a week has passed.

At this moment, I am sitting in the driver's lounge of the Eagle's Landing Truckstop, in Beaver, Utah (exit 112 on I-15 in Utah, about 20 miles south of the point where the western end of I-70 begins), where about 15 other guys are watching the second half of the Superbowl game between the New York Giants and the New England Patriots. I am not a rabid football fan – really, not even a casual fan – but I like it when I watch it. I have been at this truck stop several times before, and there have never been more than one or two guys in this place. Now, every chair is taken, and some folks are standing.

Back to Dallas a week ago. I had told Schneider I'd be available last Sunday morning at 7:00 am. They sent a load mid-morning that had me taking the empty I had brought with me from the last load I delivered in Fort Worth and being loaded on Monday morning over in Mansfield, Texas. The load was going to Atlanta. “Go East, young man!”

So, I had another day free in Dallas. I organized stuff in the truck a little bit, and then in the afternoon, I just drove around East Dallas and went by some of the first places I lived in Dallas when I first moved there in 1983, to go to college. I lived in Dallas 9 years, until I moved to Chicago. I loved living there as much as any place I've ever lived. It still seems like home in many ways, though it's much different than when I lived there. It was nice to see some of the old places, though.

Sunday night. About 9:00 pm local time. I'm getting ready to go to sleep, because I've got to leave pretty early Monday morning to go over to the place in Mansfield to pick up the load. Phone rings. It's someone (a woman with a very nice voice – Heidi's sister perhaps) from Schneider in Green Bay (the mother ship).

She wants to know if I would be willing to help her out with a load they need someone to deliver on Monday -- “it's not pretty,” she says, “but if you'd be willing to help us out, I'll try to get you some good miles afterward.”

I say I'd be willing to help.

So, instead of going to Jackson, I'm picking up a loaded trailer at the Dallas OC early Monday morning (another driver brought it from Durant, Oklahoma, and it got to Dallas about 3:30 am). It's a load for delivery to two Big Lots stores – one down in Temple (near where Terry's mom lives – Pat if you ever still read this blog, hello! Hope you and J.A. are doing well!) and the other one down in Kerrville, about 60 miles west of San Antonio. Not too many miles, but I'm in Texas, so it's not bad.

I was supposed to be at the first store in Temple at 8:00 am, so I left Dallas about 4:45 to give myself plenty of time. Straight down I-35, south of Waco, and I was there. I got there about 7:00 or so.

The folks at the first store were really nice, and I helped them unload. It was good to be active a little bit, and it helped me get started to the next store a little sooner. It took about 2 hours to get their stuff unloaded.

The route to the next store had me taking mostly two lane state roads and ranch roads, most of which were very narrow. But at least it wasn't raining and it wasn't dark. And I got to drive through some of the beautiful Texas Hill Country, and all the places I went to until I got down to Kerrville were places I'd not been before in Texas, so it was a treat. Very enjoyable, except that I was supposed to be at the next store at 1:00 pm, and I couldn't make very good time on those roads. I got to the second store at 1:58 – literally. At least I wasn't late, as I was beginning to think I might be.

I offered to help them unload at the second store, but they told me they were used to unloading, and that I could just take it easy. I asked the guy who seemed to be the dock manager if it would be okay if I stayed there to take my break. He said it wouldn't be a problem. I knew by the time I got through at that store, I'd be almost out of hours, and the closest truck stop was about 50 miles away. So I spent the night in the back of the little shopping center where the Big Lots was. Not a bad place.

While the truck was being unloaded, I went exploring in the shopping center. There was a small Chinese buffet there, so I went there to eat and read a while. Enjoyable.

It was the next morning before I got my next load: “Go West, Young Man!” I was to drive down to Laredo, pick up a loaded trailer, and take it to Oxnard, California. Good miles, going out west, and nice driving. As I have said many times in this blog, besides Texas, I'd rather drive out west than anywhere else. It was well worth the trade-off for the Atlanta load.

The only thing I might not like about the run was that the time was tight on the load – I'd have to run harder than I have in a while just to make it on time. I'd be pushing hard and working close to the limit of the hours I could run legally each day (you can drive 11 hours max a day before taking a 10 hour break). But, to run out west, I don't mind running hard.

The first night (Tuesday), I spent the night in a little town in Texas called Sanderson (at the intersection of US 90 and US 285).

One little bit of serendipity (I love little trivial things that just happen like this): I have been reading the Larry McMurtry sequel to Lonesome Dove , Streets of Laredo . Monday night, I had read in the early part of the book about one of the characters going through Langtry, Texas, and talking to Judge Roy Bean. Well, the next day, Tuesday, I went by Langtry, Texas. I wasn't expecting it. Totally coincidence, but it was cool.

Another similar little bit of chance: yesterday, while coming into Las Vegas, I was listening to an old American Top 40 countdown from 1979 on XM radio, and just as I came in sight of Las Vegas, the countdown was playing “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers. Cool. Meaningless, but you would be surprised how easily truck drivers can be amused.

Wednesday, I made it as far as Benson, Arizona, just east of Tucson. In the truck stop, there were three women in their military fatigues from a nearby base (probably Davis-Monthan AFB). Women in military uniforms are extremely cute. {sigh}

Thursday, I was due to deliver in Oxnard, northwest of LA on US 101. It was going to be tight, no matter what. When I got to Oxnard with the load, and finally got shut down for the day after delivering the load, I had 15 minutes left on my clock.

There was only one little truck stop listed in the truck stop book I use in Oxnard, about two miles from the place I dropped. There was no other place for me to go. I got over there, and there was only room for four trucks, and all four spots were taken.

Fortunately, one of the guys was only there for a few minutes to get something to eat and he was leaving. So I waited, and grabbed his spot when he left. Talk about relieved. I don't know what I would have done. Parked on a freeway entrance ramp, I suppose.

The next morning, Friday, I got a load to pick up down in City of Industry, California, that was going to Jackson, Mississippi. Nice miles and a good load. The only problem was that when I did my trip plan, I realized I didn't have enough hours left on my 70 hours to make the load on time. So I told them when I could make delivery (one day later than it was supposed to be there).

They left me on to pick up the load, but I was to relay it at the Schneider OC in Fontana. So I picked up the load, and by the time I got to Fontana, I was through for the day. I told Schneider I'd be available Saturday morning.

The load I got next is the load I'm under right now. I picked up a loaded trailer in Fontana, that's going up to Omaha, Nebraska, for a live unload on Wednesday. Normally, that would be too much time on this load (it's about 1500 miles), but with the weather I've been in, it might not be enough time. I made it as far as Las Vegas last night, and today was planning to make it to Green River, Utah, which is on I-70, not too far from the Colorado state line.

Just into Utah, coming up I-15 out of Arizona, I ran into some really heavy snow this morning, and had to stop here in Beaver. The weather was worse further north and east, and there were some serious wind gusts. I have only about 6800 pounds on this load, and it wouldn't take much wind on slippery roads to blow me off the road. So I decided to just stop here and wait things out since it's supposed to be a little better tomorrow.

So, now you are caught up – maybe more than you wanted to be. :-)

Terry. Terry made it through his ordeal (and it was an ordeal – he now has his own NYC war story to tell) in New York City okay. But, suffice it to say, he's in no hurry to go back. There are real reasons truck drivers, for the most part, loathe going into NYC proper.

Anyway, Terry is still up in the northeast part of the country. I talked to him earlier today, and he is under a load going to Massachusetts. Lucky guy. {smirk}

Odds and Ends. Well, the NY Giants just pulled a tremendous upset over the Patriots to win the Super Bowl. Quite exciting to watch. Indeed.

But, for me, the upcoming Super Tuesday primary vote will be much more exciting than any Super Bowl could ever be.

I think that Republicans will have their eventual nominee – John McCain – after Tuesday. Very good as far as I'm concerned. But, most of the Religious Right will not be so happy. I still believe what I have said before: the Religious Right is not excited enough about any candidate to turn out in great enough numbers to defeat the Democrats. I hope I am wrong, because I do not want to see the disaster that will occur should either Hillary or Obama win the election.

That said, I have to say that Barak Obama is probably the most inspiring speaker I've heard in a long time.

I finally finished the first season of I Love Lucy and enjoyed it very much. Now, I'm watching some movies – Spiderman 2, Spiderman 3, and some other stuff. I'll probably either start the first season of Everybody Loves Raymond or The Sopranos soon.

I'm always reading several things: mostly right now, I'm enjoying the sequel to Lonesome Dove, Streets of Laredo , as I mentioned earlier in this entry.

I'm planning to take some time off to spend with my family in Georgia toward the end of the month, and I'm looking forward to it. Of course, I'm hoping to get my car from Dallas to Atlanta before then.

I suppose that's about all for now. Thanks to everyone who reads these truck driver's words. I enjoy the company.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . hopefully out West . . .