A Ramblin' Man

Dallas, Texas. As I write these words, I am in the hotel Schneider uses in Dallas, Texas – my favorite city in my favorite state. The city where I spent nine years of my life, some of the best years of my life.

Our truck is in the shop for routine maintenance. Hopefully they will also do the front end alignment on the truck that we've been trying to have done for a month at about four or five Schneider maintenance shops. It's been frustrating.

Even if we didn't have to get the truck worked on, we would have shut down here. We have been running so hard the past 10 days and more that we both were pushing the limit of the hours we could drive every day for a while. And we were tired.

We delivered to Fort Worth yesterday and then came back to Dallas to put the truck in the shop. Got to the hotel mid-afternoon. We had talked about going out to do something (maybe go up to the place where the inspiration for “Belle of the Monday Night Ball” was born). But we didn't. We've just been hanging out in the room catching up on rest.

And, now, I'm writing this.

Just the facts, sir. As you know, if you've read this blog any time at all, I live in the minute details of my life, and write about those details. For me, there is no shortcut to the end of something, no cut to the chase, no bottom line I can spit out in one sentence or less. In telling something – anything – the details are what make the telling complete, whole, and without the details, in my mind, all you have is an incomplete husk.

This proclivity to detail has frustrated many of the people I love most in my life, most notably my Mama and Charlotte, who are both bottom-line, “quit beating around the bush and say it”, “just give me the basics”, “don't bore me with details” kinds of people.

For several years in my teens, I was so mired in details in my journals that I recorded my life in microscopic perspective. I didn't record trips to the bathroom, but it was not far short of that. It was copious and took tons of time, but I enjoyed it. I don't journal in quite that much detail these days, but it's nice to be able to go back 30 years to almost any date (in those days, I wrote every day, usually more than once a day), and be able to tell what I read that day, what school was like. My memories are in those details, and most of it would be forgotten, buried in the graveyard where old recollections gather for all of us. So, much as I've wished at various times I was a “ just the facts, sir” kind of person, I'm glad for it most of the time.

Living in the details was essential to me when I was a stockbroker, and it's also helpful as a writer.

Terry is also a details guy, so our conversations are hardly ever short. And we both understand that in telling something, the only way to get to the end is the long way. Which helps us keep from killing each other.

Living history. The election went pretty much as I have felt it would go for several months. I was hoping John McCain would be able to surprise the polls and the nation, and win in the end, but it was not to be.

As much as I wanted McCain to win, and as much as I have different views about the role of government than Barak Obama, as much as it concerns me to have Democrats in control of Congress and the White House, I am glad to be living in this unique moment of American history. I am proud that we have come to a place when a Barak Obama could compete in a national election, and win.

There is no question that Obama is a gifted speaker, inspiring on a level that hasn't been seen at least since Ronald Reagan (the measure of much that is best in my own mind). He is someone who will change the course of history, and someone who will be remembered long after much else is forgotten.

I hope that over the next few years, the Republican party will find what it has lost – actually, what is has thrown away. Republicans got exactly what they deserved. In many ways, it will be hard for the Democrats to make a bigger mess of things than the President and Congress have managed to do over the last 8 years. They will have to work extra shifts, stay up late into the night.

I have no doubt they will try.

Great music and good music. Recently, in one of our middle-of-the-night-out-West conversations, Terry and I were talking about music, and he told me about a piece of music he heard years ago at a critical point in his life. I had never heard of it, so we looked it up on the computer, and I downloaded it. We listened to it.

I won't waste words trying to describe it, but will only say it is one of the most moving and beautiful experiences I've ever had with music. Written by Polish composer, Henryk Gorecki, it's his Third Symphony, the version with Dawn Upshaw providing the vocals. Here's a link to the Wikipedia article: Gorecki's Third Symphony. And a link to the Amazon page where you can preview it if you are interested: Gorecki's Third With Dawn Upshaw.

Now, to the good music: over the past several months, listening to XM channels I hadn't listened to much before, I've discovered quite a bit of music I've liked, and have bought quite a bit of it. Of all the music I've heard that was new to me, I've enjoyed the latest album by the group Three Doors Down as much as any. Their self-titled CD is fantastic.

I thought they were a brand new group, but when I read about them, I discovered they've been around for several years. If their earlier music is as good as this latest release, I'll be buying more of their music.

Another new (to me) CD that I absolutely love is by a singer from Wales, Aimee Ann Duffy, known simply as “Duffy”. Her first CD, Rockferry , is superb.

Travels. The last time I wrote, we were on our way to Pennsylvania. From there, we got a load going to Los Angeles. Then we got to go up the Pacific coast through northern California and Oregon into Seattle, Washington. And then we got the load we delivered yesterday to Fort Worth.

That last load finally took us once more to the place I'd rather be than anywhere besides Texas (or in Georgia visiting my family), Montana. We didn't run into any bad weather, so it was a great drive. We have been running more out west since we started teaming again in August than we did last year, and we have loved it.

I have written a little bit before about drivers in different parts of the country. It is amazing that people who live in certain places have similar driving habits.

We had to go through downtown Los Angeles last week when we went to pick the load going to Seattle. It was rush hour. Thousands of cars jammed on to the road. Traffic moved slowly, but it was easier driving in LA in rush hour than most places with much less traffic. People in California know how to drive better than anywhere else I've ever seen. They know how to drive around big trucks. They are consistently the best about slowing down to let us change lanes if we need to.

The worst place to drive in a truck, by far, is on I-95 in south Florida, anywhere below Fort Pierce. Those people are crazy! I'd rather drive in New York City than down there.

The northeast comes in a close second to south Florida for jerks and idiots on the road.

And Pennsylvania wins the prize easily for drivers that don't know how to merge on a freeway. They will typically pull out on the entrance ramp, slow down to about 25 miles per hour, suddenly look surprised to see other cars on the road, and then stop completely. Or, if they are feeling brave, they will slow down to 25 miles per hour, and then pull into oncoming traffic that is doing about 65. They might get up to about 40, but not before they've almost caused accidents. It's quite frustrating driving in Pennsylvania.

But the people are nice.

I suppose that's enough detail for now.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

Allan

Change, Anyone?

Currently. This moment, I am in the Schneider Operating Center in West Memphis, Arkansas. Terry is in the truck sleeping (or at least trying to). We are picking up a load over in Olive Branch, Mississippi, that is going to New Stanton, Pennsylvania. And I felt like doing some writing. So, here we both are. How have you been? Well, I hope.

“ The only constant.” There is much about driving a truck that is routine, and could even verge on boring. You do the same thing the same way every day no matter where you are. But, if a truck driver ever thinks he (or she) can relax and know exactly how any day might go, something will happen before long to remind that driver that those plans are always subject to change.

Last time I wrote was just such a day. I was typing away on my computer as we drove down through Nashville when suddenly, our drive shaft fell out, and all our plans changed. Instead of driving all night and getting to Laredo the next day, we spent the night in a motel in Nashville waiting for them to put Lorie (our truck) back together.

We covered all that last time.

Now, here's what happened afterward: our truck was fixed late on Friday, so we could start rolling. But – the place in Laredo we were going to didn't open again until Monday morning. And Schneider didn't have anything around Laredo to get us out of there before Monday anyway. So, we've basically got two days on our hands. Not driving.

So, we stopped at Terry's house in Arkansas and stayed until Sunday morning.

And, on our way down to Laredo, we were able to stop and Terry was able to take his mom and sister out to eat for their birthdays. They had a nice visit.

We get to Laredo Sunday night. Monday morning, we deliver our load.

Next load: go down to Weslaco, Texas, near McAllen and Brownsville down on the border, and pick up a very important load from Mexico and take it up to Memphis. It has to be there the next day. But the trailer has to come over from Mexico. It is supposed to be there by about 6:00 pm. So we get there about 2:00 pm.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

6:00 pm comes – and it goes. Then 7:00, 8:00, 9:00, 10:00.

No one at Fedex knows where the trailer is. We call Schneider, and they say something like, “Well, it's not there yet.”

“ Yes, we know. That's why we are calling. Where is it? When will it be here?”

“ Uh . . . it's not there yet.”

“ And maybe you aren't either. Good-bye.”

Now, we can't just leave to go anywhere – we have to stay there, because as soon as the load arrives, our clock starts, and we have barely enough time to make it Memphis safely. So we have to just stay there.

Next morning comes. We've been here for almost 20 hours. No trailer. We are hungry, tired, and frustrated. We've just spent most of the past week sitting still. And that means not making money.

Ugh.

Finally, late that morning, we get the message: that load has been cancelled. There is no trailer coming from Mexico after all. And no load to Memphis.

But, soon, things improve. We get another load: go over to Pharr, Texas, and pick up a load going up to Delano, California (just north of Bakersfield on California Highway 99). Off we go, happy to be headed out west, which means going through West Texas, which means Terry and I are about as content as we can be.

We deliver to California early Wednesday morning. Get a load to pick up in San Diego that is going to Forrest City, Arkansas. We are able to stop by Terry's house for a day.

We deliver the load Sunday evening. From there, we go to Memphis, and pick up a load going to McDonough, Georgia. Deliver the next day. Next, a load from Mableton, Georgia, going up to Bowling Green, Ohio. And on the way out of Atlanta, I was able to meet my Mama, and we went out to eat. We both enjoyed it very much. (Hey Mama! Love you!)

From Ohio, we get a load that takes us down to Searcy, Arkansas. That brings us up to this morning.

Next load: pick up in Olive Branch, Mississippi, and head for Portland, Oregon – oh yayyyyy! A cool load, good miles, good money!

Halfway to Memphis from Searcy, our satellite goes off. Load has been canceled. What!?!? Say it's not so.

But it is. Remember that change thing I was talking about.

A little later, we get another load, pick up at the same place, same time, but going to Pennsylvania. And you can bet this one won't be canceled.

Anyone want a glass of lemonade? You see, there are all these lemons lying around . . .

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rolling . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

It Took Three Days to Write This One

Currently. As I write this, it is a Thursday afternoon, Terry is driving, and we are traveling south on I-65 in Kentucky in a light rain on our way to Laredo with a load we picked up this morning in Cincinnatti. Since the last time I wrote, things have been going well for us. Recently, we both enjoyed some time off. I visited my family in Rome and Terry went to Arkansas. For the first time in quite a while I felt like getting out my laptop at the end of my shift, so here I am, writing to you. I hope all is well with you.

When in Rome . . . This time in Rome was one of the most enjoyable times I've had visiting family and friends I've had in a long time. I got to see everyone I wanted to see this time, with the exception of my great-uncle and his wife. The reason I originally scheduled the time in October was that we were supposed to have our family reunion the first weekend in October. At the last minute, it was canceled, in part due to the recent death of my great-aunt Edna, whom I recently wrote about.

My next visit to Rome will likely be in January sometime, and probably again in March when Terry and I quit teaming. If we do quit teaming then, I'll probably take a week of my vacation and spend the time in Rome. I'm already looking forward to seeing everyone again.

In addition to my family, I also got to spend some time with my good friend Sam, who used to be my Sunday school teacher when I was living in Rome, and my best friend of almost 30 years, Tim.

Every time I go home, I am reminded of just how blessed I am to have the people in my life that I do. And, of course, every day, I count myself fortunate to be able to be doing something I love, living the life I choose, and being paid to do it. I am fortunate to be making choices and taking responsibility for my life in ways that I never have before, and that is a good feeling. I know of no one more blessed or content with life than I am right now. Life is not perfect – never has been, never will be – but taken as a whole, life is good for me. And that has much more to do with how I'm viewing my life and the particular place I'm at in my journey than with any outward circumstances. It's all about what I keep saying to you – the mantra for my life right now -- “making choices and taking responsibility” -- that is my life in five words right now. One day I will probably write about that and exactly what it means. I bet you can't wait.

“ Follow me!” One of the things I enjoyed most about my trip to Rome was the time my Mama and I got to spend together. We decided to go up to Chickamauga, Georgia, close to Chattanooga, Tennessee, and visit the Civil War Battlefield Park that is there. I remember going through there as a kid (maybe more than once), but haven't been back as an adult until this visit with Mama. We had an enjoyable time, and took our time, so it took most of the day. One thing we did was to take the auto tour through the major sites of the park, and I learned many things I hadn't known before.

One of the most hilarious and enjoyable parts of this trip for me was when we were driving through a part of the park where part of the battle had taken place early in the engagement. There is a marker there for one of the Union Army leaders who was killed at that spot – Captain Bailey (I can't remember his first name or the particular group he commanded from what state). The hilarious part to me was that he was confused about how close the Confederate Army was to his position, and he was getting ready to move out against them. So, in perfect Monty Python fashion, he jumps up on his horse, looks back at his men, and shouts, “Follow me!” At that very second, he is killed when a shot from the Confederates strikes him. I don't imagine too many of the men willingly went with him.

Another part of the trip I enjoyed was that in the park, there are two small houses preserved of families who lived there when the battle took place. These small one-room cabins are similar to the houses in the story I'm currently working on, so it was cool to get a visual and physical look at what a couple of them looked like. Going to the park also gave me some ideas for some parts of my next story, which will involve the story of a man whose father was in the War. I'm thinking about using that particular battle in the next story also.

Fireproof: A Movie Review. After we went to the battlefield park, Mama and I came back to Rome and went to see the movie Fireproof. If you haven't heard of it, it is a Christian movie produced by people at a church in Albany, Georgia. They also made the movie Facing the Giants. Mama and I both enjoyed it. That's the short review. That said, Fireproof is, in my opinion, two different movies to two different groups of people. Read on for the details, if interested.

For evangelical Christians or for people who might not be Christians, but still believe that Christianity is true, the movie is great. For that audience, I would give the movie a 10 out of 10. It is by far the most well-produced Christian movie I've ever seen. I would especially say it would be good for married Christian couples to see. I know of two couples personally who have been significantly impacted by this movie. Bottom line here: if you are an evangelical Christian, go see this movie – you will probably love it.

For those who are not Christians, especially those who are totally secular and do not believe that Christianity is true in its claims, it is not a movie to see. For this group of people, the movie will probably be unrealistic at best and hokey at worst. It will confirm the worst stereotypes about religious people, and especially evangelical Christians. I give two examples that I noticed. First of all, everyone in the movie, even the “lost” people, look just like they walked out of a Sunday morning church service on to the movie set. They just oozed churchiness. Another example that stood out to me: in one scene, the main female character in the movie is sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital where she works eating lunch. She is in the middle of a marital crisis, and neither she nor her husband have discovered God yet. So this other lady comes up to her table, and asks if she can sit down. “Sure, go ahead.” The lady sits down, arranges her food, and then says, politely, “Excuse me a moment.” Then she bows her head and silently prays. Then she gets into a conversation with the woman who is having marital problems, trying to witness to her about God, and ends up driving the woman away when she gets too personal.

Okay, take a deep breath. If you are a Christian, I am not saying there is anything wrong with witnessing to people or praying over your meal. I have spent most of my life doing those exact same things. What I am saying is that many non-Christians see Christians in a certain way, and this movie will only reinforce those stereotypes and ideas, whether those ideas are right or wrong.

This is a great movie for a particular audience, but if you are not a Christian, or someone who embraces Christianity's teachings, it's probably not for you. Just look at the reviews of this movie in most mainstream media and see what I'm talking about.

This movie is not going to reach out and convert someone who isn't already convinced they need what Christianity offers. It is not an evangelistic film. And that's okay. But many times, when a Christian movie comes out, some Christians think that if they could just get their “lost” relatives or friends to go see it, they will see the light and be converted. Same thing when a church has a “ revival” or evangelistic services.

That sort of thing may sometimes happen – I know of it happening. But most Christian movies, Christian music concerts, revivals at churches, Christian radio and TV programs will mostly just reach Christians. So it is with this movie.

It's a great movie if you are a Christian. It's less than average if you are not.

“ Belle of the Monday Night Ball” -- Part II. The last time I wrote, I told you about the fact that I'd starting working on lyrics for a country music song just for fun while driving through Wyoming. It turned out to be a short poem, and I was happy to leave it as it was, because it seemed to tell the story Terry and I had been talking about for over a year..

However, when I talked to my Daddy about it, and he read the blog entry, he encouraged me to keep working on it as a song. And so I did. Over the next few days, I kept working on the lyrics, changed most of the original, and now, I think Terry and I might have a potentially good honkey-tonk song.

One of my best friends, Tim, is going to write some music for the lyrics I've got, and if we all like it, we might shop it around.

I have no illusions that it will result in any kind of financial windfall, or that it will even go anywhere. There are thousands of songwriters all over the world who write songs for a living, and are poorer than I am. Thousands of great songs never get sung. Just like thousands of great novels, stories, poems, and plays never get published or performed.

I'm only doing it for fun, and because you never know what can happen. Like Tom Hanks' character says near the end of the movie Cast Away (a movie that helped me during the days following my divorce as much as just about anything else), you just keep on living (no matter what), “because you never know what the tide may bring in.”

Just now . . . in the middle of writing this blog entry, while going through Nashville, we ran into a bit of a problem. The drive shaft decided suddenly to fall out of our truck, and we were stuck in rush hour traffic, on a major road, with nowhere to go.

Yeah, the tide really brought it in for us today.

Of course, I stopped writing this, we called Schneider, they called a tow truck, and so it is that several hours after starting this entry, I am sitting in a motel room in Nashville finishing this entry, hoping they will have our truck fixed tomorrow.

And, to borrow another phrase from a favorite author of mine, Kurt Vonnegut, from Slaughterhouse Five , “so it goes.”

Indeed.

It is now two days later. We spent the night at the motel in Nashville and then checked out to go over to the truck place where we were hoping they would have it ready soon. We waited all day. In the late afternoon, they told us that they would not have the truck ready until Tuesday at the earliest. Oh no!

Then an hour later one of the mechanics came out and told us that he would have it ready to go in one hour. We had already called the shuttle for the motel to come and get us, and we had to call them back and cancel.

The truck was ready, but the load we are taking to Laredo can't deliver now until Monday morning, because there is nothing open in Laredo on the weekends. We checked on the possibility of taking the load there today (Saturday) and just relaying it and getting another load out of there right away. We were told that if we took the load today, we'd probably be sitting in Laredo until Monday morning anyway.

Rather than just go to Laredo and sit for two days, we decided to come through Terry's house and stay here until Sunday morning. We got here late last night.

We are still out three days of driving because of the truck problems and then the way the load we had was set up. But stuff happens. And you deal with it the best way you can.

Lemonette. While I was in Rome recently, my Mama told me about someone from Rome she had found on Youtube called Lemonette. She is hilarious and does video blogging about anything you can imagine. I haven't listened to everything she's done, but I love what I've heard so far.

Here is the link for her Youtube channel if you are interested: Lemonette.

Politics. I have said before in this blog that I am going to vote for John McCain. I like him and I think Sarah Palin would be a great Vice President.

But, in all honesty, I think we'd all better get used to saying “President Obama.”

Republicans are going to have a horrible year, which I think they deserve, but the fact that the Democrats will have control of the White House and the Congress scares me.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

Early Morning Thoughts

Currently. As I write this, it is early Friday morning, just after 1:00 am. We are at the Schneider facility in Fontana, California, just east of LA. Terry is sleeping, and after I write this, if we still don't have our next load, I may climb into the top bunk and grab a nap myself.

We just delivered a load we picked up yesterday in Ogden, Utah, to a place east of here in Redlands, California. Now we are just waiting for our next load.

Things since I last wrote have been going very well. I'm feeling great, sleeping well, and I am loving driving the night shift after doing it almost a month. We are supposed to trade back after our time off next week. I think I'll miss the night driving.

We have been getting good loads, good miles, and have been out west more than anywhere else, so all those things taken together make for a very good driving and teaming experience for both of us.

Much of the routine I followed as a solo driver has been replaced by other rituals, routines. I am not reading as much, am not on my computer as much, not listening to books very much on XM radio or on tape. Now when we have down time like this, I'm more likely to sleep than anything else. And driving, I am more likely to listen to my own music, especially driving at night. But those changes are not bad, merely different.

The things that I love about teaming are balancing some things I miss about driving solo. Driving down some lonely highway out west, amazed at the outlines of mountains surrounding me on every side, looking at stars strewn about the sky like change poured from a jar onto the sidewalk, listening to one of the playlists I'm currently enjoying, suddenly, the curtain separating the front of the truck from the sleeping area parts, and Terry stumbles up front, still half asleep. And we talk. About the beauty of this country, even at night; about politics; theology; relationships; reliving memories we share from the past 25 years, laughing. And when I'm working on the next segment of the story I'm currently writing, bouncing ideas off Terry for his feedback or evaluation. Or, last night, on I-80 in Wyoming, asking him about some lines of poetry I've been working on since Laramie. Those are the things I love about teaming.

The Magic of the West . After driving a truck for almost four years, seeing every part of this country multiple times, having great experiences, and some not-so-great ones, it amazes me how much I (and we, for Terry echoes these sentiments) still am entranced and in love with driving out west.

The first year I was driving, and everything was new, I shot lots of video of places I would go, most of the time my first time there. I dug those out a couple of days ago, and watched them for the first time in several years. Footage from Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, California, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada -- everywhere I went in those days. Watching those old images just reminded me again how even after several years, I love driving those roads as much as when I first saw them, and they captured my heart.

I have the best job, the best life, in the world. You have permission to be jealous. I don't blame you.

"Belle of the Monday Night Ball." It has been years since I have written any poetry at all. I'm always reading it, and always playing with ideas for writing it. But the last poem I wrote, which was also my favorite, was one I wrote for Charlotte on Valentine's Day back in 2000 (it was part of the Valentine's Day blog entry I wrote last February).

But last night, driving through Wyoming on I-80 in the wee hours of the morning, I wrote a poem. It's nothing I would trumpet as necessarily good poetry, and was mostly an exercise for me to sort of divert my thoughts from wrestling with the story I'm working on. For weeks, most nights, I have spent hours and hours thinking, mulling over, considering, meditating, and working out ideas for that story. And I felt like I needed a break just to let those different things settle down for a bit so I could come back to them later to see how they arrange themselves.

So, back to the poem. Last year, several times, for different reasons, Terry and I shut down in Dallas overnight, and stayed at the motel Schneider used there for drivers (they now use a different one). Most of those times, we would go to the small bar in that motel and shoot some pool and just hang out.

On several occasions, we noticed this one woman, probably late 20's or early 30's, there. She was usually the only woman in the place, and it wasn't crowded anyway in the middle of the week. She was always by herself, but would be hanging out, playing pool, drinking, talking with a group of guys.

One night, Terry remarked as a sort of joke that she was "the belle of the Monday night ball." We laughed, but later both agreed that that would make a great country song. So, over the past year and a little more, at various times, we've talked about ideas for writing that song. We've talked about the woman, who she might be, what brings her there -- alone -- and all the things that would go into making a good slow-dance honkey-tonk song.

Neither of us has done more than talk about it, just for amusement, never with any real serious intention. But last night, as a diversion and for fun, I began to work out some lyrics, and ended up with a short poem instead of the song I'd intended.

Terry liked it, and I like it okay, so in that light, I share it with you, pretty much the way it came in the night in Wyoming, between Laramie and Rock Springs.

09/24/2008

"The Belle of the Monday Night Ball"

Monday night finds her again

on the edge of town

at a place called Sloppy Joe's.

Couldn't hold a candle

to the weekend girls

but tonight she's

the belle o' the ball.

Belle of the Monday Night Ball --

she drinks with the guys

beats'em at pool

dances cheek to cheek every song.

And at the end of the night

the prince of the week

gets to take her home.

She's the Belle of the

Monday Night Ball.

From Russia With Love. You know one of the things I like doing in these blog entries is talking about the interesting people I meet on the road. I met such a person last week at the Schneider facility in Dallas.

We were passing through, and had stopped there for fuel, a shower, and a meal. There was a wait for showers, so Terry and I went ahead and got some lunch and sat down to wait. No sooner had we sat down than they called Terry for his shower.

So he left and I sat there and ate, guarding his lunch until he returned.

It wasn't long before another driver came and sat down across from me at the table. We talked about trucking things for a couple of minutes, talked about Schneider, other things. He seemed like a nice enough guy.

Then he asked me if I was married. I told him I wasn't. Suddenly, he pulls out a business card and hands it to me as he tells me I need a Russian woman for a wife, and he's just the man to set me up.

He's married to a Russian woman, he told me (his second, actually), and he highly recommends them. His selling points for Russian women were that they "are more assertive than American women, and they aren't rich, so they are frugal."

So, in Dallas, Texas, in the twenty-first century, I run into a guy running a mail-order Russian bride service on the side.

I tell him I'm not interested -- well, maybe if he knows any Russian women who look like Anna Kourni-(omg)-kova from the recent issue of Maxim magazine, I might sign up. But all the Russian women (besides dear Anna) I've ever seen look like . . . um, Russian women. Guess I'll pass.

Oh, but that's not all. He wasn't finished with me. (Where is Terry? How long can it take to get a shower? Why don't they call me?) He began to talk about how he would never marry a black woman -- "I don't believe in mixing the races, nosir" -- and how if the Civil War were ever repeated, he knows whose side he'd be on.

Keep in mind, there are people all around us, including black folks. And Mr. Russian Ambassador talks to me like I forgot to put in my hearing aid.

Oh yes, he continues, his sister was a cop in Chicago for 25 years, and she used to get on to him for saying things about black folks, but now that she's retired, she talks about them more than he does. (Terry, hurry up, for God's sake!)

On and on. Finally, after about 100 years, Terry finally gets back to the table, they call me for my shower, and I leave him to talk to the guy who should have stayed in Russia.

Family Ties. In about a week, we are scheduled to shut down for some time off. We will shut down in Atlanta, I will drive up to Rome to see my family, and Terry will fly to Little Rock. It's been three months since I was in Georgia, so I'm looking forward to seeing people I love. Hopefully, none of them will try to set me up with a mail-order bride from anywhere.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

Allan

A Collection of Thoughts

A dream load. Last time we left you, Terry and I were sitting in Fontana, California, after taking our first load as a reunited Lonesome Dove Xpress team there. There is a funny story about that load.

We got the load there early Sunday afternoon, and it wasn't supposed to deliver until 2:00 pm on Monday. If we stayed with the load, we'd be waiting over 24 hours. If you are a solo driver with a load like that, tough luck. You're stuck with it. But because, in theory at least, Schneider likes to keep their teams moving on loads that are time-critical or high value, they don't make teams babysit a load like that.

So when we got there Sunday, I called the weekend shift at Schneider to tell them we were there a day early, and we'd love to be able to relay the load in Fontana, and be able to be moving on another load. The person I spoke with said they didn't have any freight for us on Sunday, but to call back first thing Monday morning.

That's what I did, just after posting the last blog entry. They took us off the load, and told us that they'd have us on another load as soon as possible.

We unhooked from the trailer, and parked right across from it in an empty spot.

And waited. And waited. Waited some more.

Surely it won't be long now.

Wait some more.

We could see the trailer we'd just dropped. It was a high value load with a strict appointment time. We could have taken it, but we didn't want to wait if there was another load.

So we dropped it, as instructed by Schneider.

And waited.

10:00 o'clock. 11:00 o'clock. No load. No one else came to get the trailer we had dropped.

Noon. 1:00 o'clock. One hour before the load has to be 40 miles away. In LA traffic.

We are still waiting. The trailer is still where we left it.

Why didn't they just tell us to go ahead and take the load to deliver? Why didn't a local solo driver come get it?

Late in the afternoon, after staring guiltily at that loaded trailer not moving all day, we finally got another load.

That other trailer never did move before we left.

But when we got the load going to Texas, we didn't really care.

Things so far. We have settled into teaming again very easily, falling naturally into old routines. It has been good.

After being on the road for a week, we were in Arkansas for the weekend because Terry had already scheduled that time off before we started teaming again.

Our loads have been okay, but not great for the most part. We've been waiting more than we did when we were teaming before. But then, along comes a load like the one we got last night: take a load from Lagrange, Georgia, to Ogden, Utah. Plenty of time on the load, no rush, setting our own pace. Perfect! This is the kind of load we live for!

The day before our time off in Arkansas, I got sick. I am just now, two weeks later, getting better. I won't go into more detail than that, other than to say I have been pretty miserable. I went to a doctor when we were in Arkansas, and then had to go to an ER on the road last week.

Being sick in a truck stinks.

A good woman journeys to a better place. Last week, one of my favorite aunts, my great-aunt Edna, passed away. She was one of the happiest, most joyful people I've ever known in my life, and I will miss her. I had been looking forward to seeing her in a few weeks when I go home for our family reunion.

I wasn't able to attend the funeral, but when I learned of her passing, I wrote a tribute to her which I e-mailed to her son, and some other folks in my family. I wrote it as a letter to Edna, and I include it here in her memory.

Dear Aunt Edna:

I learned a little while ago that you have stepped across the threshold

into that greater glory of life eternal, which we all hope for, and to

which all our faith looks with joy. It makes the hope and joy all the

greater when those we have loved take the journey before us.

I can imagine you there, being greeted by those who went before you --

those I think of most are Uncle Dick, my granddaddy Boe, Aunt Mary, and

Aunt Phoebe. I'm sure they all -- and others whom you had loved -- were

there to meet you, except for Aunt Mary, who was probably too busy

watching reruns of old Boston Red Sox games to notice much of anything

else now that Tyler is one of them.

When I think of you, Aunt Edna, many things come to my mind, but some

things stand out more distinctly than others. I used to love it when you

would come to Nanny's house (sometimes with Aunt Louise) to spend the

night. You'd be there, with Nanny, Mary, Phoebe, and maybe Louise, all

sitting around the table in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking up a

storm.

One time I remember being home after I had moved away from Rome, and I was

over at Nanny's when you came. I hadn't seen you in quite a while, and

you bounced up those steps, came in the front door. I remember you

grabbed me, hugged me, and told me you loved me. I asked you how you had

been, and you laughed as you said, "I've been causin' just as much trouble

as I can."

You always said things like that; I never remember one time ever hearing

you complain or say anything bad about anyone else. I never remember

seeing you when you had a bad day, even though I know you must have had

them sometimes; I just never saw them. I can think of no one I've ever

known in my life who had the love of life, the happy energy of bright

sunshine and smiles more than you did. I always felt better after I had

been around you, and I always laughed more when you were there. You were

just that way.

I just wanted to write to say that I will certainly miss you, as we all

will, and I wanted to thank you for touching my life in such a special way.

I am looking forward to seeing you soon. Until then, I will remember with

joy your life and love.

Much love,

Allan

Only while driving a truck. It is 1:30 in the morning. I'm driving the night shift. I'm going through Lebanon, Tennessee. I stop at a Pilot truck stop to refill my coffee, and decide I'd like a sandwich from Subway.

So, I find myself standing in line with a woman in front of me about my age. No one out in the Subway, but we can hear someone banging dishes in the back, like they are washing dishes. The woman has been there a few minutes when I walk up.

So I start yelling for the clanging dishwasher: “Subway, git ye butt out here! We hongry!”

Finally, the clanging stops, and a short, plump man who looks about 50 comes out drying his hands on a towel, apologizing for keeping us waiting. He hadn't heard us until I started my barnyard yelling.

The woman places her order, and we all make small talk. The guy asks me if I like driving for Schneider, and I say yes. He says he used to drive a truck, and the woman has a friend who drives a truck.

The man says he got fired from his trucking job when he told his dispatcher one day that he should “make an appointment with your proctologist to see if you can find your head.” No wonder he's working at Subway.

But the Subway man says that he might go back on the road after October. He can't leave before October because he's wrapping up production of an independent film that has been opted by the Spike cable tv network.

The woman was about to leave, but now she comes back, saying, “I've got to hear this!”

So the man proceeds to tell us that he produces independent films, most notably a series of films about a female superhero called “Thong Girl”. He plays her sidekick in the movies, “Boxer Brief Boy.”

I was laughing so hard I didn't know if I could drive the truck for a while. Here I am in smalltown America – Lebanon, Tennessee – listening to a dishwasher at Subway in the middle of the night talk about his award-winning films starring “Thong Girl.”

He said that when they were filming one of the movies, they used the offices of the mayor of a neighboring town, Gallatin, to shoot some scenes. Well, a rumor got started in the town that they had been shooting a porno film (which it is not), and the mayor got fired.

When I got back to the truck, laughing so loud I was afraid I'd wake Terry up, I realized once again that as long as I drive a truck, I will never run out of things to laugh at or write about in this blog.

Life is so funny.

A much better movie. I found out the other day that a movie is being released soon that is about the early life of Billy Graham. The trailer looks great, and I encourage any of you who admires Billy Graham to check it out. You can see the trailer here: http://www.billytheearlyyears.com/

Maybe you can find a double-feature: Thong Girl and the Billy Graham movie.

Politics. For the first time this election cycle, I am encouraged that John McCain may have a realistic chance to win the Presidential election. His selection of Sarah Palin was a brilliant move, and I would not be surprised to see her become President one day.

Reading. You know how much I love to read, if you have read this blog very much. One casualty of teaming again is that I'm listening to fewer books on tape or on XM radio, and I'm not reading as much from regular books. Mostly because there's not as much downtime, and teaming tends to make one more tired than driving solo.

However, Terry and I have been reading the same collection of short stories by Annie Proulx, Close Range , a collection of stories about Wyoming. It includes the story “Brokeback Mountain”, from which the movie of the same title is based.

The stories are excellent, Proulx's writing is amazing, her mastery of language is a learning experience for both of us. And on the load we are on currently, we will be driving through Wyoming on I-80, so it will be even more rewarding.

Writing. I haven't written any more on the story I was working on in a while, but ideas are always in my mind. I've just been too sick and tired to feel like doing much of anything lately.

I suppose that's about all for now.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

Allan

Reunion Tour 1st Stop: California!

Roads west! Well, after almost two weeks from the time we decided to begin teaming again, Terry and I are finally back in our truck together driving across the country. Our first load was one we would have chosen for ourselves: a load to California and the West. We were very happy to get that load. I'm writing from the Schneider facility in Fontana, California, east of Los Angeles.

Getting together is hard to do. When Terry and I decided to start teaming again, we both happened to be in Maryland. This was almost two weeks ago. We told Schneider we wanted to team again, and we figured it would be just a few days to route us both to the Schneider facility in West Memphis, Arkansas, where we were hooking up.

Terry got there late last Tuesday night, and I finally got there on Friday. Friday afternoon, we went over all our paperwork, and the expectations Schneider has of teams. Most of it was familiar to us since we've done this before.

We met our new dispatcher, a guy in West Memphis named Joe. I am not impressed so far. My hope is that we just don't have too many problems, because I don't have any confidence in Joe's ability and/or real desire to help. Perhaps our last experience with Julian (who is no longer with Schneider, unfortunately) spoiled us. Things were great with him.

I hope I am proved wrong in my initial impressions about Joe. My impression comes from the fact that when they were trying to get Terry and I to West Memphis last week, they had scheduled our meeting with someone there to go over paperwork originally for last Tuesday morning, but since we weren't there, it had to be rescheduled.

I called Joe and left him 3 voicemails over 3 days last week because we needed his help to coordinate that. He never returned my phone calls, acknowledged that he got the messages – just nothing. I ended up having to call my solo dispatcher (whom I've only had for a week) in Charlotte, Marcia, who has nothing to do with my teaming, other than saying good-bye, and she helped me.

And my impressions of Joe from that experience were just reinforced when Terry and I actually met him last Friday.

We shouldn't have too many problems – Terry and I are both low-maintenance drivers; we do our jobs, and don't whine about every little thing, so we rarely even have to contact our dispatcher. I hope that remains true.

From total solitude to 24/7 in a small space with my best friend. As you might imagine, even though we did this last year for nine months, it's still an adjustment going from being by yourself all the time in a truck to sharing that space with another person.

The nice thing about this time is that we already know what works for us, and the time to get used to things again should be shorter.

My biggest adjustment (for now) is sleeping in a moving truck again. But I slept well Saturday night, so it was a good start.

For now, Terry's driving nights and I'm driving days (like we did before). We are supposed to have some time off this weekend in Arkansas that Terry had already scheduled, and we may switch around after that.

A beautiful drive through the mountains during sunrise. Yesterday morning, I started driving about 3:30 in the morning local time, east of Flagstaff, Arizona. As I passed through Flagstaff and west, through those beautiful mountains between there and Kingman, Arizona, on I-40, total darkness began to slowly give way to the light of the new day.

The sun was slowly coming up behind me, and as it began to diffuse its light touches in various places over the mountains, it was like a curtain being parted to reveal one of the most beautiful scenes I've ever witnessed.

As I drove, and day transformed the dark shadows of the mountains, the effects of the light produced brilliant colors, beautiful as any rainbow, showcasing the various rock formations and landscape. As I drove for those several hours, and shadows were displaced by sunlight, I was just mesmerized by what I witnessed.

There are places on that stretch of road where there are tremendous pilings of rocks, ranging in size from a small car to a basketball. It is as if some giant were stepping through the mountains with a mammoth bucket of stones, and decided to pour some of them out in this place. The result is hypnotically gorgeous.

Then, passing from the mountains of western Arizona into the Mojave Desert that stretches all the way across southern California, beauty of another kind is apparent. It is a dangerous kind of beauty, and Terry and I have often talked about our wonder that people of generations past came across this arid land with only horses and what they had with them.

I've driven this road many times, but never as the sun came up, watching it transform the land before my eyes. It was alive, majestic, sacred.

Many people went to church yesterday morning (since it was Sunday), but I had as rich a spiritual experience yesterday driving in my orange truck through those mountains as I've ever had in any building. I was reminded of the passage in the Bible in Psalms to “be still and know that I am God.”

And as many people who have spiritual experiences which to them are profound, I realized myself struck dumb in the face of what I saw, what I knew was there, but too often forget in the rush of the everyday world with its demands, its busyness, and the burdens of navigating an increasingly complex and stressful world. But in the quiet simplicity of that preternatural beauty, as I was reminded in another way when I was reading Walden by Henry David Thoreau again a few months ago, I was able to connect with what is truly important and beautiful in the world. So it was for me yesterday.

In that light, I insert some pictures below that I took while I was in Georgia in July, from my favorite “quiet place” for thinking and reflection in the world, a place I most always go when I'm in Rome, out at Berry College, a place simply known as the Old Mill.

I hope you have your quiet place, a retreat from the normal demands of the everyday rhythms of your life, a place to contemplate and affirm what is really important and beautiful in the world.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . and look for the remarkable . . .

Allan