This happens sometimes.
Nothing.
I made delivery of the Washers and Dryers this morning. A jam packed lot. Four other trucks waiting at the gate when I arrived. Eventually I managed to wedge the trailer in between another and a container dropped it and grabbed a shitty old empty from the other side of the lot. New trailers begin with the number 3. The older ones begin with 4, 6 or 9 this one begins with a 9. Old trailers are fine in almost any respect except for the tandems. These are the wheels on the back of the trailer and as you should know by now, they slide back and forth and lock into place in order to redistribute weight on each set of axles. In order to unlock the wheels and slide them you go back to the wheels and reach under the trailer and pull a rod that retracts four 1.5" bolts that lock the tandems into a track on the underside of the trailer. On newer trailers the bolts are attached to the retracting mechanism by a spring so you can pull out the handle, lock it into place and then when you begin the sliding process the bolts will snap back out of the track allowing the tandems to move freely. On old trailers the bolts are more directly connected to the release rod so when you pull the rod, if the bolts are jammed in the track the rod won't budge and you have to either move the truck just enough to get the bolts into the right place relative to the track that they will not bind. Or you can pull the rod out as far as you can, put a visegrips on it and pound (with a hammer) on the bolts until they retract. There is also a sort of puller that is made to apply mechanical advantage to the situation but when those bitches are stuck they are stuck.
And that is why you try to find new trailers. (did that make any sense)
So I got this crappy old 9 trailer and got out of there and went up the road about 6 miles to a Pilot on the edge of I-95 and the Savannah River that separates Georiga from South Carolina. That was at 9:00am.
Presently it is 7:54pm and I am sitting here in the same space. It seems that Savannah is a port but not a producer. Lots of trucks coming in, not a lot going out.
I get frustrated at times but mostly it is just one of those things you can's really do anything about and so it goes.
I've been listening to a lot of NPR, more perhaps even than usual. I typed this. I added the other entries that I wrote yesterday and the day before. i took a shower. I've read. I bought two gallons of water. (BTW this drought in Georgia is no joke, I don't even care that Sonny Purdue wants to have a rain prayer session at the capital, these fools need some rain. The ground is so dry its white and i passed a lake yesterday whose docks were high and dry up on the reddish margins of the water where the lake had long since receded. Madness.
I look forward to getting out of here. Anywhere. It doesn't matter. Shit, I'd even go to Florida.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Richmond Hill, Georgia
Everything
My nasty ass I’da ripped him up.
Uh huh
An be sure you didn’t get caught.
Ha, whew, hey Laurence you know…
Right, I’m in the…
You fuckin with em nasty
(a roll of laughter)
Oh man.
Bitch was doin shit all night,
He’s sittin’ there at the kitchen table all cryin’ and shit
He aint even looking at me just got his face in his hands
Do I really give a fuck at all, really.
You got me bro.
You know what I’m saying.
My moms a whore, ha.
You know what I mean.
I seen him out at the bar and shit.
(a high pitch cackle)
I made your sisters fall out.
I’m talking about bitches I, I used to fuck.
Sisters and cousins.
The above, snippets of a conversation of the mechanics overheard while I was getting a PM (preventative maintenance i.e. oil change) I didn’t catch all of it and I didn’t type it out because I thought it was exceptional in any way. It was just something to do.
I’m in Georgia. Richmond Hill to be exact. South of Savannah. I came down here because I needed to get a PM and a front end alignment. They don’t do front end alignments here and so the PM is all I get.
I have this load that was supposed to be delivered at midnight however the guard at the warehouse said people don’t show up at the Electrolux part of the facility until 6am and I should probably come back at 8am. Way to go Werner with that well made appointment.
The warehouse is in Port Wentworth on the northwest side of Savannah. In a rundown (very southern) part of town with narrow roads, deep ditches, and tight lots jam packed with trailers and containers. I would guess that it is the destiny of these washers and dryers in my truck to be put in a container and given a fine cruise to Europe. Electrolux after all is a European brand. Design it in Europe, build it in Iowa, truck it to Georgia, ship it to Europe. The logic of this system fails me still. Sometimes I wish I could get together a team of people who would look at where everything is made and reorganize the whole goddamn mess so that things were made near the source of their materials and near the place of their sale/use. The increase in efficiency would blow everyone’s mind but truckers would get all pissed off cause all of a sudden there would be many fewer jobs in this area. But we humans are so terrible at seeing the forest for the trees especially when the trees are ourselves.
When I open my bakery I hope to buy local wheat and sell bread to local people. I have no desire to sell bread outside even of Kent County, Maryland. If people in other states or counties want bread baked in small batches in a wood fired brick oven someone is going to have to build that oven and bake that bread but it won’t be me. Maybe I’ll help start it up. I don’t hate money.
It is always so nice to be in the south in the colder months. The surprise of stepping out of the truck and not being bitten in the face by the wind is lovely, like a hundred first days of spring. The traffic southbound on I-75 from Chattanooga through Atlanta all the way to Macon was heavy. Lots of Cadillacs moving slowly toward Florida. At Macon I veered slightly east onto I-16 possibly some of the dullest road in the country. From Macon to Savannah 165 miles of nothing but pine trees. I really dislike driving in the inland south because you can’t see anything. Nothing but dry scraggly loblolly pines. Nothing like the lush evergreens of the northwest. Driving near the gulf is not so bad. I-95 in Georgia is close enough to the Atlantic, with its wide estuarine marshiness, as to be interesting. The southern Appalachians are great. But these fucking pine trees. They feel so empty.
And then there is the smell. The paper mill smell, overcooked broccoli and something metallic, chemical, carcinogenic. Maine smells like this, Louisiana, Washington, but each place is a little different, each place is cooking different trees into Copier Paper.
It’s a nice clear night, a low in the high forties, fresh oil in the crankcase.
My nasty ass I’da ripped him up.
Uh huh
An be sure you didn’t get caught.
Ha, whew, hey Laurence you know…
Right, I’m in the…
You fuckin with em nasty
(a roll of laughter)
Oh man.
Bitch was doin shit all night,
He’s sittin’ there at the kitchen table all cryin’ and shit
He aint even looking at me just got his face in his hands
Do I really give a fuck at all, really.
You got me bro.
You know what I’m saying.
My moms a whore, ha.
You know what I mean.
I seen him out at the bar and shit.
(a high pitch cackle)
I made your sisters fall out.
I’m talking about bitches I, I used to fuck.
Sisters and cousins.
The above, snippets of a conversation of the mechanics overheard while I was getting a PM (preventative maintenance i.e. oil change) I didn’t catch all of it and I didn’t type it out because I thought it was exceptional in any way. It was just something to do.
I’m in Georgia. Richmond Hill to be exact. South of Savannah. I came down here because I needed to get a PM and a front end alignment. They don’t do front end alignments here and so the PM is all I get.
I have this load that was supposed to be delivered at midnight however the guard at the warehouse said people don’t show up at the Electrolux part of the facility until 6am and I should probably come back at 8am. Way to go Werner with that well made appointment.
The warehouse is in Port Wentworth on the northwest side of Savannah. In a rundown (very southern) part of town with narrow roads, deep ditches, and tight lots jam packed with trailers and containers. I would guess that it is the destiny of these washers and dryers in my truck to be put in a container and given a fine cruise to Europe. Electrolux after all is a European brand. Design it in Europe, build it in Iowa, truck it to Georgia, ship it to Europe. The logic of this system fails me still. Sometimes I wish I could get together a team of people who would look at where everything is made and reorganize the whole goddamn mess so that things were made near the source of their materials and near the place of their sale/use. The increase in efficiency would blow everyone’s mind but truckers would get all pissed off cause all of a sudden there would be many fewer jobs in this area. But we humans are so terrible at seeing the forest for the trees especially when the trees are ourselves.
When I open my bakery I hope to buy local wheat and sell bread to local people. I have no desire to sell bread outside even of Kent County, Maryland. If people in other states or counties want bread baked in small batches in a wood fired brick oven someone is going to have to build that oven and bake that bread but it won’t be me. Maybe I’ll help start it up. I don’t hate money.
It is always so nice to be in the south in the colder months. The surprise of stepping out of the truck and not being bitten in the face by the wind is lovely, like a hundred first days of spring. The traffic southbound on I-75 from Chattanooga through Atlanta all the way to Macon was heavy. Lots of Cadillacs moving slowly toward Florida. At Macon I veered slightly east onto I-16 possibly some of the dullest road in the country. From Macon to Savannah 165 miles of nothing but pine trees. I really dislike driving in the inland south because you can’t see anything. Nothing but dry scraggly loblolly pines. Nothing like the lush evergreens of the northwest. Driving near the gulf is not so bad. I-95 in Georgia is close enough to the Atlantic, with its wide estuarine marshiness, as to be interesting. The southern Appalachians are great. But these fucking pine trees. They feel so empty.
And then there is the smell. The paper mill smell, overcooked broccoli and something metallic, chemical, carcinogenic. Maine smells like this, Louisiana, Washington, but each place is a little different, each place is cooking different trees into Copier Paper.
It’s a nice clear night, a low in the high forties, fresh oil in the crankcase.
Morton's Gap, Kentucky
A fine enough day, I awoke this morning at 5:30 restless and unable to sleep thanks to some odd, pleasant but unsettling dreams (hmmm). The night was spent in Webster City after picking up some washers and dryers from the Electrolux plant here. It seems that Iowa has a monopoly on appliance assembly. (Maytag and Amana are/were also located here). I had hoped, last night, to pick up that load quickly and jaunt down to Grinnell, where I went to college to visit a friend who is still living there but this was not to be and I spent a nice long time at Electrolux and when I was finished drove only down to the edge of town on US-20 and parked for the night.
This morning I drove from Webster City, Iowa to Altoona, near Des Moines, where I stopped at the Bossellman travel center to look clean for breakfast with my Grinnell friend, which was a sort of consolation prize for not getting to spend the evening. Breakfast was fine at the A&M, a place that tries for bizarre roadfood-esque ambiance but the effect is a bit too odd and a little creepy. I had some biscuits and gravy which, despite being a bit overly viscous were tasty and certainly filing. The food tasted better than I remember likely because I was not miserably hungover. It was also cheeeeep and I was reminded, and astounded by the thought, of how little money I must have had in college. I had parked down by the interstate at a new Kum and Go (the actual name of a Midwestern gas/convenience store) which had some truck parking. Grinnell is about 3 miles north of the interstate so I biked into town imagining that I must have been crazy to do this, as I often did, up a 4 lane 55mph road with only a loose gravel shoulder. There was, on the way, a big new Wal-mart super center, directly across from where the old, tiny (not super) Wal-Mart used to be. My dad loved the old walmart because it was small and he thought perfectly adequate (this being relevant because Chestertown, where I grew up, had been fighting the installation of a large Wal-mart store at the time, a historical footnote: we won.) But clearly it was not an adequate walmart and the nearest existing super center in Newton, a ghastly 16 miles down US-6 was much too far away. That 16 miles, by the way, is some of the prettiest Iowa road you’ll find, bumpy, but pretty.
So back to the truck I biked, into the wind this time and with a belly full of biscuits and gravy sludge and the ride was not as fun. Then it was out across the prairie and down to my present stop, Mortons Gap, Kentucky with only a short 10 minute rest stop break on I-57 north of Mattoon, Illinois.
Just south of Mattoon I left the interstate to avoid the absurd westward bend I-57 takes and headed south on little roads through Newton, Olney, Albion and Greyville, hopped onto I-64 east and then US-41 south through Evansville, Indiana and into Kentucky. Originally the border of these two states must have been the Ohio River but over time, it seems, rivers change course (who knew?) but state lines do not and so, before crossing the river you cross the state line into a little sliver of Kentucky where the river once was. Throughout the Ohio and Mississppi river systems wherever the river makes up the border of the states (which is pretty much everywhere out here) you will find these little anomalies, look at a map of southern Illinois or Indiana, Kentucky, Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana, its ridiculous.
Mortons Gap is nice enough, just a truckstop on the Edward T. Breathitt Pennyrile Parkway. Kentucky has this extensive system of Parkways. Apparently the Interstate system was not going to meet their needs, so they built a bunch of toll roads but it was written into the rules that once tolls had been collected enough to pay for the construction of the roads they would become freeways. And so they have. Edward T. Breathitt was a Kentucky politician who was a big civil rights supporter. He was born in Hopkinsville, where this road terminates ergo the dedication. Pennyrile is another name for Pennyroyal, an herb in the mint family known for its use in folk medicine as it contains a toxin that can stimulate abortions. This may be familiar to some readers aware of Nirvana’s song “Pennyroyal Tea” from the In Utero album. I suppose that this is a plant that grows round these parts.
Anyway, these Washers and Dryers are destined for Port Wentworth, Georgia, near Savannah where hopefully I will be tomorrow, where hopefully it will be pleasant sleeping as the last few nights have been a might chilly, and being, as I am, someone not inclined to burn up yet more diesel fuel just to stay warm, so hopefully I can ward off the apocalypse for another hour or two.
This morning I drove from Webster City, Iowa to Altoona, near Des Moines, where I stopped at the Bossellman travel center to look clean for breakfast with my Grinnell friend, which was a sort of consolation prize for not getting to spend the evening. Breakfast was fine at the A&M, a place that tries for bizarre roadfood-esque ambiance but the effect is a bit too odd and a little creepy. I had some biscuits and gravy which, despite being a bit overly viscous were tasty and certainly filing. The food tasted better than I remember likely because I was not miserably hungover. It was also cheeeeep and I was reminded, and astounded by the thought, of how little money I must have had in college. I had parked down by the interstate at a new Kum and Go (the actual name of a Midwestern gas/convenience store) which had some truck parking. Grinnell is about 3 miles north of the interstate so I biked into town imagining that I must have been crazy to do this, as I often did, up a 4 lane 55mph road with only a loose gravel shoulder. There was, on the way, a big new Wal-mart super center, directly across from where the old, tiny (not super) Wal-Mart used to be. My dad loved the old walmart because it was small and he thought perfectly adequate (this being relevant because Chestertown, where I grew up, had been fighting the installation of a large Wal-mart store at the time, a historical footnote: we won.) But clearly it was not an adequate walmart and the nearest existing super center in Newton, a ghastly 16 miles down US-6 was much too far away. That 16 miles, by the way, is some of the prettiest Iowa road you’ll find, bumpy, but pretty.
So back to the truck I biked, into the wind this time and with a belly full of biscuits and gravy sludge and the ride was not as fun. Then it was out across the prairie and down to my present stop, Mortons Gap, Kentucky with only a short 10 minute rest stop break on I-57 north of Mattoon, Illinois.
Just south of Mattoon I left the interstate to avoid the absurd westward bend I-57 takes and headed south on little roads through Newton, Olney, Albion and Greyville, hopped onto I-64 east and then US-41 south through Evansville, Indiana and into Kentucky. Originally the border of these two states must have been the Ohio River but over time, it seems, rivers change course (who knew?) but state lines do not and so, before crossing the river you cross the state line into a little sliver of Kentucky where the river once was. Throughout the Ohio and Mississppi river systems wherever the river makes up the border of the states (which is pretty much everywhere out here) you will find these little anomalies, look at a map of southern Illinois or Indiana, Kentucky, Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana, its ridiculous.
Mortons Gap is nice enough, just a truckstop on the Edward T. Breathitt Pennyrile Parkway. Kentucky has this extensive system of Parkways. Apparently the Interstate system was not going to meet their needs, so they built a bunch of toll roads but it was written into the rules that once tolls had been collected enough to pay for the construction of the roads they would become freeways. And so they have. Edward T. Breathitt was a Kentucky politician who was a big civil rights supporter. He was born in Hopkinsville, where this road terminates ergo the dedication. Pennyrile is another name for Pennyroyal, an herb in the mint family known for its use in folk medicine as it contains a toxin that can stimulate abortions. This may be familiar to some readers aware of Nirvana’s song “Pennyroyal Tea” from the In Utero album. I suppose that this is a plant that grows round these parts.
Anyway, these Washers and Dryers are destined for Port Wentworth, Georgia, near Savannah where hopefully I will be tomorrow, where hopefully it will be pleasant sleeping as the last few nights have been a might chilly, and being, as I am, someone not inclined to burn up yet more diesel fuel just to stay warm, so hopefully I can ward off the apocalypse for another hour or two.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Sparta, WI
I’m pretty sure that the only thing on tv anywhere anymore is Two and a Half Men, which is total, unbelievable garbage.
In Wisconsin the all leaves have fallen off the trees and it looks very much like winter as I guess it must in November, most certainly in the upper Midwest. What is it about Wisconsin that I like so much. I think it sort of feels cozy, on a geographical level. It’s sort of jammed up in this cozy little corner between lake Michigan, Lake Superior and the UP. It has some of the vastness of the Midwest. But a bit more roll to the land. A few more trees in the south and then the thick northwoods. It is sort of a combination of New England and the Midwest. Besides the cheeses are unbeatable. Forgive me if I have related this before but here goes:
In college I got tired of driving through Ohio and Indiana (from Maryland to Iowa and back). At the end of one summer I decided to drive back to Iowa via Canada. I drove up through New York and Vermont. Through Montreal and into Ontario skirting along what felt like the far north of Ontario through North Bay, Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie (really this is in the southernmost third of the province.) Then I came down through the UP and Wisconsin. Along with me on this trip I brought a cooler and en route filled it with cheeses. Delicious Cheeses. Vermont has many fine Cheddars (almost exclusively cheddars along with some goat and sheep cheeses and something called Crowley which, with all due respect, is like boring cheddar) but Wisconsin has a wider variety of cheeses. Many Swiss style cheeses (especially in the southwestern part of the state) many fine cheddars, many German cheeses (including the only factory in the US still making Limburger, a surface ripened repulsive smelling, mild tasting variety), and a lot of big industrial cheese factories. In short a more varied and, in my opinion, totally more awesome cheese state. Wisconsin doesn’t have that obnoxious new England arrogance or accent either. (some people don’t like the upper Midwest accent. I find it sort of homey and in some cases perhaps even attractive.)
I am en route to La Crosse with a load of Fiberglass. Presently I am in Sparta, which has some sort of army fort adjacent, I wonder if they are, well, Spartan, or just like the rest of the military. I was looking at a map of the area and was somewhat delighted to find that La Crosse’s airport is located on an island in the Mississippi. This section of the Mississippi is quite interesting. Lots and lots of islands and bars and really just a way. Like an empty highway. Not all of it being used right now but clearly it is the domain of the water and one of these days I’ll bet they will be sorry they put that fucking airport on an island. Or maybe they won’t, perhaps, I am wiling to admit, there is something I don’t know.
This area of the river is really great. It is in what is know as the driftless area of SE Minnesota, SW Wisconsin and NE Iowa, that was untouched by glaciers during the last ice age. As such it is more dramatically contoured than the surrounding land. And coming up from the river into Minnesota on I-90 one could be convinced, for a moment, that they were in the mountains. There is a lot of rock and bluffs and hills and all in all it is one of those places the Midwest is full of, pleasant surprises.
In Wisconsin the all leaves have fallen off the trees and it looks very much like winter as I guess it must in November, most certainly in the upper Midwest. What is it about Wisconsin that I like so much. I think it sort of feels cozy, on a geographical level. It’s sort of jammed up in this cozy little corner between lake Michigan, Lake Superior and the UP. It has some of the vastness of the Midwest. But a bit more roll to the land. A few more trees in the south and then the thick northwoods. It is sort of a combination of New England and the Midwest. Besides the cheeses are unbeatable. Forgive me if I have related this before but here goes:
In college I got tired of driving through Ohio and Indiana (from Maryland to Iowa and back). At the end of one summer I decided to drive back to Iowa via Canada. I drove up through New York and Vermont. Through Montreal and into Ontario skirting along what felt like the far north of Ontario through North Bay, Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie (really this is in the southernmost third of the province.) Then I came down through the UP and Wisconsin. Along with me on this trip I brought a cooler and en route filled it with cheeses. Delicious Cheeses. Vermont has many fine Cheddars (almost exclusively cheddars along with some goat and sheep cheeses and something called Crowley which, with all due respect, is like boring cheddar) but Wisconsin has a wider variety of cheeses. Many Swiss style cheeses (especially in the southwestern part of the state) many fine cheddars, many German cheeses (including the only factory in the US still making Limburger, a surface ripened repulsive smelling, mild tasting variety), and a lot of big industrial cheese factories. In short a more varied and, in my opinion, totally more awesome cheese state. Wisconsin doesn’t have that obnoxious new England arrogance or accent either. (some people don’t like the upper Midwest accent. I find it sort of homey and in some cases perhaps even attractive.)
I am en route to La Crosse with a load of Fiberglass. Presently I am in Sparta, which has some sort of army fort adjacent, I wonder if they are, well, Spartan, or just like the rest of the military. I was looking at a map of the area and was somewhat delighted to find that La Crosse’s airport is located on an island in the Mississippi. This section of the Mississippi is quite interesting. Lots and lots of islands and bars and really just a way. Like an empty highway. Not all of it being used right now but clearly it is the domain of the water and one of these days I’ll bet they will be sorry they put that fucking airport on an island. Or maybe they won’t, perhaps, I am wiling to admit, there is something I don’t know.
This area of the river is really great. It is in what is know as the driftless area of SE Minnesota, SW Wisconsin and NE Iowa, that was untouched by glaciers during the last ice age. As such it is more dramatically contoured than the surrounding land. And coming up from the river into Minnesota on I-90 one could be convinced, for a moment, that they were in the mountains. There is a lot of rock and bluffs and hills and all in all it is one of those places the Midwest is full of, pleasant surprises.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Apologies
My most sincere apologies for neglecting this blog for so long. i got side tracked. and for the last 2 weeks I was training. Which means that I had a student with me 24/7 and this was more than a bit stressful. In short it sucked and I dont think I want to do it again. The only apparent benefit being money, and not wanting to be someone who holds money above too many things, especially things like, reading, writing, privacy and sanity. So with my student who I picked up in Indianapolis we delivered pesticide to Girdletree, MD (on the way southern eastern shore), then took K-Mart junk from Chambersburg, PA to Greensboro, NC, Craftsman tools from Gastonia, NC to Columbus, OH, Beer from Columbus to Tarentum (NE of Pittsburgh), Laundry Detergent from Lima, OH to Bedford, PA. Then we got a multi stop pickup of clothes, books, and pots and pans (all-clad, ohh!), from Girard, OH; Blawnox, PA; and Eighty Four, PA (home of the lumber company). That was to be delivered to TJ Maxx in North Las Vegas but we swapped in Wheat Ridge, CO (west of Denver) with a load of Lowe's merchandise that had to get to Grand Junction asap. Then we had a 301 mile deadhead to Fort Collins to pick up some delicious Busch Light and Budweiser beer destined for Clarksville, TN but that load was swapped in Champaign, Illinois. Just before this my student quit on me. We got too close to his hometown (of Casey, Illinois) and he realized that this long haul, away from the family for a long time thing was not going to work for him. out of the swap I got a load of plastic pallets that were supposed to go to Coors in Elkton, VA but that load i swapped north of Harrisburg, PA with a guy who had no load making me free to drive home, which, beacuse I was so god damn exhausted, I did the next day after some decent sleep. i loped over the hills of Lancaster county and home where I rested briefly before going to a big party where i did not get too drunk and embarass myself. Yes!
For the next few weeks I promise to be more active on this blog since I learned that people actually do read it. Thanks guys.
For the next few weeks I promise to be more active on this blog since I learned that people actually do read it. Thanks guys.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Parowan, Utah
October the 1st
It is stormy in Parowan, Utah. I haven’t seen any rain in a while. At home it hasn’t rained in so long my parents are worried their well might be running dry.
Today I awoke and briefly considered the buffet at Whiskey Pete’s and then thought better of it, checked the pressure on my tires and headed north.
One of the tires on the trailer was flat so I stopped at the petro north of Las Vegas and called in to Werner, waiting on hold for 10 minutes before getting authorization to have the people there repair it. While the guy did this he found that the valve stem on another tire was leaking air and in order to get this fixed I had to call in again and wait on hold again only to be told to go ahead and do it. The people in the Petro however said they couldn’t fix it unless Werner called them or they called Werner and Werner hadn’t called them. So again we call in and wait and wait and wait.
Finally the valve stem is replaced and I am off, out of the Las Vegas Valley and across the wide Mojave again and then, in Arizona slipping into a crack in the mountain called the Virgin River Gorge, a spectacular canyon (and apparently some of the most expensive interstate per mile) interstate that takes you up though the canyon before depositing you into the quickly growing region of Southwest Utah. Home to Mormons, fundamentalist, Polygamous and otherwise. St. George and Hurricane and then up further onto the Colorado plateau, cooler temperature and some green finally (The red rocks and the green pines and the blue sky make Utah one of the most wonderfully colorful places, especially when coming from the endlessly taupe Mojave.)
On the plateau you’ll find Cedar City and then Parowan, where there is a truckstop.
Parowan is a pleasant enough place. As I walked from the TA on the far side of Interstate 15 I could hear the sounds of a football game behind the enormous high school that seems to be the centerpiece of the town. I also past the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints Seminary. A simple solid greek-ish brick building where I suppose they must train the boys to go out and convert the heathens.
The town had a few nice buildings and a funny selection of businesses; two real estate offices, an “antique” store (I think that west of the Mississippi Antique store means junk shop.) a Dairy Freeze (that incorporated none of the bright colors or flashy logos of your typical soft serve store) and two Cafes. One that was an espresso type coffee shop and one that was a lunch counter type coffee shop. One old man sat at the counter in the latter. It was very picturesque.
On the walk back the wind, which earlier had been gusty and pleasant, had died down. In the far distance rose the mountains like a wall and the sky behind those to the south west glowed orange red with the setting sun. The sky to the west northwest was streaked with dark sheets of rain and billowy grey clouds rose from them. I stopped in and got some taco bell and the rain picked up just as I reached the truck.
When last I left you I think I was in Del Rio, Texas. The rest of that drive, to Calexico, was fine. In west texas I found a road through the Davis Mountains connecting US-90 at Alpine to I-10 at Kent. This drive was magnificent although at one point, just past the McDonald Observatory, the road narrowed to a two lane no shoulder road through the pale green grass of West Texas. 
This made me a bit nervous but the load was a light one and the day was fine.
I spent the night in Willcox, Arizona. Throughout a long walk from the truck stop into the town and back I found nothing of any interest. Low small houses with pale roofs seemed well suited to the heat. A woman called to her son for dinner. He was riding bikes with a boy in the driveway across the street. A retarded seeming man lurched down the sidewalk ignoring me as we passed each other.
A girl leaned out the drive through window of the Dairy Queen, glowing in the black night, talking to boys in a blue Honda. It was a pleasant night. It does cool off nicely in the desert once the sun goes down.
I awoke early and drove to Calexico. I think that Imperial County California may well be the most bizarre county in the country. Much of it is below sea level. It is hotter than hell in the height of summer, there are many hyper-saline lakes the largest of which is the Salton Sea. Much of the land, despite the extreme aridity of the region, is under intensive agriculture made possible by canals that cross everywhere. Great concrete ditches flowing with blue water. On the eastern end the Colorado, the source of all this redirected water, cuts through all this desert lush grasses lining its banks. It brings to mind the cradle of civilization and baby Moses in a basket.
I dropped the load in the dusty drop lot at the north end of Calexico and was given a short load. They needed someone to go to Calexico east (the truck border crossing that is the home to (like Laredo) a lot of freight forwarding warehouses) to pick up a load and drop it at the Calexico lot. The problem, however, was that I needed an empty trailer and the closest one was in Blythe. Blythe is only about 105 miles from Calexico. The route, up California route 78 was a windy two lane road that crosses perhaps what makes Imperial County really super weird, the Algodones Dunes (sometimes also called The Imperial Sand Dunes.) These are these incredible dunes that are my childhood idea of a desert. Deep undulating hills of perfect soft sand, no trees, no shrubs, no grass no nothing, just sand.
The dunes are called an erg, an Arabic term that implies a completely vegetation free, active (migrating) field of sand. These are the only such dunes in North America. And what do you think human beings do when they encounter something so unique, so other worldly, so undeniably beautiful? They make it the premier place in North America to ride around on ATVs and Dune Buggies. They set up rvs and camp out when they aren’t tearing over the hills.
Its really so fucking awesome.
I picked up the trailer from Blythe ad then headed back to Calexico having run out of hours completely so that after I was loaded I could only drive around the corner to a small truck stop that was full of trucks that were clearly just parked they owners elsewhere, at home in Calexico perhaps. I hate these kind of truck stops. I feel like I am breaking some kind of rule by staying here. And what the fuck. There are supposed to be people around.
For my walk this evening I thought I had the perfect thing. I was about a mile from Mexico and how fun would it be to take a little international evening stroll. But of all the places in America for walking, the Mexican border must be the least pleasant.
I took my passport and headed down the side of the highway toward mexico. A big road with fences all over the place eventually there is a clear path for pedestrians that want to cross into Mexico and so I took it.
The walk is parallel to and separated from the highway by a jersey divider and curves up and over an irrigation canal and into Mexico. On the bridge I came across two guys sitting down against the divider looking suspicious in that smoking pot sort of way.
In Mexico everything was pretty much the same except perhaps a little shabbier and in Spanish. I walked right on in. There was no apparent place for me to go as a pedestrian entering the country and the two customs and immigration guys who were checking with people in cars definitely saw me and definitely didn’t care. Once I was past that I could see that there wasn’t a whole lot going on here. Earlier I had talked to the guy at the warehouse about Mexicali and he said it was a great place, a city of 600,000, the capital of Baja Norte. Lots of bars and women. But that was the part of the city further west. Here, at the east border crossing there was nothing so I walked cross the south bound lanes and then across the very crowded north bound lanes.
I can’t figure out why there were so many people coming into the USA. Most of the cars had Baja Norte plates but the line was backed up a good ½ mile. There was no line on the southbound lanes. I think it is just that the US people are so over cautious and or inefficient. Amidst the traffic headed north were poor people, many of whom looked to have a good deal of Aztec blood, hawking things like hats or candy or these cakes that were reddish, I think they were food but I couldn’t really tell. or just panhandling. One woman siting down against the barrier was breast feeding her baby, two young girls milled around trying to help their parents with something. Some people just waited for something. I don’t know what.
I walked up to the large and soaring US Customs and Immigraton Building. The front was all glass and inside it looked like an airport with desks and baggage x-rays but no one was there. I tried the door, locked. I tried the other 4 doors, all locked. I looked at the traffic. I wasn’t going to wade through the car booths to get back into the US. What was I supposed to do? There was nothing, no sign, in Spanish or English, with any sort of directions whatsoever. I stifled within myself the slight urge to panic. I did not want to stay in Mexico. I figured I would just go back the way I came. I walked south, through the traffic across the traffic and then back up the ramp over the irrigation canal and along the road and into the US.
I figured that was all there was to it and I ambled along making calls on my phone (which would not work in Mexico) and sending a text or two. All of a sudden, apparently out of nowhere was a man with a dog.
“Where are you coming from sir?”
“back that way” I said nonchalantly pointing towards Mexico.
“You can’t come this way, you have to go through immigration on the other side”
“Yeah, I figured. That’s the way I came before and all the doors were locked and no one was there.”
“Yes, that’s right you have to go through that building.”
“Yeah but the door was locked and no one was there.”
“Its open.”
“No I was just there, look I have my passport and everything can I just keep walking?”
“No Sir, you have to go through immigration just like everyone else [whitey]”
“Look I’m not trying to cause a problem I just want to make sure I know what I am doing so I don’t walk all the way back there and no one is there again.” By this point I was about 5 miles into a what i intended to be a three mile walk. I had not brought any water and the relative humidity was hanging in the low teens at best. The sun was almost gone.
“Sir, either you go over there yourself or we arrest you and take you over there.”
I thought about this, I wouldn’t have minded being driven.
“No, no I don’t want to get arrested.” I walked back. Over the bridge across the traffic through the poor people and to the building which this time, miraculously, was filled with people. A group of middle school football players from Yuma who had apparently been playing a game in Mexicali or getting some kind of group brothel discount.
I passed through customs with no problem and walked, finally, back to the truck.
This morning I took that load to the drop lot in Mexicali and then headed through the pale blue morning light to San Diego to pick up a load of one or a combination of the following: Audio or VHS Cassettes, CDs, DVDs, or batteries made by Maxell in, I would guess, Mexico. I drove up through San Diego, a pretty city, and through the hinterlands that separate the San Diego metro from the eastern LA metro. And then up and over Cajon Pass and into the Mojave, that great sprawling empty drive between LA and Las Vegas. The hills are so deceptive here because the road is perfectly strait and strait up these gradual hills it goes up and up and up for miles. Joshua trees are so strange. Much too tall and substantial for a desert plant.
After the last hill you come down and into Nevada at Primm, a “town” that consists of three casino/hotels owned by the same company “Terrible’s” and an outlet mall. This is where I stopped for the night. I perused all the casinos, all of them pretty much being the same and that being the same as and casino in Vegas or the Mesquakie Casino in Tama, Iowa or Dover Downs Slots in Delaware. The main difference between here and Vegas is that a beer is only $2.50. I think people go to a casino not because it is fun (because it isn’t, very few people in a casino are having fun) but because it symbolizes the idea of fun, the idea of being “off-duty” being in a place where there are no rules (because a few of the normal rules have been relaxed) and no obligations. It is the same reason I think a lot of people, especially post college, drink. They are trying to capture the idea of fun with a symbol. “When I am drinking I am not doing anything else, I can not be responsible for things. I have no obligations. I am having fun” Perhaps it is even the same reason people have sex with people they don’t love. They want the idea of love. We are a nation of semiotic zombies.
That being said, I think I had fun in Primm.
It is stormy in Parowan, Utah. I haven’t seen any rain in a while. At home it hasn’t rained in so long my parents are worried their well might be running dry.
Today I awoke and briefly considered the buffet at Whiskey Pete’s and then thought better of it, checked the pressure on my tires and headed north.
One of the tires on the trailer was flat so I stopped at the petro north of Las Vegas and called in to Werner, waiting on hold for 10 minutes before getting authorization to have the people there repair it. While the guy did this he found that the valve stem on another tire was leaking air and in order to get this fixed I had to call in again and wait on hold again only to be told to go ahead and do it. The people in the Petro however said they couldn’t fix it unless Werner called them or they called Werner and Werner hadn’t called them. So again we call in and wait and wait and wait.
Finally the valve stem is replaced and I am off, out of the Las Vegas Valley and across the wide Mojave again and then, in Arizona slipping into a crack in the mountain called the Virgin River Gorge, a spectacular canyon (and apparently some of the most expensive interstate per mile) interstate that takes you up though the canyon before depositing you into the quickly growing region of Southwest Utah. Home to Mormons, fundamentalist, Polygamous and otherwise. St. George and Hurricane and then up further onto the Colorado plateau, cooler temperature and some green finally (The red rocks and the green pines and the blue sky make Utah one of the most wonderfully colorful places, especially when coming from the endlessly taupe Mojave.)
On the plateau you’ll find Cedar City and then Parowan, where there is a truckstop.Parowan is a pleasant enough place. As I walked from the TA on the far side of Interstate 15 I could hear the sounds of a football game behind the enormous high school that seems to be the centerpiece of the town. I also past the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints Seminary. A simple solid greek-ish brick building where I suppose they must train the boys to go out and convert the heathens.
The town had a few nice buildings and a funny selection of businesses; two real estate offices, an “antique” store (I think that west of the Mississippi Antique store means junk shop.) a Dairy Freeze (that incorporated none of the bright colors or flashy logos of your typical soft serve store) and two Cafes. One that was an espresso type coffee shop and one that was a lunch counter type coffee shop. One old man sat at the counter in the latter. It was very picturesque. On the walk back the wind, which earlier had been gusty and pleasant, had died down. In the far distance rose the mountains like a wall and the sky behind those to the south west glowed orange red with the setting sun. The sky to the west northwest was streaked with dark sheets of rain and billowy grey clouds rose from them. I stopped in and got some taco bell and the rain picked up just as I reached the truck.
When last I left you I think I was in Del Rio, Texas. The rest of that drive, to Calexico, was fine. In west texas I found a road through the Davis Mountains connecting US-90 at Alpine to I-10 at Kent. This drive was magnificent although at one point, just past the McDonald Observatory, the road narrowed to a two lane no shoulder road through the pale green grass of West Texas. 
This made me a bit nervous but the load was a light one and the day was fine. I spent the night in Willcox, Arizona. Throughout a long walk from the truck stop into the town and back I found nothing of any interest. Low small houses with pale roofs seemed well suited to the heat. A woman called to her son for dinner. He was riding bikes with a boy in the driveway across the street. A retarded seeming man lurched down the sidewalk ignoring me as we passed each other.
A girl leaned out the drive through window of the Dairy Queen, glowing in the black night, talking to boys in a blue Honda. It was a pleasant night. It does cool off nicely in the desert once the sun goes down. I awoke early and drove to Calexico. I think that Imperial County California may well be the most bizarre county in the country. Much of it is below sea level. It is hotter than hell in the height of summer, there are many hyper-saline lakes the largest of which is the Salton Sea. Much of the land, despite the extreme aridity of the region, is under intensive agriculture made possible by canals that cross everywhere. Great concrete ditches flowing with blue water. On the eastern end the Colorado, the source of all this redirected water, cuts through all this desert lush grasses lining its banks. It brings to mind the cradle of civilization and baby Moses in a basket.
I dropped the load in the dusty drop lot at the north end of Calexico and was given a short load. They needed someone to go to Calexico east (the truck border crossing that is the home to (like Laredo) a lot of freight forwarding warehouses) to pick up a load and drop it at the Calexico lot. The problem, however, was that I needed an empty trailer and the closest one was in Blythe. Blythe is only about 105 miles from Calexico. The route, up California route 78 was a windy two lane road that crosses perhaps what makes Imperial County really super weird, the Algodones Dunes (sometimes also called The Imperial Sand Dunes.) These are these incredible dunes that are my childhood idea of a desert. Deep undulating hills of perfect soft sand, no trees, no shrubs, no grass no nothing, just sand.
The dunes are called an erg, an Arabic term that implies a completely vegetation free, active (migrating) field of sand. These are the only such dunes in North America. And what do you think human beings do when they encounter something so unique, so other worldly, so undeniably beautiful? They make it the premier place in North America to ride around on ATVs and Dune Buggies. They set up rvs and camp out when they aren’t tearing over the hills.
Its really so fucking awesome.
I picked up the trailer from Blythe ad then headed back to Calexico having run out of hours completely so that after I was loaded I could only drive around the corner to a small truck stop that was full of trucks that were clearly just parked they owners elsewhere, at home in Calexico perhaps. I hate these kind of truck stops. I feel like I am breaking some kind of rule by staying here. And what the fuck. There are supposed to be people around.
For my walk this evening I thought I had the perfect thing. I was about a mile from Mexico and how fun would it be to take a little international evening stroll. But of all the places in America for walking, the Mexican border must be the least pleasant.
I took my passport and headed down the side of the highway toward mexico. A big road with fences all over the place eventually there is a clear path for pedestrians that want to cross into Mexico and so I took it.
The walk is parallel to and separated from the highway by a jersey divider and curves up and over an irrigation canal and into Mexico. On the bridge I came across two guys sitting down against the divider looking suspicious in that smoking pot sort of way.
In Mexico everything was pretty much the same except perhaps a little shabbier and in Spanish. I walked right on in. There was no apparent place for me to go as a pedestrian entering the country and the two customs and immigration guys who were checking with people in cars definitely saw me and definitely didn’t care. Once I was past that I could see that there wasn’t a whole lot going on here. Earlier I had talked to the guy at the warehouse about Mexicali and he said it was a great place, a city of 600,000, the capital of Baja Norte. Lots of bars and women. But that was the part of the city further west. Here, at the east border crossing there was nothing so I walked cross the south bound lanes and then across the very crowded north bound lanes.
I can’t figure out why there were so many people coming into the USA. Most of the cars had Baja Norte plates but the line was backed up a good ½ mile. There was no line on the southbound lanes. I think it is just that the US people are so over cautious and or inefficient. Amidst the traffic headed north were poor people, many of whom looked to have a good deal of Aztec blood, hawking things like hats or candy or these cakes that were reddish, I think they were food but I couldn’t really tell. or just panhandling. One woman siting down against the barrier was breast feeding her baby, two young girls milled around trying to help their parents with something. Some people just waited for something. I don’t know what.
I walked up to the large and soaring US Customs and Immigraton Building. The front was all glass and inside it looked like an airport with desks and baggage x-rays but no one was there. I tried the door, locked. I tried the other 4 doors, all locked. I looked at the traffic. I wasn’t going to wade through the car booths to get back into the US. What was I supposed to do? There was nothing, no sign, in Spanish or English, with any sort of directions whatsoever. I stifled within myself the slight urge to panic. I did not want to stay in Mexico. I figured I would just go back the way I came. I walked south, through the traffic across the traffic and then back up the ramp over the irrigation canal and along the road and into the US.
I figured that was all there was to it and I ambled along making calls on my phone (which would not work in Mexico) and sending a text or two. All of a sudden, apparently out of nowhere was a man with a dog.
“Where are you coming from sir?”
“back that way” I said nonchalantly pointing towards Mexico.
“You can’t come this way, you have to go through immigration on the other side”
“Yeah, I figured. That’s the way I came before and all the doors were locked and no one was there.”
“Yes, that’s right you have to go through that building.”
“Yeah but the door was locked and no one was there.”
“Its open.”
“No I was just there, look I have my passport and everything can I just keep walking?”
“No Sir, you have to go through immigration just like everyone else [whitey]”
“Look I’m not trying to cause a problem I just want to make sure I know what I am doing so I don’t walk all the way back there and no one is there again.” By this point I was about 5 miles into a what i intended to be a three mile walk. I had not brought any water and the relative humidity was hanging in the low teens at best. The sun was almost gone.
“Sir, either you go over there yourself or we arrest you and take you over there.”
I thought about this, I wouldn’t have minded being driven.
“No, no I don’t want to get arrested.” I walked back. Over the bridge across the traffic through the poor people and to the building which this time, miraculously, was filled with people. A group of middle school football players from Yuma who had apparently been playing a game in Mexicali or getting some kind of group brothel discount.
I passed through customs with no problem and walked, finally, back to the truck.
This morning I took that load to the drop lot in Mexicali and then headed through the pale blue morning light to San Diego to pick up a load of one or a combination of the following: Audio or VHS Cassettes, CDs, DVDs, or batteries made by Maxell in, I would guess, Mexico. I drove up through San Diego, a pretty city, and through the hinterlands that separate the San Diego metro from the eastern LA metro. And then up and over Cajon Pass and into the Mojave, that great sprawling empty drive between LA and Las Vegas. The hills are so deceptive here because the road is perfectly strait and strait up these gradual hills it goes up and up and up for miles. Joshua trees are so strange. Much too tall and substantial for a desert plant.
After the last hill you come down and into Nevada at Primm, a “town” that consists of three casino/hotels owned by the same company “Terrible’s” and an outlet mall. This is where I stopped for the night. I perused all the casinos, all of them pretty much being the same and that being the same as and casino in Vegas or the Mesquakie Casino in Tama, Iowa or Dover Downs Slots in Delaware. The main difference between here and Vegas is that a beer is only $2.50. I think people go to a casino not because it is fun (because it isn’t, very few people in a casino are having fun) but because it symbolizes the idea of fun, the idea of being “off-duty” being in a place where there are no rules (because a few of the normal rules have been relaxed) and no obligations. It is the same reason I think a lot of people, especially post college, drink. They are trying to capture the idea of fun with a symbol. “When I am drinking I am not doing anything else, I can not be responsible for things. I have no obligations. I am having fun” Perhaps it is even the same reason people have sex with people they don’t love. They want the idea of love. We are a nation of semiotic zombies.
That being said, I think I had fun in Primm.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Del Rio
Now I find myself in Del Rio en route to Calexico I am pretty much following the border the whole way which is fun because I once came up with an idea for a roadtrip that follwed the roads closest to the coasts or the borders all the way around the US. These roads were some of them. It is also nice not to be on the interstate because the walking is better.
Tonight as I walked around Del Rio and did a bit of shopping at the HEB (a grocery store that I choose to beleive is very subtily antisemitic) I got a feeling for a border town than I have not before. it felt like a real town. there were so many families. 
Everyone was hispanic, i felt very much a minority but at the same time completely comfortable. It was a nice night, perhaps a bit hot but I suppose that is just the way it is. It woul dbe like going to Alaska and expecting it to be pleasantly warm. I bought some chips and salsa made by a company called Julio's from San Angelo that were inexplicably good, inexplicably until I found that msg was an ingredient in both of them. I also bought a bomber of Shiner Bock. the texas answer to Leinenkugels or Yuengling that is inexpensive and tasty enough but certainly bears almost no resemblance to the bock style. I am watching tv now but there are no stations that are not in Spanish or dubbed in spanish (earlier was malcolm in the middle) so i am not really getting anything out of it. I really ought to learn spanish. Maybe I should get some tapes. But when will I find the time.
The show I am watching now has been, for the last 20 minutes or so, people working out and conversing inwhat I assume must be a slightly humourous way, but strained because they are all working out so hard.
I'm tired. Tomorrow to New Mexico (or maybe Arizona if I am snappy about it. and then California and then, hopefully, we'll be on our way back.
buenos noches amigos.
My Butterfly collection from a drive through South Texas.
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