Spirit of the Road

by Rick L. Huffman

  Week 26: Dispatcher Bob

  We (Kitty and I) left on Friday since I took my restart in the middle of the week. We set out for Gadsden, Alabama to pick up our first load.

  Gadsden boasts one of the biggest comeback stories in the nation. After the civil rights movement and the closing of most of the city’s major industries in the 1970’s and 80’s, Gadsden was listed in a 1989 Rand McNally article as one of the "Seven Worst Cities to live in the United States." Spurred to action by these reports, redevelopment efforts earned Gadsden first place in the 2000 City Livability Awards Program.[26] Gadsden is also home to Judge Roy Moore. The "Praying Judge" made national headlines for his refusal to remove a monument of the Ten Commandments from the state courthouse while he was the elected Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Alabama.

  The directions to the shipper in Gadsden were a bit confusing, and I became sidetracked. Fortunately, I called the shipper and the man I spoke with was very helpful in providing verbal instructions. We picked up a load of metal coils in Gadsden that were going to Homerville, Georgia. These directions were also sketchy so I called Tony, Brian’s former trainee, to ask if he had ever been there before. He said that he had, and he gave me better directions that turned out to be on the money. From Homerville, we went to High Springs, Florida for a load that was going to Dacula, Georgia.

  Dacula began its history near the community of Chinquapin Grove.[27] Dacula has experienced immense growth over the past two decades, and many long-time Dacula residents say that they miss their “small one-light town.”

  I was fortunate to make it to the customer just in time because, if I hadn’t, we would have been stuck in Dacula until Monday morning. Instead, we picked up another load in McDonough, Georgia that was going to Dunedin, Florida.

  Getting to the customer in Dunedin was a challenge because we were forced to look for it in the midst of a violent rainstorm. Driving in an unfamiliar city during a torrential downpour is always a unique experience. When the rain eventually subsided, I found Dunedin to be striking in comparison to many other Florida cities for its absence of commercial signs and corporate franchise restaurants. Dunedin also lays claim to being the place where frozen orange juice concentrate originated. [28]

  Before departing Dunedin, I received a message from the company’s Safety Department indicating that I would be required to attend a defensive driver’s class in Knoxville because of the incident in Jacksonville. This made my day! After that, I got another series of three eighty-eight mile runs between High Springs and Jacksonville—another Trifecta from Hell. This day just kept getting better!

  Upon completion of my second Trifecta, I was seriously considering the merits of switching to the National fleet. It offered a three-cent per mile pay increase along with more miles than I was getting on this Coke fleet. It also came with the added bonus of no longer working with Dispatcher Bob. He and I had never been on the same page in regard to our working relationship, and it was growing tiresome to constantly argue with him. I was not the only one who was having problems with Dispatcher Bob. Tony indicated that he was also considering changing fleets. The National fleet was unquestionably starting to gain appeal.

  We set out for Clinton, Tennessee after the Trifecta. Clinton’s original name was Burrville in honor of Aaron Burr, the Vice-President under Thomas Jefferson. Burrville was renamed because of the disgrace of the Burr-Hamilton duel that resulted in the death of Alexander Hamilton.[29] The name Clinton was probably selected because George Clinton was one of Burr’s political rivals. Along with Hamilton, George Clinton helped to destroy Burr’s bid for the governorship of New York.[30]

  Kitty and I spent the night in Clinton and prepared to pick up a load in Atlanta in the morning before going home for the weekend. Kitty now recognized the word “home.” She meowed more furiously when I asked, “Do you want to go home?”

  My decision to switch to the National fleet was not yet etched in granite, but the hammer and chisel were definitely in my sight.

  Week 27: "Shagged" again!

  We went all the way from Scottsboro to Orlando on Sunday night. That was not my original intention, but we left later than planned and it was the only option to make the delivery on time.

  I got irritated when the security guard in Orlando told me I would have to wait a long time to be unloaded. My irritation, as it turned out, was unfounded as I was one of the first to receive a dock assignment. I’d had a lot of trouble with this dock last time but, this time, I nailed it on the first attempt. The Florida heat was relentless, so I was content to sit in my air-conditioned truck the entire time.

  Afterward, we got another series of loads from High Springs to Jacksonville and back. I could not believe that Dispatcher Bob assigned me a third Trifecta from Hell. I cannot say for certain, but this might have been when I decided to switch to the National fleet. To make matters worse, a forklift driver in Jacksonville accused me of hitting the fence the last time I was there or as he referred to it, “My fence.” I knew darned well that I had not hit the fence, so I asked him to show me the damage and let me speak to the person who allegedly saw me do it.

  “My fence has already been fixed,” he replied.

  He conveniently dodged my second request but persisted with his accusation. In so many words, I conveyed to him that he either needed to make a formal complaint to my company or shut his damned mouth! Otherwise, I intended to complain to his supervisor. After an exchange of more choice words, I brushed him off with a hearty harrumph and returned to my truck. I never heard anything more about the matter.

  We sat in Jacksonville all night because the customer refused delivery until the next morning, even though I arrived on time. Dispatcher Bob told me that I would receive thirteen and a half hours detention pay, but I never got it. After this third Trifecta; dealing with the my fence guy, and needlessly sitting idle, I made a firm decision to put in a request to switch to the National fleet.

  Next morning, we picked up another load in High Springs and delivered to the Coke plant in Knoxville. I headed toward home after delivery, but Dispatcher Bob nailed me with a shag run from Knoxville to Vonore, Tennessee. In trucking vernacular, "shag" is not a pleasurable experience. It is a very short trip for which the company pays an additional stipend; an amount that is almost always too small to warrant the time, trouble, and aggravation of the shag. This one, however, went smoothly and I actually received my extra pay for this one…unlike the last time.

  I was happy to get home after this troublesome week. I called Dick, my terminal manager, and formally requested to switch to the National fleet.

  Week 28: Here Kitty, Kitty

  We left on Monday because I had to go to the Defensive Driver’s class in Knoxville due to my mishap in Jacksonville. This would set me up for a crappy paycheck this week.

  I had a frightening moment on the way to Knoxville as I was pulling my empty trailer up a hill in the pouring rain. As I felt the trailer begin to fishtail, a leaden feeling emerged in the pit of my stomach. Thankfully, I managed to accelerate and stabilize it before it went out of control, but the terrifying experience caused my butt cheeks to clamp together so tight they could have bent a quarter. It drove home the point that it was more dangerous to pull an empty trailer than a loaded one—especially in the rain. An empty trailer is also more likely to be blown over in high winds. This is usually not a concern until a driver actually feels his truck violently rocking to and fro in the midst of gale force winds.

  There was nowhere to park at the small Knoxville terminal, so I dropped my trailer at a nearby truck stop. I was lucky to find a spot as it was filling up rapidly when we arrived.

  I left my truck in the terminal shop for service and repair while I was in class the following day. I hated to leave Kitty in the truck in her portable carry-kennel all day, but I had little choice.

  There were many other drivers attending the DDC class. One driver was there because of failing to hook up to his trailer correctly and then driving o
ut from beneath it. I am sure it was a lonely day in his mind when he heard the sickening thud. Everyone here shared at least one thing in common: we had all, in varying degrees of severity, screwed up. My faux pas, I would later learn, was comparatively minor to many.

  DDC class was a snooze fest. They gave us our driving test in a mini-van, which I found to be laughable. On a positive note, they treated us to an excellent lunch at the Texas Roadhouse in Knoxville. It wouldn’t compensate for the inevitable crappy paycheck, but I appreciated getting a meal at a decent place.

  When I got back from class, Kitty’s kennel was not in the truck and she was nowhere to be found. I enlisted the help of a shop mechanic to determine her whereabouts. Someone had moved her kennel inside to the air-conditioned office area. Had I known this were an option, I would have pursued it myself. I was glad that someone took the initiative to move her inside, but a note would have spared me some undue stress. This would have prevented the necessity of a half-hour Kitty quest.

  We finally got back on the road on Wednesday with a load going to the Coke plant with hellishly tight docks in Charlotte, North Carolina. After several attempts, I succeeded in contacting my terminal manager to confirm my request to switch to the National fleet. He was evasive at first, but I gained my confirmation after threatening to quit. It was official now; I would be going to the National fleet in one week.

  I told Dispatcher Bob that I would run this weekend because of the two days I’d spent in DDC class. Therefore, after delivery in Charlotte, I expected to get a weekend run. Instead, Dispatcher Bob sent me a load that delivered to Jacksonville on Monday morning. Thinking there was no weekend freight available, I picked up the load in Atlanta and then headed toward home. Upon arriving in Scottsboro, the Qualcomm beeped. It was Dispatcher Bob with a belated query as to whether I wanted to drop this load in High Springs and then pick up another one. I told him I was already home, and I would deliver on Monday as per the load assignment. The Qualcomm then beeped with another message from Dispatcher Bob, but I ignored it. Then, I called Brian to tell him about the latest Dispatcher Bob-ism. Brian said that he would have told Dispatcher Bob, flat out, to kiss his ass.

  Week 29: Goodbye Dispatcher Bob

  We begrudgingly left on Sunday to go to Jacksonville. It is always hard to hit the road again after a brief time at home, but it’s not so bad once we’re out. Kitty and I spent the night at the Florida Welcome Center on I-75, and I rejoiced in the knowledge that this was my last week with Dispatcher Bob.

  Next morning, we waited forever to be unloaded in Jacksonville. Dispatcher Bob had pre-planned me on a load to Boynton Beach, Florida, but it would have been a challenge even if we had been emptied immediately—and we weren’t. Dispatcher Bob had a propensity for scheduling impossibly tight pre-plans. Then, he’d blame it on the driver when it didn’t get there on time. This was among the many reasons I was leaving Dispatcher Bob’s fleet.

  I managed to dismiss myself from the Boynton Beach run when Dispatcher Bob reluctantly accepted the mathematical impossibility of it. We went to Bama Budweiser in Anniston, Alabama instead. We spent the night at a ridiculously packed TA in Baldwin, Florida. I had planned on getting a shower, but the mass of humanity inspired me to settle for a bird bath.

  I weighed my beer load the next morning and then went across the road to the Pilot for fuel. The morning started on a sour note when I discovered that the left fuel pump was broken. I had to drive through the fuel island twice to fill both tanks. The clerk, at least, gave me a free cup of coffee for my trouble.

  We made it to Tallapoosa, Georgia for the evening where I had dinner at the Huddle House next to the truck stop and struck up a conversation with a waitress. I am generally reserved around strangers but, after spending hours alone on the road, I sometimes surprise myself by getting chatty with anyone who will listen. Kitty is a good listener, but it is nice to occasionally talk to a being with a more sophisticated vocabulary than “Meow.”

  I quickly forgot the enjoyment of my meal and conversation as I walked across the truck stop parking lot afterward. Although I liked this Tallapoosa truck stop because of the ample parking space, the olfactory bouquet wafting across the lot on this night was akin to raw sewage. This theme tends to repeat itself consistently at this particular truck stop. I put Tiger Balm on my arches before bed, and its pungent odor helped to drown out the disgusting smell.

  There was no one at the customer when we arrived in Anniston the next morning, and I fiercely needed to relieve myself. I did my best to wait until someone came, but circumstances forced me to find a wooded area and take care of business. Having toilet paper on board the truck is sometimes just as crucial as having fuel.

  After Anniston, we picked up another load in Chattanooga to deliver, once again, to the horribly small-docked Coke plant in Charlotte. I called Dick to confirm that everything was set for me to switch to the National fleet on Monday.

  Our final duty for the Coke fleet sent us to Newnan, Georgia. I cannot recall the name of the North Carolina town where we picked up the load, but it was in the midst of the Green River Gorge.

  The remote Green River Gorge is a rugged landscape of steep ravines, coves, and a mixed hardwood forest that also offers an impressive array of whitewater rapids. At one point, the Green River drops four hundred feet in a distance of one and a half miles and runs through a six-foot wide crevice known as the Narrows. The 225-foot high bridge across the Gorge on I-26 is the highest in North Carolina, and one of the largest in the United States.[31]

  I ran as hard as I could to get to Newnan before I was out of hours only to discover that the customer would not accept delivery until after midnight. I was tempted to go and try a club sandwich at Newnan’s Redneck Corner Café while I waited. The Redneck Café makes claim to an array of hot sauces “so ferocious they come with an eyedropper.”

  I had one last fight with Dispatcher Bob, as he wanted to run me over the weekend instead of sending me home. I told him there were many reasons I needed to go home before switching to the National fleet, not the least of which was that I did not wish to start out with limited hours to work. After playing phone tag with Dick and Dispatcher Bob for about an hour, I finally got my way. I have found that keeping a level head and arguing with calm logic without lapsing into a "redneck rampage" frequently gets me what I’m asking for if it is within reason.

  I called Brian from Newnan and told him that I was now making my last delivery for the Coke fleet. He was glad I was getting out from beneath the thumb of Dispatcher Bob. Tony had also made it official that he would be leaving the Coke fleet. Rumors were floating around that the arbitrary reign of Dispatcher Bob might be winding down to an end.

  I was excited to be going to the National fleet but, despite everything, I was glad to have gotten some experience with the Coke fleet first.

  Week 30: A Kansas Moon

  I greeted my first day on the National fleet with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I had to do two short shag runs between plants in Scottsboro before picking up my load in Florence, Alabama. This put me behind schedule right out of the starting gate. The first load delivered to Tiffin, Ohio the next day, so I was forced to run later than I prefer in order to make the delivery appointment. I ran until 10pm and spent the night at the Kentucky Welcome Center on I-65.

  The next day was not fun. It rained all day, and a serious accident in Dayton promised to shut down the interstate for hours. Information from the CB radio said that a big truck was hanging from an overpass. In an effort to avoid this mess, I took an exit ramp in Dayton. I had no clue where I was going as I frantically tried to read my map on the move while praying for a lengthy red light. It came as no surprise to see a green light at every intersection. Fortunately, I guessed correctly and found my way out of Dayton to resume my rainy trek. Kitty and I made it to Tiffin with a whole five minutes to spare.

  Author’s Note: I cannot recall, exactly, when I began seeing Truck Driver GPS systems in truck stops but, in early 2006, very
few trucks had a dashboard GPS to assist the driver. Abrupt changes in plans, like the one mentioned above, were usually a seat-of-the-pants operation if the territory was unfamiliar. Fortunately, very few trucks nowadays do NOT have dashboard GPS devices. While they aren’t perfect, and they are no replacement for common sense, I can personally attest that they certainly help out in a pinch.

  Tiffin is a small Ohio town with an interesting history. Located between Columbus and Toledo, Tiffin’s St. Paul’s Methodist Church was the first church in the world to be lit by Thomas Edison’s light bulb.[32] When Edison heard about the progressive move of incorporating electrical service by the people of Tiffin, he presented the church with a beautiful brass chandelier, which still lights the church today.

  An epiphanic light bulb, however, did not appear above my head as I approached the dock of my Tiffin customer. The dock lay at an awkward angle, and the rain had transformed the docking area into a swampy mire. There were no visible landmarks on the ground to use to align the trailer, and the relentless downpour exacerbated the situation further. I thought I would never get the truck to the dock straight, and I lost my cool in the form of a personal tirade after many failed attempts. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally docked at an acceptable angle.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” consoled the forklift driver, “I’ve seen guys who’ve been driving for twenty years have trouble with that dock.”

  I appreciated his attempt, but it actually didn’t make me feel any better.

  After the debacle at the customer, I was exhausted. I pulled into an empty supermarket parking lot to spend the night. Shortly after parking, another trucker pulled in to ask directions. Thanks to the recent addition of Streets and Trips software to my toolkit of the road, I was able to help him. Supplemental mapping software was a godsend. It was definitely cutting down on my helpless calls to customers and shippers after receiving faulty directions from the company.