OldTroubador's Blog - page 12

I have been remiss by not writing these words lately.
I am blessed for having each of you as a friend. I am thankful for your friendship. Your words and thoughts touch me deeply, more than you can imagine. I thank each of you.
Have a good night. God Bless.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, it is that time when I recap the run I just finished.
There really is not all that much to talk about - it was a fairly non-eventful run. I did not get to meet any NN'ers this trip, much to my dismay. I did pass through the hometowns of many, but could not stop as my schedule would not allow the extra time; I did wave and yell "HOWDY" as I rolled through though. There were no doctor's visits this time, thankfully. The weather, for the most part, was cooperative as I watched the transition from summer to autumn throughout the areas I ran in. Warm days and cool, clear evenings made for some great travelling weather, as did seeing all the colors of the changing leaves. I did hit a few snow showers in Illinois, Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, and West Virginia. The only place I saw snow sticking to the ground was in the area of Flat Top, WV; the snow was sticking, but you could still see the grass showing through. West Virginia has also started salting their roads, which made for the interesting problem of washing squashed bugs and road salt off the windshields. Frankly, I could do without either.
May we have the results please?
Run Started: 25 September 2013
Run Ended: 1 November 2013
Run Length: 38 days
Full Days Off: 0
Total Miles: 16,257
Miles per Day: 428 (average)
Most Miles in One Day: 636
Least Miles in One Day: 211
If the run seems shorter this time, it is. My daughter has her Christmas dance on 6 December 2013. If I had stayed out until then, the run would have been ten weeks and that is a little much, even for me. So I split the run into a five-and-a-half week segment and the next will be a four week segment. And then, just like last year, I will be running over Thanksgiving and the Christmas season, probably until the end of January, her birthday.
My travels were again pretty much confined to a couple of regions, with most being run in the Midwest, again. I did get to run along the Gulf Coast for a few days though, and a bit through the Mid-Atlantic region. My travels went from New Braunfels, TX to Loxley, AL, Maxton, NC to Denver, PA and across the north from Berwick, PA to Mayville, WI to St. Paul, MN. After doing some work tomorrow in the Houston, TX area, I will head to my home truck stop in Orange, TX for a few days off of relaxing, laundry, and of course, seeing my little girl. Then it will be time to become a road warrior again, on the never ending quest for truth, justice, and the perfect chicken fried steak.
Rolling wheels and shifting gears and rolling on like thunder on a highway near you.

Growing up with my parents, musicals were one of the favorite types of movies we watched (and John Wayne and Abbot & Costello, but they are not important here). Gene Kelly, Astaire and Rogers, and many others. This is a clip from one of my favorites, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. The energy and athleticism in this is just remarkable.

Mary Chapin Carpenter

Mel McDaniel

I'm a late entry to this challenge. And I cheated - I'm posting 5 photos. Couldn't tell the story otherwise. Here is my nautical themed entry, with my own special twist.

I'm your captain


Two Ships that pass in the night


Swallowed by a sea of darkness


Amber waves of grain


Home is the sailor, home from the sea
And the hunter, home from the hills


Be sure to visit all the other entrants:
guitartxn, Northern Star, KaioticEvil, rockhard6isback, d_licious_d, her1996, thelone_ranger, Dreamingof_U, Cock4fitcplfukn, bushofire, free2bladyV, sidders73, iblol, Jedimasterbater,
FiFi72uk, tight_wet_lips

For Rebecca and all those who have left us far too soon.

It is that time again folks!!!
This has been the first full run for the Freebird III. And I do have to say that, after a short learning curve for both of us, she is at least as good as the Freebird II. She has a little more power and a little more speed. She learned a lot about running the hills in the Smokies. She handles well and is very comfortable. She also responds well to classic rock, especially the southern variety. I think I will keep her around for a while.
This was also a better run for me, in terms of territory covered and variety of states. I roamed from Laredo, TX to Ottumwa, IA to Scranton, PA to Norfolk, VA to Elkland, FL. I moved around more this time than last, crisscrossing the country; I wasn’t stuck just in the Midwest.
I missed connections with Mr. Cover; also, I didn’t get far enough south in Florida to see Claire Monroe, for those who remember her or Florida Hot Bunny. I did get to meet TexAngel though the other night and had a thoroughly delightful time with one of the sweetest ladies here. And once again, I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon and evening with my parents and sister and her family.
Just like last time, I again had three days off. Those who know me well know that I like to keep the Freebird flying as much as possible, every day if I can. However, out of necessity, I had to take some time off. One day was so that I could pick up my new glasses; it is a treat being able to read road signs BEFORE I reach an intersection. I also had to take two days off for a few doctors’ visits. After some tests and an ultrasound, it was determined that I actually do have a few brain cells left; they are located in a small group near my left ear. Thankful of that fact, I again hit the road running.
There was one scary moment. One day as I was driving south on I95, about thirty miles north of Washington, DC, the highway in front of me erupted in a wall of tire smoke and cars sliding around. By the time I came to a stop, I was no more than a few hundred yards back of the accident. Those who know that area will understand the next statement. It took me about ten minutes just to travel to the scene because of the sheer volume of cars and trucks in that quarter mile or so. Anyway, as I neared the scene, the first thing I noticed was a tractor trailer with four blown tires from having locked down hard on the brakes. Edging forward, I saw a Japanese motorcycle laying on its side just in front of the truck. Coming around to the front of all this, I did see the rider sitting on the guardrail across the highway; he had his helmet in his hand and was wearing full leathers. Whew!!! The bike was laying on the ground within four feet of the front bumper of the truck. It could have been so much worse. It also brought to mind two other accidents that I saw – at least the aftermath of them – and shook me up real bad.
The last couple of weeks have been pretty trying for me. There have been a few problems with work, coming from the front office and then there is the impact of the news from Pennsylvania. So my emotions have been swinging pretty hard from happiness to anger to sorrow and back again. I will say, it has been a wild ride. Thankfully, the wonderful people I know here have helped tremendously. I wish I could take the time to thank each of you personally; I hope you all will settle for a group Thank You!!!
And now, the numbers please.
Run Started – 24 July 2013
Run Ended – 21 September 2013
Run Length – 60 days
Full Days Off – 3
Total Miles – 23,265*
Miles per Day – 408 (average)
Most Miles in One Day – 596*
Least Miles in One Day – 115
The two asterisks are because I am estimating 765 miles from Rolla, MO, where I am now, to Houston, TX. I am due at a truck stop in Huntsville, TX tomorrow night but there was another glitch in the system. I am in Rolla tonight and will switch trailers with another driver sometime tomorrow morning. He will take the load I have now up to Joliet, IL and I will take his to Texas. I will drive straight through to our Houston drop yard so that I can be in Huntsville no later than 10 am on Saturday. This last run will also affect my “most miles in one day” statistic. And for those doing the math, it will probably be about a 13.5 – 14 hour run. Luckily, I will have a few days off to let my log book catch up to me. Yeah baby, this is old school trucking here.
The reason for the hustle is that my daughter is a cheerleader for her church’s football team in a youth church football league. She will be cheering in Huntsville on Saturday morning and I AM going to be there. Then we are going camping for a couple days in the Huntsville area and touring some of the sites there.
Depending on the circumstances, I may or may not be on-line over the weekend. I will be back on the road no earlier than Wednesday morning. By then, I should be rested, the inside of the Freebird cleaned, and laundry done and sorted. Then it will be time to cross state lines like I was drawing a breath. Time to get the diesel burning and the eighteen turning. Time to run wall to wall and ten feet tall. Time to get the Freebird rolling on like thunder.
I hope everyone stays well. And with any luck, you will hear the Freebird call as we soar to the place where the highway meets the sky.

I step outside the truck in central Iowa to enjoy the morning. I am close enough to the delivery so that I don’t have to awaken at some awful hour. It is a clear morning, no clouds at all, and the sun is not yet over the horizon; the sky is bright with pastels. As I stand there with my coffee, a glint catches my eye. An airliner is far enough overhead to catch the Sun’s first rays and glows fluorescent orange in the sky; its short contrail shines fire.
After watching this sight in awe for a few minutes, it was time to get the day started. I was still smiling as I went through my morning routine – I had seen airplanes reflecting the Sun before, but never in such bold color.
My delivery went off without a hitch and I hurried to Ottumwa, the ancestral home of M*A*S*H*’s Radar O’Riley. I was scheduled for an 1130 pickup – this is where things went wrong.
The customer told me I was actually scheduled for an 0200 pickup, that I was fourteen hours early, but they would try to work me into their schedule. As the hours dragged by, and as I was not on the loading dock yet, I watched my list of possible stopping places dwindle. When I was finally called to the dock, and loaded, I had only one place left to go and that would leave me with a lot of driving the next day to make my delivery.
As I left Ottumwa, I was travelling east on a four lane highway that skirted small towns and large farms. And anyone who knows me knows how much I hate the cities and love the open land. As I drove between cornfields and soybeans, all my anger and frustration left me. And I reveled in the beauty that is Iowa. Yes, Iowa.
The hills gently rolled; Iowa is not flat. The hills were not so steep that they bogged down the Freebird as she climbed them either. I roared past woods, over streams, and between hundreds, nay, thousands of square miles of corn and soybeans.
The soybean fields were a deep rich green, attesting to the health of the plants. Stretching out to the horizon, over hill and dale, the fields were an undulating green carpet on the land. Small gusts of wind turned the leaves over, showing the lighter bottom sides, cat’s paws of wind racing across the fields. The effect was like that of watching a breeze cross a lake, causing small wavelets as it advanced. In other places, the wind blew a little stronger and all the leaves were turned over; the fields looked like green velveteen that had been brushed the wrong way.
The corn was planted in orderly rows which zoomed past my window like picket fence posts. The green leaves and stalks were topped with golden hats, the tassels full of pollen. All the corn, all the beans are the same height, giving the land the look of a Marine Corps sergeant’s haircut. The only break in the order was the deeper folds of the earth which had been left fallow to allow for the water run-off from the spring and summer rains. This in unlike Indiana or Illinois, where the land is table flat and the fields flood and are washed away by the torrents of water from overflowing rivers and streams.
The habit in many places is to plant the fields right to the edge of the property lines, but here in Iowa, small hedgerows are left around all the fields. These small but important tidbits of brush provide homes and shelter to the creatures that live off the land, and the creatures that live off them – songbirds, pheasants, ground squirrels, foxes.
It is easy to locate each home site in these wide open spaces. The farmers have left trees up around their houses to provide shade and cooling in the summer and protection from winter’s icy blasts. Oaks and maples tower over simple yet well built houses with neatly tended yards. There is no sign of wrecked or worn out cars or pick-up trucks or appliances here. The yards are all neatly trimmed. These families that tend the land do so with a reverence; their love and respect for that which they are the custodians runs deep.
Small streams course between the fields and under the highway – small cathedrals of green, the trees forming the arches over the aisles made of water heading to an altar unseen. Hosannas are sung by the multitude of birds, rejoicing. A kingfisher dives into the creek, its communion sacrament the small fish it carries off. Ponds large and small dot the landscape too. In this one, a great blue heron stands silently, patiently, waiting for its prey to approach before the serpentine neck darts forward like a rapier to spear the unwilling meal.
Small roads are etched across the land, from the highway back into the low hills, each going to town. A break in the trees allows one to look in that direction, but the town is unseen. Its presence however, is marked by a tall white steeple of the town church. Closing one’s eyes, you can imagine what the town looks like – a single main street where all the commerce takes place. There is the grocery store where the ladies at the checkout know everyone in town and are sincere with their inquiries about the families’ health. The register tape is handed over along with a bag of peppermints or butterscotch candy for the children. Next door is the general store, where all manner of goods can be obtained - hunting and fishing supplies, tools and hardware, clothes, dishes, etc. Down at the end of the street is the farm supply store with its seeds, feeds, and fertilizers. At the other end of town is the tractor dealer – John Deere, New Holland, Massey-Ferguson brands are all represented here. Dozens of small towns, unique in name, yet similar in look.
The sun shines brightly overhead and gleams off the aluminum grain bins that have replaced the brick silos of old. The silos still stand as testament to the old way of life. Tradition and respect for what has gone before is a way of life for these people. Old wooden barns stand next to pole barns and large metal sheds. Driving past a side road, there stands an old one or two room schoolhouse, its walls weathered but still standing, the bell tower on top looking sound enough to call the children even now to their lessons.
The roadway is lined with grass and wildflowers – lavender blue cornflowers, white Queen Anne’s lace, yellow buttercups color the highway. Small birds feed on the grass seeds shed there, flying away as vehicles approach, looking like feathered bow wakes of boats. Mourning doves dart recklessly hither and yon and red winged blackbirds flutter momentarily before alighting in the tall grass to either ride the tops of the reeds or disappear in the enfolding stalks. A red-shinned hawk glides precipitously from a nearby treetop, its wings cupped, shifting to alter its course as it descends upon an unsuspecting creature. At the last moment, the wings fold and it plummets, spearing its meal to the ground. A quick glance at its talons to make sure that its aim was true and then it stands tall, head erect, chest out, rightly proud of its accomplishment.
The sun is lower in the sky and shifts a little as the road curves and winds its path to the east. The shadow of my truck races me in the tall grass, sometimes ahead, sometimes lagging. It is a race without a victor, for we both will arrive in a dead heat before the day is done. At one point, the sun beams directly through my side window and I can see my shadow in the grass; I raise my coffee mug in salute to my doppelganger and he returns the greeting.
Off to the southeast, dark clouds build against the blue sky. They are tall, gray, ominous. They stand almost black, their edges marked with purple. They pose no threat to me as I will be moving to the north soon, but yet they capture the eye, standing like a villain edging around a tree, waiting to pounce on the unwary. Another storm is building over my left shoulder, still white as the sun burns through the gathering water vapor. It rises quickly, the familiar anvil head shape forming, a man of war sailing across the sea of sky. As I continue to watch, the storms to the southeast begin to flicker, the convective energy stored in them transformed into electrical explosions across the sky. I turn to the north, hurrying now, as the warship storm that has trailed me closes in. I am directly in its path, trying to make safe harbor before its fury is unleashed. I arrive at my truck stop in time to watch the storm begin to fire in the near distance; possibly it is angry that the puny merchant vessel has reached safety before it could bring all its power to bear.
From factory to field, warehouse to farmhouse, across busy interstates and meandering two lane roads, I have travelled this state. And the effect on me has always been the same. I need no Valium, no transcendental meditation. Just give me Iowa. Yes, Iowa.

It was a Tuesday. I had taken the day off from work to go fishing on the Gulf Coast beach that day. It was a beautiful day in Southeast Texas. The Gulf was flat and calm, the tide coming in. The sun shone bright against the clear sky. The contrails of the passenger jets were the only thing to mar the perfect sky.
I waded for a while, then set up my big poles with cut bait and just sat back with my coffee and watched. I hadn't caught anything, but so what. It was a peaceful day, absent of the pressures of work......and life.
A gentleman was walking the beach and asked if I had heard the news. I said that I had not. He said that NYC and Washington DC were being blown to bits. Hi, lovely weather, New York City and Washington were just eradicated. And he kept on walking.
I dug my phone out of my van and called Dad. He was nearly in tears as he told me what was going on. I quickly asked about my sister, for she was due to fly to Ireland sometime soon. No, she doesn't leave until next week. Thank God for that.
I stayed for a while, but fishing had lost its luster for me. I packed up my gear and decided to go back to the chemical plant I worked at. The portion of the coast I was on is criss-crossed with pipelines bringing in crude oil and natural gas from the off-shore wells. Chemical plants are shoulder to shoulder, many of them connected by other pipelines as the product from one is piped to another to make additional petrochemicals. As I drove from the area to my plant, numerous black sedans and SUV's with blacked out windows sped past, blocking plant entrances and pipeline crossings. I was allowed to enter the plant I worked at and sat with my co-workers, listening to the radio reports in stunned silence.
We all left that evening, went to our homes, hugged our families, and watched in horror as the events of the day unfolded. We watched as emergency personnel rushed to the disaster to assist with the rescue, only to be counted among the casualties. We sat opened mouthed as we watched people fall from the towers as they fell. We learned of the heroism of the passengers and flight attendants on Flight 93 who tried to regain control of their aircraft, only to have it plunge to the ground in Stoneycreek Township, PA, outside Shanksville. And we watched the Pentagon burn.
Today is a day to mourn the losses we suffered that day, but also to honor the men and women of the emergency responders who thought not of their own safety, but instead risked, and sometimes sacrificed, their lives so that others might live. It is a day to remember those who lost loved ones in the attacks. It is a day to remember that we are Americans first and hyphens, not at all.
Many thanks to all that have written today about their thoughts, feelings, and memories of this most horrific day.