Twin clouds of diesel smoke, from a large Kenworth, in the sunset. Probably a Cat. Pulling an empty flat bed to an unknown location, That driver was off to the west, or the east, or the north or south.
When you drive, there is a certain romance about the sound of the engine, the weight of the load, and your destination. You may fear the mountains of the west and east, you may fear the cold of the north or the heat and humidity of the southeast.
You may find solace and poetry in the southwest.
And you may find yourself with a student driver or two that take you on some pretty wild rides. These are my stories - take from them what you will. Be assured that the life of the long haul driver is one of a gypsy, and the short haul driver one of the workman.
Stay tuned!
Chapter One - Learning to Drive
In the 1970's, when I learned to drive a "big truck", there was no such thing as a CDL (Commercial Driver's License), or any way of determining whether someone should be allowed behind the wheel of a big truck. The Big Truck I drove had air-brakes and a big diesel engine, and that smell that I loved early in the morning. (Smelled like victory).
After having driven those beasts (non trailer trucks) for about a year, I felt confident that I could take a 40 foot trailer, attached to a tractor, loaded with shredded paper, to the printer that would regurgitate it into explicit adult magazines.
It's an old '70's Mack tractor with a MaxaDyne diesel and a 5 speed transmission. Unless you have driven one, you may not understand how a 5 speed tranny can move 40K lbs of freight plus the trailer and the tractor, and then you are blessed. It didn't do it well. But it got down the stretch of road I needed. And it's a 40 foot trailer, in marginal condition, with 40,000 lbs of scrap paper.
Let me tell you about the first time you drag a really big thing behind you. You focus on the end of the trailer, and the end of the dock where you were parked flows away very quickly. The owners of the company are there to watch your virgin flight, and suddenly you are in traffic. Every incursion into your precious space (you're carrying scrap paper in an old Mack) is the most offensive.
Then you arrive at your destination, after fear and trepidation. Well, hell, they have these docks here too. More fear and trepidation. Because, after all these years of driving "straight" trucks, you need to come up with a way to back your trailer into a space marked with yellow lines and a light that tells you when you've successfully backed in.
My next post will detail those horrifying moments.
Tune in again!
After having driven those beasts (non trailer trucks) for about a year, I felt confident that I could take a 40 foot trailer, attached to a tractor, loaded with shredded paper, to the printer that would regurgitate it into explicit adult magazines.
It's an old '70's Mack tractor with a MaxaDyne diesel and a 5 speed transmission. Unless you have driven one, you may not understand how a 5 speed tranny can move 40K lbs of freight plus the trailer and the tractor, and then you are blessed. It didn't do it well. But it got down the stretch of road I needed. And it's a 40 foot trailer, in marginal condition, with 40,000 lbs of scrap paper.
Let me tell you about the first time you drag a really big thing behind you. You focus on the end of the trailer, and the end of the dock where you were parked flows away very quickly. The owners of the company are there to watch your virgin flight, and suddenly you are in traffic. Every incursion into your precious space (you're carrying scrap paper in an old Mack) is the most offensive.
Then you arrive at your destination, after fear and trepidation. Well, hell, they have these docks here too. More fear and trepidation. Because, after all these years of driving "straight" trucks, you need to come up with a way to back your trailer into a space marked with yellow lines and a light that tells you when you've successfully backed in.
My next post will detail those horrifying moments.
Tune in again!
Chapter One Continued - learning to drive
In a previous post, I talked about fear and trepidation when arriving at the "location".
I can feel the blood pressure rising to this day, as I pulled into the docks of the place I was to deliver this load of scrap paper.
Never having done this before, I just pulled into the lot as if I were parking a car. Right. Good idea. The receiving workers were good enough to point out where I needed to go. They were not good enough to tell me how to get there.
So, the docks are on my right, my trailer is pointed in ALL THE WRONG WAY, and I'm going to back this thing in there.
Ever heard of a blind-side back-in? Well, it's when your right mirror is obstructed by the trailer you are trying to back in, because it's curling to the right behind you. You can't see a thing but aluminum. You are trying to move the trailer to the right, but you are in the left-hand seat.
To my horror, I'm getting instructions from the "ground crew" on how to maneuver this beast. I mean, it's getting out of hand now. I'm smelling clutch smoke, the engine is not happy with me, and neither are the people around me.
When I get the rig straightened out, I'm about 100 feet away from where I need to be, but this time, it's on the driver's side.
You'd think I'd have learned something by now.... "top of the wheel the way you want the trailer to go", "turn other way when trailer is straight". These are simple things.
I left the trailer as close to the building as I could get it, and waited for another person more able to back it in..
I already knew how to disconnect a trailer (thank the gods for not forgetting the air & electric lines), and I bob-tailed home with my tail between my legs. Thanks to the spirits for forgiving bosses!
Next... I figure out the backing problem, and take to the streets!
Stay tuned,
dieseldon
I can feel the blood pressure rising to this day, as I pulled into the docks of the place I was to deliver this load of scrap paper.
Never having done this before, I just pulled into the lot as if I were parking a car. Right. Good idea. The receiving workers were good enough to point out where I needed to go. They were not good enough to tell me how to get there.
So, the docks are on my right, my trailer is pointed in ALL THE WRONG WAY, and I'm going to back this thing in there.
Ever heard of a blind-side back-in? Well, it's when your right mirror is obstructed by the trailer you are trying to back in, because it's curling to the right behind you. You can't see a thing but aluminum. You are trying to move the trailer to the right, but you are in the left-hand seat.
To my horror, I'm getting instructions from the "ground crew" on how to maneuver this beast. I mean, it's getting out of hand now. I'm smelling clutch smoke, the engine is not happy with me, and neither are the people around me.
When I get the rig straightened out, I'm about 100 feet away from where I need to be, but this time, it's on the driver's side.
You'd think I'd have learned something by now.... "top of the wheel the way you want the trailer to go", "turn other way when trailer is straight". These are simple things.
I left the trailer as close to the building as I could get it, and waited for another person more able to back it in.
I already knew how to disconnect a trailer (thank the gods for not forgetting the air & electric lines), and I bob-tailed home with my tail between my legs. Thanks to the spirits for forgiving bosses!
Next... I figure out the backing problem, and take to the streets!
Stay tuned,
dieseldon
Chapter 2 - The Docks
It's a cloudy and cold November afternoon at a printing factory. I have a load of 40,000 lbs of scrap paper, and this is my very first attempt at backing a trailer into a dock. I am driving a mid-70's Mack tractor, and I really have no idea what I'm doing.
But I should step back. "L.T." was the driver of that tractor. He was an old guy from Louisiana, and I learned a lesson from him. "I like everybody", he told me, and that has gotten me a long way in my life. Taught me that there really aren't any barriers to relationships, only likes and dislikes.
"I like everybody". Good enough.
On that day, L.T. was sick, and the printing house was hot for their load of scrap paper, so that they could bring more porn to the masses. (I gotta tell ya, I had a lot of good reading material in those days.)
So I hooked the trailer up to the tractor, attached the air lines and the electrical, and off I went. (I had seen it done enough times to fake it successfully.)
Pulling out of the yard, I could barely figure out where the back of my trailer was, but I made my way to the hiway. Some 20 trembling minutes later, I made it to the delivery site.
The fun begins.
I knew the basics of backing in a trailer, I just had no idea of the scale, even with a moderately size trailer. All I know is that I frustrated a number of dock workers and wore out a bunch of clutch material that day.
Eventually, I had to drop (safely park) the trailer off to the side, and L.T. had to come and put it in the dock.
That was my motivation to get the technique perfect.
I believe I did.
Tune in next time!
But I should step back. "L.T." was the driver of that tractor. He was an old guy from Louisiana, and I learned a lesson from him. "I like everybody", he told me, and that has gotten me a long way in my life. Taught me that there really aren't any barriers to relationships, only likes and dislikes.
"I like everybody". Good enough.
On that day, L.T. was sick, and the printing house was hot for their load of scrap paper, so that they could bring more porn to the masses. (I gotta tell ya, I had a lot of good reading material in those days.)
So I hooked the trailer up to the tractor, attached the air lines and the electrical, and off I went. (I had seen it done enough times to fake it successfully.)
Pulling out of the yard, I could barely figure out where the back of my trailer was, but I made my way to the hiway. Some 20 trembling minutes later, I made it to the delivery site.
The fun begins.
I knew the basics of backing in a trailer, I just had no idea of the scale, even with a moderately size trailer. All I know is that I frustrated a number of dock workers and wore out a bunch of clutch material that day.
Eventually, I had to drop (safely park) the trailer off to the side, and L.T. had to come and put it in the dock.
That was my motivation to get the technique perfect.
I believe I did.
Tune in next time!
Chapter 2 continued - Situational Awareness
When you're in the cab of your truck, whether rolling down the road, backing up to something, or even in the sleeper catching a rare few hours of sleep, situational awareness is king. You must, at all times, be aware of yourself, your truck, and your surroundings. You must be ready to determine with certainty what is going to happen in a given situation. You must be ready to predict what is likely to happen in an unlikely situation. And this requires at least 4 of your 5 senses (or five out of six, if you believe in that sort of thing).
Sight, sound, touch and smell are all vital contributors to your situational awareness. (Rarely, but in some situations, taste may play a roll.) Anyone who has spent any significant amount of time running a piece of equipment, be it a truck or a chain saw, knows how important site, sound and touch are in determining the state of that equipment. A little less used but just as important is smell - if you're running a metal lathe and you smell hot metal, you are not likely to be alarmed. If you are fueling a chainsaw and smell fire, your alarm shoots through the roof. Since this is about trucking, I'll be less generic and focus on the vehicle.
Hearing a "crunching" sound when backing up a trailer, for example, is a clear sign that something has gone horribly wrong. More importantly for the future, it is a clear sign that your situational awareness (SA) was not all that it should have been. Let's examine SA in more detail by way of a few scenarios.
Sight, sound, touch and smell are all vital contributors to your situational awareness. (Rarely, but in some situations, taste may play a roll.) Anyone who has spent any significant amount of time running a piece of equipment, be it a truck or a chain saw, knows how important site, sound and touch are in determining the state of that equipment. A little less used but just as important is smell - if you're running a metal lathe and you smell hot metal, you are not likely to be alarmed. If you are fueling a chainsaw and smell fire, your alarm shoots through the roof. Since this is about trucking, I'll be less generic and focus on the vehicle.
Hearing a "crunching" sound when backing up a trailer, for example, is a clear sign that something has gone horribly wrong. More importantly for the future, it is a clear sign that your situational awareness (SA) was not all that it should have been. Let's examine SA in more detail by way of a few scenarios.
- On the highway - You're rolling down the road at a steady 65 mph on a beautiful late afternoon. You're heading west. You are on an interstate with two lanes in each direction. Traffic is moderate to light. You are on time with a GVW (gross vehicle weight) of 79,000 lbs. What are you doing to ensure that your SA is up to snuff?
- You are using your sight to be aware of everything visible in the vicinity of your truck. You are constantly using your mirrors to check on traffic AND the condition of your trailer (if you have one) or whatever else might be behind you. You are looking ahead of you, far beyond the vehicle in front of you (if possible) to see any approaching danger. Your peripheral vision is picking up on unusual movements to your sides. You are aware that the setting sun is starting to reduce your ability to concentrate on long distance danger, and you compensate, perhaps by reducing your speed a bit, or increasing the space between yourself and other vehicles, etc. You are scanning your instruments, looking for any operational abnormalities.
- Something I learned early on is to memorize the position of the dials on your gauges when everything is operating normally. If you do that, you can tell in less than a second if some parameter is out of its normal operating range. This is why I love analog instruments, and hate digital ones.
- You are using your sense of touch to be aware of any unusual vibrations in the steering wheel or gear shift lever. When shifting gears, you can feel whether the transmission snicks into the next gear, or if there is any roughness to the feel of the gears. You are noticing if anything you normally touch is hot or warmer than usual. You notice if the ride of the truck is what you expect it to be. If not, your mind goes through scenarios as to why not. (A rough patch of road? Did you see anything to indicate a rough patch of road? Do you have broken suspension parts? A tire going flat? Is your trailer binding up on the fifth wheel? Is there too much slack between the trailer's kingpin and the dogs in the fifth wheel?)
- You are paying attention to the sounds around you, and listening for anything out of the ordinary. Horns honking, rattles and squeaks, the hum of the engine and the transmission. Was that a misfire you heard from the engine? Was that slight whine from the transmission there when you started your trip? Was that sharp sound you heard from the tires just an expansion joint in the highway or a trailer tire blowing out?
- You are subconsciously aware of smells. Lilacs in the spring, the stringent ammonia smell of a stock yard (by now, you can tell the difference between cattle, pigs, and sheep.) A humid, sweet smell coming from the vents?!?! That's engine coolant! Time to pull over and check for a broken hose, leaking pump, radiator puncture or loose seal. A hot, oily smell! (Engine, transmission or power steering oil? Worse, hot diesel fuel?) A smell of hot rubber! (A tire? An engine belt?) A smell like ozone, hot metal and burning plastic! Wiring is hot somewhere. Excessive diesel exhaust smell. A hole in the headers or exhaust system somewhere before the stacks?
- You are tasting a big sloppy cheeseburger, and ketchup has just run down your arm and on to your pants! NO!!!! No eating while driving! Pull the f*ck over and finish your lunch!
Chapter 2 continued - Learning to back up on the blind side - in traffic
As my proficiency in backing a trailer improved, I began to improve my technique to my own style. I was always very concious of the danger to people and property, particularly when having to back in "blind side".
Two particular situations required regular blind side backing - one involving busy city street deliveries, the other a matter of gravity on hills.
Regarding busy city streets, there are times when you must back in to a dock that is located on the driver's right hand side. Because of the flow of traffic, you may not be able to approach it with the dock on your left - the preferred approach. Thus, you need assistance from someone else to stop traffic and guide you in until you are able to complete the maneuver by yourself. (Let me say here that if you are ever in the position of helping guide someone in, make sure that you are positioned so that you can always see the driver's face in the mirror - otherwise, you're just an invisible obstacle.) In an ideal situation, you have such a guide.
On a warm summer's day in Kansas City, MO, I had a delivery with a 53 foot trailer to a relatively small warehouse on a well travelled, fairly narrow street. Circumstances determined that I had to back in on the blind side (no place to safely turn around, narrow side streets, etc.) It was late afternoon, and most of the experienced workers had left for the day. Leaving me to do the chore by myself.
It takes patience to do this sort of thing, on your own part, and also on those drivers you inconvenience. I held up traffic a while that day. Think of what you are doing - not only must you worry about the rear end of the trailer and what it might hit, but there is also typically a high degree of angle between the tractor and the trailer. It can typically reach 90 degrees or more. (To envision this, take 2 toothpicks or whatever you have, put them end-to-end, and rotate the back one counter-clockwise until they are at right angles.) Now there are three additional things you have to worry about: backing over something with the rear wheels of your tractor, hitting something with the nose of the tractor, and hitting something with the side of the trailer that you can't see.
My stamina was tested as I constantly had to jump in and out of the tractor to guage my surroundings, keep bystanders and motorists from getting in the way, and make sure I was pointing the right way. I did it, though. I backed up to the dock without killing anyone. As I walked back to the rear of the trailer to chock the wheels (required at every dock so the trailer doesn't move when forklifts are moving the freight out), I discovered I had forgotten one important detail. OPEN THE TRAILER DOORS FIRST! Doh!
Next, I'll talk about the effects of gravity when backing in.
Stay tuned!
dieseldon
Two particular situations required regular blind side backing - one involving busy city street deliveries, the other a matter of gravity on hills.
Regarding busy city streets, there are times when you must back in to a dock that is located on the driver's right hand side. Because of the flow of traffic, you may not be able to approach it with the dock on your left - the preferred approach. Thus, you need assistance from someone else to stop traffic and guide you in until you are able to complete the maneuver by yourself. (Let me say here that if you are ever in the position of helping guide someone in, make sure that you are positioned so that you can always see the driver's face in the mirror - otherwise, you're just an invisible obstacle.) In an ideal situation, you have such a guide.
On a warm summer's day in Kansas City, MO, I had a delivery with a 53 foot trailer to a relatively small warehouse on a well travelled, fairly narrow street. Circumstances determined that I had to back in on the blind side (no place to safely turn around, narrow side streets, etc.) It was late afternoon, and most of the experienced workers had left for the day. Leaving me to do the chore by myself.
It takes patience to do this sort of thing, on your own part, and also on those drivers you inconvenience. I held up traffic a while that day. Think of what you are doing - not only must you worry about the rear end of the trailer and what it might hit, but there is also typically a high degree of angle between the tractor and the trailer. It can typically reach 90 degrees or more. (To envision this, take 2 toothpicks or whatever you have, put them end-to-end, and rotate the back one counter-clockwise until they are at right angles.) Now there are three additional things you have to worry about: backing over something with the rear wheels of your tractor, hitting something with the nose of the tractor, and hitting something with the side of the trailer that you can't see.
My stamina was tested as I constantly had to jump in and out of the tractor to guage my surroundings, keep bystanders and motorists from getting in the way, and make sure I was pointing the right way. I did it, though. I backed up to the dock without killing anyone. As I walked back to the rear of the trailer to chock the wheels (required at every dock so the trailer doesn't move when forklifts are moving the freight out), I discovered I had forgotten one important detail. OPEN THE TRAILER DOORS FIRST! Doh!
Next, I'll talk about the effects of gravity when backing in.
Stay tuned!
dieseldon
Chapter 2 Continued - Learning to back up on the blind side - on a slant
I had a regular delivery of very heavy glass bottles to a brewery - these loads ranged in the 45,000-47,000 pound range in a 47 foot trailer.
Picture the dock on the driver's right side, with a steep downhill grade on the street from where the dock is accessed. Let's say conservatively that it's 20 degrees, maybe a bit more.
The first time I approached it, I took the easy way out and went for the standard, non-blind-side back in. It's about 1am on a cold night in Milwaukee, and I pull the Peterbilt up with the dock on my left.
I begin by checking out the area where I'm backing, hop back in the cab, and start the motion. Now I'm hearing creaking sounds from the suspension of the tractor and the trailer. Not surprising yet - I have a lot of weight and I'm on an angle. Then I froze. The left side wheels of the trailer are starting to come off the ground. The trailer is, of course, canted to the downhill side of the street. Alarmed, I slam on the brakes, and the trailer goes over even farther. Crap! Snicking the transmission into a low gear, I slowly pull out, and the trailer wheels are back on the ground. Phew. Looks like there must be a better solution.
I thought that maybe backing in from the blind side might be a better solution, and it turned out that was right. Doing that would still put the trailer at the same angle, but the tractor could better support it by using both front and rear suspensions to keep it upright. Sure enough, after a bunch of in and out of the cab, I put it in where it was supposed to be, without rolling the tractor and trailer. Long night.
(As an afterword, I eventually got tired of doing the whole in/out of cab thing, and backed it in on the "natural" side, and though it was a bit hairy, the trailer never rolled over. But I certainly learned a valuable lesson on the application of simple weight distribution.)
Next, the perfect docking.
Stay tuned,
dieseldon
Picture the dock on the driver's right side, with a steep downhill grade on the street from where the dock is accessed. Let's say conservatively that it's 20 degrees, maybe a bit more.
The first time I approached it, I took the easy way out and went for the standard, non-blind-side back in. It's about 1am on a cold night in Milwaukee, and I pull the Peterbilt up with the dock on my left.
I begin by checking out the area where I'm backing, hop back in the cab, and start the motion. Now I'm hearing creaking sounds from the suspension of the tractor and the trailer. Not surprising yet - I have a lot of weight and I'm on an angle. Then I froze. The left side wheels of the trailer are starting to come off the ground. The trailer is, of course, canted to the downhill side of the street. Alarmed, I slam on the brakes, and the trailer goes over even farther. Crap! Snicking the transmission into a low gear, I slowly pull out, and the trailer wheels are back on the ground. Phew. Looks like there must be a better solution.
I thought that maybe backing in from the blind side might be a better solution, and it turned out that was right. Doing that would still put the trailer at the same angle, but the tractor could better support it by using both front and rear suspensions to keep it upright. Sure enough, after a bunch of in and out of the cab, I put it in where it was supposed to be, without rolling the tractor and trailer. Long night.
(As an afterword, I eventually got tired of doing the whole in/out of cab thing, and backed it in on the "natural" side, and though it was a bit hairy, the trailer never rolled over. But I certainly learned a valuable lesson on the application of simple weight distribution.)
Next, the perfect docking.
Stay tuned,
dieseldon
Chapter 2 continued - The perfect docking
A lovely day in southern California - east LA to be geographically correct. An empty 53 foot trailer, and a pillow manufacturer.
Several other drivers from my company were in the "waiting zone", waiting to be assigned a dock by the shipping/receiving foreman. All pretty standard stuff. Except...
Except that a rig with a 53 foot trailer and a tractor with a sleeper and a relatively long wheelbase totals out to approximately 70 feet when hooked up.
Except that the docking area was in an ally approximately 75 feet wide, from dock to the wall of the building across from it.
Except that each dock had protective weather "shroud" in front of it (in southern California!) that projected about 10 feet from the dock out into the ally.
If you've never seen one of these weather "shrouds" (I call them that because it acts like a burial shroud for the back part of your trailer), I'll try to explain. Basically, it's an aluminum tubed tent covered by some type of opaque vinyl (I remember a sun-weathered yellow). The front of this "tent" is open except for two irritating flexible flaps that, when the trailer is parked at the dock, form a tight seal between the trailer and the outside world. The shroud is about twice as wide as your trailer, except, of course, for the front opening, which is less than the width of your trailer, due to the aforementioned flaps. I suppose it's not a good idea to have a lot of wind blowing around in a pillow factory...
So, here's the situational awareness part of the setup. The shroud is flimsy, so any contact with the support structure of the shroud will effectively destroy it. The flaps at the entrance to the shroud effectively make it impossible to see the actual dock in your mirrors. And the entrance to the shroud is 65 feet or less from the building across the alley. You begin to see the problem.
There was only one way to solve the problem. Since the trailer couldn't be straight on to the dock, I would have to come as close to the "left" side of the shroud structure as possible on just the right angle. Then, swing the tractor around as hard as I could without clipping the wall in front of me, hoping that by the time the tractor was straight with the trailer, the trailer would be straight on to the dock.
Maybe a poorly drawn picture would help. (Perhaps it will only hurt your eyes.)
Blah blah, it worked. I docked it in one try without damaging anything! I may have been lucky, except another driver asked me to back his trailer in too. And another perfect docking in one try! I was so full of myself, I could barely stand me.
Well, my wife happened to be along on this trip, and while I was recounting my glorious victory to other drivers, she was cleaning the windows on the trailer. I remember she was dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt, and a red bandanna on her head. A red bandanna.
I noticed a bunch of workers gathering about 50 yards away, looking at her. Yes, she was a fine sight. Then a local driver came up to me, and kindly told me that those workers weren't gathering there to admire her ass. "This is a blue zone, my friend, and your wife is wearing a red bandanna." A blue zone?
East L.A. Blue zone... AHHHhhhh! Um, honey....
She whipped off the bandanna, spit on it, and started wiping down the windows with it. The crowd dispersed. Phew.
We were on our way to Las Vegas with 7,000 lbs of pillows. Thank you local driver, for your kindness to a stranger!
Several other drivers from my company were in the "waiting zone", waiting to be assigned a dock by the shipping/receiving foreman. All pretty standard stuff. Except...
Except that a rig with a 53 foot trailer and a tractor with a sleeper and a relatively long wheelbase totals out to approximately 70 feet when hooked up.
Except that the docking area was in an ally approximately 75 feet wide, from dock to the wall of the building across from it.
Except that each dock had protective weather "shroud" in front of it (in southern California!) that projected about 10 feet from the dock out into the ally.
If you've never seen one of these weather "shrouds" (I call them that because it acts like a burial shroud for the back part of your trailer), I'll try to explain. Basically, it's an aluminum tubed tent covered by some type of opaque vinyl (I remember a sun-weathered yellow). The front of this "tent" is open except for two irritating flexible flaps that, when the trailer is parked at the dock, form a tight seal between the trailer and the outside world. The shroud is about twice as wide as your trailer, except, of course, for the front opening, which is less than the width of your trailer, due to the aforementioned flaps. I suppose it's not a good idea to have a lot of wind blowing around in a pillow factory...
So, here's the situational awareness part of the setup. The shroud is flimsy, so any contact with the support structure of the shroud will effectively destroy it. The flaps at the entrance to the shroud effectively make it impossible to see the actual dock in your mirrors. And the entrance to the shroud is 65 feet or less from the building across the alley. You begin to see the problem.
There was only one way to solve the problem. Since the trailer couldn't be straight on to the dock, I would have to come as close to the "left" side of the shroud structure as possible on just the right angle. Then, swing the tractor around as hard as I could without clipping the wall in front of me, hoping that by the time the tractor was straight with the trailer, the trailer would be straight on to the dock.
Maybe a poorly drawn picture would help. (Perhaps it will only hurt your eyes.)
Blah blah, it worked. I docked it in one try without damaging anything! I may have been lucky, except another driver asked me to back his trailer in too. And another perfect docking in one try! I was so full of myself, I could barely stand me.
Well, my wife happened to be along on this trip, and while I was recounting my glorious victory to other drivers, she was cleaning the windows on the trailer. I remember she was dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt, and a red bandanna on her head. A red bandanna.
I noticed a bunch of workers gathering about 50 yards away, looking at her. Yes, she was a fine sight. Then a local driver came up to me, and kindly told me that those workers weren't gathering there to admire her ass. "This is a blue zone, my friend, and your wife is wearing a red bandanna." A blue zone?
East L.A. Blue zone... AHHHhhhh! Um, honey....
She whipped off the bandanna, spit on it, and started wiping down the windows with it. The crowd dispersed. Phew.
We were on our way to Las Vegas with 7,000 lbs of pillows. Thank you local driver, for your kindness to a stranger!
Chapter 3 - On the road in the city
If cross-country driving calls the gypsy in us, it's in-city driving that brings out the workman.
There is nothing glamorous about driving a truck in the city, regardless of it being a straight truck, or a short semi.
A few years after learning to drive a big truck, I found myself at a company that did mostly local hauls. Some of these were a few miles from a warehouse to a factory, others involved 1/2 day trips to Chicago. This covered a number of summers and winters in the lovely city of Milwaukee, WI.
My days were long. My first duty was to pick up trailers that were parked at a large retail distribution center, and deliver these "catalog" ordererd goods to the various retail outlets, where the customers would pick them up.
So, from a 40 ft trailer, rain or shine or snow, I drag my ass up into the trailer and pull out all of the items returned by customers. You wouldn't believe the things they return, and their condition.
Then I graduated to "spotter". This lovely duty involves moving trailers from dock to dock at the aforementioned distribution center. Your entire day is spent backing trailers into incredibly tight spaces. I was grateful for the duty because it honed my backing skills to a fine edge. I was ungrateful for the fact that for every trailer, I had to get out of the tractor, hook up at least one air hose, and roll up the dollies. Then drag it over to the correct dock (there were exactly 100 docks at this particular distribution center), get out of the truck, open the trailer doors and hope that nothing would fall on my head as I did, get back in the truck, and back it in. Then, get out of the truck, roll down the dollies, chock the rear wheels, unhook at least 1 air hose, release the fifth wheel locking mechanism, and get back in the truck to do it all over again. Once in a while, I was lucky enough to get the "spotting tractor", which has a fifth wheel attached to a hydraulic hoist, so that at least the step of rolling the dollies up and down is removed. It also has a very short turning radius and power steering, so that backing in even a short trailer (which is more difficult to control) is a breeze. But one still had to get out to hook and unhook the air hose, open trailer doors, and release the fifth wheel.
Perhaps the worst duty was spending an entire day unloading two or three trailers full of boxes of paper towels, or canned goods, by hand. Inevitably, this duty would fall on the hottest or coldest days of the year. (Aluminum trailers are NOT good insulators, so don't ever wind up living in a semi-trailer.) Cases of paper towels are heavy and awkward. They slip out of your hands. All that paper and cardboard produce lots of brown dust. So much so, that you wind up your day looking like you got a great tan. Second degree cardboard burns is more like it.
But once in a while, you'd get a sweet load that would take you out into the country for a day; perhaps to a small factory or warehouse. Perhaps so small that there's only one guy running the place, so he takes his time unloading your trailer with a forklift, in between taking phone calls and updating inventory lists. Since I was getting paid by the hour, with time-and-a-half for overtime (double time on Sundays), I didn't mind at all. If I was lucky, these would come in the summer, and I spent many a beautiful evening enjoying the sounds and smells of the Wisconsin farmland areas. And on the way back home after a 14 hour workday...
I find myself in a diner, with eggs on my plate, a good looking woman across the counter, and an empty trailer to bring back to the yard.. Hmm.
I call her babe - she calls me hun. This goes on night after night. The warmth of my truck is nothing to her. She has a a warm bed to go to, and a man. I have diesel fumes, parking lights, and the promise of 30 thousand pounds of paper towels tomorow. It makes me just want to drive, and see the mountains.
There is nothing glamorous about driving a truck in the city, regardless of it being a straight truck, or a short semi.
A few years after learning to drive a big truck, I found myself at a company that did mostly local hauls. Some of these were a few miles from a warehouse to a factory, others involved 1/2 day trips to Chicago. This covered a number of summers and winters in the lovely city of Milwaukee, WI.
My days were long. My first duty was to pick up trailers that were parked at a large retail distribution center, and deliver these "catalog" ordererd goods to the various retail outlets, where the customers would pick them up.
I find myself in a diner, with eggs on my plate, a good looking woman across the counter, and an empty trailer to bring back to the yard.. Hmm.
I call her babe - she calls me hun. This goes on night after night. The warmth of my truck is nothing to her. She has a a warm bed to go to, and a man. I have diesel fumes, parking lights, and the promise of 30 thousand pounds of paper towels tomorow. It makes me just want to drive, and see the mountains.
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