SUMMER TRUCKING - TRIP ONE,

NEW BRUNSWICK (Part Two)

Somewhere West of Michigan I was pulled into a weigh scale because I still had my 'LONG LOAD' signs on. They told me to take them off. They said all I needed was the red flags on the two rear corners so I removed the two front ones while rolling up my long load banners.

Further West, at a truck stop, somebody decided they needed one of my rear flags more than I did. Because of the way I had it mounted I know it didn't just fall off.

Go West young Man, go West, and though no longer young, I did. On the I-Eighty through Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, and into Utah where I had an afternoon nap at the viewpoint on the East side of the Great Salt Lake (a month later I would spend the night at the viewpoint on the opposite side of the freeway) just South of the famed Bonneville Salt Flats. Where the latest speed record for trucks has been set at well over two hundred miles per hour.

I have driven loads of logs across ice bridges at over one hundred miles per hour but I don't think I want to go two hundred, even on salt.

As I left the rest area I was watching the edge of the water and I could see what I thought were ice ridges, ripples, and icicles left by the gently lapping waters as they receded away from the road. I have seen this before in the North but I began to think that as it was the middle of June and the center of Utah it was much to warm for ice. Then it dawned on me. It was salt, crystallizing in the sun as the water of the lake evaporated.

On June eleventh I unloaded at the airport in Southern San Francisco. The pipes would be capped on the ends and driven into the ground, like pilings, to be filled with concrete for supports for the new freeway system around the airport expansion.

I spent that night in a suburb of Fresno and the next morning took on a very colourful load of fire hydrants. Fresh wooden racks held pieces of shiny black pipe. On one end of the pipes were bright red hydrants with silver nuts on top. On the other end of the pipes were bright blue right-angle elbows. The pipes were placed in the racks with the ends alternating so that they wouldn't rub against each other which gave me columns of alternating red and blue. The columns connected into rows with shiny black.

The load received many a curious look and even had its picture taken at one truck stop. A month later, while going East, I would pass a similar load that was slightly more colourful than mine in that the hydrants had sliver chains running from the top nuts to the caps on the sides. Neither load came from the same supplier nor went to the same buyer. My load was going to a distributor on the East side of New Brunswick about as far from the Atlantic Ocean as I was from the Pacific Ocean when I loaded it.

Notice that I said Ocean. Where I unloaded was only a couple of miles from salt water but it was still separated from the Ocean by the Province of Prince Edward Island.

In Eastern Ontario I turned off the freeway to go to a truck stop. As I made the turn off the off ramp onto the overpass I heard a strange metallic noise. I completed the turn and then parked on the side of the road.

Totally mystified, by the familiar sound of chain hitting pavement, knowing that my load was held on by straps and not chains, I began a search of my rig. Lying on the pavement behind me was a chain and a boomer that a passing motorist stopped and brought to me. Lying on my walking deck was another chain and boomer.

On either side of the bullboard, behind the cab of my tractor, was a bar with notches for holding chains. Over the bar is a cover that can be padlocked to prevent theft. Consequently, because the chain bucket was hanging askew, not supporting the weight of the chains, after several thousand miles of bouncing, the hooks on the ends of the chains had chewed their way through the center of the cross bar that held them.

Now I understood why the chain bar on the other side of the headache rack had always been missing its center portion.

At least it had fallen apart when I was going slow and not when I was flying down the freeway, I probably wouldn't have heard the noise and would have been unaware of what was happening. At the least I would have lost chains and boomers, cinches, and at worst one of the chains could have gone under my tires while one end was still on the rack and ripped the entire bull board off. At high speed it could have resulted in a serious accident.

After unloading just outside of Port Elgin, New Brunswick, the receiver took me on a journey through some back roads to a point from which we could see the longest bridge in the world. It spans the Northumberland Strait which separates the two provinces. I could see it curving up over the water and disappearing into the fog on the horizon. What a marvellous feat of engineering.

I spent the night at a truck stop on the border of Nova Scotia and planned to rent a car the next day and tour said coastal province and its capital city of Halifax. However the dispatcher had other plans and sent me scurrying across the province to Juniper to catch the loader before he went home for the weekend.

At midnight I was the last truck to leave the mill with a load of lumber and I was strapping it down in the dark after everyone else had gone home.

As fog was setting in and I didn't want to be trapped in the hills for the night I drove to Hartland where I spent the night.

Early Saturday morning I crossed the border at Houlton Maine and then stopped to do some shopping in the mall. It was a beautiful sunny day and I didn't have to unload until Monday morning so I took my time and late Saturday night, fighting fog and tourists because I took the wrong turn off the freeway and got on a coastal road I arrived at Kittery where I spent the night.

The next day I went into Boston, Massachusetts. Had I known that Boston was only a short train trip from New York I would have arrived earlier and spent the weekend in New York but as it worked out I would be able to do that on my next trip, besides I had a lovely day in Boston.

Where I had to unload was in Cambridge, a suburb of Boston. Unwillingly, by taking the wrong road, I ended up driving through the edge of Boston.

Near Harvard University I saw a police officer talking to an officer in a patrol car so I pulled up behind them. Between the two of them they managed to tell me where I had to go, within blocks of my destination.

Following their directions I turned left at the next intersection which put me on a very narrow street that had a sign saying `No Trucks'. Hoping that I wouldn't get stopped by police and have to explain that I was following directions given by a police officer I continued up the short hill and with great difficulty made the turn at the tight intersection.

In some states fifty-three foot trailers are illegal. I don't understand why they ever permitted forty-eight footers. Now some idiots are advocating sixty footers but nobody takes the time to enlarge the intersection for these behemoths.

Most of the streets in Boston are very narrow and by following the officer's directions and keeping tight between the parked cars and the center line I was able to get to Cambridge where I began to doubt my location. I saw a patrol car stopped in a driveway and stopping in the middle of the street I ran across to him and got directions that took me through three more intersections to the street I needed to find.

At the lumber yard I was able to park in the back out of traffic and out of sight. After a short nap and a change of clothes I walked up to the street where I found a mall with a theatre and after checking to see what shows were on that night I found a bus that took me to the subway terminal at Harvard Square.

Getting off the subway at the Boston Common I explored the inner city. I walked to China town, through the Boston Common, which is a small park split in two by a street, and the water front. Learning that there was an Internet cafe at Harvard Square I took the subway back.

Near Harvard Square I had supper in a Chinese cafe across the street from the internet cafe where I got on line and caught up on my E-mail. To my disappointment I also found out that while walking the Common I had only been steps away from the `Bull `n' Finch' pub made famous by the TV series `Cheers'.

After supper I went for a long walk through the University and after getting totally disoriented, notice I didn't say lost, I flagged a taxi and had him take me back to the mall where I caught a movie.

After the movie, while walking back to my truck, I stopped at a pay phone and realized that I had lost my drivers license and my American Express Card. I phoned Amex and cancelled my card and after frantic moments found the name of the Internet Cafe and phoning them discovered that someone had found my cards and turned them in. I made arrangements to pick them up the next morning and then phoned Amex but it was too late, my card had been cancelled and I would have to live without it until I returned home where my new one would be waiting for me.

The next morning after unloading I parked across the street from the lumber yard and after changing out of my work clothes caught the bus back to Harvard Square where I retrieved my drivers license and my now defunct Amex card.

As dispatch still didn't have a load for me I took the subway back into Boston and walked around until it was time for lunch and then stood in line waiting for Cheers to open. Not exactly as seen on TV, the cameras were never actually inside the pub in Boston, though they did film the outside entrance as the opening scene for the TV series.

I walked through the two bars and souvenir shops and had an enjoyable lunch with two lovely Chinese ladies from Atlanta, Georgia.

After lunch I walked back through the Common and spent some time enjoying the sunshine and downtown Boston. I noticed that at all the construction sites they used police officers to direct traffic. Back home all the construction sites hire private flag persons.

I stopped to talk to one of the police officers who to my amazement was familiar with Vancouver. It seems our city has an international reputation of being a hot bed of crime. And our city police force has a reputation of being totally lazy and unproductive.

When dispatch finally arranged for a load I took the subway back to Harvard square and visited the Internet Cafe again where I sent some more letters and then wandered Harvard Square, just watching all the people, until I phoned dispatch and found that my load had been confirmed. I caught the bus back to my truck.

From the truck stop on Highway One I took, what looked like a good road on the map, but was actually a narrow winding road through miles and miles of heavy residential area. It was a very beautiful drive, under over hanging branches, past lovely houses, but I would have enjoyed it even more if I hadn't had to keep looking in my mirrors worrying that the police might stop me for being off the truck route.

Finally on I-Ninety- three I went North to new Hampshire where I turned onto I-Eighty- nine and went North West to Vermont and a town called Graniteville where I loaded, what else, granite.

If you think lumber goes around in circles here's an interesting tale. The quarry in Graniteville is over two hundred years old yet only has a saw that can cut through rock one slice at a time. To make thin slabs of rock takes many cuts. Consequently they shipped some ninety large boulders of granite that they blasted out of their quarry.

Some trucks had two or three pieces. I had one huge, nearly square, block sitting in the middle of my trailer.

From Graniteville I got back on I-Eighty-nine which took me through Burlington to the Canadian border, into La Belle Province to Trois Riviers.

At Three Rivers, Quebec the granite was loaded onto a freighter that would take the blocks to Spain. In Spain the quarries have multiple wire saws that are capable of cutting rock into several thin slices with one pass, much like a bakery slices bread. The granite would be returned to the US via freighter where the slices would be trimmed to shape and have holes drilled in them. From Boston they would be shipped, via truck, to Salt Lake City, Utah where they would adorn the outside of a new skyscraper.

After unloading in Trois Riviers I went South across the river, back onto highway Twenty and West to Montreal where I caught Highway Fifteen South. I crossed into New York at Champlain and took I-Eighty-seven to Clifton, New Jersey which is basically a suburb of New York City.

I phoned my friend in New York and made arrangements to visit but by the time I finished loading and tarping and then helping a second truck tarp it was nearly dark and my friend had to be at work for night shift so I missed her again this trip. I would, however, get to see her and New York City next trip.

We left `Joisy' with stainless steel pipe, which for some reason had to be tarped, on I-Eighty. I stopped to sleep in Pennsylvania but the other truck still had some hours left so carried on. I wouldn't see him again until we unloaded.

The next morning was sunny and bright and I gave the truck a bath but water got into the load. My two tarps hadn't been long enough to cover the two piles and meet in the middle. I had a small plastic tarp and had put it over the top but it didn't come to the bottom on either side.

I went back over to the truck stop and, after buying another piece of plastic tarp, reopened my load. Moving my first piece of plastic down so it would cover one side I put the other piece down the other side, positioning it so it would cover the holes that had already ripped in the first piece. Then I had to rerun my front tarp over top of the plastic.

It was rather fortunate that I did this as the sunny day soon turned to clouds and it wasn't too many miles down the road that I went through a severe lighting storm.

Through Ohio and Indiana to Chicago my tarps continued to take a beating against the rough edges on the ends of the pipe.

At one point I opened the tarps and positioned a load strap over the edges of the pipes and then retarped. In another town I bought another piece of tarp and tied it over the worst of the holes.

I went through thunder storm after thunder storm for the rest of the trip.

I stopped at a truck stop and was kidding a state trooper about the cow catcher he had on the front of his patrol car. He was telling me that he needed it to push cars out of the middle of the freeway.

Apparently amateur drivers, who can't tell by the sound of their car that something is wrong, will, instead of putting on their signal light, kicking it into neutral, and coasting over to the wide shoulder on the right, will allow their car to stall and come to a stop in the middle of the freeway or on the narrow shoulder on the left.

Other amateur drivers who are not used to stopping on their way to work, as there are no signal lights in the middle of a freeway, will run into the stalled car because they are busy doing their makeup in the rear view mirror or reading the morning sports page instead of paying attention to what they are supposed to be doing which is controlling a two thousand pound missile of potential death.

I told him that where I come from there is a law requiring drivers to keep both hands on the wheel and if they are talking on a telephone or other wise not paying attention they can be given a ticket. He said that unfortunately his state did not have such a law.

North through Wisconsin and West through Minnesota is lake country and as it was the weekend I was continually trapped in holiday traffic. The end of June and school was out and so were the terrorists, tourists. Boats and travel trailers, four by fours and motor homes heading from city to lake.

This is definitely the area for it. I passed hundreds of beautiful lakes, and crossed hundreds of beautiful rivers, teaming with water skiers and swimmers and lined with myriads of lovely summer cabins.

Through the rolling farmlands around Minot, North Dakota I came over a hill and saw one of the most spectacular sunsets I have ever seen. Spread out below me was green pasture turning purple in the setting sun which was still peeking between the horizon and bright mauve clouds. The colours were reflected from an azure lake at the bottom of the valley. Of course I didn't' have a camera with me.

In pouring rain I crossed into Canada at North Portal, Saskatchewan, passed through the largest oil fields in the world, around Estavan, and continued past the training grounds for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, in Regina.

The weather cleared before I reached Saskatoon and the sun shone until I reached Edmonton, Alberta. I parked where I was supposed to unload and then caught a taxi to White Ave. I walked the street looking for a restaurant and a theatre and marvelling at all the changes to the stores.

Some of the stores I remembered from when I was seven years old but most were changed. The railway tracks still cross the Avenue but the grain elevators are gone where the switch engines used to work. After school I would climb aboard the locomotives and the fireman would let me shovel coal. My mother would give me what-for for getting my school clothes all black.

The area as well as the merchants have changed since then. The ambience is now for a younger crowd that frequent the area.

A sudden shower decided me to jump on a bus and go uptown to Jasper Ave. When I was little I used to spend a lot of time just riding around on the buses. I knew the city and every bus line. Now I have no idea which bus goes where.

Down the hill to the Low Level bridge, that used to be shared with cars, trains, and streetcars, past Mill Creek where I used to live. The creek is still there and you can still see a couple of houses sticking up through the trees but not ours as it burn down may years ago.

Jasper Ave. and the downtown core has changed with new and ugly buildings. There is little traffic in the evening and few businesses. It is very cold and gives one a feeling of not being welcome.

I did find a Spaghetti Factory with a streetcar in the dining area, a twin of the one in Vancouver, and a theatre.

After the movie I walked back to the MacDonald Hotel, where my mother used to work, which I have never been in, and caught a bus back to my truck.

The next morning while waiting for a decision to be made as to where we were to unload another truck showed up from another company. He had a few pieces of pipe to unload in Edmonton but the rest had to go to Calgary and he didn't want to go that far with only half a load. It turned out that our other driver had the same dilemma.

My load and the half of our other truck had to go to Sherwood Park to be unloaded. I suggested that if the other truck followed us out the crane could just swing the pipe from our truck to his and he would have a full load to go to Calgary and both our trucks would be empty making it easier to find loads to Vancouver.

However when we got to Sherwood Park the lady there wouldn't allow her crane to do unauthorized work. It turned out that she didn't like the lady at the other plant and thought it was her idea to send the trucks over without phoning, and asking, first.

By the time I found this out and explained to the lady that it was my idea her mind was too set to be changed. It never fails, give a female a position of authority and the power goes to their head. They become more stubborn than a mule.

Consequently I got unloaded and our other truck had to go back to Edmonton to unload and the other truck had to go to Calgary with only half a load. While unloading I threw my three pieces of plastic tarp in the garbage and rolled up my good tarps to take to the tarp shop when I got home. All were full of holes.

I spent another night in Edmonton. The other driver and I caught a taxi from the truck stop and made a round of a few night clubs. An off duty bar maid who stopped in for her paycheque took my partner dancing and I went back to my truck.

The next morning I was sent to Edson to load lumber and the other driver went home empty. At Entwhistle I stopped to phone a friend and meet him for coffee but he was out for the day and my other friend who had just bought a farm in the area didn't have her phone hooked up yet so I couldn't call her.

Other than that I had an uneventful trip through the Rocky Mountains. In Abbotsford, B. C. I parked the truck in the yard, making sure I got in after closing time so they wouldn't ask me to unload it.

I got home too late for Canada's birthday celebrations, July 1, and soon enough to pack and get out of town before the US started celebrating my birthday.

I had been away from home thirty-five days. I had crossed the continent from East to West four times putting on some seventeen thousand miles.

I promised myself that when I went out next time I was going to take it easier and find some time for myself. And there was no time like the present to get started.

My step-son had already left for the summer so the wife and I packed up the van the next day and went for a camping trip on the Sunshine Coast. Though it was cloudy and drizzling for most of the trip we had a lovely adventure.

Taking the ferry out of Horseshoe bay we crossed the mouth of Howe Sound where they had filmed the `Free Willy' movies. Just after leaving the ferry we drove through the little, steep shore side, town of Gibsons which, for twenty years, had been the on site location for the `Beachcomber' series.

We spent the night in a campground near Roberts Creek. The next day we meandered West through Sechelt and took all the side roads along the water until we caught the ferry to Saltry Bay.

After spending an afternoon shopping and getting my notebook computer repaired in Powell River we drove to Lund and found a campsite.

On the edge of a secluded arm of Toba Inlet a camp ground had just been built atop a pile of shells. For thousands of years the local natives had gathered at this location to collect clams, oysters, and mussels. The shells cover more than an acre and are many feet deep.

Back in Vancouver I put my wife on the plane to visit her mother for the summer. I called the company to let them know I was ready to go back to work.

Waiting for them to decide where to send me proved to be only an extension of my summer holiday which started with my camping trip and would continue for the next month.