Out of Hours - What A Pain

The past few days have seen me drive from the Los Angeles area up through Nebraska and into Iowa and Illinois for a delivery south of Chicago, followed by a pick-up in Gary, Indiana (which was much more urban ghetto than The Music Man would have us believe).

After picking up our load in Gary, we drove through down-town Chicago just as an ugly blizzard blew in. I was in the center lane, taking it easy, as another car came blowing past on my left. I started signaling and checking my mirror to the right so I could move over into the slow lane just as Mike starts freaking out. The guy passing me to the left had just lost control of his vehicle, and was spinning around in front of me. Suddenly, all the training they gave me in class started flooding my mind: What to do in an emergency: 1) Don’t slam on the brakes; 2) Don’t swerve; 3) Sometimes the best thing to do is run over the car in front of you, in order to protect the other cars around and behind you.

My right hand side was clear, so I started moving, but Mike was still freaking out, demanding that I slow down. So I braked. Gently. Very very gently. And continued moving over.

The other car came within about 6 feet of us before coming to a stop facing the wrong direction, back in the left-hand lane. At this point Mike made a show of explaining how we should stay in the slow lane for now. Thanks, Mike.

The snow got bad enough that we started looking for someplace to pull off for the duration, even though it meant our delivery up in Eagan, MN would end up being late. Using his Truck Stop Guide, Mike found a truck stop a few miles up the road where we’d be able to pull off. Just as we got to that exit, however, the snow stopped falling, and the roads dried up. We were back up to freeway speeds in no time.

We switched places just north of Madison, WI and I slept. Woke up again the next morning in a place called New Ulm, MN; rode up to Hutchinson where we switched places and I brought us back down. Out of Minnesota, through Iowa, into Missouri. We pulled off in a town called Nevada, MO, switched places again; and this morning I woke up in Paris, TX.

I ran out of hours just as we got to Nevada, and I won’t gain any new hours till midnight tonight (tomorrow morning, rather). Mike is out of hours now, too, and won’t gain any new ones till midnight. So we’re stuck in this ratty little truck stop that makes the worst rest area look palatial, until late tonight. Then we’ll finish running this trailer down to Dallas where we’ll sit till Monday morning, when we’ll both have a fresh 70 hours to work with.

In the mean time, it’s cold, it’s rainy, it’s wet, and apparently the city of Paris didn’t think anybody would bother walking around in this part of town so there aren’t any sidewalks. I’m glad I brought boots. Still, I’m terribly annoyed.