Oh, Oh, Ohio.

Somewhere on northbound Interstate 75 in northern Kentucky:

GPS:  “State Border Ahead.”

Me: “Oh sweet, finally.”

GPS: “Crossing Border. Entering Ohio.”

GPS:  “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me: “Oh well, better slow down and take it easy.”

GPS: “Road Narrows Ahead.”

Me: “I see that, better take it back another notch.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

GPS: ROAD CONSTRUCTION NEXT 40 MILES!”

Me: “Gonna be a long day.”

GPS: “ONE LANE ROAD AHEAD!”

Me: “sigh”

***38 miles later***

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me: “What? Really?”

GPS: “Yes, really.”

ME: “grumble”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me: “Yeah Yeah, I know.”

GPS: “STEEP DOWNGRADE AHEAD.”

ME: “What? (easing off the throttle)This is Ohio”

GPS: “I know, just kidding.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

ME: “Argh.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me: “How far have we come into Ohio?”

GPS: :”113 Miles.  ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

Me: “Okay, it’s been a long day, lets pull over and get something to eat.  Where can I find a restaurant?”

GPS: “7 Miles ahead.”

Me: “Perfect, lets go there.”

GPS: “Rerouting----ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!.”

GPS:  “Take the exit on the right, then turn right.

Me: “I can see the restaurant is to the left.”

GPS: “Turn Right”

Me: “Im turning left.”

GPS: “Suit yourself.  MAKE A U-TURN THEN TURN RIGHT.”

Me (Pulling over) “I’m not listening to you.” (gets out)

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD!”

***20 minutes later***

Me: “Ok lets go.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

ME: “Yeah I know.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION NEXT 50 MILES.”

Me: “GPS is there an easier way around this construction?”

GPS: “Calculating……calculating…..rebooting.”

Me: “Sigh—OK Google”

Phone: “Hello Howie”

Me: “ Ok, Google, navigate to Detroit Michigan.”

Phone: “Opening Maps.”

GPS: “What was that?”

Me: “Nothing.”

GPA: “Are you using another device!?”

Me: “uh, no. NO!”

Phone: “I found three possible routes to Detroit.”

GPS: “ARE YOU NAVIGATING WITH YOUR PHONE!?.  ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

GPS: “How many devices have you been using all this time? Recalculating”

Me: (Mutes phone) “There.  I shut it off.”

GPS: “Recalculating.”

Me: “?”

GPS: In two miles, take the exit on the right, then turn left.”

Me:  “NO! That will take me 20 miles out of route.”

GPS: “Recalculating……. In seven miles, take the exit on the right, then turn right.”

ME: “NO!”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

Muted Phone: “Your wife is calling.”

Me: “GPS, where are we?”

GPS: “Just outside Cincinnati”.

Me: “Ok then”

Muted Phone: “Your wife is calling.”

GPS: “Steep Incline ahead.”

Me: “I’m not falling for that again.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

Me: “Yeah I kno—HOLY CRAP (downshifting) THAT’S A STEEP DOWNGRADE!”

GPS: “I tried to tell you.”

Me: “How far until the state border?”

GPS: “About 40 miles.”

Muted Phone: “Don’t believe her.”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION NEXT 40 MILES.”

Me: “Figures.” (Answers wife's call)

****30 minutes later****

Me: “How far til the state line?”

GPS: “5 miles”

GPS: “ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

Me: “How long does this road construction last?”

GPS: “5 Miles”

Me: “Of Course.”

GPS: “What?”

Me: “Nothing.”

GPS: “State Border ahead.”

Me: “Finally!”

GPS: Crossing State Border, Entering Michigan.  ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD.”

Me:” ………. I shoulda bought a Garmin”

GPS: “WHAT!?”

Me: “Oh, nothing.”

GPS: “Recalculating…..”

On a serious note:  I have seen recently where the lawmakers in Ohio are proposing banning semi trucks on Ohio roadways because they claim it destroys the roads.  I would submit to you that if the elected officials would stop stealing taxpayer moneys to fund their pet projects and use them for their intended purpose, the roadways would be just fine.  Missouri citizens passed a law about 10 years ago that forced officials to do just that--and within a decade their roads went from 2nd worst in the country to the top ten list. Use your heads people.  Stop voting for crooks.  Until then, I will not spend a dime of my money in Ohio if I can avoid it....RECALCULATING ROUTE.

Truckers guide to law enforcement.

Handy Law Enforcement 

Reference guide for Truck Drivers:

City Police Officer

AKA: City Kitty, City Kiddie, Black and White

Natural environment: Mostly urban areas.

Trucker Threat Level: ★✩✩✩✩✩

Sheriff's Deputy.

AKA: County Mountie, Smokey, Smokey Bear.

Natural Environment: Urban and Rural environments and occasionally on interstates.

Trucker Threat Level: 

Normal:★★✩✩✩✩

Your CB handle is "Bandit":★★★★★★★★

Highway Patrol

AKA: Super Trooper,  Bear 

Natural Environment: Interstate Highways

Trucker Threat Level: ★★★✩✩✩

Department of Transportation Officer.

AKA: Diesel Cop, Grizzly Bear

Natural Environment: Chicken Coops.  (See Weigh Stations)

Trucker Threat Level: ★★★★✩✩

Unmarked

AKA: Unwrapped.  Plain Wrapper, 

Natural Environment: Varies.

Trucker Threat Level: Varies. 

Motorcycle Officer

AKA: Evil Knevil

Natural Environment All Roadways during warm weather.

Trucker Threat Level: "I swear I couldn't see you behind me officer or else I would have stopped"

Agricultural Officer

AKA Tater Cop

Natural environment: State Checkpoints in Florida and California

Trucker Threat Level:  Depends-Are you hauling potatoes?

Game Warden

AKA: FWC, Squirrel Cop, Carp Cop. Grouper Trooper.

Natural Environment: Hunting and fishing grounds.

Trucker Threat Level:  N/A

Weigh Station.

AKA: Chicken Coop

Natural Environment: (Stationary) Mostly interstates and some smaller roads.

Trucker Threat Level:

Empty: ★✩✩✩✩✩

Loaded: ★★★✩✩✩

Overweight ★★★★★★

Radar Enforcement Officer:

AKA: Kojak with a Kodak

Natural Environment:  Various roadways, overpasses, bushes etc.

Trucker Threat Level:

Governed trucks:  N/A

Ungoverned Trucks: Get a radar detector dummy.

Female Law Enforcement Officer

AKA: Mama Bear

Natural Environment Equivalent to male counterparts.

Trucker Threat Level:  Never, NEVER ask her if she wants to "frisk you".  

Drug Enforcement

AKA: DEA, The Feds. Men In Black

Natural Environment: Any

Trucker Threat Level:  I thought you said you were just hauling potatoes?

Headquarters

AKA: HQ, DD

Natural Environment: Jelly Filled.

Trucker Threat Level:  You can't get your truck into this parking lot anyway.

Border Patrol

AKA: The feds, La Migra, ICE, INS

Natural Environment: Country Egress Points

Trucker Threat Level: 

If your name is: 

Steve: ✩✩✩✩✩✩

Enrique: ★★★★★✩

Police Helicopter

AKA Chopper, Whirlybird, Eye in the Sky.

Natural Environment: In the Air

Trucker Threat Level:  ★★★✩✩✩

??????

AKA: National Guard

Natural Environment: ???????

Trucker Threat Level: What the hell did you do?  You should probably pull over now.

Traffic Citation

AKA: Driving Award

Natural Environment:  UPS and FED-EX truck glove boxes

Trucker Threat Level:  Forget that--Your wife is gonna kill you.

Who is that SOB?

Who is that son of a bitch that that you just flipped off?  You were just driving along and minding your own business.  You have to take this section of the interstate to get to the store today.   You saw the semi truck coming as you were coming up the on ramp but you knew that he would move over and let you in.  At the last second, you finally realized that he hadn't noticed you and made room for your approach and you had to slam on your brakes to avoid running your Accura into the ditch.  “That son of a bitch.” You thought as you stabbed the accelerator to get around him and showed him your middle finger.  Two miles down the road, you pull out your phone and post something nasty on your Facebook page about those damn truck drivers.  Then, you have all but forgotten that driver, but he hasn't forgotten you.   He almost killed you today and that will linger with him long into the night.

I want to tell you a little about that “son of a bitch.” That guy is a father.  He is a husband, a lover, a brother, an uncle and a friend. He is on the job 24 hours a day for two weeks at a time to make sure his children have what they need.  The government tells him that he is only allowed to work eleven hours a day, but he wont get to work eleven hours today, he will be lucky if he gets to work for seven.  He got up at three o’clock this morning to start his day.  The government says that he has to get all of his work done inside of a fourteen hour window once his day starts.  So come five this afternoon, he has to shut down that truck no matter what.  He drove for one hour and sat in the parking lot of his consignee.  He waited for two hours past his appointment time to get unloaded because the customer has not hired enough people or trained them correctly.   They sure took their time to unload him.  He don’t get paid for that.  He only gets paid for moving that rig and sitting and waiting for inept forklift operators don’t put food on the table.  He left that customer after four and a half hours of waiting and drove three and a half hours over to another shipper.  He was at the shipper on time, but they overloaded his trailer.  They knew they overloaded him.  They were trying to be sneaky about it.  He had to come back to the dock and have them remove part of the load to avoid getting a ticket for being overweight. He wasted three hours there getting his load.  A process that should have taken 30 minutes. 

All of this ineptitude has made him quite late for his scheduled delivery.  He now only has 2 hours left to actually drive that truck to earn some money before he has to shut down for the night or face violating his logbook.  He is not speeding to get there on time.  He can’t .  His truck is governed at 64 miles per hour because his insurance company demands it.  “It makes the roads safer” they claim.  He understands that statement is a lie, but no one wants to hear him explain why.  He is going to be late.  He is ok with that, but that means that every load he has to deliver after this is going to be late too.  It’s only Tuesday and he already knows.  He knows that because of all of this, he is not going to make it home on Friday night.  He was supposed to take his wife out for diner.  He is going to have to call her when he stops and explain that he won’t make it.  “Maybe Saturday – or maybe next month baby” he will try to say.  Knowing that she will understand, but she will be disappointed. He is probably going to make it home by early Saturday night now.  He is going to miss his sons little league game too.  He promised.  Man he is going to hear it for that.  It’s not his fault.  He knows that but no one wants to hear it.  He has missed too many games already.  He was away when his son took his first steps and he missed his wife's birthday again this year.  34 hours after he gets home, he will climb back in that truck and leave his family again for another two weeks.

He keeps a picture of his family taped to his dashboard to remind him of why he sacrifices so much of his time. He is trying to make it to a rest area about 60 miles up the road where he intends to shut it down for the night.  There is no coffee or showers there, but those are the breaks.  His truck is starting to smell a bit like a man cave but there is no where else close by that he can make it to before his clock runs out. All the time he has lost today has insured that he will be short on his paycheck.  For all this work, he only brings home about 600 dollars a week.  He is going to eat his dinner out of a can with a plastic spoon to save a little money.  He knows that his children are eating well though, and that’s the important thing. Sure would be nice to get a shower though.  Oh well, maybe tomorrow.

He saw you coming up that on ramp.  He saw a potential problem developing way before you did.  There was no way to change lanes.  He had 3 cars on his left and pickup truck has been tailgating him for the last 6 miles.  It’s not his responsibility to make room for you and he knows that.  It’s the responsibility of the vehicle entering the interstate to make the appropriate maneuvers to merge with traffic.   But all that knowledge does not ease his mind.  He could already see that you were going to assume that he would move to let you in.   Stabbing the brakes on that eighty thousand pound rocket could be disastrous and he knows it.  He backed off the accelerator a bit but the momentum of that truck just keeps him moving.  There was nowhere to go to the left.  When you got to the end of the on ramp, you jammed on your brakes and cussed his name for not letting you in.  He watched you in his mirror and sucked in his breath hoping that you did not end up hurting yourself by running off the road and into the ditch.  He breathed a bit easier when he saw you come around and gave him the “You’re number one” salute. He watched you speed away and wondered why you didn't just use that accelerator on the on ramp to adjust for merging traffic.

As you drove away, that husband, father, brother and uncle chuckled to himself a bit.   It’s more of a nervous chuckle as he is breathing a sigh of relief that you did not get hurt.  But he is also appreciating the irony of the situation.  Your entire home, the sassy Polo shirt you are wearing, the toothbrush you used this morning,  the cell phone you are now texting on instead of paying attention to the road and even the Accura you are driving were brought to your door step by men and women just like him.  He knows that and he realizes that you have never even thought about it. Like my father before me, I am that truck driver.   I am urging you now to take a serious look around your self.  Just about every single thing you can lay your eyes on that was not put there by God was brought to you by people like that “son of a bitch”.  It came here on his truck.   

Five Minutes

     I am still not quite sure why I stopped that day.  I had driven past this spot probably a dozen times or so in the last month and something about this guy had just kept creeping into my mind. In a vacant parking lot in north Charlotte County Florida, just off the main road, I kept spotting a beaten down old rust colored truck with a topper on it.  The man had a hand painted sign on the side of the truck that said “Master Carpenter, Specializing in cabinets and counter top laminating, looking for work.”  It was back in 2007 or 2008 and we had just been bitten by one of the worst recessions in my memory.  I was intrigued and puzzled by a man who would sit on the side of the road begging for work when he could have just as easily been begging for money.  I was doing some ghost writing for a small local publication and I kept thinking that this random stranger might be a pretty interesting interview.  He could be a psychopath just looking for a handout under the guise of work.  He could be armed and looking to steal my wallet.   Or he could just be a master carpenter.  There was no way to know for sure.  This day I had a five minutes to play with and I finally decided to pull over and muster up the courage to strike up a conversation.  It was a day that would forever change my life.

At just over five foot tall, with long salt and pepper grey hair that was pulled back into a rough ponytail,  Kimball Chase had all the markings of a working man.  Calloused hands and a weather worn face.  He smoked cigarettes one after the other.  I introduced myself to Kimball and told him that I wanted to hear his story.  I spent about a half hour in the cab of his truck.  We talked about his history, the work he had done in New England, and why he insisted on begging for work instead of money.  I got a sense that I was talking to a man who had spent a lifetime perfecting a craft that few people had the patience to learn.  He was also a man with principles and ideas that were just as solid as any you could ask for.  He worked for cash, hated the government and eeked out a living pretty much on a week to week basis.  But he worked for that living and I respected that.  I parted ways with Kimball intent on writing a story about him.  I took a few pictures and his phone number and was on my way. 

I will never forget the night, several years later, while sitting on our purple sectional, in a 2600 square foot home in a deed restricted part of Punta Gorda Isles, with our manicured lawn, pool and sailboat access to the Gulf of Mexico, Melissa turned to me while I was sipping a glass of Merlot and says: “Let’s buy a farm.”  I almost spit wine through my nose and down my shirt onto the lovely plush vanilla colored carpet.   I thought about that statement very carefully before answering.  I wondered what business I had trying to learn to ride a horse at my age.  Then I wondered what my life might be like if I answered this incorrectly. “That’s a great idea” I muttered, gulping down the rest of my glass and getting up to fetch another.

We settled on a five acre farm outside of town.  The problem is it needed work—a LOT of work.  In my effort to find some help from sources that would not break the bank, I remembered the old man.  I ran it by Melissa and I gave him a call.  Kimball sounded very interested in the work and said he would come by the next day to take a look.  Several things about Kimball became very clear to me very quickly.  Kimball did not take shortcuts.  Kimball demanded an appropriate wage for his skills.  When it came to woodworking, he knew what he was talking about and if you asked him something he did not know, he would tell you he didn’t know.  And last but not least, I learned that Kimball had a temper.  Picture if you will, a Yosemite Sam with a New England accent, sporting a tool belt with hammers instead of guns and you will have seen Kimball Chase.  When things did not go his way on a job site, Kimball could spout a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush.  It soon became clear to me why this man would have trouble holding down steady work.  He wanted things done his way, he wanted to be in control of the work site and most importantly, he demanded that things be done correctly.  He was not afraid to let you know if you violated these principles and I could see how employers might not appreciate his style, but I appreciated it and respected it.  I listened patiently and paid attention when he had something to teach me.  I think he appreciated that too.

KIMBALL IN HIS YOUTH

After the house was done, I stayed close to Kimball and used him a couple of times here and there.  I referred work to him when I could.  Then Melissas parents dropped a bombshell on us.  They were going to purchase a hundred year old cracker home in Punta Gorda.  The catch:  It was a disaster.  The whole home needed to be gutted and rebuilt.  They wanted us to do the work—and they wanted Kimball to lead the charge.  I called Kimball not knowing if he would be interested in such a massive project.  He jumped in without hesitating.  As we walked through the house for the first time listening to Kimball spout off about everything that would have to be done, I wondered if I had taken on a project that was more than I could handle, especial with this feisty little man whom I knew was going to make me earn every penny I made from this project.

It took us a full year to rebuild that house.  I spent every day with Kimball.  I tried very hard to listen to everything he was trying to teach me about construction and woodworking.  I learned that Kimball used to drive a truck for a living, but he had left that behind to play his hand at carpentry.  Things didn't always go his way. As such, I am sure there is still a cloud of Kimballs obscenities lingering over the lake behind moms house somewhere.  In the end, the house turned out way better than anyone, including myself could have imagined.  Mom was delighted.  We had more than doubled the value of the property.  More importantly, I had made a friend for life in Kimball Chase.  I knew that Kimball had never fathered any children.  I felt that it pained him somewhat that he could not pass on his knowledge to a son.  I understood the value of his knowledge and I had used the last year to soak up as much of it as I could.  I believe in the back of my mind that he respected me a little for that.

After the house was finished, I decided to go back to school and get my CDL. I needed work and there were plenty of driving jobs out there.  I think the move sparked the old man into revisiting his old career.  We both signed on as drivers late in 2014 and we hit the road.  We timed out our work schedules so that we could both be home at the same time.  The purpose for that was so that we could build a barn in my back yard where Kimball can store all of his tools while he is out on the road.  Kimball became a regular fixture around the house and we like it that way.  He is as much a part of the family as my son or daughter. 

This week, I made a run to Texas.  I was heading back to Jacksonville Florida when Kimball called.  “Where ya at?” he asked.  I told him I was skipping across Dallas back to I-10.  He told me he was coming back that way from San Antonio and asked if I wanted to meet up and run together.  I thought that would be an awesome idea and we met the next afternoon in Lafayette LA. Many of you know that I lost my father last year.  He had always hinted to me about driving a truck.  My only regret about taking this job is that I did not do it in time to be able to run with my own father.  When Kimball and I got up the next day and ran across Louisiana and Mississippi in tandem, I felt like it was the closest I could come in this lifetime to being able to do just that.  The wise old man leading the green (old but still younger) man down the road and teaching him a thing or two.  I felt a sense of my own father in Kimball and it was the best 400 miles I have driven to date.

When we split up in Cottonwood Florida, I drove away contemplating the circumstance.  All of this, my friendships, my home, my family, my life has all been blessed by this little temperamental man that I now consider to be a father figure.  Everything in my life has been touched and changed because I decided to take those five minutes and take a chance… Now I ask you...

What are you going to do with your five minutes today?