On The Road Again

I recall a song by Tennessee Ernie Ford many years ago about “sixteen tons.” This morning it’s forty tons as my friend works his way through the right gears (out of ten) to move his big red eighteen wheel tractor trailer slowly up to speed. We’re loaded with skids of recycled plastic pellets and a lot of them. It reminds me of standing along the railroad tracks in Western Pennsylvania watching Norfolk Southern freight trains labor up the mountain to the Horse Shoe Curve. I know 465 horsepower doesn’t sound like a lot compared to some “muscle cars” but because of dinner plate-sized pistons, this rig has enough torque to pull those cars apart.
I am awed at the view eight feet up above the road. I can see amazingly well especially beyond the low shrubs and brushes that shield some of the normal off-road sights. There’s a clear view down into many unsuspecting driver’s vehicles as well. Bet they don’t have a clue I’m “spying” on them. I wonder if the brave motorcyclist comprehends that he is flirting with 80,000 pounds as he darts about like a mosquito. I still can’t get used to passing inches from everything on a much too narrow two lane highway. The turns cause my “heart to lodge in my throat” as we aim toward signs, telephone poles, traffic lights, and parked cars until the last possible moment to get the 53 feet of trailer completely around corners.
As we navigate toward the formidable incline of the looming Blue Mountain, I almost question in my mind whether we should prudently find another route. Not to fear, ten minutes later we crest the mountain for a fleeting magnificent view of a miniaturized Lehigh Valley. Now I realize that the real challenge is keeping these forty tons from rocketing down the other side without jack-knifing or cooking the brakes. I learn that it’s a real juggling act to control the trailer with a dash mounted control while braking the tractor with a separate foot brake and utilizing the “jake brake” engine retarder which cuts fuel from 3 cylinders for additional braking. Now I understand those “silly” signs that require trucks over 21,000 pounds to stop and use low gears.
Soon we’re in a village with quaint names like Ryba Auto, Skotek’s Oil, Alexander’s Barber shop, Felkie’s Shoes, and of course VFW Post 6708. I am still amazed that we haven’t wiped out any parked cars or even scratched a mirror. Soon I am asked to be the navigator into an industrial area. Sometime remind me to tell you about how I know it is possible to turn a 65 foot tractor trailer around from a residential alley.
We spot a small, well-seasoned “greasy spoon” diner with truck parking and decided to stop to partake of their $2.75 mid-morning special. I didn’t realize that we are easily spotted as strangers until I noticed that they start to cook Charlie’s and several other folk’s orders when they pulled into the parking lot. I almost feel embarrassed to need a menu. The food is great and the hash browns superb; far better than the cold veggie burgers I have stashed in the cab.
Soon, all too soon, I am back in my humble “four wheeler” heading to my suburban home. Somehow I feel like I left a real slice of America behind when I descended from the heights of that big red diesel truck. Wonder if I need a CDL (commercial driver’s license) to dream tonight. What will you have to dream about?