Cool bridge in ohio.

Half a house on half a bridge.

I am sitting in a truckstop in Greenville, VA. I’m not in Nelson County but I’ve never been closer. My uncle, Bob, lived there when he died. I can’t say he was my favorite uncle; I have another who has done so much for me. However, from an early age, it was obvious he was a kindred spirit. He was Bob #2 in a family of at least four.

Bob was a free lance photographer. According to family legend, he did many covers for Stereo Review magazine. Bob and his family lived in New Jersey. I can remember a big tree in the backyard and some furniture made out of small barrels. Some time in the 1970′s, Bob packed it all in and moved the family to a farmhouse in western Massachusetts where they lived off the land.

They sold chickens and rabbits to pay their property taxes. It was a big old farmhouse with a slate roof. I can still see the big garden, the barn and the yard. There was a big old pool table in a parlour off the living room. I ate cereal or oatmeal with milk still warm from the cow. We didn’t have chicken one night; we had rooster! There is Uncle Bob sitting in the living room blowing smoke rings.

I remember playing pool downstairs at my other Uncle Bob’s; #4. #2 and I played and talked for a long time. I was living in the basement at the time as I had just moved to the Detroit area. Another time, I was helping him grill snapper behind Grandma and Grandpa’s Nokomis house. Uncle Bob showed me how the best part of the fish was the skin that peeled off as it grilled. While everyone else was waiting for grilled fish, we were eating fish skin like potato chips right off the filets.

When I started a business in Florida, I also went through a streak of empty headed conservative politics. I was rabid. We had a salesman working for us who was the only dyed-in-the-wool socialist I’ve ever met. His name was Ron something. I can’t remember his last name for the life of me. Uncle Bob was in Nelson County, living with his ex-wife [something else we have in common] when he sent me a card and took a little jab at my politics. This was at the peak of the Clintons’ Whitewater mess. I wrote back the worst, most immature, vitriolic letter. It began in the same fun his card was but quickly devolved into a mess. It must have hit him like a roundhouse slap.

When Uncle Bob got sick, I had just started a job in Sturgis, MI. Mom and Dad, Aunt Chris and Uncle Bob and Grandma and Grandpa went down to see him. As I waited for news on his condition and wrangled for some time off, he was gone. I have very few regrets in my life, but that letter is an open debt. I never had the chance to look him in the eye and talk to him. He probably would have told me to forget the apology. If we had talked, he would have known without me saying. We are still kindred spirits. I almost wish that I could believe in some way that he could be looking down on me; knowing that I am living my own life inspired by his. That is a salve I cannot afford.

If you have something to tell someone; especially someone you don’t get to talk to often DO IT NOW! Just pick up the phone and do it. Uncle Bob always called at Christmas, I know that I was passed the phone. Just maybe, he could hear in my voice that I wasn’t the guy in that letter. Maybe, but wouldn’t it be nice if I had said it out loud.

For all of you who thought I was talking about Granholm, send yourself to bed with no supper.

I’m a Company Driver. I drive a truck owned by the company. An Owner/Operator is a driver who owns his rig and leases his services to a company. My truck (actually, the truck of my trainer) is therefore set up with the company in mind. The engine has a governor. I can only go about 68 mph. Of course, I’ve hit 75 mph down a mountain.

It actually works out OK. Most states are 65 mph states, I can ride the governor and not speed enough to get noticed. In the 70 mph states, I’m pretty darn close. The 55 mph states are just a drag. So I spend a lot of time with either the Cruise maxed out or with the pedal jambed to the floor.

Not only are there cultural differences between Company Drivers and Owner/Operators, but not all companies govern at the same speed. There are some Co. Drivers I know I can pass; others I can only catch downhill.  Still others that are so close it takes miles to pass them. You little four wheelers have no idea some of the strategy that goes into just picking a lane to get through a big city.

Seeing the world at 68 mph creates its own issues. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to stop and back up to take a picture. And the Arizona desert around US93 at dusk makes me want to paint. I might yet bring some colored pencils along.

Like when I came down out of Chattanooga around a curve and across a lake, the road was cut into the side of a mountain loaded with pine. Or the snowy egret standing on one leg in a river in Texas over a perfect reflection of itself. Or the sunset behind the mountains in the High Desert of New Mexico.

Was it really such a beautiful sunset? Can I really tell at 68 mph. It is the same with women in cars; the wind whipped hair, the delicate wrist and hand on the wheel, the hem of a skirt, even those cute painted toes up on the dash on the passenger side. Was she really that pretty? I like to think so.

I’m living without a governor. Literally without the weight. I am on plan; working toward doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do. I think the sunsets and the beauty are out here, but most of us are so wrapped up in a life that we don’t notice. Your assignment for today is to catch the sunrise or wait for the sunset or find that perfect photo; even if you’re traveling too fast to get out the camera. Notice. Acknowledge. Absorb. Enjoy.

Picture finally. El Paso Truck Stop WiFi FTP Blues.

The last bits of evening sun seem to only fall on the lake. Every wake, cats paw, and ripple is dark black against the color. The trees and the hills smudge into the background. Pinks and Purples and Oranges of every variety rip across the clouds. No time for the camera. I’m driving a heavy load of glass. Mirrors or something bound for Arizona.

By the time I cross the next valley the light is gone. There is nothing but flatness in North Texas. I can see towns in the dark from miles away. Streetlights twinkle across the valley; like spilled marbles.

Driving along, I grip the wheel like a skeleton, in some cave, clutching an obelisk. The dry sinew creaks and cracks as Indiana Jones, or some other intrepid explorer, pries it from my boney fingers. In the dark, I see a doe on the shoulder of the highway. My senses crackle to life. Where I come from, deer travel in pairs. Miles later a coyote skitters across right in front of me. I remember my dogs running around the kitchen. I imagine, if I could have heard him, the coyote sounds like that on the tarmac.

There are so many bugs out here on the plains, plastering the windshield. The road becomes something I can sense more than see. I had stopped to wash the windows at a little truck stop. The handles were so short on the squeegee that I opened the hood and climbed up on a tire to reach. Hanging on a frame member and stretching over the churning diesel, I am just spreading bug guts around. I got that much from the windshield wipers earlier.

I slept through Memphis as my trainer was driving. Probably not much to see from the highway. Tomorrow we cross New Mexico. Tucumcari is one of the first towns. Tuc is in a cool song called “Willing.” It’s a Little Feat song, but I think I’ve heard a Steve Earle version. Everyone should listen to more Steve Earle.

It is a different life out here. Another version of vagabond, so I’m comfortable. It is tough to do normal life from the road. Trucks can’t go on just any road. Shopping becomes difficult. Ralph calls grocery shopping “marketing.” I love that. Marketing is tough from the road.

The night is surreal, but its also just a job.

South of tucson.

Storming over flagstaff.

Someone having a real bad day in baltimore.

Well, I hit the wall in Bay City trying to find work to fill in the Boat Refit. It was spooky the way the economy in Michigan $%^&-canned the job search. I’ve had to drop the Vagabond Hero mantle. I’m back in the working world for a while. I’ve spent the last couple weeks at CDL Truck Driving School. It is company sponsored so as long as I drive for a year, I won’t owe anything for the school.

I passed the State Exam this morning. There is no stopping me now I suppose. I should be out on the road with a trainer next week.

The silver lining is that now I’ll have some time and some good cash flow to refit In A Mist. She’ll be a bit better equipped and I’ll definitely have more cash in the kitty when I go. I’ll post some of my adventures here. Thanks for all the moral support you’ve given me. Have Fun.

Monday and Tuesday, I was on my belly reaching as far as I could, forward and aft, scooping black mayonaise out of the bilges. The PO had an issue with a diesel tank. That probably contribluted to the half inch of sludge. I found a light bulb, a jeweler’s screwdriver, some wire [connected and not], and a weird piece of fiberglass.

It got to almost 90 in Bay City yesterday. It was a hot job but needed to be done. The bilges can actually add to my storage space now. After sweating my guts out, I took my first shower aboard. Well, you’re right there is now shower in the head. In A Mist and I are way out in the boneyard in the back of the marina. I looked around and listened. Then I stripped down and dumped a couple buckets of water over my head in the cockpit. The buckets are darkish blue and had been sitting in the sun for a couple hours. It was very nice. Then I went out to Quanicassee and resigned as a Boat Broker. That job was a lot of fun, but it wasn’t matching my goals for In A Mist and I. I should have some job news next week. I am working on a hot lead.