Redwoods and Rhododendrons
by
Phil Madsen, Expediter
(Written May 8, 2006 for publication on SuccessfulExpediters.com)
Diane and I delivered freight in Kent, Washington; a Seattle suburb, early Wednesday morning, May 3rd. We picked it up in Anaheim, California; a Los Angeles suburb. With California's and Oregon's truck speed limits at 55 mph and Washington's at 60, it meant a long, slow drive up Interstate Highway 5.
This load became expedited freight because someone, somewhere messed up. We rescued the freight from a moving company warehouse in Anaheim and drove straight through to Kent.
We completed the overnight run an hour ahead of schedule, which greatly pleased the consignee. When I pulled into the suburban office park parking lot, a man trotted out and directed us to the dock. Two others waited inside, eager to get their hands on this three-piece, 1,000-pound load. It was a computer server and related components. The trainees waiting for the machine were already seated in a nearby classroom.
The men quickly assembled the server and whisked it off to class, leaving me alone in the warehouse with the truck still at the dock. The tension that filled the air a moment before disappeared with the men. The sun had just risen. A couple dock doors were open, letting in the morning light and a fresh breeze. Except for the chirping birds and an occasional hiss from the truck's air valves, all was quiet. For the three men, the day was off to a stressful start. For us, it was a peaceful morning.
As I secured our load bars and ratchet straps, a young man rushed into the truck, looked around with wide eyes and asked, "Did you put together that freight?" "No," I said, "I moved it off the truck with our pallet jack and three guys put it together and hustled it off." "Sweeeeet!" the young man said, with a California surfer's tone.
Another young man entered the warehouse. The surfer said to him, "Wow, man! You're as late as I am!" As they looked at each other and around the room with blank stares, I quietly departed, wondering if they were the ones who dropped the ball and created the need to rescue the freight.
Then I remembered the moving company had a man waiting for us three hours before the Anaheim facility normally opened, and the moving company paid for the load. While we loaded in Anaheim, that man said something about people in Dallas messing something up. Maybe it was the moving company that created the emergency we resolved; or, maybe it was the original shipper.
It did not matter. We had done our jobs and it is unlikely that we will ever pick up or deliver at those locations again.
That's one of the things we like about expediting. When you are done, you are done. Other than following up with the paperwork to verify that we get paid for the run, we don't have to give the freight or the customer a second thought. In that regard, hauling freight is one of the simplest and most straightforward businesses there is.
The drama of emergency freight also makes the work interesting. I'm not a science fiction writer but expediting could inspire many sci-fi story lines.
In this case, the moving company could be the empire. Anaheim Man is dispatched to meet Star Ship Romeo with critical components for outpost Kent. Always conscientious, Anaheim Man resists Dancing Girl's temptations, overcomes Sand Man's spell, and braves the dark region to complete his mission. Star Ship Romeo overcomes the I-5 Corridor hazards to arrive at Kent in the nick of time, but Surfer Boys have screwed up once again, failing the cadets who were depending on them.
Surfer Boys' failure forced Engineer Team Delta to leave their posts to keep the cadets on schedule. The Master would be displeased if the cadets were delayed. Little did the engineers know that leaving their consoles for those few minutes caused them to miss the blip they had been searching for. That miss enabled evil technicians on the other side to establish an unknown and unprotected passage into the realm.
Will the Master and his cadets survive the surprise attack? How many evil forces infiltrated the realm before the missed blip was discovered and where else might they be? Is the emperor safe? What will become of the engineers when the consequences of their error are fully understood? And how is it that Surfer Boys got assigned to a fast ship of their own and are now partying on Zeta Tull?
Enough of that. There are several good reasons why I'm not a science fiction writer, one of which is shown above. Back to real-world expediting and Kent, Washington.
On the way to the delivery, we noticed a Denny's restaurant. We went there for breakfast and stayed in that parking lot for a morning snooze. Waking up a few hours later, we noticed the parking lot served not only Denny's, but also a 24-hour grocery store and an office supply store.
This was a good find; a restaurant and grocery store, both with bathrooms available 24 hours a day, and an office supply store with copy center services. We would only have to park the truck once to access them all. The lot also featured an ATM machine and U.S. Mail boxes. Garbage cans at a nearby car wash made it easy to dispose our trash. When we noted the location for future trips, we did not suspect we would be back in less than two days.
Being fed and rested, and with our groceries and office supplies restocked, we drove to the Flying J truck stop in Fife to fuel up and change the generator oil. For newbies reading this, a generator (also known as an auxiliary power unit or APU) is a device, powered by a small engine, that heats and cools the truck cab and sleeper, and produces electricity to power lights, computers, microwave oven, etc. The unit burns a fraction of fuel the truck's main engine does.
The oil change was overdue by a dozen or so engine hours. It had not been done before because of our run schedule or uncomfortable weather. At Fife, the weather was perfect for working outside; bright and sunny, temperatures in the 70s, a refreshing breeze.
Our truck (actually a fleet-owner's truck) was parked between two others. Knowing the truck next to me could move any time, I was careful to lay out my tools and supplies such that they would not be run over if our neighbor decided to leave. As I worked, three drivers approached at different times to visit about the APU, the truck and expediting. The customary questions were asked; "How do you like that generator?" "Do you make any money in that little truck?" "Are they keeping you busy at FedEx?" and so on.
Actually, the questions and answers were not spoken. They were shouted over the roar of dozens of trucks idling in the parking lot. I've never gotten used to that. If the weather is nice, some drivers will have long, friendly chats with their truck stop neighbors, shouting every word to be heard over the trucks. I prefer a quieter setting for conversation.
People are often curious about expediting and expediting trucks. When one of the drivers showed more than a passing interest, I yelled a familiar request up to Diane in the cab, "Diane! Magazine and brochure please."
We carry a supply of Expedite NOW magazines and Introduction to Expediting brochures. Sharing those is a faster and more thorough way to explain expediting than answering the same questions over and over again. Diane handed the items down to me and I handed them to the driver.
He held up the intro piece and shouted, "I have this already. I got it at the Louisville truck show." I shouted back, "Well then, you already know most of what I can tell you about expediting. I wrote that piece."
As I continued to work, he shouted his story about attending the truck show by chance and finding himself among the expediting booths. He also shouted that he and his wife are from Australia and they drive a big rig for Covenant.
As I finished the oil change, he returned to his truck. My next task was to ship a package home. For that, I needed to go in back of our truck for some cardboard and packing tape, from which to fashion a shipping container. Since I was going to be working in back and my Australian friend was parked close by, I walked to his truck and invited him to view the inside of ours. I thought he might like to see the freight-handling equipment we carry.
In the back of our truck, I gave him a brief tour. We then visited more as I cut cardboard and taped together a package. Diane and the driver's wife later found their way to the back of the truck. They stood on the ground, shouting sometimes at each other and sometimes at us. When I completed my package, I suggested we continue our visit inside.
A few minutes later, the four of us were seated in the Flying J restaurant, drinking ice tea and diet cola. Finding each other's company enjoyable, we visited long enough to get hungry; so we ordered supper and continued to chat.
These people were delightful. They told us what it is like to live in the Australian Outback, where they had a four-hour drive to the nearest town, and only then if the roads were not flooded. They talked about how much better American truckers have it than their Australian counterparts. They told us how they came to be truckers in the U.S. and how much they love it. They got us laughing to near tears with stories about their lives in the Outback and on the road.
They'd like to be expediters someday, but she had some cancer recovery going on. Until that is cleared up, it is best for them to stay with Covenant where health insurance is part of the compensation package. Expediters are self-employed and buy their own insurance. We exchanged names and telephone numbers. When their expected clean bill of health is received, they will call us for some fleet owner referrals.
Irregular sleep is a fact of life in expediting. While the sun had yet to set below the Pacific Ocean horizon, my body was still running on Eastern time. I was ready for a good night's sleep and turned in. Diane stayed up and read for a while. We had not received any load offers that day but did not mind. We used the day to sleep, do chores and make new friends. But come morning, we would be more than ready to haul some freight.
We awoke with the Thursday-morning sun and immediately checked the Qualcomm unit and cell phones to make sure we had not slept through any load offers. We turn the Qualcomm unit off when we sleep or are out of the truck. Dispatch then knows to call our cell phones us with offers. When we woke, the first thing we noticed was the phone had not rung. While we have never once slept through a nighttime phone call, we checked just to make sure.
No Qualcomm messages. No voice mail. No nothing.
Checking for messages that we knew were not there was a worry symptom. It was Thursday morning. We were in Seattle. We had no freight. Seattle is not a busy freight center. We worried about being stranded hundreds of miles from other freight centers. We worried about a zero-income weekend. Diane went inside to shower. I ate breakfast in the truck.
When Diane returned, we discussed our situation. It was May 4th and we had only hauled one load so far in the month. Friends of ours were saying freight is slow. Dispatchers were saying the same thing. The possibility of waking up on Monday, May 8th, still in Seattle, and still having hauled just one load in the month did not sit well.
Do we wait in Seattle for freight? Do we move to Portland or half way there to position ourselves for both cities? Do we deadhead further south to San Francisco? Do we deadhead further still to Los Angeles? We know Reno, Nevada regularly ships freight, but those loads go mostly west and could easily take us right back to Seattle.
To better gauge our situation, we called dispatch, some of our expediting friends and VRU (Voice Response Unit, a computer-generated voice mail service that reports our carrier's express center activity). Learning we were both the only truck in Seattle and the truck nearest to Portland, we decided to stay in Seattle until close of business local time. If no freight was offered by then, we would head south in hopes of getting a load that would keep us running over the weekend.
With that decision made, we asked the familiar expediter question, "What do we do now?"
I went inside to take a shower. Diane fired up the computer and did an internet search for Tacoma parks. When I returned, she had the Point Defiance Park web page on the screen. She told me to look it over as she went inside to make some copies and drop off TripPaks (run paperwork that gets sent to our carrier). She also had a computer mapping program up, showing the route to the park. It was just ten miles away.
Decision made; we would check out the park, spend the day there if we could, and head south that night if no freight bubbled up during the day. If the park was not truck-friendly, we would search for another place, other than a truck stop, to pass time and wait for freight.
The route to the park looked great. The park is on a peninsula that extends into Puget Sound. A large residential area was between us and the park, but a state highway ran straight through to the park gate. Axle-weight limits, low wires, low bridges, "No Trucks" signs, narrow streets and other such challenges would not likely rise.
Bright sunshine and crystal-clear air made it easy to see far ahead. Our map study proved accurate. The state highway took us easily to the park gate. At that intersection, we could turn right or left, or drive straight ahead into the park. With no one behind us, we sat at the stop sign for a moment and peered deep into to the park to gauge truck parking possibilities, and to make sure there was a way out if we headed in.
It look good. The park was beautiful. There were no posted truck restrictions. Tree limbs were cut high and wide from the road. While the park roads had no shoulders, the paved lanes were wide enough to drive easily past the cars parked on the road. The worst case would be that we would have to back out if we got trapped inside. That would not be a problem since morning traffic in the park was very light. In we went.
As we drove further into the park, the road went downhill, curved sharply to the left and then forked. The right fork was named, "Five Mile Drive." The left fork looped back to the main gate. A small bridge over a small creek made it easy to decide which fork to take. The bridge was not made for trucks. We took the left fork, hoping we would not encounter a similar bridge further down that road. I kept an eye on the road behind to make sure we could back out if it came to that.
There was no bridge on the loop road. Instead, we found parallel parking spots along the left side. With the spots mostly empty, we pulled easily into five of them. These parking places were larger than most. The truck could have fit into four. We straddled a fifth to leave maneuvering room and a way out if cars later parked behind and ahead of the truck.
We shut down the truck, opened the windows and looked around. There were no parking restrictions of any kind. Even better, the park was free of signs saying "No Commercial Vehicles." What little we had seen of the park was spectacular. There were a number of carefully manicured gardens. Walking trails and rest rooms were shown on the park directory. It was quiet, clean, colorful, peaceful, and fresh all at once.
We joked that it might be better to spend the day back in the truck stop parking lot. The contrast between the park and the truck stop was profound. As we have done many times before, we congratulated ourselves for choosing to drive a straight truck instead of a tractor/trailer rig. Straight trucks can go where big rigs can't.
This park was a good example. While the park roads were OK for a straight truck, a big rig would be trapped by a couple of the tighter curves and stone fences that lined the road. Backing a tractor/trailer rig out would be no fun at all. Even a highly-skilled driver would have a hard time keeping his or her wheels off the grass. For big-rig drivers, dropping the trailer someplace outside the park and bobtailing in would be best.
At this park, we were satisfied that the little bears would leave us alone (city or park police, as opposed to the full-grown bears, also known as state patrol officers). At other locations where we have not been so sure, a telephone call to the local police provided the info we need. This day, there seemed to be nothing to worry about, so no call was made.
We climbed out the driver's door and down onto lush, green grass; locked up the truck, counted our "lumps" and started exploring the park on foot. The lumps are the five items we always carry when we are both away from the truck; two cell phones, two wallets, and the stick. The stick is a computer USB flash memory drive that contains all our business information. The wallets hold our passports, company IDs, CDLs, credit cards, fuel cards, cash, etc. Because we would be walking a fair amount, we brought a butt pack and carried everything in it.
If the truck was stolen, burglarized or burned, we could be back into our accounts as soon as we bought a replacement computer. If we were robbed of the lumps on the street, the computers still in the truck would contain all the information we need to freeze all accounts and get new cards. If it somehow happened that we lost the lumps, computers and the truck at the same time, a telephone call home would produce an overnight FedEx package containing a backup stick and the recovery information we need. If we were in a remote area, we could order a new computer by telephone and have it sent overnight.
When we saw that the park's walking trails were first-rate and they went on for miles, we checked our cell phone signal before proceeding. We were still in service and available to haul freight. If dispatch had a load, we would want to hear about it. If there had not been a good cell phone signal, we would have stayed close enough to the truck to hear the beep that announces an incoming Qualcomm message.
Our day was shaping up quite well. We were in a very pleasant location to wait for freight. A good cell phone signal provided the freedom to walk around. The weather was fantastic. We felt good having discovered this place. The only thing better would have been freight to haul.
A few minutes into our walk, we saw something neither of us had seen before; a genuine Sequoia Redwood tree. While it was smaller than the trees we've seen in pictures of the Redwood Forest, this tree was impressive. We spent some time checking it out, touching it, and viewing it from the bottom up and from different angles from a distance. It's an amazing thing, a tree like that. While it's just a tree, viewing it elevates your mood and brings out the best in you. The word "majestic" came to mind.
Yep! Our day was shaping up quite well, indeed. Concerns about freight gave way to the splendor of the park. We smiled and nodded to each other, held hands and continued our stroll. While the temperature was warm, a Puget Sound breeze kept us from breaking sweat and blowing our morning showers.
Before we became truckers, we had good jobs. That day in the park, nothing we had done in the past mattered. Thoughts about our old white-collar careers entered our minds only once; and then only to note that we don't miss the house we sold or the offices we used to work in. In our previous careers, a relaxing weekday walk in the park was not an option. As truckers, a load of freight would have been nice, but the slice of heaven we were enjoying that day did just fine.
The trails led into woods and then to wooden steps that led down a cliff and onto the beach. The forest in the Pacific Northwest is different than what we are accustomed to in Minnesota and Wisconsin. In Washington, the trees grow large and tall. The brush is not as thick. The greens and browns are darker, or at least they seem that way as the tall trees capture the light. We walked slowly, stopping sometimes to examine a towering tree, and at it's base, an equally-impressive sprout of the same species.
Such sights inspire thoughts about the passage of time. I wondered what one of the old trees might have seen in its years on the cliff, and what stories the tree could tell.
A truck driver who hauls logs for a living might say, "Nothing, stupid! It's a tree! Trees don't talk. They grow, die, and rot away." In my mind, I agreed with that hypothetical trucker. But as we continued our walk, I continued to wonder what stories the trees could tell.
The steps and the solitude of the walking trail ended at a developed area of the beach. A couple-hundred people milled around the parking areas, restrooms, concession stands and colorful kayak racks. Some laid on the thick, green grass to soak up sun. Some tossed Frisbees and footballs to each other. A few sat on lawn chairs near the water.
The beach was not sandy like those we've seen in Florida and southern California. It featured large boulders that were covered with small shell creatures of some sort. We wondered if they were barnacles that attached themselves to the rocks when the tide came in. Large pieces of driftwood laid among the rocks. A sign warned beach walkers to not get trapped by the rising tide. The water line on the cliff lent credibility to the sign.
The beach surface varied from a gritty, gray sand; to gravel, to bedrock. The sand was hard packed, which made for easy walking and kept it out of our shoes. As we continued our walk, we occasionally checked our cell phone signal to make sure dispatch could reach us. If the signal faded, we would have turned back.
That did not happen. The Puget Sound area is heavily populated. Across the water we could see Vashon Island and other land masses with numerous homes on the tree-covered hillsides. The homes, all with large windows, stood out from the trees as they were lit by the sun. A commuter ferry serves Vashon Island. These upscale homeowners would not be without good cell phone service, so neither were we.
As Diane and I see the country, we sometimes wonder what it would be like to grow up in a given area and then see someplace totally different. We have fun imagining the reaction someone would have who grew up in say remote New Mexico, where you can view miles of open ground without seeing another person or building, and then stood in Times Square for the first time.
Kids growing up in homes that overlook Puget Sound would eat meals in rooms with spectacular views. They'd be accustomed to looking out and down to see what is happening outside their homes. Their world view would be partially shaped by what they see out their windows, on TV and the internet. Each brother or sister would have his or her own room with lots of toys and space, and probably a computer and TV.
Puget Sound kids would know people who live higher on the hill have the more expensive homes. Water is always plentiful. Frequent rains keep their world lush and fresh. Lutherans and drive-through coffee stands are common in the area. Asian faces in school indicate places like Japan and China are not so far away.
In West Virginia, houses are built on hillsides too but they don't have spectacular views. Children there are closer to but less aware of the ivy-league colleges the Puget Sound kids hear about. West Virginia is home to fifteen Civil War battle sites. Children there see adults re-enact Civil War events. Graves from that era are a common sight. In Washington, the kids learn about Mount Saint Helens. In West Virginia they worry about mine cave-ins and people they know who might die in them. In the Puget Sound area, a lot of kids go off to college after high school. In West Virginia, a lot of them go off to basic training.
That's one of the things we love about being expediters. We see things first hand and meet people we never would have if we kept our old jobs and stayed home. We have hauled freight in and out of mines, upscale homes, schools, sea ports, airline hangers, laboratories, hospitals, national forests, warehouses, inner-city sidewalks, caves, shopping centers, railroad yards, universities, power plants, museums, factories of all kinds, construction sites, high-rise office buildings, jet planes on small runways, downtown hotels, wind farms, convention centers, open fields, movie sets, and more.
We get to meet the people who work at these places. Many do not speak English as their first language. Some speak no English at all. We meet truckers who, unlike trees, have many stories to tell. We meet tourists who are on the road and workers who wish they were. Sometimes we meet their children too and hear about life from their point of view. The kids love honking the horn in our truck. I think their parents would also like to honk the horn but feel too grown up to ask.
Further down the beach, the ground returned to its undeveloped state. The people thinned out and eventually disappeared. Walking alone on the beach, we took in the sights, sounds, smells and wonders of nature. The beach was about fifty-yards wide. The water was on our right; a high, forest-covered cliff on our left. Occasional pleasure boats cruised the sound. The ferry operated in the distance.
Depending on the wind direction, a cool breeze carried either pine or sea scents across the beach. Behind us, snow-capped Mount Rainier dominated the horizon. Brightly lit by the sun, it rose with picture-perfect contrast into the rich, blue sky.
Trying our hand at artistic photography, we shot a hundred or so digital pictures as we walked. Fallen trees and driftwood offered many interesting images. But as usual, no picture we took did the scenes justice.
Even so, the photos help us remember. When we're in tourist mode, as we were that day, we open our senses to fully experience the attraction. We see, feel, hear, taste and smell; above, below, and all around. In later years, we will look at the photos and read my journal to remember and re-experience the sensations of the day.
I could put more time and effort into photography and sometimes think I should. So far, my photography training is limited to what little I've read in photography books at Barnes and Noble. That's another pastime of ours. When waiting for freight, we will often go to a Barnes and Noble store and settle into their plush chairs for a few hours of reading.
Libraries work well too, but for expensive, coffee-table-size photography books, Barnes and Noble is the place to go. Diane likes novels. She has started one in one store and finished it in sections in other stores around the country.
The big parking lots and plush chairs Barnes and Noble offers have done their job. While we will leave the expensive books behind, we've spent a whole lot of money on bargain books that we bring with us in the truck. When we finish those, we leave them at truck stops for others to read or donate them to whatever library we next find ourselves in.
When walking on the beach, my attention turned to the changing patterns in the sand that were formed by the water trickling out of the forest. I watched the sand for some time as Diane wandered around the driftwood with the camera.
When she returned, she told me about how her brothers used to play for hours in their farm driveway when winter snow gave way to the spring thaw. They formed channels and dams in the mud to route the water and float sticks. I told her I did the same thing when I was little and had half a mind to spend that afternoon doing so again.
Why not? It's a peaceful, contemplative activity. As an expediter, I'm already doing everything I'm supposed to be doing. If a call to haul freight came in, we would be ready to roll almost immediately. Because the trails rounded a point, we were never far away from the truck We could have wheels rolling in a few minutes if we had to.
Water trickles were less interesting to Diane than they were to me. Not wanting to explore the point separately, we continued our walk together. I'd have to wait for another opportunity to play in the sand and pretend I was eight years old again.
Eventually, we ran out of beach and worked our way back up onto the wooded trails. Then the phone rang. The area code displayed on the screen told us it was dispatch calling. Yes! A load offer!
I answered. "This is (name) calling from FedEx." the dispatcher said. "The answer is YES!" I said. "That was easy." she replied. I told her it was Thursday, freight is slow, and we were worried about being stranded in Seattle over the weekend. We were eager to roll on a load.
She gave us the details; pickup Friday morning in Renton, Washington and drive the load straight through to a freight-transfer facility near the Mexican border, south of San Diego. It was a good run. Better still, Renton was nearby. That gave us the rest of the day to spend at the park.
We came to a trail-side sign that pointed various directions to the park attractions. One sign said, "Rhododendron Garden." We headed that way and found the plants in bloom. Diane got busy with the camera. Rhododendrons interested me less than water trickles in the sand. Being hungry, I was looking at the flowers but thinking about hot dogs. I walked back to the truck to cook up a couple and take a nap. Diane continued her walk alone.
As I approached the truck, I checked the windshield for parking tickets. While there were no truck or parking restrictions posted of any kind, you are never quite sure what the local ordinances might be. We had parked a commercial vehicle in a park. Did that make us guilty? Not that day, at least not yet. I was relieved to see no ticket on the truck.
Two hot dogs and a few moments later I was asleep in the bunk. The weather was perfect. There was no need to run the generator to heat or cool the truck. With the windows cracked, a cool breeze flowed through the truck. I dozed off to sounds of ducks chasing each other off the pond and children playing in the grass.
I awoke a half-hour later, opened all windows all the way, swiveled the passenger seat to face the center of the truck, adjusted the seat height, arms, back, and air bladders for a perfect sit, put my feet up on the driver's seat, and settled in to read until Diane returned.
A while later, Diane used her cell phone to call mine. She could see the truck from a distance. "There's a bear (police officer) parked behind the truck. Is everything all right?" I did not know. I had not seen him pull up. I did not know how long he had been there or what he was doing. I got out of the truck and walked barefoot through the grass to ask the officer if everything was OK. He was a city cop, talking on his radio as I approached. I figured he was running our license number.
He spoke first. "How's it going?" I said, "I'm just checking to see if we're OK parked here." "You're fine." he said in a reassuring tone. "Have a nice day." That was his way of telling me he was busy doing something else and to leave him alone. I nodded and returned to the truck. He left a few minutes later. That confirmed it. We were legally parked. We will be back another day.
Or not. It rains a lot in the Seattle/Tacoma area. It was good luck to have a sunny day when we were in the area with time on our hands. It could easily be raining next time we are there. No matter. The area has numerous indoor attractions too.
A friend of ours, who we sometimes visit when we are in Denver, urges us to see a glass-blower's gallery when we're near Tacoma. That gallery is a favorite memory of hers from a trip she once took. On a rainy day, the gallery would be a good choice. But if the sun is shining, a return visit to Defiance Point Park is first on the list. Or we may try something new, like the hiking trails at Mount Rainier.
We stayed at the park until the Seattle/Tacoma rush hour ended. It turned out that the Denny's and grocery store parking lot we napped in two mornings before was close to our Friday shipper. We drove back there to spend the night.
As the sun became a red ball low in the sky and we exited the park gate, we felt grateful to people we have never met; the visionaries who fought to get the land designated as a park years ago, and the good people who keep it up today. In creating and maintaining the park as they have, those people gave Diane and I the gift of a very special day.
In the morning, it was an easy drive to the shipper, but when we got there, no one knew anything about the freight we were supposed to haul. The security guard sent us to one dock. People there sent us to another. But that shipping clerk at the second dock had no idea why we were there. As I stood at his desk and he shuffled papers, he wondered aloud if the load had shipped the day before.
"Great." I thought. "We could have deadheaded south to California on Thursday if we had known there was nothing to haul from here on Friday."
I returned to the truck. Diane called dispatch with the news. A few minutes later, dispatch called back and confirmed what the shipping clerk said. The freight had indeed been shipped the day before via another carrier, but no one had called our carrier to cancel the load.
While dry run pay would be given for the canceled load (a token amount), we were screwed. We were available to haul the freight the day before. Why didn't they call then? Who got "our" freight and how did the other carrier manage that? We waited a day for nothing. Keeping our truck available for the scheduled load made it unavailable for any other loads that might have popped up. Who is going to compensate us for the lost day? We did our part. Why couldn't dispatch do theirs? We have suffered an injustice. This isn't fair. Someone owes us something more than dry run pay! Grrrrrrr!!!!!
Canceled loads produce negative thoughts that will take you down if you let them. If left unchecked, negative thoughts can lead to poor decisions that lead to additional negative circumstances, which can spiral further down to even more negative thoughts and more poor decisions. Finding our attitudes moving rapidly downhill, we interrupted that line of thinking.
No, we would not be compensated for the day we lost. We knew that from previous dry runs. Dry runs happen. Fortunately, they do not happen often. Still, it is no fun to lose a day. Given a choice, we gladly would have traded our day at Point Defiance Park for a day of hauling freight. Point Defiance Park was plan B. Plan A was to haul freight.
On Wednesday night we worried some about being stranded in Seattle over the weekend. The worry grew on Thursday morning but disappeared when the load offer came on Thursday afternoon. On Friday morning, the worry was strong enough to motivate us to do something about it.
We got on the phone to learn what other trucks were in the area. We were the only one in Seattle. There was one in Portland, Oregon and a few scattered in Idaho, Montana and Nevada. Our dry run gave us less-than-75 status, which would put us first in line for a load wherever we went next.
We decided to drive 160 miles south to Portland. Since no trucks were near Seattle, we would receive offers for any freight that bubbled up there. With our less-than-75 status, we would also be first in line for any freight that bubbled up around Portland. We planned to stay in Portland through close of business local time. If no offers came, we would head south to San Francisco in hopes of finding some weekend freight there.
About half way to Portland we saw another FedEx truck driving north. I got on the CB radio. "Hey FedEx! You got it on?" No response.
I was not surprised. CB frequencies are filled with trash talk from foul-mouthed drivers and idiots who illegally broadcast animal sounds, music and other nonsense. Most expediters are offended by that and seldom drive with their CB radios turned on. I turned our radio back off and wondered if that truck was delivering in the area. If it was, that would negate our Portland/Seattle strategy.
Less-than-75 status puts you first in line, but that is not the whole story. FedEx uses a complex point system to determine what truck receives what offer. If another truck is 160 miles closer to the load than you are, that truck will likely get the load, regardless of your less-than-75 status. It's not just about the pecking order among trucks. It's about serving the customer too, and getting trucks quickly to shippers.
I chuckled as the northbound truck went by. We thought ourselves so clever going to Portland to cover two cities at once. That grand plan may have became instantly meaningless when that truck drove by. We forgot to ask dispatch about any Seattle-inbound trucks. Oh well, on to Portland, and perhaps on to San Francisco.
That truck may not have been going to Seattle. It could have being going to Canada or Alaska, or maybe the team was just going home. It does not matter. When it comes to positioning yourself for freight, you simply make the best decisions you can and hope they work out. On to Portland we went.
Expediters have no terminals or designated waiting areas. When we speak of going to an express center or freight center, we mean nothing more than a metropolitan area from which freight is likely to originate.
Portland hosts one of the cleanest, most modern, and best appointed truck stops on earth; Jubitz. While we knew we would stop to at least freshen up, we took our time getting to the truck stop. Once in the Portland area; we grabbed lunch at a roadside hamburger stand, walked to FedEx Kinko's across the street to fax a form to our carrier, and walked a few blocks from there to a post office to mail the package I put together two days before.
Jubitz is a popular place. When we pulled into the bobtail lot, we were not surprised to see the Portland truck there. Lettering on the truck told us it was a husband/wife team. They were inside.
After parking nearby, I went to the driver's window and joked, "Freight is slow. FedEx sent us to bring you a change of address card so your mail can be delivered here." The driver said back, "We're going to need it. We've been here since Monday." My eyes opened wide. "Monday! Oh my!"
He explained that they have been expediting for eight years and Portland has never been a problem for them. But this time was different. I told him Seattle had never been a problem for us either. We've always been able to get out under load; if not right away, within a day or two. But knowing freight is slow right now, we moved to Portland and will move to California in the morning if freight does not take us out on Friday.
I told him how our Seattle load canceled. He knew in an instant how that felt and what it meant for us and him. He extended his sympathy and showed his understanding about our canceled load. As we visited, his eyes moved rapidly side to side. I could tell he was thinking hard; recalculating his situation in light of the news I shared. Another truck was northbound and we, having just arrived, were first in line in Portland.
He did not begrudge us arriving in Portland and bumping him out of first place. Had this team done the same thing to us, we would not have begrudged them either. It's how the game is played. Less-than-75 status trumps dwell time. Trucks operate in their own best interests and that's the way it is.
He lit up a cigarette, rolled his window down further, and turned off his idling truck to make talking easier. I continued to look up at him from the ground. His wife, perhaps shy, perhaps angry, did not say hello or anything else.
The driver said that for them, Friday had always been a day to get out of Portland. I mentioned that our truck was lift-gate and reefer equipped (theirs was not), and maybe we would get a liftgate or reefer load that they could not carry. I also said there is still quite a bit of Friday left before the shippers go home for the night. It could very well be that he gets a Friday load.
As he thought out loud and his new circumstances sunk in, he said, "I'm pissed off. We're leaving now." He did not say where he planned to go or why. I suggested that since he has been waiting since Monday, a few hours more would not matter much and Portland or Seattle freight could very well bubble up. He did not agree. I returned to our truck and they drove off a few minutes later.
Not five minutes after they left, dispatch called us with an offer. Pickup nearby Friday afternoon and run the load to Tucson, Arizona for a Monday delivery. It was not a liftgate or reefer load. The other truck would have got it had we not driven to Portland. But had the other truck not left, they would once again be first in line.
When they meet and visit, drivers sometimes exchange names and telephone numbers. Other times, they anonymously talk shop. This was an anonymous conversation. We could not call them to say they were again first in line. We do not know if they remained in service or where they went. They'll be fine. They've been expediting for eight years. Low-income or zero-income weeks sometimes happen. That too is the way it is.
Had we been in the other team's shoes, it is unlikely that we would have waited five days in Portland for freight. Our customary practice is to move after one day. In the northwest states, where other freight centers are hundreds of miles away and fuel is over $3.00 a gallon, waiting an additional day might be OK. Beyond that, we would likely grow restless and move. If the freight does not come to us, we go to it.
Freight-wise, this was a slow week. We had only two runs, one from Anaheim to Seattle and one from Portland to Tucson. Income-wise, the loads paid well enough to put us within in our weekly average. While we worried at times about having no freight, the week turned out OK. But if we would have continued to sit in Seattle, we could very well have woken up on May 8th with just one load on the books month-to-date.
Portland is about 1,450 miles from Tucson. If you add 100 miles to the route, you can avoid California and drive instead through Oregon, Idaho and Utah. On that route, traffic is lighter, the scenery is better, speed limits are higher, fuel is less expensive and the cops and laws are not as truck-hostile as they are in California.
When planning a long run, we assume an average speed of 50 mph. While freeway speed limits are higher, the 50 mph assumption includes time for fuel stops and rest room breaks. 1,550 miles at 50 mph works out to about 31 hours of driving time.
When we picked up the freight on Friday afternoon for Monday delivery, we had about 63 hours to transport a 31-hour load. In other words, this was an easy, weekend run. We did not have to drive the clock around. We stopped the truck to sleep each night.
We also used the time to prepare for the next run. When we delivered in Tucson, our fuel tanks were full, groceries were restocked, the truck was clean inside and out, and we were well-rested and ready to roll immediately on another run.
As I finish this piece, we're parked on the street near the Tucson delivery, waiting for an offer. The morning weather is cool but Arizona is already starting to heat up for the day. If an offer does not come in soon, we might go to an air-conditioned library to read, look for a place where they will teach us to ride horses, call on friends who live in the area or do something else.
You never know what will happen next in this business. That is part of the fun.