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(Yes, I know the annual Christmas essay is late. It's coming. It's coming. Geez!!!!)

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.
Isaac Asimov

I could see he was running on a set of Michelins.

At that moment, I was hugging the forward left outside dual of the trailer, hoping like hell he'd edge it to the left at least another two inches, even as I could feel the icy spray from the road as his rig rolled by me. I could easily feel the rush of air as he rolled past, clearly oblivious to the fact that he came damned close to killing me.

All of this started simply enough: We were hit with the second wave of a series of storms that were rolling across Northern California. I'd checked on the weather on December 31st, and realized that if I didn't move and move quick, I'd be stuck in the middle of this mess, and probably forced to shut down in white-out conditions. I was low on food, and low on drinking water in the truck, not to mention that with a recent valve adjustment, they'd put in new parameters for the engine, forcing it to shut down after five minutes of idle time. I'd be stuck trying to huddle under the blankets in the sleeper, trying to stay warm, even as the slop outside solidified into an icy slab on the Interstate. Not good.

Add to this the current fight with Peggy about her getting a job, about her trying to make some sort of meaningful contact with our mortgage company, not to mention the threats to our marriage we've been facing with everything else, and I was not looking forward to trying to make this trip.

I managed to make good time from Brownsville, OR down to Weed, CA, only to discover that I would be forced to chain up. I took an hour, got everything secured, then tried like hell to get back into traffic, a difficult task, given the number of retirees in their RVs heading south, no doubt heading for warmer weather, (something I kept wishing I was doing.)

When I'm chaining up my rig, I have a set of black insulated coveralls, which I wear with a green knit cap, long underwear, my boots, and a high visibility flourescent green vest. I've been looking for icy weather gear that has at least reflective stripes on it, but for now, during daylight hours, this seems to work. Add to this the basic rule that you never turn your back on traffic, that you face the rear of the rig as you walk past on the driver's side, and you walk towards the front on the passenger side, and you can stay relatively safe in the hazardous business of driving in the snow and ice.

It took nearly five hours to crawl my way in traffic from Weed, CA to Dunsmuir, CA, a short hop I can normally make in about 30 minutes on a warm summer day, ideally, with the windows down and with astringent perfume of pine in the air. I kept in touch with other drivers, asking simply, "How long before chain law is down, Northbound?"

I had my answer pretty quickly. At Dunsmuir, damned near every rig was pulling over and yanking off the iron. A northbound driver for Schneider declared, "Chain law's down from Dunsmuir on. All you have is wet, Driver."

That was all I needed to hear.

I pulled off in an area where the road was reducing lanes. The tail end of the trailer was to the right of the fog line, I had the right side tires sitting on snow and ice, but the left side in the clear. I was off the road in a well-lit area, quite literally a few feet from the Dunsmuir city limits. With reflective tape on the back of the mirror-finished silver doors of the trailer, I should have been pretty safe.

I thought about pulling on the coveralls again, then decided against it. If I did it right, I could have all the chains off in about ten minutes, have them on the rack in another five, and be rolling again with a minute to update my logbook. The temperature was in the mid-30s, so I figured I really didn't need to winter up. I grabbed a flourescent green insulated jacket I got when I worked for the heavy haul outfit, (a Christmas gift from my SOB boss), threw that on, grabbed a flashlight, and a pair of insulated gloves. I climbed out of the cab, and got to work.

I pulled the bungees from the chains in one quick loop, and tossed them into the side stowage on the sleeper. I made the next loop actually uncoupling the chains, pulling them off to one side so I could roll a foot or two off of them. The third loop would involve me gathering them up and hanging them on the chain rack behind the cab.

I almost didn't get the chance.

I had seen the white Freightliner as it rounded the curve on I-5. He was moving way too fast, and he was far too close to the fog line. If he didn't change his direction quick, I would have been little more than a bloody smear on the Interstate, and if you had any interest, you might have been reading my epitaph.

At that moment, I was working on the forward duals on the trailer, pulling off the single rail drag chain. There was no way I could get to the catwalk on the tractor, and throwing myself under the trailer would have been damned near suicidal, with rock guards for the rear suspension hanging down and leaving about a foot of ground clearance. I stood a good chance, assuming I could get under in time, of getting nailed in the head if this brain-dead amateur in the Freightshaker nailed the back of my trailer, which was looking like a real probability as he wove his way towards me.

I ducked under the trailer, and hugged the outside dual. At least if I died, it would be quick. Painful as hell, but quick.

I got a quick glimpse of the Shaker's critter-hitter, caught sight of the steer axle as it whipped past, noted that on the forward drives he was missing a lug cover, and learned that whoever he was driving for, they put Bridgestones on the trailers. (Cheap bastards.)

It took a few minutes, but I finally got the stones to move.

I stood up, the flashlight wet from where it hit the pavement, took a couple of breaths and began to unchain the rest of the truck. I rolled forward, pulled chains from the ground and made a mental note of those that needed repair, and once that was done, I hung them on the racks. I opened the door to the Peterbilt, dropped my saturated gloves and flashlight into the space between the door and the driver's seat, and climbed in.

I couldn't move.

I just sat there in the driver's seat, my heart hammering away in my chest, angry, frightened, wet, cold, and somewhat grateful to still be able to draw breath.

They tell you your life passes by your eyes when you're in that kind of a situation. That's crap.

All I could think of was Peggy.

I can normally be rolling in 15 to 20 minutes when I unchain. It took me closer to 45 this time. I updated, tried to get myself to put the rig in gear, and tried like hell to get moving. I probably could have shut down in Sacramento that night with a little manipulation of the "truth," but having just gone through a major DOT audit, I wasn't about to. I shut it down near Corning, CA, and went comatose for the next ten hours.

I have lots of regrets in my life. Some are lifelong, others far more recent. I regret I didn't finish my college degree, I regret I wasted so much time believing in what wasn't there in the first place, I regret that when I meet other JREFers, I only see them once, and they're gone, leaving me to wonder what I said or did to people for whom I have incredible affection and respect.

I regret I haven't told Peggy often enough that I love her.

Friday, with the major part of the storm series in full bore with rain and sustained winds in Yolo and Sacramento counties of 40+ MPH, I was caught up in the mess on Southbound I-5, and wasn't able to make on-time deliveries. With four overturned trucks, (or so CHP told us), we were not taking the Yolo Causeway into Sacramento, at least not until we stopped having wind gusts up over 60 MPH. It took me from seven in the morning to 3:15 in the afternoon before I managed to get the truck to the yard and shut it down for the weekend. I dropped the trailer, then ran straight to the house, charging through flooded streets and across traffic hazards to get there.

I took a long hot shower in the dark, our power being out from 7 a.m. onward, and told Peggy about this trip. She ran her hand up and down my back, saying nothing.

We went out for Chinese. I couldn't afford it. I should have had a taco. But, what the hell. You only live once.

Sites to See:

A REAL toy store! Grrrrrr!