A Trucking Dog’s Blog: By K.M. Stanfield who suddenly decides to “go to sleep” ahead of us because of ferocious winds. Even with the thousands of illuminated thirty-foot signs flashing warnings of destruction for CMVs that the state erects, there are those who convince themselves their rigs will never get blown over, but nappy time happens none-the-less. It begins when a trailer decides to pull a tractor along with it in a gust of continual wind powerful enough to cause it to dog leg for miles. The term ‘dog leg’ has always seemed a bit odd to me as I have four legs and the trailer none, but such is the terminology. I’ve seen trucks and trailers on their sides before, snoozing away on the highway because, as my driver puts it, these falsely confident drivers don’t know how to simply park, put down their landing gear and wait out the wind. The major problem here, as he tells it, is that dry vans, especially empty ones, are lazy buggers who when a 65 mph gust of wind tells them to have a quick ‘lie down’ they do, which forces the connected driver and truck to join them in this stressful siesta. No one ever worries about the livestock haulers, as everyone knows they drive faster than any Wyoming wind, so they are mostly impervious to sleeping on the job. Here in Chicago and yesterday in St. Louis, I decided to retire to my bunk because sitting with my head out the window with the constant start and stop, hard braking and stress could cause me to barf my breakfast all over the truck’s floor. I don’t want to add to the already ever-present colorful language put out by my driver this evening by vomiting semi digested dog food on his hand and shifter knob like I did in Los Angeles last month. Upon reflection, I don’t think I want to be, what did he say, “Secured to the catwalk with grade 80 chains and binders until my muzzle turns gray?” Laying on the bunk, I’m suddenly and violently thrown forward into a tangled heap of fur on the floor. I can hear my driver say, “Sorry boy, it’s Chicago, didn’t mean to slam on the brakes so hard, but these four-wheelers CAN’T DRIVE TO SAVE THEIR LIVES!!” This apology means nothing to me as I jump back in the bunk and look for my stuffed pink pig I was blissfully chewing on a second ago (just before the lurching of the truck unceremoniously tossed me onto the floor throwing more than just my nose out of joint). Why would I care about Chicago or any of the other places that my driver rages about when he drives in hellacious traffic? He should know that the main issue is that it disturbs my sleep and play time with my aforementioned plush pig. Actually, being knocked about, slammed into the dash or tossed onto the floor mat from the front seat happens quite a bit in extreme traffic. He seems to believe it’s because these four-wheelers can’t drive, but I’m thinking perhaps it’s the cities’ fault and not the four-wheelers. After all, he claims it’s because of where they live that causes their demented driving. So, logically, it’s the cities breeding these insane drivers, which cause him to hurl cuss words about (which, when he’s in good form, must be appreciated for sheer creativity). I must admit however, my driver does tend to be correct when commenting on the clown show put on by four-wheelers in a crowded metropolis. For example, in the truly western states (without the crowded cities), we happily hurtle down the highway, at around 80 mph, while my driver chatters away on his archaic Cobra CB (always enthused when he finds another driver who actually answers him). This is a rare thing, apparently – truckers who have CB radios and are intelligent enough to use them. Communication amongst dogs is essential, even back to our ancestors, the wolf. They howl we bark. Seems that the steering wheel holder and many modern drivers feel it’s not so important to be informed by their fellow trucker that their side box is open, a tarp is tearing, the chicken coop is open, or an unseen chain is loose. I guess the truck driver’s art of conversation is lost amongst them, as well, but my old school driver still enjoys talking about kitty CATs versus Cummins, location of bear traps, and jokes that make him truly laugh out loud. My driver seems to be in his element out in the west, it’s a trucker’s paradise to him (partially due to the population of demented four-wheelers being less). However, one of the downsides, I’m told, is seeing a dry van or reefer in Wyoming 26 10-4 Magazine / April 2025 TRAFFIC TREPIDATION
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MjA1MjUy