My Old Tennessee Home, Quick Carolina and The North

Monday the 26th of October started out tamely enough with a pickup of goods in Canton, Georgia, not far from home to be delivered to northern Virginia. Autumn was firmly in place and the leaves were beginning to show some nice color in north Georgia for the end of October. Depending on the year, peak leaf color can occur anytime from mid October to Thanksgiving in our part of the world. The run would take me up past a route I have travelled often on I-81 from outside of Knoxville to the destination in Dayton, Virginia, near Harrisonburg.

Having lived in a number of places up and down the east coast, I get that old familiar feeling of a one time home in several domains and Tennessee and Virginia are no exception. I couldn’t tell you how many times I have cruised on this corridor since it became the route of choice from New Jersey for the first time in August of 1994 to Johnson City, Tennessee. JC was a comfortable town I was proud to call home. Life took me to Bristol, Tennessee after I married Cheryl in 1997. The radio station I worked for was sold to an ownership group in Bristol, Virginia and they moved the operation there. Bristol is split evenly between Tennessee and Virginia with the state line running on the double yellow line on the main State Street in downtown. One side of the street is Tennessee and the other Virginia. The station couldn't have been on the closer side of Bristol in Tennessee, but the far northern side in Virginia. The commute was lengthy from Johnson City and the best possible private school for my Step Daughter Streisy was in Bristol, so Bristol it was. Johnson City was a “hipper” more cultural college town, home of East Tennessee State University with more shopping choices and restaurants. I had a nice apartment on a steep hillside overlooking the valley where the Johnson City is nestled. I resided in a neighborhood dubbed The Tree Streets. All the streets were named after trees and I lived on West Chestnut. My big picture window offered an expansive view across the valley and many a day, I enjoyed drinking cappuccino and watching snow storms travel across the landscape. The winter of 1995 to 1996 was what the locals called a twenty year season and it snowed a prolific amount with lots of winter weather to watch from that window. I reluctantly left JC after 3 good years there.

We settled in a nice little home in Bristol that Cheryl absolutely loved. Well, actually, liked it a little…I think. I had to talk her into spending that first night there. After an initial inspection she discovered crooked legged spider crickets completely covering one entire wall in the basement while the U-Haul was still on the street. We had a little prayer meeting about removing the offensive bugs. It also had a massive oil furnace with a fond smell of heating oil when it fired on cold days. Well, maybe she wasn't all that fond of the smell that wafted throughout the house. Included was a wood deck out back that had a nice "bow" in the middle from a lack of structural support and a humungous holly bush in front that I had a bloody wrestling match with on more than one occasion. We bought a cool looking 70's style olive green stove for the kitchen and washed our own dishes, for the lack of a dishwasher. But, the Christmas tree always looked good in the living room and the "Home Is Where The Heart Is" sign actually meant something. Our neighbor Harold Campbell who lived directly across the street always ceremoniously lit tens of thousands of lights every year on Thanksgiving night. Folks from far and wide came to view the legendary fantasy Christmas wonderland that Mr. Campbell displayed proudly. The glow from the light across the street was so bright that it gleamed right through our front windows. The Christmas spirit lived there. And so too, probably his electric bill.

Back to reality on the road, the scenery in Virginia is pleasant with expansive valleys surrounded by the southern Appalachians and Blue Ridge range along the way. Sometimes in this business, one run leads to another and that certainly applied to this odyssey. The week ended up being a complete blur with little time to stop, eat, sleep or collect thoughts, let alone take inventory of where I was or what I was transporting. The company pre-dispatched me with loads before I finished the one I was on, which was very unusual for them. But, hey, I’m not complaining…you have to strike when the iron is hot! After enduring two years of a rough economy, we all can use some encouragement that things are getting better. Northern Virginia became Martinsburg, West Virginia and next it was on to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, home of the famous flood all those years ago. They even have a museum dedicated to it there. This part of Central Pennsylvania is a gem in Fall color with vistas ascending steep grades. The road wound around curvy two lane state highways in the bright sunshine up and down hilly terrain in a very inspiring trek to Pittsburgh to pick up freight headed to Columbia, South Carolina. My time frames were tight and that meant there would be no visits with my Cousins Carol and Mary Joan and Aunt Win in Pittsburgh or my Brother Tom, Sister In-Law Betsy or Niece Robyn in Columbia. How cruel is that? I drive all over America with layover time in plenty of places, but not to get one skinny little visit with family in back to back towns is downright ironic! One can only hope for another chance to catch up with our far flung family. Aunt Win would love it if everyone could be in her favorite place, Chautauqua, in Western Upstate New York at the same time.

With the freight let loose in Downtown Columbia, South Carolina, near Bryce Stadium where Carolina Football plays, the arrows pointed down the highway about an hour to Orangeburg, South Carolina for a pick up headed to St. Joseph, Michigan. This freight was marked “Hot” which meant there would be no dilly-dally at the interstate convenience store deciding whether it would be gummy worms or milk duds.

So here I go, leaving behind some of the most pleasant weather of the year in South Carolina for a place on the western edge of civilization on the peninsular Great Lake State where the gales of doom blow off Lake Michigan right down to the bone of contention before anywhere else in the Midwest to begin the cold season. I’m seldom thrilled to go to Michigan, for most times it’s somewhere like Flint, Detroit or some other auto industry related business town wracked by depression, recession and regression.

The last time I was in Detroit, I had a drop off at the power train assembly plant that turned into a bazaar delivery where no one knew anything or really wanted to do any work. At the gate, I was directed to Dock Number 5 by a young female security guard with a crappy attitude. I get to Dock Number 5 where an exceedingly pleasant man snapped at me and said “I don’t know who you are and what you’re doing here.” I replied that I was directed here by the front gate and my hat and shirt along with the paperwork on the clipboard should give you a clue as to what company I represent and what you’re getting. Oh, and if you prefer, I can drop this load in the middle of the parking lot and you can sort it out after I leave! He begrudging directed me to another dock way in the back of the largest manufacturing facility I’d ever seen. I pulled the truck around to the other dock and another exceedingly pleasant man greets me in the shipping office with a strained reply of “I sure hope we can get you unloaded before we take our break.” I said, “Its 7a.m., what time did you guys start?” Sure wish I was in the UAW too. Three men stepped into the cargo hold of my truck and had to analyze the load and determine who in the plant was going to get what. I’m thinking to myself, just take it off the truck and figure it out in your warehouse like everybody else. Dam. Two hours later I return to the exit gate where my glib little security guard friend had to examine the truck to make sure I wasn’t leaving with anything I wasn’t supposed to be leaving with. When I pulled up, she was standing right in front of a huge orange sign that said “PROTECT YOUR JOB, DO NOT SMOKE” with a lit cigarette hanging from her tar and nicotine stained lips. Let’s pour more of our hard earned tax dollars into this management absent company.

Back to the present, the drive up the spine of Indiana north of Indianapolis on a lonely state highway in the wee early morning hours was stressful and tiresome from the thick fog that developed. Fog followed me every mile all the way to St. Joseph until the temperature dumped into the 30’s on the brink of Lake Michigan where a decidedly damp air put a stamp of chill right through me. Fortunately my gloves, wool cap and down vest were handy.

With the load off the truck and paperwork completed, the company buzzed on the Qualcomm and the next destination was back to Chicago. Was this 9th or 10th time to Shytown? At this point, I've lost track. This next gig would be a sojourn across the top of Indiana, Ohio, the little bit of Pennsylvania that surrounds Erie forming a straight shot across Upstate New York on the Thruway to the prize in Northern Vermont. I was kind of excited to go to a place I hadn’t been to in many years. The pure Maple Syrup would surely flow at the end of this road. Set the GPS for the Green Mountains, this Freightliner will grow wings.

The Land of Lincoln, The Big Mo and The Sooners

The Illinois state line passed and it was time to dump it down to 55 miles per hour. More like “The Land of Limping” in this part of the heartland. The speed limit here is 55 for trucks and 65 for everybody else. It’s supposed to change to 65 for everyone on January 1st, but that doesn’t help us now. The rough roads here are one thing, but creeping along on an interstate at this excruciatingly slow speed is another. At this velocity, I can almost see the kernels on the corn in the fields that are plentiful in the Midwest. Like my favorite funnyman, Ron White says, we were going "slower than the speed of smell." Later than sooner, me and the Slowkys will make Shy Town.

The mileage signs indicate that the hub of this region is at hand. Chicago is strangely beginning to look familiar…I’m almost losing track of how many times I’ve been here in a relatively short period of time. I like this town, it looks like an eclectic place to explore, kind of like New York. I did find a terrific Greek place to eat about 4 visits earlier. However, being here for any length of time has never been in the cards. This town is an extremely busy freight hub. Our center in Elk Grove Village, next to O’Hare Airport cranks out opportunities like a machine gun. Step into town and you’re in the line of fire. Someday, I would like a chance to hang around for at least ten minutes.

True to form, the Qualcomm started going off like a bottle of champagne as soon as I checked in. Congratulations, you’re going to Tulsa, Oklahoma! Now, Oklahoma is OK, but this not being my first rodeo, it meant that I would probably end up in Texas again, I thought to myself. This is great since I like Texas. Besides, it’s damp and chilly here in Chicago with no sun. That’s right, we’ll go where there is better weather. The Sooners is a favorite nickname for Oklahomans, or in some circles, Okies. If I remember, the name came from a bunch of settlers in the 1800’s who got there sooner than they were supposed to. If that’s a fact, they sure weren’t coming through Illinois!

Pick up was in Bedford Park, Illinois and then the big wheel down to OK. This would be a twilight start and a nighttime run back down state at 55 mph, watching what was left of the daylight drift by at an annoying speed. St. Louis popped into range and a chance to gas it a bit once over the mighty Mississippi.

If you’ve never seen the Arch in St. Louis, put it on your list. It’s a magnificent piece of architecture that gleams in the sunlight or nightlight. On that earlier trip I made to Colorado with my friend Lars the 80’s, we stopped in St. Louis for dinner. We intended on travelling on to Kansas City, but a chance visit to the Robert E. Lee Riverboat changed all that. A bartender in the lounge named Gunner expounded on the attributes of St. Louis like the chamber of commerce when we asked how far to KC. He painted a glamorous picture of the town and presented us with a long list of where we could eat, stay and enjoy nightlife. We ended up staying in this Mecca by the river for three days. On the last day, the museum beneath the Arch beckoned to me. The artifacts, art and life size renditions of cattle and cowboys painted a picture of why St. Louis was the Gateway to the west. On top of all this was the famed Arch itself. There is a tram type ride where you can actually ride up into the Arch and look out the windows at the top. I wanted to take the excursion up, but Lars looked a little queasy from barroom sports the night before and all I could see was some guy “Ralph” joining us in the tram car. I’ll get on that thing yet. Ok, now, which way to Kansas City?

Night had settled in and the next road accomplishment on the map was Joplin, Missouri in the southwest corner of the state. Once past Joplin, and it was a breeze into Oklahoma and Tulsa was right there on the eastern end.

Morning brought abundant sunshine to Oklahoma and the drop off was made in a jiffy in T Town and it was on to Stillwater, OK for another pick up opportunity, headed to Santa Teresa, New Mexico. I was right, this run would be another sojourn through Texas, only this time through Amarillo cattle country in the panhandle.

The only way in to Stillwater was on a 4 lane state highway, which proved to be a refreshing departure from the interstates. The countryside was surprisingly pleasant offering rolling hills and lakes that looked like they would be a good place to fish in a john boat. Eventually, the inviting rural scenery turned to a more suburban setting on the outskirts of town. The deeper I travelled into this center of activity, the more evident it became that it was a college town. Stillwater is home to Oklahoma State University, the football Cowboys. Go Cowboy signs dotted the streets and buildings . College students appeared in the obligatory backpacks and bicycles. I recalled that this is also Country Music legend Garth Brooks’ land as he was a class of ’84 graduate here, earning a degree in Advertising. Track and field was his sport, throwing a javelin, his specialty. One of the many bars and nightclubs where he got his start to Country music super stardom was the popular “Tumbleweed” right here in Stillwater. Today, he and his wife, Trisha Yearwood make their home in Owasso, OK near his birthplace in Tulsa with his three daughters. On October 15th, he announced that he was coming out of retirement to play Las Vegas in one the Wynn Hotels on weekends so he could maintain his family life during the week here in Oklahoma. Now, there’s a good gig if you can get it.

This freight pickup involved a power boat plant. Walking through the facility I daydreamed of taking one of the shiny new watercraft back down the road to one of the lakes I saw.

Santa Teresa is a stone’s throw from El Paso, Texas in the badlands of New Mexico. What in the world are they going to do with boat parts there? Here we go, another interesting traverse through the rest of Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico. Maybe I’ll find some more Huevos Rancheros on the way. Little did I know at that point that the remainder of my 27 days out on this trip would be spent like a human pinball in a truck.