On the range in New Mexico, I was directed to a remote area about five miles from the entrance gate to unload. All I had was one lonely crate to be taken off the truck. With the mission in the desert complete, it was back to El Paso for a layover to await the next assignment. The weather, at least was co-operating and pleasant sixty degree sunshine dominated the afternoon.
Just when things were looking like I might be able to catch a late afternoon snooze in the breezy Texas sunshine, The Price is Right theme sounded on my phone, telling me the company was calling with a load opportunity. When I answered, it wasn’t the usual automated female voice announcing my prospects, but Nicole, live and in person asking if I had a generator on the truck and if so, what year was it. I replied that I had no “Alternate Power Unit” or APU as they’re called in trucking circles. Why do you ask, I quizzed her. Nicole continued that there was a new law in effect in California banning older model APU’s. I followed that comment with “do you have an opportunity going to California?” She said, well yes, I have one going out from Tucson, Arizona to Sacramento tonight. I pressed her further and inquired about the terms. She responded with favorable numbers and I was quick to commit. Cal-li-forn- I-A here I come! I envisioned continued favorable weather, a plethora of gourmet coffees and a bunch of valley type people ending every sentence with “it’s like, ya know, ya know?”
About the only thing I got right was the coffee selection. I didn’t see any Valley Girls and there wasn’t much sunshine. This has been a rough winter for the Southwest too. Storm after storm has been pounding in off the Pacific with record amounts of precipitation. Mudslides and treacherous freeway driving dominated travel to and around the Golden State. The rain started in earnest around the New Mexico-Arizona border and the winds picked up dramatically, buffeting the truck with force on I-10. I had planned on running through the truck wash before this trip to wash some of the winter off the Fat Cat. The white wheels were black with road soot and salt. When I finally got out at a fuel stop in Tucson, I marveled at how the strong winds and heavy rain had sand blasted them pure white again. Amazing. I have never seen so much rain in this part of the country, but then again, I’ve never seen so much wacky weather in one season. It only figures that this is my first year in trucking.
By the time I made California, the rain had subsided enough to make travel a little less hectic. This run would take me up through the high desert of California and into the central valleys of this beautiful, but much maligned state. I like both of these regions very much. This was my second run on the desert and second up the San Joaquin Valley. The high desert has a certain kind of appeal to me with miles of straight highway, dotted with small roadside cafes and gas stations surrounded by distant mountain ranges. Trailer homes and old boarded up businesses pepper the journey to Bakersfield. And then there’s Boron, California. Two thousand people live here. Lots of towns across America are proud of something. Notwithstanding, Boron’s claim to fame is being the Boron Capital of The World, the home of the largest borax mine in the world. Yes, that’s the stuff they make the cleaning powder Borax with. This city of interest is on the western edge of the Mojave Desert. In the area, you can view both the highest and lowest points in the lower 48 United States. We’re talking about Mount Whitney and Death Valley. If it’s a desert scattered with bleach white bones or a snow capped mountain you like, this would be a great place for you. Also, of interest, if you’re so inclined, is the 20 Mule Team Museum.
The scenery along CA 58 produced signs for Edwards Air Force base and far off mountains that I would soon be travelling through. The air was mild and the skies toggled from overcast to a faint sunshine filtered by a dominant cloud cover. With a cup of Sumatra coffee acquired at a Pilot Fuel Stop at the intersection of CA 395 and 58, I was content to ease on down the road with the Fox News Channel as my company on XM satellite.
Highway 58 took me to the towns of Monolith and Tehachapi; the terrain quickly became mountainous and quite scenic. The winding road led to Bakersfield and the southern end of the renowned San Joaquin Valley. San Joaquin is one of the most fertile growing areas in the world. In places, you can see the rich, black soil plowed and ready for planting. Good portions of the produce we consume, especially in winter, come from this crown jewel of American agriculture. The climate is conducive to year round vegetable and fruit production. I saw miles of orange, grapefruit and lemon groves that made me want to pull over and gather some that had fallen on the ground. I might have done this had there not been an imposing barbed wire fence to dissuade me and others with the same notion. But, hey, they don’t use the ones on the ground, do they?
Next up, it was the towns of Selma and Fresno, where undisputedly, you could literally find yourself in a sea of raisins. They call this area “The Raisin Capital of The World”. Lore tells of the raisin being invented here, but how do claim fame to something that shrivels up and dries out? The Sun Maid lives prominently here. We'll proudly take two scoops in our raisin bran.
The precipitation persisted and the old Albert Hammond song that was popular in 1972, “It Never Rains in Southern California” played in my head. “It never rains in Southern California, but girl, don’t they warn ya, it pours, man it pours”, the line goes. Modesto popped up and so did the vast expanses of grape vines. Would a good deal on a jug of Gallo wine be at hand? Unfortunately, in this situation, a cheap bottle of wine would not be in the cards for me. Not on duty anyway. If the authorities find any kind of evidence of alcohol in my truck, I’m toast. Drinking or transporting, it doesn’t matter.
Sacramento appeared within sight and the jumping off point for my tour of The San Joaquin Valley. North of town, there is still another full third of this massive and wonderous valley left to ponder. I feel that we are so blessed with natural resources here in this country where the Joaquin plays a vital role in the food basket of America. As I pulled into the 49er Truck stop, dusk enveloped the landscape. The next day I would unload and get ready for another day in Northern California. The strategic location that the capital of California occupies on the Interstate 80 corridor has always intrigued me with sights and places that can be visited easily. You can find Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, Reno, Carson City, Virginia City and some excellent ski resorts to the north. Go the other way and you’re in the San Francisco Bay area, one of the most beautiful and diverse cities in America. Tony Bennett wasn't kidding when he sang "I Left My Heart in San Francisco". "Where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars..." This is pretty heady stuff. Oh, and let us not forget the world famous Napa Valley. That place speaks for itself. Talk about wineries. Some of the best wine in the world comes out of there. Also, you’ll find some of the most scenic countryside known to man. They even have a radio station named KVYN here...K-Vine. At certain times of the year, you can bounce back and forth from winter to summer by cruising up and down 80. I especially like Santa Cruz Beach with its barking Sea Lions begging to be fed. They sell fish on the pier for that purpose. “Feel Free to Feed the Sea Lions”, that's what the sign says. That's California. To live here has got to be a weekend trip paradise. This is a great part of the country. I’m happy to be here.
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Friday, January 29, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
1,611 or Bust
I hadn’t planned on my home time stretching out to January 13, but it did. When you drive a truck that has 860,000 miles on the odometer, it needs attention on a regular basis. My fuel lines froze in the very cold weather and there were other repair issues that needed to be attended to which prolonged my stay at the homestead. On the positive side, I don’t think anyone on their deathbed says “I wish I would have worked more and spent less time with my family.”
Towing the truck was a major undertaking and took 2 hours to hook up and drag 5 miles to Pike Diesel Repair in Hiram. The shop owner, Jerry, assured me that he’d get me running as soon as possible. My silver lining was that the breakdown occurred in my home area and not some place like the Bronx, New York. The lot at Pike was jammed full of tractor trucks begging for repair. The cold weather it seemed gave me lots of company.
Finally, The Fat Cat was ready to go and she purred like a kitten at the Petro Stop in Atlanta as I awaited an opportunity of freight. The Qualcomm chirped out a trip from Murphy, North Carolina in the mountainous west part of the state to Urbana, Ohio, just west of Columbus. The downside of the trip would be a winding and hilly ride out of Carolina at night because I-40 is in a long term shut down westbound, caused by a major rock slide. It not only sent large boulders onto the roadway from steep grades, but ended up damaging the highway severely. Tennessee 69 was the alternate for my trip and had me wishing I was driving a sports car, instead of a truck on a roadway with more hair pins than a beauty shop.
Once in Ohio, I bounced to Detroit and then over to Ann Arbor, where I had a nice stay in November. They always say “be careful for what you wish for, for you just might get it.” Well, I got it. I rubbed the “Load Genie Lamp” and was granted a cannon ball run from Coldwater, Michigan to Laredo, Texas. Success! My frozen body would thaw and warm 70 degree sunshine would shine on my face. Fit me in a sombrero and provide me with a taco. With that thought, it was on the road to my reward.
Sixteen hundred and eleven miles of interstate droned and by the time I got to the end of Interstate 35, I was like a man in the desert laid prone on the ground reaching for the oasis. One minute I’m stone throwing distance from Canada, the next, I’m sitting on the southern border at the Rio Grande. This was my third trip to Laredo. Always hot, always kind of quirky regarding some of the people I’ve talked to and always very Mexican, considering its proximity to our neighbor to the south. Mexican works for me because I can speak Spanish, enjoy the food and I would actually wear a poncho like Clint Eastwood.
The nighttime air was 50ish, the coolest I’ve experienced there so far. After enduring plenty of record cold elsewhere, this was indeed a treat! My load delivered on Sunday morning where sunshine and 70 degree weather shined down on me, just like I pictured it.
Not much freight comes out of Laredo. It is primarily a drop off point for goods heading into Mexico. There aren’t many companies that send trucks into Mexico these days. It’s just too dangerous, especially around border cities on the Mexican side. The area is dotted with numerous warehouses where the hand off to Mexican truckers occurs. It is an orderly operation and hundreds of trucks cue up at the truck stops to deliver at their appointed times.
Now that my load was deposited, I pointed the Fat Cat to San Antonio for a new destination. It’s a very straight shot to San Antonio with scrubby looking, desert-like landscape dotted with classic ranch entrances displaying various brands that get stamped into the livestock. I like this drive. There are no hills, congested traffic, ice or snow. Set the cruise control and let the XM play.
Like clockwork as I pulled into Alamo Town, the Qualcomm chirped out a run from the next town up in Austin to White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico. My first thought was landing three cherries on a one armed bandit. I opened the map and it said “Not Open to the Public” at White Sands. Give me restricted places around Roswell, Area 51, Cape Canaveral, Edwards Air Force Base and other places where the security is as tight as the back end of a clam, and I’m there! I live for this stuff. After all, I’m the guy who has a profound interest in the National Institute for Standard Time (NIST). I want to know exactly where the Camak Stone is. What really happed to D.B. Cooper? It sure beats delivering ball bearings to Flint. I knew from the location of my New Mexico destination, I’d be layed over in El Paso, Texas. I like El Paso, so this would be a win-win deal. Maybe California would be next.
Towing the truck was a major undertaking and took 2 hours to hook up and drag 5 miles to Pike Diesel Repair in Hiram. The shop owner, Jerry, assured me that he’d get me running as soon as possible. My silver lining was that the breakdown occurred in my home area and not some place like the Bronx, New York. The lot at Pike was jammed full of tractor trucks begging for repair. The cold weather it seemed gave me lots of company.
Finally, The Fat Cat was ready to go and she purred like a kitten at the Petro Stop in Atlanta as I awaited an opportunity of freight. The Qualcomm chirped out a trip from Murphy, North Carolina in the mountainous west part of the state to Urbana, Ohio, just west of Columbus. The downside of the trip would be a winding and hilly ride out of Carolina at night because I-40 is in a long term shut down westbound, caused by a major rock slide. It not only sent large boulders onto the roadway from steep grades, but ended up damaging the highway severely. Tennessee 69 was the alternate for my trip and had me wishing I was driving a sports car, instead of a truck on a roadway with more hair pins than a beauty shop.
Once in Ohio, I bounced to Detroit and then over to Ann Arbor, where I had a nice stay in November. They always say “be careful for what you wish for, for you just might get it.” Well, I got it. I rubbed the “Load Genie Lamp” and was granted a cannon ball run from Coldwater, Michigan to Laredo, Texas. Success! My frozen body would thaw and warm 70 degree sunshine would shine on my face. Fit me in a sombrero and provide me with a taco. With that thought, it was on the road to my reward.
Sixteen hundred and eleven miles of interstate droned and by the time I got to the end of Interstate 35, I was like a man in the desert laid prone on the ground reaching for the oasis. One minute I’m stone throwing distance from Canada, the next, I’m sitting on the southern border at the Rio Grande. This was my third trip to Laredo. Always hot, always kind of quirky regarding some of the people I’ve talked to and always very Mexican, considering its proximity to our neighbor to the south. Mexican works for me because I can speak Spanish, enjoy the food and I would actually wear a poncho like Clint Eastwood.
The nighttime air was 50ish, the coolest I’ve experienced there so far. After enduring plenty of record cold elsewhere, this was indeed a treat! My load delivered on Sunday morning where sunshine and 70 degree weather shined down on me, just like I pictured it.
Not much freight comes out of Laredo. It is primarily a drop off point for goods heading into Mexico. There aren’t many companies that send trucks into Mexico these days. It’s just too dangerous, especially around border cities on the Mexican side. The area is dotted with numerous warehouses where the hand off to Mexican truckers occurs. It is an orderly operation and hundreds of trucks cue up at the truck stops to deliver at their appointed times.
Now that my load was deposited, I pointed the Fat Cat to San Antonio for a new destination. It’s a very straight shot to San Antonio with scrubby looking, desert-like landscape dotted with classic ranch entrances displaying various brands that get stamped into the livestock. I like this drive. There are no hills, congested traffic, ice or snow. Set the cruise control and let the XM play.
Like clockwork as I pulled into Alamo Town, the Qualcomm chirped out a run from the next town up in Austin to White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico. My first thought was landing three cherries on a one armed bandit. I opened the map and it said “Not Open to the Public” at White Sands. Give me restricted places around Roswell, Area 51, Cape Canaveral, Edwards Air Force Base and other places where the security is as tight as the back end of a clam, and I’m there! I live for this stuff. After all, I’m the guy who has a profound interest in the National Institute for Standard Time (NIST). I want to know exactly where the Camak Stone is. What really happed to D.B. Cooper? It sure beats delivering ball bearings to Flint. I knew from the location of my New Mexico destination, I’d be layed over in El Paso, Texas. I like El Paso, so this would be a win-win deal. Maybe California would be next.
Friday, January 8, 2010
13 Degrees and Getting Colder
What a WINTER this has been thus far. The forecasted high temperature for my hometown which is forty five minutes northwest of Atlanta is 25 degrees today. It's 13 now. I have NEVER seen a high temperature that low for this area...living here or not. Typically in January, depending on the year, it will run from the upper 40's to low 50's for a high. Overnight readings will run in the upper 20's to low 30's. For a normal year, we might see one or two overnight lows in the teens. During some cold snaps, we might see a day or two in the upper 30's for a high temperature, but NEVER in the 20's. Atlanta TV said this is the most prolonged cold stretch since 1985. The coldest I've ever seen it get in the 8 years I've lived here was 12 degrees one year for an overnight low. I think the earth has tilted, or we're seeing a trend not seen for many years. Maybe it's an anomoly.
Early this morning, on my way to Birmingham to pick up a load headed to Connecticut, there was a major accident on an icy Interstate 20 somewhere in the vicinity of the Georgia-Alabama state line. Authorities shut down the highway for 3 hours, preventing me from getting to my destination for pick up. They had to re-dispatch the load to someone else. Even though the highway was re-opened, traffic was grid-locked heading west with the majority of vehicles being overnight trucks heading west out of Atlanta.
Now, my own state of Georgia is on my list of winter buffoons. This interstate roadway was not treated with anything. A midday snow...albeit light in nature the day before, had iced the roadway by the middle of the night. This area is prone to ice, and after scratching my wooden head, I can't figure out why they weren't prepared for this. All I can say is that, the further into the future we travel, the more incompetent road departments have become. Is state government to blame or has the poor economy affected budgets so badly that there is simply NO money to insure the safety of the travelling and commercial public?
I do believe a good deal of the problem lies with ignorant drivers who refuse to slow down when roadways become treacherous. I spoke with a clerk at the Temple, Georgia Pilot Travel Center who related to me that there was a muli-car pileup on I-285 near the airport (probably people trying to escape the cold and ice)on the infamous beltway that encompasses Atlanta. The posted speed limit is 55 miles per hour on the entire stretch of that highway. Most of the time, people travel 70 to 80 miles per hour on the perimeter.
I think they need to install gates on the entrance ramps of interstates and shut the freeways down if they're unwilling to treat the roadways. They have them out west and they use them when conditions prevent safe travel. People also need to learn that they could die or kill someone if they don't slow down in this kind of weather. The forecast is for an even more frigid weekend in Metro Atlanta. Get me to Arizona.
Early this morning, on my way to Birmingham to pick up a load headed to Connecticut, there was a major accident on an icy Interstate 20 somewhere in the vicinity of the Georgia-Alabama state line. Authorities shut down the highway for 3 hours, preventing me from getting to my destination for pick up. They had to re-dispatch the load to someone else. Even though the highway was re-opened, traffic was grid-locked heading west with the majority of vehicles being overnight trucks heading west out of Atlanta.
Now, my own state of Georgia is on my list of winter buffoons. This interstate roadway was not treated with anything. A midday snow...albeit light in nature the day before, had iced the roadway by the middle of the night. This area is prone to ice, and after scratching my wooden head, I can't figure out why they weren't prepared for this. All I can say is that, the further into the future we travel, the more incompetent road departments have become. Is state government to blame or has the poor economy affected budgets so badly that there is simply NO money to insure the safety of the travelling and commercial public?
I do believe a good deal of the problem lies with ignorant drivers who refuse to slow down when roadways become treacherous. I spoke with a clerk at the Temple, Georgia Pilot Travel Center who related to me that there was a muli-car pileup on I-285 near the airport (probably people trying to escape the cold and ice)on the infamous beltway that encompasses Atlanta. The posted speed limit is 55 miles per hour on the entire stretch of that highway. Most of the time, people travel 70 to 80 miles per hour on the perimeter.
I think they need to install gates on the entrance ramps of interstates and shut the freeways down if they're unwilling to treat the roadways. They have them out west and they use them when conditions prevent safe travel. People also need to learn that they could die or kill someone if they don't slow down in this kind of weather. The forecast is for an even more frigid weekend in Metro Atlanta. Get me to Arizona.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Farewell To The Christmas Goose
What a holiday season it's been. Just getting home was an exercise in strategy reserved for the finest of board game players. Somehow, I was able to pull it off, landing an assignment in Raleigh, North Carolina transporting some computer equipment over to Durham for enough moolah to put in the tanks for the run to the ranch in Georgia.
By the time I turned into the winding driveway to my castle on the hill, night had fallen and my mercury vapor barn light was burning in all her glory. As I pulled the Fat Cat up to back her in next to the old red and white edifice out in the yard, I could see bright little feline faces along with one noisy canine son in the kitchen window to greet me with enthusiasm. Upon entering the house with my duffle, I could smell the holiday season in the form of freshly baked cookies. I slid open the pocket door to the cooking room and there he was, in a prominent stance facing the door...the Christmas goose. A venerable wooden fellow he is, about two feet tall with a Santa hat and gold tassel. Candy canes and goodies hang from his neck, draping along his back. Two big webbed wooden feet keep this purveyor of good cheer in place, even from scurrying kitties. This is a proud bird displaying his bill pointing upward. The goose has become a sort of tradition over the years at our house, taking his prominent place beginning at Thanksgiving and making his stand until the New Year. Said quite plainly and simply, when the goose goes up, it's Christmas.
The girls were glad to see me as I was to see them. With Louie and the kitties gathered around, coming home never gets old. I blinked my eyes and it was Christmas Eve. Cheryl and I travelled around town in an effort to finish some last minute shopping. Streisy kept busy with her work schedule at the grocery store. Busy is an understatement for what they do around the holidays. I'm proud that she's in that business. Grocery people are a hard working and genuine people. I know, I knew some from my days at the A & P.
My holiday is not complete until I attend worship services at my little hometown church. The final candle of advent was lit, bread was broken, the cup was raised and meaning restored to why we celebrate the birth of Christ.
Don't misunderstand and believe that my home time is one big vacation. I wish it was. How nice it would be to lay around continually watching The Sound of Music and Miracle on 34th Street. I did, however, get to see an encore of The Nativity Story. Now there's a great story of the birth of Christ.
Household chores and piled up yard work take time away from a good old fashioned slack. Don't get me wrong, working around the house gives me a sort satisfaction and if it didn't, I don't need to be living here. Two acres of yard and grass don't take care of themselves. You have to love mowing grass, and I do. Two days after Christmas, I mowed grass. And I loved it. You can do that here in Georgia this time of the year.
I did get to smoke a Ghorka "Assassin" while incinerating trash in the burn barrel. Now THAT was a stout smoke and it may has well have been a bullet in the noggin right between the eyes. I guess that's why they call it what they call it. If they come out with an "Oswald", I'd have to pass on that one. I like the "shaggys" or the "Black Dragon".
A whole week blew by and all of a sudden, it was New Year's Eve. Hey, wait a minute, aren't we entering a new decade? Wow, I remember when that kind of New Year was exciting...like ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO? Has it been that long ago already? Dam. The turn of the century. Even ten years ago we were homebodies and didn't do anything special, but it was fun to watch all the big celebrations around the world beginning around noon on the eve. When I was a teenager, I would marvel at the fact that I would be forty three years old on January 1st, 2000. I think Dad helped me figure that out on a slide rule. I recall when 1970 came in, it seemed so modern. Back in those days, I kept track of the fact that the last number one song of the sixties on WABC in New York was Steam's "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye". The national charts would have you believe it was "Leavin' On A Jetplane" by Peter, Paul and Mary. For 1980, I remember being at a party in a house trailer in Florida, watching the ball drop on a thirteen inch black and white TV. Now THAT, was a glamorous New Year's. These days, we begin our New Year's Eve at seven and end it at ten.
I stayed up to watch the ball drop in Times Square in sweats at home. It would feel odd to miss that. Dick Clark was still there. After suffering the kind of stroke he did a few years back, I give him a lot of credit for getting up there in front of millions in an effort to preserve tradition. It can't be for the money, lord knows he's got plenty. The bands of today on the broadcast sure weren't KC and The Sunshine Band or Bob Seger. The only one I recall was those Black Eyed Peas.
New Year's Day came and so the decorations went. It was a good holiday season, it's what I hoped for. This Christmas was better than last year's after the bad economy closed the auto dealership I worked at and put me in the bread line. Maybe next year will just as fun, or better. Hope never disappoints. Farewell Mr. Goose, see you next year.
By the time I turned into the winding driveway to my castle on the hill, night had fallen and my mercury vapor barn light was burning in all her glory. As I pulled the Fat Cat up to back her in next to the old red and white edifice out in the yard, I could see bright little feline faces along with one noisy canine son in the kitchen window to greet me with enthusiasm. Upon entering the house with my duffle, I could smell the holiday season in the form of freshly baked cookies. I slid open the pocket door to the cooking room and there he was, in a prominent stance facing the door...the Christmas goose. A venerable wooden fellow he is, about two feet tall with a Santa hat and gold tassel. Candy canes and goodies hang from his neck, draping along his back. Two big webbed wooden feet keep this purveyor of good cheer in place, even from scurrying kitties. This is a proud bird displaying his bill pointing upward. The goose has become a sort of tradition over the years at our house, taking his prominent place beginning at Thanksgiving and making his stand until the New Year. Said quite plainly and simply, when the goose goes up, it's Christmas.
My holiday is not complete until I attend worship services at my little hometown church. The final candle of advent was lit, bread was broken, the cup was raised and meaning restored to why we celebrate the birth of Christ.
Don't misunderstand and believe that my home time is one big vacation. I wish it was. How nice it would be to lay around continually watching The Sound of Music and Miracle on 34th Street. I did, however, get to see an encore of The Nativity Story. Now there's a great story of the birth of Christ.
Household chores and piled up yard work take time away from a good old fashioned slack. Don't get me wrong, working around the house gives me a sort satisfaction and if it didn't, I don't need to be living here. Two acres of yard and grass don't take care of themselves. You have to love mowing grass, and I do. Two days after Christmas, I mowed grass. And I loved it. You can do that here in Georgia this time of the year.
I did get to smoke a Ghorka "Assassin" while incinerating trash in the burn barrel. Now THAT was a stout smoke and it may has well have been a bullet in the noggin right between the eyes. I guess that's why they call it what they call it. If they come out with an "Oswald", I'd have to pass on that one. I like the "shaggys" or the "Black Dragon".
A whole week blew by and all of a sudden, it was New Year's Eve. Hey, wait a minute, aren't we entering a new decade? Wow, I remember when that kind of New Year was exciting...like ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO? Has it been that long ago already? Dam. The turn of the century. Even ten years ago we were homebodies and didn't do anything special, but it was fun to watch all the big celebrations around the world beginning around noon on the eve. When I was a teenager, I would marvel at the fact that I would be forty three years old on January 1st, 2000. I think Dad helped me figure that out on a slide rule. I recall when 1970 came in, it seemed so modern. Back in those days, I kept track of the fact that the last number one song of the sixties on WABC in New York was Steam's "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye". The national charts would have you believe it was "Leavin' On A Jetplane" by Peter, Paul and Mary. For 1980, I remember being at a party in a house trailer in Florida, watching the ball drop on a thirteen inch black and white TV. Now THAT, was a glamorous New Year's. These days, we begin our New Year's Eve at seven and end it at ten.
I stayed up to watch the ball drop in Times Square in sweats at home. It would feel odd to miss that. Dick Clark was still there. After suffering the kind of stroke he did a few years back, I give him a lot of credit for getting up there in front of millions in an effort to preserve tradition. It can't be for the money, lord knows he's got plenty. The bands of today on the broadcast sure weren't KC and The Sunshine Band or Bob Seger. The only one I recall was those Black Eyed Peas.
New Year's Day came and so the decorations went. It was a good holiday season, it's what I hoped for. This Christmas was better than last year's after the bad economy closed the auto dealership I worked at and put me in the bread line. Maybe next year will just as fun, or better. Hope never disappoints. Farewell Mr. Goose, see you next year.
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