A Celebrity, A Monkey and A Rock Star

Now that I had made it back to Georgia, from my extended west coast swing and 2800 plus mile run from Washington State to Florida, I decided to pause from long haul routes just to do some regional running around after a weekend at home. Once again, I looked forward to seeing the girls and all my four legged children. After I walked in the door, Mr. JJ, my big amiable, Maine Coon cat, jumped up on the table, waiting for me to pay attention to him. His big patient eyes looked for a good long pet from his two legged Dad. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed and feel real heat from a furnace. As the weekend progressed, the mild air ramped up and February became the month I recognize around here. Typically, temps reach mid 50’s during the day and 30’s at night in the first couple of weeks of the short month in North Georgia. For you Northerners, the sun shines at a more direct angle at this latitude and the days feel warmer in the sunlight and often contradict the actual temperature in favor of warmth. My biggest complaint about living up north was my aversion to the weather in terms of direct sunlight in the first quarter of the year. I find myself moping around a lot less and not longing for the arrival of spring as much. In some years, the Bradford Pear trees start blooming in their white, dogwood-like blossoms during the final week of February here.


As the weekend ended, I accepted an opportunity to Huntsville, Alabama that would lead me on a big circle arcing in west Tennessee in Jackson not far from Memphis. The travels took me through a part of the Volunteer State that I didn't know existed. Lawrenceburg seemed like it was a long way from civilization. No national chain drug stores or grocery stores hung shingles here. It is also the hometown of actor and politician Fred Thompson. I give him a lot of credit. It had to have been a long steep climb out of here to where he ended up.

I wound my way through little hamlets on a four lane highway, reduced to a two laner because of construction. On up to Nashville and then to Chattanooga was where this odyssey was taking me. My delivery was to a key United States Postal Service facility there. I backed the truck to the loading dock and headed inside with my paperwork to the shipping and receiving department. A nice lady looked over my big metal box clipboard and proceeded to call someone in another department. After she hung the phone up, she looked up at me and announced that "Monkey" will come down here to meet you. I said Monkey? She said yes, her name is Monkey. I said, oh, you mean her last name is Monkey? Like organ grinder Monkey, Miss Monkey? She replied "no, her first name is Monkey." Oh, ok. So I waited for "Monkey". "Monkey" arrived and said "I'm Monkey, what do you have for me?" Monkey was a slender woman with reddish blond shoulder length hair and wisdom denoting crows feet lines around her eyes. Without thinking, I just blurted out "I was born in the year of the Monkey" (the Chinese Zodiac calendar that is split into 12 animals) She quickly returned "I was born in the year of the Monkey too. Were you born in 1956?" I said well yes, indeed, I was. Monkey probed further and said "don't tell me September of 1956." Again, I sort of squinted and said slowly, yes, September of '56. Monkey sang me too with an exclamation point, her voice getting a little higher. She pressed on and stated that she was born on the 19th. I smiled and said, ahh, my birthday is on the 29th, but, my mother told me I was due on the 19th, but didn't arrive until the 29th, just takin' my time..kind of the story of my life. Oh, and by the way, my mom's birthday was on the 29th too. Monkey laughed and amped up her inquisition with where were you born? I replied, in New Jersey. She said where?! I wrinkled my forehead with an answer of Morristown. Monkey just about shouted out "I was born in New Jersey too!” She continued that she was an Army brat born in New Egypt, New Jersey near Fort Dix, the famous Garden state Army base. She promptly added that this exchange was getting a little weird, and I had to agree. But, Monkey was very helpful and quickly put together a team to take a complicated load of furniture off my truck to be delivered to the new Chattanooga Postmaster. Monkey signed my "bill of lading" shipping paper and at that point I got the spelling to her name correct...it was M-O-N-K-E-E. Like Davy Jones and Peter Tork the Monkees. There wasn't really a connection there though, because the Monkees became popular in 1966 and she...errr...we...were born in 1956. I should have asked how she got her name, but I was afraid she would have replied that she was named after her Great Grandfather from Scotland, like me.

Once I delivered in the train town, I hopped down to the Dalton, Georgia, the Carpet Capital of The World for a rest at a Pilot before accepting a load that picked up in Social Circle, Georgia. Yes there is a town with that name. This one was going to Belton, South Carolina. I took it and ended up searching for the recipient in a place that didn't exist, at least on GPS. Frustrated with the written directions on the Q-comm and lack of street signs, I stopped at a convenience store to plead with the clerk for direction. The quick stop cashier was friendly and ready to help and replied to my request with "I know exactly where that place is, they done run me off from there last summer, follow me and I'll show you where it is." For a moment, I thought he was going to leave the store and hop in his car have me trail him there. So I followed him outside and he stood on the sidewalk and pointed down the road as if I was able to see two miles off this finger and said go this way and turn that way. OK, thanks pal, you're a life saver. After finding this place in a very dark and extremely remote boondock, I presented my goods to waiting hands. Next, it was a short ten mile ride down to a Pilot Travel Center I had been to back in November. A warm sleeping bag and a good slumber on a not so cold night would be my reward.

The following day, just when I was getting comfortable in 60 degree sunshine in Piedmont, South Carolina and examining the prospects of laying over for the weekend, the Q-comm beeped off an opportunity picking up 64 miles away in Arden, North Carolina, then going to Rochester, New York. Whoa, this run proposed to be a nice weekend jaunt up north. I knew I was going to have to trade the sunny southern weather I had been craving for so long for a Siberian-like forecast, but, the longer the run, the better in this business. Ashley, from dispatch was agreeable to working out the details on this 848 mile run. After catching up on my obligatory driver’s logbook and bills of lading paperwork for the load, it was time to roll.

In the northern corner of South Carolina near Travelers Rest, the mountain tops were snow covered and the terrain a familiar hilly ride as I prepared to cross into North Carolina to the Asheville area for pick up. I know these roads well from my days in Johnson City, Tennessee as it was my preferred route down to Atlanta for weekend visits with friends and Braves baseball. By the time I got to Flatwood, West Virginia, the air was decidedly chilly where I could see my breath and the mountainsides on Interstate 79 were dominated in snow cover from an earlier fall. This must have been a sizeable accumulation because in a lot of places on the highway, the shoulders had disappeared completely with mounds of plowed snow.

As my mind wandered and XM 27, The Bridge played the soundtrack to my tour up a winding and wandering interstate, weaving around the mountain grades and short valleys. Before long, in the abundance of sunshine, the Pennsylvania, State of Independence sign appeared and the run up through Pittsburgh and then to Erie on the lake was on. Pittsburgh is a family city for Cheryl and me. My aunt and two of my cousins live there. It's always a treat to see Carol and Mary Joan. Always on the "to see" list is my Aunt Win, an extraordinary woman and icon to me at nearly 95 years old. Cheryl’s aunt and her cousins live there as well. It’s definately a city of aunts and cousins. Cheryl was born in nearby McKeesport and I always enjoy accompanying her to a visit her Aunt Delores’ in old Tenth Ward there. When we visit town, it’s kind of like a fork in the road for us. She visits with her family there and I visit with my family. Then, we’ll meet and visit either family together. Cheryl’s cousin Edie has a quirky and fun tradition of "The Birthday Ride". She has a shopping cart and when it’s someone’s birthday, they get in the basket and are treated to a ride up and down the street. Grown people ride too. Haven’t you always wanted the spectacle of a ride in a Giant Eagle cart? I do. It’s just never my birthday when I’m there.

Louie always gets to come along and some occasions we have stayed in a nice hotel near downtown that caters to pets. I’ve never seen an animal make himself as comfortable as he does in these places. He’ll begin by giving the place a good sniff down and then, jumps up on the bed, paws the bedspread down to find a good pillow. His routine continues by doing a little “circle walk” on the bag of head comfort before plopping down sideways for a nap from a day of travel. This dog loves to travel. He’s been everywhere from Georgia to Maine. Mr. Explorer has been RVing with us and has slept in a tent with me on the rocky coast. Even watched a Moose trot by us near Old Orchard Beach. He delights in meeting new people and attracts attention everywhere he goes, like a little celebrity dog. I’m merely his assistant.

I made the right hand turn on to Interstate 90 and into New York at Ripley. Almost on cue, as I pulled away from the first toll booth on the Thruway, Billy Joel’s stalwart “New York State of Mind” just happened to play on the radio. This is getting a little spooky for me! Whew. In addition, the sun was still shining and I almost wanted to pinch myself. There hadn’t been this much of that big orange ball in the sky on any trip I’ve been on in almost a month. The temperatures felt pretty good to me as well. This was a scenario almost too good to be true!

My destination of Rochester was in sight and I wanted to ride by the drop off point at Kodak to see where it was before “holing up” for the weekend at the Flying J in Pembroke, about 30 minutes down the road. My delivery appointment was not until Monday morning, so I would have plenty of time to stretch out and catch up on domestic things, like a big canvas sack of laundry and pay some attention to the buffet.  On the way back to the truck stop, I passed a few small quaint villages including Genesee. The winter temperatures never crossed my mind.  Upstate New York never seems to lose its charm.

The next morning, I made my way to the Trucker’s Lounge at the J where I found a nice booth to enjoy a breakfast of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Coffee. There, I met Bill, a fellow Expediter from Michigan who had parked near me and we stuck up a good conversation. Bill appeared to be in his late 50’s with curly hair and a big handle bar moustache. He wore a rumpled leather range hat with an “IBEW” pin on it, the Internationl Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.  We conversed about trucks, electric, the expediting business and trout fishing in Michigan. Nearby, in the lounge, I spied a Hispanic looking man with two young girls with him, maybe 10 and 6 years old. The younger one was drinking a can of Rock Star Energy drink. These drinks are packed with enough sugar, caffeine and who knows what else to make a mule kick. A can gives me the heebee jeebees. I felt an overwhelming urge to speak up, so I interrupted my conversation with Bill and called over to the man “is there anything in that can of Rock Star that she’s drinking? The man casually responded “oh, she really likes that stuff, so I just give it to her whenever she wants it.” I had to know. About a half an hour later, this kid is running around banging into doors and shrieking with joy. Then she falls down and is screaming like a Banshee. I would have put money on that bet. And I thought this lounge was just for professional drivers. Occasionally, there’s entertainment. Gee whiz. Some people should be licensed to be parents. Even money says I’m heading for New York and New Jersey from here. It’s Just a hunch.