THE SUN OF REMOTE ROADS

The book has been devoted to the trackers of the American continent. Their lives, passion, love, sufferings, willpower along the roads through Nevada’s open spaces, mountains of Colorado, Alabama’s tornado, Wyoming’s snow storm, Iowa’s wing, New York City traffic. Only courageous and dedicated people can survive, develop and reach heights on this complex and difficult path. The book has been devoted to strong people – both who are thinking to choose the path and working as hired drivers and those who have reached the cherished heights and become an owner of a track or a an owner of a forwarding company.

These are my chronicles. I share with anyone my own experience, my way of life. The chronicles describe a school’s choice, journey-work, a truck buying and my own business development. This is the way which I have chosen and keep going while the book is being written.




Chapter 1


Training


I would like to leave Belarus just on the spot. I had neither thought about it nor planned. And why should I leave? Actually, I had all the things arranged. I got a diploma of higher education, series of professional training certificates and was employed as a manager of a power company. There were no hints to change the situation in the near future. Life outlooks appeared to be as simplest as possible. And if one reached the crest of a wave, then he would be brought to new heights. If you had failed then it was necessary to be quiet, do a routine work, and wait for the finest hour.

I had quested many times to reach new heights. I had set a goal, tried to turn everything upside down, to overcome all the obstacles, to get ahead of everybody, but failed to achieve any result. Even if I had reached the necessary goal, I felt emptiness inside; there was no consonance between the soul and the body, no balance. Moreover, joy was with some bitterness. Finally I became thick and tired of everything, stopped being tormented and suffered, then the ways I had never thought about appeared. Those ways would lead to the goal rather through a broadband and smooth as a silk highway than through a narrow path with obstacles. Everything was done playfully and cheerfully. The result impressed and everything was in harmony and life was in the fun.

Just then I met a girl. She was an ideal: clever, beautiful, stature. She was resistant to troubles in life. That girl could cry no smearing mascara. She smiled if she wanted to scratch my face by nails. She stopped breathing not to make me wake, not to push my hand off her hip bending. She was vary unpredictably charming. She was able to be herself, when to be herself was impossible. Romance for her meant walking on the promenade night when all around moonlit or rushed into the darkness in my car at the speed of 100 mph.

She had a sister who had left for the USA and remained there willfully. The sister was married an American, received a citizenship, and got a job. She helped her mother and the sister as far as she could. My girl’s sister would like to bring her natives to America. Fast but very unlikely option would be to win a green–card lottery.

She had persuaded the mother and the sister to submit the form to participate. The mother was the first to win the lottery. Next year she left for America. The girl had participated twice in the lottery but failed by the time I met her. An autumn’s evening she told me that she had submitted the questionnaire again. She timely told me about her sister’s life in America and about her hope to win the lottery next year. She summarized the conversation suggesting me to submit an application. Two people would increase chances to win. In case anyone of us won, we would marry and leave for America.

I had never dreamt to leave for America. Firstly, I did not know English. A self-education text book would be useless. Secondly, nobody would be interested in me. Just on the spot, I had rejected that offer. But I still filled out the questionnaire next week. I hoped that if we were happy with my beloved, then my victory in the lottery would please her. If I failed to win then there would be no great sadness.

The fate had had it in its own way. I broke up with my girl in April and I got an envelope of winnings in May. I postponed an interview in the US Embassy three times. Half-heartedly I filled out the required documentation and got an open visa for six months. I had neither an intension nor wish to leave for America. There were neither relatives nor friends to accommodate me for the first time. There was absolutely nobody.

There were two months left prior to the emigration visa expiration. But I had still not found a reason to fly to America. A conversation with the deputy minister who supervised my company had become the turning point.

“A well-known company has offered us a good deal,” I said in his office. “You have got the offer officially.”

“Yes I have looked through the offer through,” he answered in the usual languid manner.

“Prospects will be very profitable,” I continued to report. “We are the only company that implements these projects. The state profit has been estimated in 50 million Euros in the next five years and our company’s profit will amount to not less than 5 million Euros. The project is a standard one, the scope of work is well-known and the company has been dealing with it for more than a year.”

The deputy minister looked through the documentation and thoughtfully uttered: “It will require much effort.”

I failed to find counter-evidences against his answer. It was useless. Without too much irony he stated the modern power attitude to manifestation of business activity in Belarus.

Two months prior to the visa expiration date I had thought to trip to America for the first time. I would not like to immigrate but to trip during my vacation. I wanted to trip, take the green-card and come back to Belarus. By the way I spoke to my colleague and came to know that his son lived in America. He left for America as a student, remained illegal, later was able to get a political refugee status and a green-card. We agreed that he would accommodate me.

 

School choice


Two weeks had passed since I resided in America. My colleague’s son Alex lived not far from Philadelphia. He sheltered me cordially. The days were saturated and funny. Alex’s friends came alternatively to stare at a newcomer. Quite naturally, they questioned me about the past and plans. I felt as if I had been a Fair exhibit in the museum. They offered all kinds of assistance. I did not fail to take advantage of their help as I knew absolutely nothing about the American bureaucracy, but I would have to get a legal status. Those two weeks had been magical for me. I wrote a letter to my company and asked to understand and forgive but I would not come back. They had fired me because of truancy. Thus, my labor activity had come to an end in my native Belarus.

A Russian-Jewish company to transfer old people from their homes to a doctor and back was my first job in America. A salary was only $ 120 daily but enough for the minimum expenses. They were only Russian speaking pensioners. They were quiet and calm people who had a set of age sores. Many of them left for America at the first and second waves of emigration in the 70-th of the last century. They shared memories of antecedents and either passionately loved America or hated it to complete absolutism. My job was simple to listen to their nostalgic memories of youth and occasionally shared my impressions of that reality at home.

Half a year later both the American budget for medicine had been cut and rules of issuing orders for transportation had been changed. Russian grandparents had practically disappeared. The Americans out of nursing homes and hospices became major clients. The work had become a burden not so much physically as morally. Heavy people who were on their last legs, often not being adequate, unable to move self-dependently, bad smelling and other unpleasant sets. Actually I felt like an undertaker speaking with the people who stood on one foot in another world. With peace of mind and wish to return to the living world I said good-bye to the company’s owners.

Prior to the departure I had certainly developed a consecutive actions plan. Firstly, I would have to legalize the diploma. Secondly, I would like to enter a Prestigious Business School. Thirdly, I would have to graduate from it and find a job in the profile. The American reality had appeared far more prosaic. While being in Belarus I had sent my resumes to fifty American Universities. Many of them had answered. My records and resumes were unique and they would be glad to see me among their students. It would be necessary to do very little, namely: come to them, pass an examination on a number of subjects including English and if my evaluations were excellent the faculty’s dean office would apply to a University’s Board of Trustees to allocate me the University scholarships. Also I would be able to ask for support for training in state government by myself.

The cost of education was $ 23,000 per year in a University rated low and up to $ 230,000 at a prestigious faculty of top rated higher educational institutions. The scholarships would cover training and, as a rule, hostel accommodation. Books, nutrition, trips to practice should be paid self-dependently. The price of that item of expenditure started at $ 3,000 per year.

It was useless to enter a university rated low as recruitment agencies first of all considered an institution rating. If your diploma was issued by an unprestigious University than your chances to get both a job and a salary of your dream would vanish into thin air immediately.

But all had been mixed even after graduation from the rating leaders. I had studied statistics of employment in the specialty after the first year of graduation from an institution, and found very interesting facts. For the last five years the figure had been constantly decreased approximately from 80% to 60% or even more for all the universities. Several close friends verified that information. One had a prestigious university diploma, but it would not be possible to find a job.

At the same time after graduation from the university one had a tight noose on the neck, namely both a fee for the credit and an interest for the study. A grandmother who I carried while working for the medical company told me a very interesting story about her son. Her son and his wife took the credit for the study and at the same time graduated from the college at a specialty of dentistry. The profession was elite and highly paid. The income of both was the same, namely $ 110,000 - $ 120,000. It was a dream of many. They were up bringing three children. The youngest was six months old. In accordance with the social status they lived in a Philadelphia’s prestigious area. Each had a car.

But five years later since graduation from the college their total debt for schooling not decreased but vice versa and had amounted to $ 735,000. A percent of the loan had accounted for $ 16,000 yearly of each. Additionally, there were loans for the house, cars, and all sorts of household stuff. That was why the grandmother came to them to up bring the grandson as there had not been the money to hire a nanny.

A winter’s evening I thought about my prospects. Let me admit that I had entered a Prestigious Business School as I wished. I would graduate from it three years later as I had planned. The minimum amount of debt would be $ 250,000, it was not good. Nobody would appoint me in leadership positions with a salary of $ 100,000 yearly immediately, again it was not good. I would have to start from the beginning and my salary at best would be $ 45,000 - 50,000, that was to say, $ 150 - $ 180 daily-again it was no joy. Perhaps, in five years I would become some sort of a head and my salary would be cherished $ 100,000 yearly and, perhaps, I would be very glad. By 50 years old I would have paid the debts for the study, a house, a car and finally I would become a happy citizen of the free country. But would I be enjoyed? Definitely, it was the way for young people, who had time to study, who saw themselves as hired managers. That scenario would not suit me.

The English language was still remaining the major problem. My work for the Russian company practically did not help to master it. I could arrange some words in a sentence but the problem was to understand an interlocutor. For the most part I intuitively guessed the sense of a sentence. Sometimes I was successful, sometimes not. Native Americans showed miracles of tolerance, that’s to say, repeated, showed, and if an option was absolutely deaf, then took me where I needed to go. Most hostility was shown by immigrants like me. The Caucasoid facial saved me, as Asians, Hispanics and other nations thought that I was a Native American and often apologized for bad English. I did not object. In such a situation it would be useless to find a job for an American company. I would not like to return to the Russian-speaking environment.

”Prior to this job I worked as a truck driver.” Alex loudly pronounced.

We were sitting at home and relaxing. He rested after a hard working day. And I provided a convivial atmosphere.

“I spent two years at the wheel. At first, I was f driver in the company. Then, I took a track to lease.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I tired of the constant road. Initially you did not pay attention to this. Then fatigue accumulated and the situation began to strain. There comes a point, when you need to cross the invisible line and you will never return. You either accept the philosophy of truckers and you follow it on…”

“Where to follow?” I interrupted.

“Further… This is perhaps for a lifetime. Or by all fibers of the soul you run out and perceive the whole experience as a nightmare. I was able to understand at the proper time that this was not mine and was lucky to get away from this area.”

Alex ceased to be a long vehicle driver and began to drive for short distances. He bought a small truck and transported goods. Overall, he was pleased as far as possible.

“And what is a salary level,” I asked.

“You will finish the school with no experience in a truck driving. US companies pay for inexperienced drivers 32-34 cents per mile. A year later, they may rise up to 36-38. Progressive owners’ fare comes to 54 cents. You can drive not more than eleven hours per day. Somewhere, it is about $ 200 - $ 250 daily.”

“It is not much in such a hellish work,” concluded I. “I thought the numbers would be very different.”

“Numbers will be different if you lease the truck. But taking into account my experience I do not recommend to make such a choice. To carry out such a business you should have your own truck. Your income will be quite different. It will be enough for bread and butter.”

“How much does the truck cost?”

“A new one costs $ 100,000.”

“Nicely,” I did not hold back in assessing.

“A used truck in good condition with adequate mileage will be usable for 3-4 years. Its cost is $ 25,000 - $ 30,000.”

“How much money will it bring monthly?”

“On an average it will be approximately $ 20,000 - $ 25,000. But there will be necessary to subtract much out of the sum. In brief, the net profit will account for ten thousand dollars. Here also consider!” Alex summarized.

That area was absolutely unknown for me. All my knowledge about truckers was based on childhood memories – namely, very prestigious and well-paid profession. Under special patronage lucky drivers travelled abroad. And the most important thing was that they brought from abroad not money but imported goods. Familiarity with such a person was a powerful argument in a circle of friends.

I had to spend certain time to examine information of various sources. The internet forums provided much useful information. The trucking industry had been always in demand in America. Growth dynamics was always positive. Certainly, there were factors, in particular, fuel cost, repair of vehicles, insurance, various commissions that reduced both the level of profitability and the payback period. Nevertheless, the profit index was encouraging.

“And why should I not try?” I thought. In my life’s latest five years I had a private office, a car and a secretary. I had neither regret nor nostalgia for that time. A huge machine called “system” strongly limited possibilities of personal growth, established insurmountable boundaries for creative development as well as misty horizons of career peaks. Dissatisfaction with both the situation and my position weighed on my ego. I was turning into a featureless shell as small as a cog.

I had accepted, and faced a question what school for training I would choose. Low price and closeness to the place of residence were desirable but would not be met. I managed to find the acceptable price of $ 500 only in a Russian School of Philadelphia. Training lasted two weeks out of which three days would be necessary to pass a theoretical exam in the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). The rest of time would be spend for a driving practice and after it I should pass a test.

That option obvious advantages were the low cost and short time of training. Disadvantages were training in Russian, although a commercial category exam should be passed in English without an interpreter. There were no tickets in Russian at DMV. The second far more important minus was that after issuing a driving license the school would not guarantee employment. I had to turn down that option and time had proved the decision’s validity. The Russian variant was ideal for those who either had employed in advance or was a truck owner.

I was to study options of American schools. Their conditions were different in principle. Terms of training varied from 4 to 6 weeks. The cost of training started at $ 3,500 with obligatory prepayment of $ 750. One could take a credit on the draconian conditions. Practically all schools guaranteed driving practice duration of month and a half and subsequent employment. But the money issue was of paramount importance. I had no wish to pay such a sum.

“I had no cent in the pocket when I had decided to go for training,” Alex said.

“Where did you find a free school,” I asked.

“Well, not entirely free. I had training in Salt Lake City at the school of “Central” Track Company. It then will employ a graduate. The debt for training will be deducted from wages. If you have no wish to pay your own money for the training, this option will be the best.”

I liked the idea. But I got disappointed the next day. Presently, “Central” did not employ people and was not going to employ within two nearest months. I again started from scratch my searches. Many transport companies constantly planned to take students to a school, to pay for training, to give accommodation; some companies submitted scholarships and subsequently employed students after graduation.

Google helped me to find an interesting variant, namely: “SR England” and again in Salt Lake City. I filled in a questionnaire found in the company’s site and three days later Alex joyfully said that I had been elected and would be able to come for training. New classes started each Monday. That’s why I would have to be in the school on Saturday.

Everything was great, but Philadelphia and Salt Lake City were far apart. The distance was not small as well as the price of $ 330 for an air ticket. Alex again called the company and asked how to reach the school. They offered two options. Either the school would by a bus ticket. Or they would return $ 120 upon presentation of any ticket. A bus ticket price was approximately equal to the amount of compensation, but I would not like to shake three days on the road. After some deliberation I bought an air ticket.

Finally, I had arrived in Salt Lake City. In the airport I approached to the specified rack, called my name and in a half of an hour I was in school. I passed registration and briefing at the reception. They gave me a room key, a list of rooms ‘layout and the place of collection at 6 a.m. on Monday. Tired but happy I dragged to the door. There was still time to wash in the shower, to take supper and to get enough sleep.

I opened the door. I was frozen in shock at the threshold. The room was small, along the walls there were two floor beds, totally eight people lived in the room at the same time. They showed me a vacant bed by the window. A wondering thought run through my head. Fortunately, that the bed was not near the toilet. There were mattresses made of synthetic material on bunk beds. There was neither a pillow, sheets, nor a blanket. Naturally, I had not such beddings. At night I felt as if I had been in a theater because: somebody out of eight people was snoring; rustling produced by constant rotation of bodies on a synthetic mattress saturated the sound range. That was my first disappointment but not the last.

About a hundred people gathered in the classroom in the morning. The audience was motley. There were 70% of white people, 30% of black people. The percentage was being changed in the opposite direction when summer approached. I was surprised but there were ten women per each class. Many of them were family symbiosis, that’s: the mother and son studied at the same time. Later on the road I met repeatedly this tandem. Two girls alternately beckoned applicants for training and photocopied a driving license and a green-card. Without the document, confirming the legal status of being in the United States, nobody would be taken to school.

At the same time, a teacher told us about rules of conduct in the school’s territory. Alcohol and drugs were totally banned, we should tolerate people of other race, religion and the opposite sex, as well as about the company's history and its significance, mode of learning and practical training, bonuses and salaries. But I had only to guess by separate phrases and slides because English was still in the embryonic state.

Later in small groups we were sent to a medical examination. After we had entered the cabinet a muscular lady immediately asked about the urge of nature. If there was no the urge of nature, then she proudly gave out a bottle of water with the requirement to enter again in half an hour. If the urge was braking out she took all the stuff out of the pocket, handled the bottle, where you had to pour desire immediately outside the door. It was necessary to check for drugs in the body.

In this regard, my knowledge was rather poor but according to familiar doctors the result would be positive (bad one), if drugs had been in the body for the last two months. They also urged to eliminate from the diet buns with poppy seeds. Otherwise, the dough test would be failed for sure.

If there were any doubts about, a friend of mine advised to pass the test using a hot water bottle with the content of another trusted friend. The hot water bottle should necessarily be tied to the body to make the temperature of the hot bottle contents be equal to the body temperature. Not knowing it, he had failed to pass the test the first time since there were stripes to measure the temperature of all available cups. If the temperature was lower than necessary, the contents would not be accepted. Therefore, hot water from the sink in the bathroom should be never used.

It would unlikely to withdraw drugs from the body earlier deadlines established by nature. The meek and the hungry had tried various ways. All those ways had failed and as a result - they went to another school in two months.

But those tricks could be useless. In my stream all the blacks and suspicious whites should have a tuft of hair clipped from the head or armpit to pass the analysis. Hair retained traces of drug for up to six months. There were no options to fool except a haircut shave.

 

In the second room they checked vision, hearing and pressure. At that time I did not know that Salt Lake City was located at an altitude of 4,300 feet. There was no time for acclimatization and the pressure was incredible. The maximum allowable value of the pass was 185/125 but my figures exceeded all my expectations. The value was 200/135.

“Is it your regular pressure?” asked a nurse.

“What do you? Of course not,” confused by such figures I replied.

“Did you drink tea or coffee today?”

“Well, of course! Arrived at night and do not fall asleep, drink strong coffee.”

"That's not right. Come tomorrow morning. Just do not drink coffee," finally recommended the nurse.

The second chance had given the time to think, but that time did not add optimism. One should not joke with one’s health. Before that incident, problems with blood pressure I had never experienced, and very seldom drank coffee.

Deep in thoughts I went out. It was a sunny and warm day for mid-March. Airplanes flew over the head after a minute or two. The airport was nearby. On the right I could see the downtown area with familiar skyscrapers and at the foot of the mountains there were spires of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Mormons were half the population of Salt Lake City. I had never thought to find myself in the heart of the Mormons’ capital. Along all the sides the city was surrounded by high mountains, on the tops of which gleamed snow caps. I remembered that it was the city that hosted the Winter Olympics in 2002.

A weak breeze blew on the opposite side. The smell brought by it was worthy of epic statements. The first thing running through the mind was related to obvious problems with sewage of the city. Or near, there were sources of hydrogen sulfide, or a poultry factory, or, theoretically, a factory for the production of rotten eggs. The truth was in the middle. The Great Salt Lake in fact turned out to be really great, salty and lifeless. Subsequently, passing along its shore, I tried several times to stop and swim. But as said locals there was only one beach opened for one month in August, when the wind blew in the opposite direction and the smell from the lake receded a bit.

In a local store I got acquainted with a set of drugs. High prices and a poor choice of drugs forced me to go to “Walmart” supermarket. I bought beddings and pressure reduction tablets. On the road I walked on by “Central” and “Knight” school buildings located close to each other along one side of the street.

In the morning I took an overdose of pills and tried to pass a medical examination. No miracle took place. The blood pressure still went of the scale, that’s 195/125. The nurse took me to a small room and told me to wait for the chief physician.

"How is it going," casually smiling, asked the doctor.

“Ok. And how do you do?”

The doctor proved to be a middle-aged man. He was a cheerful and hilarious. The nickname of such people was zinger.

"What's bothering you?” looking at me, asked the doctor.

“Nothing.”

The doctor absorbed in paper.

“Do you have complaints?”

“No.”

“Undress.”

I had never undergone such a detailed medical examination even in a native recruitment office. He was interested in my health to a dot: surgeries, fractures, serious injuries, sprains, hereditary diseases, whether my parents were alive, whether I had a wife and children. I jumped, bent over, held my breath, stretched, moved my eyes, and waved my hands. He probed me totally, looked into each, absolutely every single hole of my body.

“Do you go in for any kind of sport?”

“Yes. I go to the gym and am now preparing to participate in the competition known as “Ironman World Championship.”

He stopped to make his examination. Looked again at me.

“I know what it is, to what competition are you preparing?”

"I'm going to participate next year in Hawaii, This is my dream."

Of course, I was a little fib. By the virtue of a coercive environment I was seriously thinking to test my strength. I was not still ready for the final and most prestigious competitions held in Hawaii. It was no big deal in the very competition. It would be necessary to swim 2.4 miles consistently without stops in the fastest than others manner, ride a bike at a distance of 112 miles and run 26.2 miles. The winner of the competition at every stage would spend about three hours, and would finish in less than eight hours. But in the qualifying rounds held throughout the year in different States on an abbreviated program, I was going to participate.

My training began with the forced runs. The medical company for which I delivered pensioners encountered difficulties due to the decline in demand. They offered me a temporary job. At such times, it was necessary to leave the minivan in the parking of the company. Alex was taking me home. But it turned out that he could not always take me home. But in those days I ran ten miles to home.

It was a wonderful sunny day when I ran for the first time. On the eve, snow fell and set the temperature to 500F. Rare sidewalks were not cleared and covered with a transparent and slippery ice. I spent four hours to run the distance. I rather managed to run the first two or three miles than I simply walked. The next three days I was almost dead. Without proper training the body, muscles, and joints required urgent replacement. Within a month I was able to improve my score up to two hours. Running was easier and funnier. Motivation would be a participation in competitions and it had empowered me.
The doctor expressed a delight and respect vividly. Further conversation was devoted to sporting achievements and plans.

“From where did you come?” asked he.

“New Jersey.”

“No country of birth.”

“Belarus.”

“Yes, I heard.”

Then it was my turn to be surprised. He clearly named the geographical location and the capital’s name.

“Are there mountains in your country?”

“No. The highest mountain’s height is 345 meters. This is approximately…” I hesitated trying to count in US feet.

“I understand the European system. When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday.”

“This is a reason of your pressure. You have not yet passed the acclimatization.”

“Yes. Exactly!”

The doctor had written a certificate and I thankfully went to the last stage of the medical board to verify the physical condition. A huge, muscular, black nurse invited the group inside the trailer where we lift weights, moved the pallets and jumped on the stairs. The essence of this stage of the medical examination was not entirely clear as in the hallway of the school there were students with various disabilities. Those exercises for them would be a series of sophisticated mockery. The results of two days had decreased the group by one third. Some failed the drug test, the others failed for medical reasons.

I relaxed the next two days. Again, because of poor English daily tests were the main reasons of troubles. The experience gained during training in the national secondary school helped me a lot. I just copied tests. Within a couple of days I had identified several people who coped easily with a topic, sat beside one of them and repeatedly wrote off the necessary content. But I did it very discreetly. Americans did not get accustomed to writing off and disliked anybody who wrote off their topics.

On the Thursday's end the teacher wished all of us a good luck in DMV tests. I tensed. What tests? What DMV? I was not ready. I was shocked. My silent cry was swallowed by emptiness.

The whole night I was reading the course material and taught exam fees. I did not have correct answers for tickets. I was going for broke. I understood certain questions and answers, found others in the tutorials, some questions I learnt by heart, and the questions, which I did not understand in principle, I memorized visually. We slept two hours, than they wished us a success in the classroom and in groups of fifteen people we were taken to the DMV around Salt Lake City.

Before admission to the test again they checked the status of being in the US. Wherein, an employee of DMV not only fiddled with the green card but also sent a request to the emigration service for confirmation of legality.

Commercially licensed tests consisted of three blocks. The first was the General Knowledge test. It was the most extensive, but the most easily understood. It included general questions on the handling of the vehicle and the rules of the road. Many answers could be calculated logically. The second test was the Combination Vehicles Endorsement and it became, perhaps, the most complicated test for an unprepared person who had never faced that kind of things. And the third one was the Air Brakes Endorsement dealt with the basics of truck brake system. The test was complex because of many strange new technical terms.

At the test they prohibited to use any means of communication: a book, records as well as spoke with a neighbor. If they saw then you would be asked to come after seven days. And it was easily to find out. There were surveillance cameras and between rows a DMV’s employee periodically walked.

And here I was sitting in front a monitor screen. One might choose self-dependently a sequence of tests. There was more than enough time to answer it and if one did not know the answer than he could omit it and answer it later. There were two attempts to pass a test daily. The test would be passed if the number of correct answers was equal to 80% or more.

That day did not bring a miracle. I was not ready. It was more like a guessing game. A luck level ranged from 34% to 45%. I denied the second attempt because there would be no perspective to pass the test.

Upon return to the school it was revealed that half of the class had failed the test, and the second attempt would take place on Saturday. That time I was lucky to rewrite the answers and whereupon I went to my bed to get a deep insight into the unknown science.

Three hours of sleep and a thinned group of losers was again in the walls of DMV. I chose the first test as a primary one. I spent much time painfully sitting in front of the monitor and the result was 54%. The second test was the Combination Vehicles Endorsement but the result was negative. The third test’s result was the same. The second attempt would take place not earlier than in an hour. I tried to spend that time as efficiently as possible to swot knowledge gaps. Sometimes I had to be distracted by associates. Some had passed the barrier and looked down on those who were waiting for a miracle. They had already known everything and gave confidence to any question. Antipathy only increased for them. Others were puzzled and their sad eyes expressed expectance. I avoided contacts with them, no avail, and time would be lost.

A half an hour prior to DMV closure we were asked to go in the second round, otherwise it would be late. The situation was crucial it was not clear either I would not pass the test or pass it, whether they would expel me from the school or not. Tension was transcendental. The head denied working efficiently. The entire time I asked one and the same question “Why should I need this? Well, why?” I would like to escape, run gallop, fly away, and disappear down the drain. Anything, but not be there and then. Complete madness.

And then a miracle had happened. Somehow inexplicably, I had passed the test far as called the Air Brakes Endorsement, scored 82%. But there was 76% as far as the two others were concerned. It meant that I had failed.

One was waiting for debriefing in the school. Someone had left. I pulled away from school and was not present in the classroom on the weekend. Over the weekend, I had drawn up a “B” plan. On Monday, classes started at 9 a.m. and the DMV opened 7:30 a.m. If I went to the very opening then I would pass the test, and appear in the classroom smiling.

I spent the whole weekend in cramming. On Monday morning I hired a taxi and prior to DMV opening I was at the door. But there was an unexpected surprise. By arrangement with the DMV the school could send its students to the exam only on Friday and Saturday to avoid queues. And then I was out of school and on Monday. I had to say that when all were passing the test, I could not and should pass it today. The attempt did not fail. Again, I was sitting in front of the cherished and hated monitor screen. The first attempt and both test scored 75%.Two hours of cramming, pangs and ordeals in the hall and second attempt. I passed the Combination Vehicles Endorsement test and scored 80%. Yes! But the General Knowledge test again scored only 76%.

I should not Just give in to despair I would invent something. I would get out.

I approached the employee at the counter to clarify whether I would be able to get another attempt. The answer was negative. There were only two attempts a day. I tried to soften her saying that I would have to try. She looked in the papers. She told me that there was another payable attempt for the missed time on the first day. The price would be forty dollars. There was no way out and I agreed.

An hour of tedious study and I dared the General Knowledge test for the third time. I thought over five minutes per each issue. I was not in a hurry, re-read, again pondering; inside cherished the hope of winning. The last answer and again it was 76%.

There were six miles to school. There was nowhere to rush. There was no need in taxi. One would have time to think over a situation, invent a believable story or something like that.

The teacher had already delivered a different course. At the break, I went up to him and said that I had failed the test. He sent me to the Chief Curator of the course. I had found him. I explained that I had failed to pass the General Knowledge test, scoring only 76%.

He asked me for how many weeks I had studied in the school. I said that I was at the school only a week. He sent me back to the school. Then he added that I would have one more attempt. A common practice not only in that school was to give a second and even a third chance to students. Why should they expel a potential employee?

They forced me to go on a two-day safety courses. I went reluctantly. A teacher was an imposing man and at the beginning of the lecture showed crumpled tin of beans. The teacher said that, if any person tried to sleep on his lectures, than he would be hit by that tin in the forehead. He showed us slides about the cool tuned tracks amusing all of us by it and then a tiresome training started. On the second day there was a test written off according to the proven method. Since the check of an answer sheet took place in the class that was why for increased reliability I waited until “the donor” would pass the test and after my leaflet was assessed positively.

Later the teacher came back to the general class and talked about the benefits of health insurance in the company. Generally, two choices were offered. One was individual and the other was for a family. One could choose insurance that included dentist and ophthalmologist services. Weekly payments would amount to $ 5 per an individual insurance and to $ 25 per a family plan. I turned down. I had to say that I had no health insurance.

"Are you a Russian?" I heard behind me and did not immediately realize that the question was in Russian.

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“New Jersey.”

“No, from there?”

“Belarus.”

“I am from Kiev. For how long have you resided here?”

“Two years.”

“So young. I have already resided here for 18 years. My name is Oleg.”

That was how I got acquainted with my mate.

Oleg was 38 years old. Gray hair should indicate that period of life when one could say that a man had wise life experience. But Oleg was more like a man tormented by life turmoil.

To America, he came in the wake of a large emigration in the mid-90's of the last century. The process of emigration was not simple. Applicants left for America not directly but through an entrepot in one of the European countries where they waited for the documents from the United States for a period from six months to a year. So being a teenager, Oleg left the devastated Ukraine first for hot Italy and then for the blossoming Austria. Those two countries seemed to have shaped his view of life for the rest of time.

Residence in Europe looked like a fairy tale due to the current European principles and even small acquaintance with the logic of Russians. Teenagers quickly adapted to wash windshields of cars at a gas station or to empty the slot machines with sweets by one coin on a string, or to steal from uncovered cars. Many mothers were hired as nurses and fathers were employed for repair and construction works. Families had a normal level of income. Some Russians had nowhere left out of this paradise. And all that was against the backdrop of the beautiful architecture, of the picturesque nature, of gullible Europeans.

After that tale parents came to America, to New Hampshire, and resided in a small village. Naturally, the teenager experienced a huge shock. His credo fit in a short phrase, “Well, morons.” Sometimes, he inserted a supplement. “It is necessary to be such people!” These proposals were released with or without any reason.

Oleg finished school a month earlier than I and drove through the roads of America at the first phase of practice in school. (Only there was two phases of practical driving in “SR England” school). At the first trip he managed to lose four upper front teeth. On the way to California the truck fell into the last snow storm of the season. In order to go further it would be necessary to put snow chains. In the school they carried out the practical training of putting on snow chains. Without proper practice the process was long, complicated and messy.

He volunteered to put on the snow chain because he apparently wished to improve his skills. He had managed successfully to put on snow chains and the final stage was to fix them by elastics with hooks on the end. It would be the simplest phase. It would be necessary to secure the show chain on the last wheel and one hook broke and hit Oleg’s chin. There was neither ache nor blood even discomfort. He tightened the elastic but on his way to the truck he spat out four teeth.

Oleg had to miss the second practical phase because they had prohibited him due to such problems. So he walked aimlessly through the corridors of the school and waited for the insurance to pay for dental treatment.

I told him about my problems at exams in DMV. “This problem is easily solved,” assured me Oleg. “In the Internet there are tests to pass, and you can practice as much as necessary.” Prior coming to the school he had learnt all the tests and passed them on the first try. A couple of days of training on the computer and when students were invited to the DMV general test next time I had passed it with the figure of 96%.

The following week a truck’s practical driving lessons began. We were divided into groups of fifteen people. I was assigned to the group of the senior driving instructor. He was happy and cheerful black guy. In any weather he wore shorts, a down jacket, and a children's pink hat with eyes and protruding tongue. He came to the site on the tuned pickup truck-monster. Alterations were to set the maximum number of brilliant details and huge chrome wheels.

For the first time in my life I was sitting behind the wheel of the truck. Inside, everything was terrible and pathetic. Inside the cabin almost all was broken, unscrewed, pulled off. The transmission, put it mildly, left much to be desired. But it was a purebred American Freightliner. What did I know about the truck? I knew nothing.

While a student, during the summer vacation, my parents sent me to work on the main assembly line of trucks of Minsk’s Automobile Plant to learn how to make money. The work was drab and monotonous. After an eight-hour shift because of the constant noise of drills, working wrenches, cranes, auxiliary conveyors feeding components, I thought nothing. Therefore, either women or deaf-mutes executed the most noisy and heavy operations. A normal man could not withstand such a working environment.

They asked me to fasten to the frame rails for the rear lights and mudguards. Before starting the conveyor there was a one hour to assembly the required parts for the whole shift. Five different elements in two versions were used to assemble guides. Two guides should be used per a car. About 60 cars were assembled on the conveyor per a shift. 120 pieces had been assembled an hour before the start of the conveyor. I had been really shocked by such working conditions.

In front of my site they installed storage batteries. On the outside of the box there was a socket for voltage of 220 volts. As a young man had an inquiring mind I decided to test their performance. But what means should I use to check? All devices of the conveyor were powered by 380 volts and there was a special plug. It would be not so easy to connect. I realized quickly but did not adequately. At hand there was a replacement chuck for an electric drill. I short circuited two contact sockets by that chuck.

There were sparks in all directions. In the air, one felt the characteristic smell of electricity. My eyes turned white and dark at the same time because of the flash. There remained the melted chuck in my hand. I was not miraculously hurt by the chuck molten metal that scattered in all directions. In the confusion of the working day the incident went unnoticed. This case had convinced me to observe always safety instructions and never carry out such experiments.

On the first day the instructor showed us the three driving elements to be passed at the exam. They were to move along one band back and forth, to move forward and reverse to park in the adjacent lane and a diagonal parking. It was strictly forbidden to run into the line and touch the diagonal barrels at the corners. Then followed the safety instructions and the following three days the students were left to themselves.

Back and forth movements were the easiest ones. I drove forward and stopped, then also drove back. On a perfectly flat surface it was not a big deal. But there was abundance of bumps and pits on the site, and without any experience in managing trailer, its trajectory became unpredictable. I always went beyond the designated corridor.

Both the diagonal parking and maneuvering to another lane were terrible. I could not understand where the trailer’s rear should be halted, to which direction I should turn the steering wheel, how I should twist the wheels where to look in the mirrors. I looked like a kitten running around in a dark room. Oleg helped as he could. Theoretically, everything was simple; virtually nothing worked.

Three days of training passed quickly. Over that period I managed to practice five or six times per each element. For a beginner the staid number of attempts had proved to be too little.

During that time, we spoke with other students. Most of them came from villages located throughout the country. There were no jobs at home, that was why they went to be trained as drivers. A level of culture and outlook of them left much to be desired. It was interesting to see how such people were brainwashed in the school. Along the school’s corridors there were monitors that showed round the clock trailers about honorable greetings of students to its family by the school. About their care for drivers and their families, the social security of workers, the best health care and many other topics.

Many of them after the first day bought a T-shirt or shirt at the price of $ 25 at a local shop. Oleg once could not help himself to ask such a man.
“Why did you buy such a shirt?”

The guy was taken aback by this question.

“As why,” he began stretched. “Well, I'm in school, we like a kind of family.”

“Do you think it will help you to get a driving license,” Oleg did not let up.

“Yes, of course,” even more stretched guy answered.

“Well, moron,” concluded Oleg.

The instructors had the license for driving tests on the site of the school and it was definitely well. They did not have to show their skills to DMV.

A practical examination did not significantly differ. The instructor explained that we should pass in order the three elements that had been worked out at the previous five days, and that the exam would be an admission to the next level of training in the city and on the highway. The student could gain no more than twelve penalty points. If there were more the students would be given a second chance in a week.

I was not absolutely sure that I would pass the exam and decided to pass in the last rows. Grade students as usual were the first. They did everything clearly almost not running into the lines and did not touch the barrels. Further, it was funnier. One girl could not pass the diagonal parking in either way. A huge number of times she ran into the lines and knocked down the barrels. After an hour and a half she came out of the truck wet. People greeted her with applause. The smiling instructor said: “Congratulations. You passed!”

After such resounding performances it was my turn. While other students were taking the exam, I watched the behavior of the instructor. Around his neck there was a whistle, and when a student was about to run into the line or touch the barrel, he took it into his mouth. Rest of the time he was telling different stories to students and even shared secret as he had been offered a bribe of four thousand dollars for a positive exam. "But it was against my principles", proudly and loudly said the instructor. “I refused”.

"Well, moron," Oleg had heard that story said in Russian.

I quickly passed forward and backward movement which was the exam’s first phase. The second phase brought a problem. I could not put the trailer on the line and turn the track to the desired angle. Maneuvering in reverse I watched both my movements and location of the instructor’s whistle. As soon as he had taken it into his mouth, I stopped and assessed the situation. Fortunately, one could get off the truck unlimited number of times. And yet, I hit the line three times. I was able to complete the diagonal parking a third time. Finally, I showed how to ram the barrel. In the examination sheet the instructor noted my mistakes and eventually said: “You scored ten points. Congratulations. You have passed the exam!” Without exception, all the students had passed the exam on the site.

The next day we began the practice of driving on urban motorways and speedways. We were again divided into groups of four and assigned different instructors. Jerry led my group. He was a huge fellow with a cleft mandible. He spoke quietly and on business. He was patient. But I still did not understand him.

In turn, on the secondary road we sat behind the wheel the first time and drove on a public road. A truck’s gear shift was the most difficult and the driver chose it by himself. Usually, all the trucks were equipped with a mechanic gear box. There were trucks with an automatic gear box. Experienced drivers preferred the manual gear box. I believed that the principle of gear shift should be identical to that one of the car. It was necessary to squeeze out the clutch, to change a gear, to release the clutch, and press on the gas pedal. I knew it, and a long practice had let me to bring to the automaticity.

Thus, I started to go. The instructor immediately demanded to stop. I was doing everything wrong. It was necessary to squeeze out the clutch, switch it to the neutral position, release the clutch, and slightly increase the supply of gas to 1,500 RPM, squeeze out the clutch, to change a gear, release the clutch and press on the gas pedal.

A gear shift by twice squeezing out the clutch was new and physically I was not ready to it. Either I squeezed out the clutch strongly or, vice versa, weakly or the truck gear box could be damaged. I either weakly pressed on the gas pedal or strongly the result was fuel consumption. And all this was against the backdrop of high tones which escalated into the Walpurgis Night.

On the third day Jerry lost his nerve, and he sent me to the Chief Curator because I did not understand him and did not obey his commands. And in general, my English was bad. Of course, he was right but it would be necessary to get out.

“Jerry sent me,” said I when met the Chief Curator in the hall.

We had moved to an empty audience away from prying eyes.

“How do you get along with Jerry,” the curator started.

“Normally.”

“He yells at you?”

“No, what do you.”

The curator somehow thought.

“Do you know Jerry? What did he say?” continued curator.

It would be recklessly if I said that understood him well at my level of English.

“Not always.”

“Why?”

“You see,” I had something urgent to invent. “He has problems with diction and so he speaks quietly. And when he speaks quietly I do not always understand him,” and looked pointedly at the curator. He nodded his head.

“When his voice,” I was having a difficulty finding an English word. “When his voice…”

“Weak.., ringing.., loud,” curator tried to help me.

“Yes loud! I understand him without problems.”

“Do you have any complaints at Jerry?” looked at me questioningly the curator.

“Jerry is an experienced instructor. I respect him,” it did not come to my mind to say something else.

“Tomorrow, you should go back to the practice.”

The next day, Jerry bypassed the queue name list and I was the first behind the wheel and sarcastically offered me to stop by a gas station. The angle of driving was acute and highly difficult. I did not know how but I had managed easily and naturally turned the truck, aligned the trailer and exactly entered the frame of the gas station. He did not allow anyone of the students to repeat the maneuver. Thereafter, Jerry did not claim to me and, what was most surprising ceased to raise his voice to me as he had risen to other students.

Prior to the final driving test, each student had to pass an inspection of the vehicle’s condition (Pre-trip Inspection). Every part, every node of the trailer and truck should be checked. Everything should be touched and pulled by the hands, verified whether all the lights were lit, brakes were in order. The procedure was obligatory before a trip and daily while on the way. In practice, each driver chose when he would inspect the truck; sometimes he skipped that procedure at his own risk.

For the exam the instructor himself selected one element for inspection. Within a couple of days the experienced drivers had shown me what should be pulled and touched. I had to learn about a dozen new words and a combination of the most important words such as: property and mount secured.

Jerry had chosen for me the inspection of the truck’s engine. I said in English everything I could. And if I forgot or did not know the words, then I touched and pulled by the hand repeating the phrase “property and mount secured”. By the end Jerry had helped me to pronounce words correctly. I had passed the exam successfully and was admitted to the final driving test.

Another instructor should carry out the final exam to prevent any assistance. A female instructor in the cabin invited me. She had checked my admission the exam explained that it would be very bad if the truck would stall, if I did not let a pedestrian go, and if a trailer’s wheel ran into the curb. Then she ordered to go.

We went outside the school on a public road. She warned in advance what I should do and where I should look at prior to each subsequent action. She told me where to look right and where to look left to make sure that there were no cars. She warned about traffic lights and pedestrians. The most difficult place about which she had warned me a mile in advance was the right turn in the narrow space. If a trailer wheel touched the curb then I would fail the test. I drove very close to the curb. I had passed the test.

There were those who had failed to pass that test. About ten percent of students of each course failed to pass the test. The next day, they were given a second attempt.

On Monday, they awarded to certified drivers certificates of graduation and sealed envelopes with the test results to submit them to DMV. One of the brothers of “SR England” awarded the certificates. After the awarding he came to me and asked from where I had arrived.

“From Russia,” answered I to let him orient easier.

“Well! I speak Russian a little,” said my interlocutor pronouncing the words rather good. “Are you from where?”

“From Minsk.”

He hesitated. He did not know where Minsk was; it fell out of his knowledge of the geography.

“How do you know the Russian language?” I cleared the air.

“I lived in Samara half a year. Do you know where it is?” That time his pronunciation amused me.

“Of course! Just East of Minsk.”

“Long ago I was also a truck driver.”

We wished good luck each other.

Everything passed very quickly in DMV and in ten minutes I got a temporary driving license for three months. In DMV they explained me that in Utah a driving license on a plastic card was not handed out, but it would be sent to the home mailing address. It would be necessary to exchange the driving license issued in Utah for a driving license issued by my State.

The next day they the newly certified drivers had been gathered in the assembly hall and affirmed that since that day the drivers would be officially employed by the company. For further professional growth, we would have to go through the first phase of the truck practical driving jointly with an instructor. That phase would involve the need to cover behind the wheel not less than 16,000 miles. It would take a month. Per each day of waiting for the instructor at the school they would issue a voucher in the amount of $ 12 and per each working day while in travel the payment should be $ 65. Also, they gave us a plastic card to which a weekly salary would be billed, but out of the weekly salary they would deduct both the cost of health insurance and $ 189 for the debt of training at the school until full repayment of it. They promised us to find a free driver instructor in the next couple of days to let travel through the expanses of America light heartedly.

In the afternoon I went to the finance department and reminded of their promise to refund the money for the air ticket. I showed a printout of the air ticket. After the necessary formalities the maximum amount of compensation at the sum of $ 120 had been allocated to the salary card.

On the second day a Willy called me and said cheerfully that he was my instructor and would wait for me in the school’s parking lot next day at 9 a.m.

Oleg underwent some difficulties with the company at that time. Firstly, they did not want to admit his case as the case stipulated by the insurance. But later they agreed that the incident had taken place at the workplace, consequently, it was an insured event. They sent him to a dentist to draw up an estimate of works. The dentist being an expert in the field had counted about six thousand dollars. Afterwards, the dentist’s calculations were sent for approval to an insurance company to clarify whether the sum would cover the cost of treatment. A month had passed prior to a conclusion of the insurance company.

His insurance proved to be very interesting. Oleg insured the whole family although had already been divorced. He explained that the desire was due to the surviving stereotype of care for his wife. However, the amount of insurance deductions had been calculated surprisingly. Initially, it was necessary to pay $ 25 weekly but the sum had suddenly increased to $ 300 per month. It had been that deductions would be made regardless of whether one worked or not. Two weeks later, it was a negative balance on his salary account. “SR England” disowned the problem and advised to go to the insurance company. The insurance company apologized but one said that deductions were correct due to certain allowances. Oleg became indignant referring to the fact that they stipulated one amount but finally the amount had appeared different. “Yes, it happens,” he heard in response. Oleg said then that waived the insurance but they explained him that one would only be able to cancel the contract in six months. Disbelieved, he asked the last question: “So, the only chance not to pay the insurance would be to quit the work?” “Yes,” followed the calm reply. Oleg delivered his catchphrase.

But having no money Oleg had managed to persuade the curator to send him to the second phase of practice as he would like to improve the financial position.

 

Practice



The following morning at the appointed time I was standing near the truck. It was a golden two-year Freightliner Cascadia with a trailer fridge. A black man in his fifties stepped out of the cab. We got acquainted. We would take the cargo at three o’clock. We should be ready.

Our first trip was to Oregon. Willy allowed newcomers to drive the truck only during daylight hours so I was sitting in the driver's seat. The truck had been equipped with Qualcomm. It was an automated electronic Logbook. That was a sort of “charter and the auditor” for the driver. That device recorded all the actions: duration of sleep driving, loading and unloading. They prohibited breaking the rules. Firstly for violations registered by the Logbook the company would punish and after the third offense the company might dismiss. Secondly, they would be pleased to note violations at the Weight Station, would fine considerably and send to sleep for the eleven hours. If there left a couple of hours to reach the point of destination even half a day of sleep would lead to be behind the schedule. But nothing could be done. The only thing remained to state the fact that one had been late for either unloading or loading with all the consequences.

There were two more useful devices in the truck. The first device nasty squeaked when approaching close to the vehicle in front. The device was useful for a newcomer but for “SR England” drivers it was ambiguous. The device was connected to Qualcomm sending constantly information to “the center” and a driver got a scolding for unsafe driving at the end of day.

The second device monitored the truck’s stability in its lane at driving. And if a truck ran into the median strip from either side it would generate a nasty squeak. That device was especially useful in times of fatigue and when you were sleepy.

At first, Willy criticized the gear box shift. He held the opinion that I did everything wrong. There was no need to squeeze the clutch because the gear box could be damaged.

“We were taught in school,” I protested.

“In school they knew nothing. It was wrong. You should squeeze once, change the gear and rerelease the clutch.”

Naturally, I got accustomed to my training in school and stumbled to shift the gear box. He spent an hour with me to see how I managed the truck on the road and went to sleep.

Really, he seemed to be an interesting man. He had been behind the wheel over a quarter of a century. He never studied either in any college or in a university. He leased the truck from “SR England”, later leased another one and hired a driver. Once I asked him why he had not bought a truck for so long time. He was afraid that something would be broken. The family lived in Memphis, Tennessee. Each earned check he sent to his wife and daughter. Once I saw the very check amounted to $ 1,700 weekly. Out of the money they subtracted the amount of the truck leasing, several insurances, fuel, the truck maintenance, a manager’s services and a number of articles. Totally, he earned about $ 1,000, but out of the sum taxes should be deducted. Besides that, he picked up most of my salary as he used the truck to instruct me.

Actually Willy did not use a GPS navigator. He recorded a route on a paper sheet and fixed it to the panel. He had worked for a long time and knew every turn in the road, every crack and bump. But I found it difficult to drive without the navigator as it should be necessary to look constantly at the speedometer and count miles. Moreover, I had to stare at each sign not to miss the right turn, and there was much interesting around. Three times I had missed the right turn. Even in sleep Willy traced that I had was not an experienced driver either shakes differed, or tires noised differently, a road’s arc slope was not that should be. Then, I seemed to be in the circus. Extra gallons of fuel were burned; the gears were shifted more often than necessary, additional mileage for wheels.

Finally, I had downloaded the navigator to my IPhone and quietly drove through roads. Willy was surprised with my IPhone. He had never held such a device in the hands. He spent a couple of weeks to master it thoroughly and I had hardly taken it back.

Next day I woke up and Willy gave me booklets to read and to answer tests. There were two tests of 20-30 questions in a booklet. At first I could hardly understand why should study and what tests I should pass. I had already passed everything. “The school so requires,” cut a coach.

I honestly tried to read and answer the questions of the first book. Answers were sent via the electronic logbook. After three incorrect answers I got disappointed. On the shelf there was a notebook with correct variants of answers and leading questions, the coach took it and helped me to answer questions. After, he put it back on the shelf.

The next day I implemented the “B” plan. I waited until the coach had gone on business, took the notebook and photographed answers by the phone. Rest of the time in the passenger seat I was ostentatiously pretending to solve the tests but actually I quietly rewrote results shown on the phone’s screen. For greater plausibility I solved one test a day and a couple of times sent wrong answers. The coach could not believe that the tests were easy for me.

Willy had proved to be an excellent coach. He showed me everything and talked about everything. At every opportunity he taught me the skills of a parking regardless of trailer’s positions. He showed how to disengage and to hook the trailer, to connect hoses. He taught me to count the weight along the axles and use the required holes to engage the trailer. He showed a how to set the temperature in the refrigerator and check the safety of the cargo. As well as, to keep records, where to scan invoices and how to send them. Especially tenderly he treated the seal hung on trailer’s door.

But pedantry and the right attitude made me boil over. Why should I do so like this or that, why? I did not understand and he patiently explained. And all went well until one harmless event.

I should to pay tribute to him as he tried to be physically fit. In the trunk there were two heavy weights that he raised whenever leaving the truck. There was also basketball. Once we had a rest in the parking lot, and threw the ball into the ring. He, of course, beat me and was indescribably happy.

But his point was in jogging. He really surprised me. After ten hours at the truck’s wheel, he changed his clothes and made a jog for almost an hour. Upon one such stop, he suggested me to go for a run. I agreed.

Aside from the truck stop sign, we ran together. But in half an hour I was getting tired. Ten miles jogging had allowed me to keep fit and I got used to run faster. Willy was constantly asking me: “Well, that’s all, tired? Can we take rest? Come on! Do not lag behind.” I teased him. “I got tired! Let’s have a rest! Conversely, we will hire a taxi!” He was happy.

While we were running back I tired to follow his pace. I nodded him offering to run faster. He refused. And I ran. I was running at my usual speed. Near the truck stop sign I waited for him half an hour. Willy appeared openly frustrated. He wondered asked what kind of sport I went in for. I replied that there were ten years off professional training in athletics and for the last six months I had been preparing for the “Ironman” competition. Already sourly, he asked how many miles I ran. I told him that every day I ran in the gym 2-3 miles and once a week 10-15 miles.

After that incident, our understanding began to decline. Since then we had almost stopped talking; and I asked him only when necessary. The Logbook was counting the second week out of four. Willy was picking on every occasion, especially because of my English, and did his best to ban my driving practice.

“You are not able to park,” shouted the coach.

“And did you forget your first driving practice? Have you managed to do everything right at first time?” I retorted.

“No,” raged the black “But I could park self-dependently in the second week of practice as well as all my students could. Stay here and park the trailer over there.”

I looked at the place indicated by Willy; firstly I thought that he was an idiot. The place, if not the bottleneck, but a very narrow space and it became even narrower in the far corner.

“You see! You cannot!”

“Why? Here so here.”

I turned the truck and by an incomprehensible for myself way drove into the hole immediately with no additional maneuvering back and forth. On both sides of the trailer there were not more than five centimeters. Later, when Willie was not present, I repeated parking many times. Regardless of my attempts I failed. Much time passed and I had become an experience driver and managed to do that maneuver.

But the black was not appeased.

“That's how you will talk to people on the unloading or loading?” lamented Willy.

“In some way I will find a common language,” I answered.

“Well let's go! Now call the curator.”

He dialed the phone and handed to me. I introduced myself and said about a wish of the coach to call. At the other end nobody understood me but answered whether I had passed the tests. My answer was affirmative. At the other end somebody wished me a good day and hung up.

Willy was looking at me with undisguised pleasure and asked: “What did one say?” “The curator asked whether I had passed the tests and nothing more.” He jumped up. “How could it be?” He dialed the phone number asked something and sadly hung up. A couple of days passed in silence.

“You do not know how to shift gears!” Willy took the old.

There he was right. Switching of gears completely went wrong and I was bothered. Subconsciously, I was afraid of the shift knob. After any reduction of the gear box I jittered and an incredible amount of nerve cells were lost. The coach did everything perfectly. He never touched the clutch pedal. He touched only the gas pedal. Gears in the gearbox worked silently. He kept saying, “That's it!”

Once I was not able to shift gears. Willy boiled over and started to scold me. That time I could not resist.

“Willy, I spoke quietly and calmly. What are you?”

The black stared at me.

“Here I am a student who learns. And you are the teacher who teaches. So do your job, teach me!”

The coach paused. I became totally indifferent to the gearbox. And I got my progress. Willy stopped paying attention to the little noise of gears and honored me with tips on the merits. My problem was that I slowly switched the gearing lever. I tried. It really worked. It brought the result even when I did not press the clutch pedal, but as soon as Willy noticed he had banned saying said that when I would be able to break the gear box after buying own car.

In such an atmosphere of mutual understanding and friendship among peoples, we continued to travel through the vast expanses of America. The school provided an opportunity to replace the instructor at any time, if people for some reason could not find a common language. Oleg twice changed the instructor. He explained that the replacement had been for the better. After deterioration of the relations, I still decided not to use that possibility only because of the principle of confrontation between the two cultures and characters. Also, I had a practical purpose, namely to learn the English language and to understand the American mentality and way of thinking.

But the road was the road to bring bright and cheerful moments. When the truck was ahead of the car with the children they raised their hands up and down asking to hoot in the horn for the highway. It sounded as a locomotive. It was a Joy for children, entertainment for oneself. For such a request I issued a symphonic aria. Children were delighted.

“What happened,” rubbing his eyes said the black.

“Children were asked to do.”

“Once is enough,” and went back to sleep.

But once in Idaho there was the most memorable meeting. A passenger car caught up with me and signaled. There were four girls in the car. The girl sitting in the back seat upraised a T-shirt and showed her charms. I was surprised and the truck crossed the noise bandwidth. The girls rushed forward.

“What is up,” leaned Willy.

A driver’s soul longing for affection of a female was pleased by such an unexpected show. The girls were clearly arguing. Let more of such disputes take place.

“What happened,” behind me Willy was not appeased.

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

And yet, the black was able to blackmail me. On the outskirts of Wyoming’s all the trucks stopped at the Weight Station and to show both the registration and the insurance. The procedure itself took a minute. Willy as joyfully as could told me: “Here are the documents. Go and have practice.” I went. A female inspector had entered the data into the computer and asked:
“What kind of cargo are you forwarding?”

“How do know? I slept at loading. I did not see the cargo,” circulates in the head.

“I do not know,” I replied honestly. The coach should know I'm a student and this is my first trip.”

She looked at me appreciatively and said that she would hold with me a test of the English Language. Somebody told me that the procedure would not be very pleasant. The latest case as I heard had been about a Russian-speaking driver who failed the test and they had prohibited him to work as a truck driver. It emerged later that the inspector was in a bad mood and exceeded his authority. The lawyer returned the driving license back. But much time money and nerves had been incredibly spent.

The same consequences would face me. The inspector brought a piece of paper on which there were written phrases in column. She asked me to read them and explain their meaning.

MERGE LEFT

I read it and said that it would be necessary to readjust to the left. “That’s correct,” said the inspector.

CONSTRUCTION

“Construction is construction.”

She smiled.

BUCKLE UP

The phrase meaning was completely out of my head. I saw this sign on the road but I did not remember its meaning.
“I do not know,” that's all I said after the painful thoughts.

She began to ask leading questions. I did not feel easer because of them. A few minutes later she gave up. “You would need to fasten your seat belt.”

“Thank you. I will know.”

ROAD CLOSED

“Road Closed - this is the closed road.”

"And when it happens," the inspector did not appease.

“Repair of the road or bad weather.”

“Good.”

FOG

I hesitated again, as I did not know the English words to explain.

“Well, it's when… When the weather is bad.”

“So what is it?" continued to insist the inspector.

“It is the weather… When it is hard to see on the road… When low.”

“Clouds?”

"Exactly! Low clouds.”

“That’s right.”

On the second side of the sheet there were similar issues to which I could give answers. On each side of the sheet there were about ten phrases encountered on road signs. I had passed the test.

Willy was waiting for me exited intriguingly in the truck.

“Why was so long? All right?”

“Yes, I pleasantly chatted with the female inspector.”

After the story we just spent time till the finish. The fifth week ended and via Qualcomm we got a letter and came to know that the required sixteen thousand miles had been covered and the first stage of training came over. Three days later I was in the school. We parted with Willy quickly and briefly.

“Good luck!”

“Good luck on the roads!”

Upon returning to the school they explained me a meaning of the question “What cargo are you forwarding?” Each company, depending on the planned activity, chose a permission for forwarding certain goods and the cost of insurance depended on the type of cargo. For example, the companies forwarding liquids in tanks did not need permission to ship a cargo in the refrigerator or car, and vice versa.

The list included the so-called General Freight that covered practically all types of cargoes with no special license, for instance, large loads or the loads that were forwarded in two semitrailers. Later I repeated the phrase although the phrase did not always correctly reflect a freighted cargo.

Oleg had returned from the second phase of training and was yearning in the school. His epic to confirm the payment by the insurance company was being continued. Nobody promised anything.

I had waited for a month; my colleague for two months since we got the temporary driving license to be exchanged. The school authorities promised to send us to home during the practice but it had appeared another speculation. Neither of them to whom we spoke had failed to go to the native town. Oleg had found a way how to get out of the situation. He was able to negotiate with the local postman and the postman would give him two letters confirming the alleged home address in Utah. Those letters were a necessary requirement to substitute the temporary driving license for the full driving license in DMV. It had been successfully done. As a last resort, we decided to do the same to substitute my driving license.

The next day after my return Oleg scheduled a mandatory interview with the company's management about the prospects of employment. After the meeting the colleague came back puzzled. “SR England” did not employ drivers on the company’s trucks. Rather employed but a queue was such that it would be necessary to wait for about two months. “Don’t you want to wait? Do you want to make money tomorrow? Then we have a good offer for you: lease a truck and either alone or with a partner leave tomorrow.”

We were both thinking. For whom would the special offer be profitable? We did not want to lease the truck. If one took a new truck it would be necessary to pay leasing for three - five years, after that term expiration the truck would have become conditionally one’s property. Then one would have to make payments for three - five years and the said payments’ sum was equal to the truck leasing sum. If for some reason one delayed payments for one or two months, then a bank would confiscate the truck to repay the debt. The driver would lose all payouts. Upon completion of all payments one would become the owner of the decennial truck the cost of which would be twice as much as the cost of a new truck.

The prospect to replace used truck replacement after three years of leasing for a new one would be tempting but goofy. It brought dividends for lessors because increased the volume of working assets. The change would not help to implement an ordinary driver‘s dream to manage his own truck. The hope that the new truck would not break was at least naпve.

Moreover, there were a lot of factors that would not depend on your participation. Whether there would be a sufficient amount of work to cover the financial costs, whether the dispatcher would offer profitable goods, whether the promised insurance would cover the truck repair costs, etc.

Oleg considered a possibility to rent a truck in one of the specialized companies. I denied the idea and the reason was the same as that one of leasing. After painful financial settlement the colleague had denied the idea with displeasure.

There were other compelling reasons not to cooperate with “SR England”. Stories about liquidation team’s guys were circulating. They did not mess around. There were more than enough people who had become the victims of leasing and spent three to four weeks receiving payroll checks with a minus. Such “ungrateful” workers had left trucks at the truck stop sign and reported to the truck companies that they did not work for them anymore. Representatives of the liquidation team flew to a truck’s parking area and delivered it to the company’s parking.

We had weighed all “yes” and “no” and both rejected leasing and rent of the truck individually and collectively. Future job prospects for “SR England had appeared to be vague. What we wanted and they did not offer what they offered we did not want. A deadlock condition and we would have urgently to seek a way out.

We had decided to extend the training term as long as passable. Oleg said that he was waiting for the insurance company‘s confirmation for dentistry and after we together would lease the truck. The curator accepted that. I went every other day to pass the tests necessary for the first stage of training completion. I stubbornly refused to pass the final test to purchase a thermometer and padlock costing $ 40 and the curator was furious.

By that time after a careful study of the labor market and employment offerings we had made a decision to seek employment as a team. It was necessary to drive the truck constantly. Consequently, one could cover more miles and earn more. If successful, one would be able to find some companies that provided an incentive bonus from $ 1000 to $ 5000, subject to working for them not less than six months. That stipulation was acceptable.

With optimism we spent next two days at the computer and filled in questionnaires of different companies. Some questionnaires were very bulky. They seemed either not to need drivers, or that the questionnaire was not for a company forwarding the cargo by trucks but for a FBI’s secret unit or an applicant for the flight to Mars.

The next three to four days there was a flurry of calls that covered clarifying questions. As soon as they had learnt the driving experience, they only would promise to call back. As a result, a week later the phone was silent and we did not have any job offers. All companies needed a work experience of at least six months and more. One company’s response totally dumbfounded us. The company’s authorities said that drivers’ training in “SR England” school was not sufficient for the company and they did not recognize such driving licenses.

Our resumes at specialized sites had brought no positive results. Prospects were disappointing we would go to work nowhere, except the school.

One cloudy day browsing the site of advertising I found an offer to hire two drivers in the Russian company that forwarded cars. The company was in Philadelphia 30 miles from my residence. We phoned, discussed the prospects and agreed to begin working in three days.

Two tickets to Philadelphia gave a hope and the next morning we left alma mater by a “gentleman”. It had been an incredible stroke of luck.

To be continued...

 

Chapter 2



Employment



On the way to a meet the employer I ran in DMV where quickly and without additional tests and examinations substituted the provisional license of Utah for the native ones of New Jersey. In the office of employers I met the owners of the company: namely: two brothers of the Caucasian ethnicity. Ahmed a senior one, was engaged in general management and finances and Serge, a junior one, dealt with technical support of trucks and trailers. The brothers in business had been for five years. The junior started from scratch and while the business was being developed the senior had joined.

“What do you know about forwarding of cars?” began the conversation Ahmed.

“Nothing.”

“What is your driving experience?”

“I have one and a half month and Oleg has two months,” the partner actively nodded.

“I have five Volvo trucks and one Freightliner.”

“What is the status of the truck,” asked Oleg.

“In mmm... well. In normal. They go cheerfully,” snapped Ahmed. “If the truck breaks down on the road you can use either a fuel card’s money or the cash taken for the collected cars.”

“Is there a Cargo GPS in the track,” I asked.

“Of course, there is a navigator in every tuck.”

“What will the salary be?”

“At the beginning, I will pay 20 percent of the amount for the first couple of travels. After you have gained certain experience I will pay 25 percent. We drive from Pennsylvania to California and now have opened a new direction Pennsylvania – Texas. Naturally, travels are there and back. To make first travels I will give you a trailer for seven cars until you understand how to ship, where to put the cars, how to mount. It will be easy for you to cope with.”

“So 20 percent, how much is it in numbers?” Oleg expressed satisfaction with what he had heard.

“Now, let’s calculate,” continued Ahmed. “Seven cars, the average cost of each is $ 1000 – $ 1100. Roughly, it will be seven thousand dollars. Forward and back would be $ 14,000 - $ 15,000. 20 percent of the total cost will be $ 3,000 dollars for two. A travel to California and back takes seven days. You will arrive, scatter the cars, two days of rest, and collect the cars and travel. Per a month you will turn around three times. If you are traveling to Texas then you will probably have more rides.”

“If we have a trailer for eight cars we will be able to earn more!” said Oleg bending his fingers.

"It is possible. But you will need to get a certain experience. I will select a coach and in the next couple of days you will leave.”

We had convinced Ahmed that it would be better for us to go all three.

“Three in the car? I ask, perhaps someone will agree,” wondering in the mind said the host.

“In crowded but not mad. One or two trips and we will be able to work self-dependently.” Satisfied with the results of conversation we parted.

Three days later we were in Philadelphia excited by anticipation of the normal work and good money. At the agreed time, lazy cormorants and piercing wind greeted us. Serge appeared in the early hours of the twelfth. He showed the Freightliner truck. The fitter had failed to prepare the truck. We did nothing another half an hour and agreed to meet the next day.

Next day Serge was waiting for us.

“Your coach with whom you will go to the first ride will be later. Now, let’s go to collect cars. At the same time you will learn.”

All the cars to be collected were close to New York. Along the way, Serge explained that auctions for the sale of cars, auto shops and car repair shops were the most convenient to collect and delivery. But there percentage was small as payment was less than usual. They were attractive only because one could load almost all the trailer at a time.

“Manheim” appeared to be the first auction to sale cars. It was a great platform to which cars were brought from around the state. Cars were sold through an internet auction and after the sale they were delivered to happy owners around the world.

There we loaded three cars. Serge showed how to drive the car onto a trailer, in what order to put and how to fix.

Oleg had the hour to put in practice the short course of training. It was necessary to land a car on the upper platform. Firstly, it was assumed to drive the car in reverse but Oleg wisely refused.

“It is terrible only for the first few times. I was also afraid. You will Learn to drive in reverse to the upper platform,” taught Serge. “Look, you should park the biggest and heaviest cars to the lower deck. They should definitely be fixed by chains because they can bounce and hit either the roof or sideways against at trailer’s racks while driving. It will bring a problem. It’s nothing. You will undergo training in the parking lot. You should rearrange these cars,” he concluded.

We took the next car at a private backyard. We had done everything quickly and accurately. At the exit Serge decided to cut a corner and go along another road. At a railway crossing the trailer tightly got on the rails. The owner was in a panic, we were at a loss because of such a surprise. Who had known that if the trailer’s clearance was low it would be impossible to drive everywhere and this should be taken into account to plan the route. But it would be impossible to consider such a case as the route was unbroken.

Upon arrival, the police called out a tractor and in an hour we continued our way. Serge escaped with slight shock, and paid a fine which facilitated his purse at the sum of $ 500. In the parking lot it turned out that the truck in which our coach was traveling had broken down and the other cars would only be delivered next day.

At the next day’s lunch, we still went to Texas. The coach was a young and cheerful George; a guy of Georgian nationality, who had been working for Ahmed for over a year. He knew the business perfectly and tried and did his best to teach us the difficult craft because we were the beginners. On the road, we asked him about the salary, the number of rides per month, and the intricacies of the profession. George repeated almost everything that Ahmed told us. Tips had before been the major source of income but nobody was tipping right then and he was upset. The rest of time we had been listening to funny stories about carriers’ losers narrated with the Georgian inherent temperament and accent.

The confined cab could hardly let three drivers to travel. But the end justified the means. A merry convivial atmosphere relieved the tension and whiled away the time quickly and naturally. Especially, nobody needed to sit behind the wheel to full weariness. Each drove the truck at his leisure.

Drivers of small companies filled in a conventional paper logbook as for a company it was not profitable to use an electronic one. Because, firstly, its installation was not cheap, secondly, there had always been a chance to rewrite the paper depending on circumstances. I easily understood the principle to keep records. Oleg could not capture the essence of the matter, constantly confused everything. I had rewritten the logbook several times and in order to avoid further misunderstandings began to fill up both. It turned out that not in vain. Inspections had become easier and more reliable.

We had fun and I passed through another weight station. Upon leaving it I saw a truck ahead of us that beeped warning that it would be impossible to go further. I pulled off the road at the next turn, stopped and thought. If I missed a weight station’s requirement to stop, then their car would have to catch up with us. George interrupted my thoughts. He asked to go around the truck and check the cars to explain the reasons of the stop. He appeared to be right. A chain fallen from the top on one of the cars of the lower deck was mercilessly striking the rear window and body. The rear window remained intact but the body’s paint had been erased to the metal.

George shared the most unpleasant news with Ahmed and then listened to a long monologue. The dispatcher found on the route a Touring maker and he tinted the body’s damaged area. A couple of hours later we again travelled on the road and arrived in Houston without an incident.

We delivered cars and picked up them in the opposite direction. We were the first to reach the auction, got a pass and carefully loaded cars. Less than an hour remained to reach a next place to collect. We got in the truck but it would not start. We had done everything we could and finally the batteries were fully discharged. Fortunately, in the territory of the auction there was a technical assistance either to start a car sold at the auction or to help people like we. The men were brisk, a breakdown car arrived, connected the batteries but the failed to start the truck. We asked another breakdown car. Additional batteries had been connected but the result was negative. Another car equipped with a diesel generator arrived. In total, there had been eighteen batteries and diesel plants. There was enough power to light up a small town. Everything appeared useless batteries could not help to start the engine because of power shortage.

The guys sympathized finally saying what the truck’s batteries should be changed and parted. George had listened to another monologue and said that an additional technical assistance would arrive in two hours.

While we were being lazy in the parking lot a Russian-speaking man approached. We talked. He's from Denver. He had a normal pickup truck with a trailer for three cars and circulated from Denver to Texas. It took him a night to drive in one direction, a day for loading and unloading, a little rest and a night for a return trip. There was a sufficient quantity of orders. For a week he earned about four thousand dollars.

“No, you can imagine but it is too little!” he complained, actively gesticulating by fingers. “There are three women in the house, namely: the wife, two daughters and a female dog. Everybody needs money. If I had earned at least ten thousand dollars I would have felt easier.”

“But four thousand a week is not too little,” chimed Oleg.

“It's not enough! For how long have you been in the business?” asked the guy from Denver.

“They are newcomers,” replied George in deep voice. “I am over a year.”

“So, you will have everything ahead of time. I have been in the business for more than five years!”

“Have funny things ever happened?” I asked, and told the story of our car.

“I thought that only I have such cases. But it turned out that everybody has met such accidents. Once I missed the bridge.”

“It's like?” asked quizzically Oleg.

“How, How… I have just started working with a trailer for seven cars. I did not know how to check a pitch of the jeep located on the upper desk and after the first bridge there have been two cabriolets.”

We laughed jointly.

“It is now quite funny. Then, it was not a laughing matter.”

“And how did you get out?”

“I called the owners and reported about the truck’s breakage. Repairs would take four days. And I threw myself into a workshop to weld, rivet, plaster, and paint, polish daily and nightly. The customers did not notice anything. After I slept for three days. So, nobody can do with funny things in the business.”

Another guy approached. He together with his brother had been in business for three years. In general, they were satisfied. He asked whether somebody would like to work for him. We refused. The said guy was buying two cars at the auction. He had loaded one car, started the other and left it in front the trailer when came out of the truck and heard our laughter. While we were sharing impressions there was a bang. We turned around at the sound and under the car prepared for loading, there was a puddle and from under the hood either smoke or steam went. Instantly we were close.

He calmed down. Quickly started, drove the car onto the trailer and turned off the engine. First we said good-by to him, then to the guy from Denver.

By that time a fitter of the technical maintenance had held diagnostics and replaced the batteries. The truck was wound up on the first turn and we went to make up the lost time.

There had been no other adventures during the first ride and we returned home.
We had also planned to go to the second ride with George. But by that time his partner had arrived and he hit the road without us. The owner had no free drivers and after a moment's thought, we left independently. It suited us.

They gave us the truck with no GPS cargo navigator. I showed it to Serge and he mumbled that there was no such a truck at that time, but it would definitely be for the next ride and recommended to use the phone’s navigation as if we had never used it before. Ahmed had given us clear instructions and it took one day to collect and parked cars on the trailers so as to avoid overweight. At the first weight station in Virginia they stopped me, because overweight on the rear axle of the trailer had amounted to fifteen hundred pounds. They warned me for the first time and also fined the company at the sum of $ 200 which subsequently had been deducted from my salary.

Three mountain ranges separated California from the America’s mainland. The ranges’ lifts were quite steep and long. The truck had ceased to draw on one of those lifts I urgently stopped on the road verge and walked around the truck. Everything was good. The next lift and the truck again had stopped to draw. I could hardly have climbed the mountain. In the evening I saw a strange rubber coating on the trailer’s frame just under the wheels. I failed to find the problem immediately. Worn hydraulics and the system’s air multiple leakages had became the major reason. Air cushions’ pressure dropped and they sank, that’s why there was no enough pressure for the trailer to climb. The trailer’s frame dropped down and the metal frame cut the tires’ rubber. There were perfect grooves of new wheels cord. After we had come back home Serge resented but had acknowledged that the trailer’s hydraulics should be repaired.

I have arrived in California first of all the route. Los Angeles, Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, Beverly Hills, Hollywood, Sacramento, San Diego, Malibu. What names! How many acquaintances were living there! Brad Pit, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Madonna. A trip to California showed all its beauty.

There were 2,000 miles between the East to the West Coast and it would take 56 hours to cover it. It was easy to ride on the highway. One did not particularly need the navigator. Everything was simple and understandable. I encountered difficulties to deliver and pick up cars. Most of the customers were private individuals and paid in cash to carry a car. Why? Someone was moving out and decided to pass the car to a relative. Someone had an ownership on the two shores of the ocean. A grandfather, the car of whom should be located at the dump, connected with it his youth turbulent memories and used only that car.

A client had paid, and his car should be taken from one of his houses, and delivered to the threshold of the other. And everything should be well, but houses were often in quiet streets, the garden was in front and there were low crowns’ trees. There streets were convenient to drive only a sports car, but the truck resembled an elephant in a china shop. And it would bring consequences either for cars on the roadside or those ones at the top of the trailer. After such surprises we had always washed scratches on the cars’ body prior to returning them.

After his first trip to Texas, Oleg alternatively called customers and put the two questions: “Whether will a sixteen wheel truck pass along your street?” “Whether are there low-growing trees on the street?” There were people who understood that to fit the truck to their homes. Therefore, they either came out to a wide street or brought a car to us. Sometimes we had to take off two cars. After delivery of the first one we returned back to the truck to take the other. But there were also special customers whose cars should be delivered only to their houses. We had no right to drive it. A Hindu living in the Beverly Hills was exactly such a client.

Via the highway, we quickly reached the city. But further there were prohibiting signs for heavy trucks entrance to the city. I showed both the way and possible turns. Oleg refused to turn since either it was too narrow, or a sharp corner, or a road sign, or traffic. We passed through the main street but failed to find an authorized exit to the customer's street. We could only turn around in Hollywood crossing two solid lines.

Oleg called the customer, explained the situation and asked to go out and pick up the car. The Hindu pompously said that he did not know the city and would stay at home. The partner hung up and said all about that nation.

But, one had to cope with the problem. We searched for an access to the house visually then and there. We passed under the prohibitory sign, and by moving through the first band to the third and back and bypassing low crowned trees entered narrow streets. We had unloaded the car and the customer claimed that the rear seat’s light mirror of the car was out of order. Oleg “tactfully” pointed out where to go with that breakdown. The central street was on the back side of the Hindu’s house.

The next point of destination was in Santa Monica. The road extended along the scenic coastline of the Pacific Ocean. The city’s rise was steep and winding. From the top we saw a breathtaking view of the ocean tranquil waters, jumping dolphins and soaring cormorants. As usual, the necessary road was intended for cars and not for freight transport. Over again, one had to break the rules, pass through the main street along which there were lots of coffee shops. We maneuvered along bike paths’ roundabouts, knocked down pointers and signs and finally stopped at the cars’ dealer.

In other destinations we were engaged in canyoning in Hollywood, maneuvering in downtown of Los Angelis and in a passport control in San Diego.

In California, we were sun bitten, got a heat stroke and caught cold for completeness of sensation. The truck’s conditioner operated at full capacity, the sun beat down remorselessly. Asphalt was melted; the trailer and cars were red-hot so that gloves did not help. I could not sit on the knee and secure a car because instantly one got burns. Feet were constantly slipping out because of sweaty wet shale. Movement on the upper deck‘s top turned into mountains’ extreme. One was unable to hold on to a car or the trailer for safety. Under such working conditions, we could not admire the beauty of California.

In the opposite direction we had to unload two cars in the suburbs of Washington, the US capital. The first client lived in the outskirts of the town and we had no problems. The second client lived in the opposite side of the city and Oleg told him that we would arrive in two hours. I used the navigator to drive on the road and in half an hour we descended to the said exit.

Behind a hairpin bend we hung back into a circular motion not targeted for trucks. Remained deep tracks along the road clearly indicated that we had not been the first there, although there was no sigh prohibiting a lay-by from the road. A huge traffic jam lined up after me. It would be necessary to shift the truck somewhere. It was prohibited to drive straight ahead as there was a prohibitory sign just behind the circle. We had no chance to turn back as there was no road. The only way was to go around and drive left under the bridge to an exit to the highway. We made the next track on the lawn; I drove up to the brick arch bridge. Above there hung a span height plate. The span height was insufficient for the truck. I asked Oleg to stand behind the bridge to check if the truck would pass the height. The truck’s cab was higher than the span height. Over again the traffic jam lined up after us. I could hardly have pulled over the verge and cleared the way for cars and after we looked around.

We could not pass forward. It was also impossible to go back. So it would be necessary to take backwards to the circular motion’s middle, but dangerous in a heavy traffic. The situation had appeared to be stalemate. Any maneuver would completely block the roadway. We did not know to which direction a maneuver should be made. There was a map and near an exit to the highway but bridges were around and their heights of course were not available.

“And what should we do?” Oleg was in complete stupor.

“Stop a policeman and ask him for help us to leave from here,” I was not in the best condition.

“We will be fined for a stop at this place. No one can deliberately stop here.”

“I am behind the wheel and they will fine me. Go and cut off the movement at the circle.”

My companion looked toward the circle. All the strips were loaded and on driveways there were long queues waiting to leave for the circle.

"Bad idea. How could I block the traffic?” Oleg flinched because of that perspective and his skin crawled.

"Then, there is one thing left: call and wait for the police.”

We had decided to wait. Nobody could notice us. The truck was somewhere in the heart of Washington. I should not have parked the truck in the street as it would lead to a traffic jam. Five police cars drove past by although only twenty minutes elapsed. But neither of them had stopped. As if it should have been. Afore the next car. Oleg went on the road and spreading his arms to the side, blocked the movement.

A couple of minutes later there were five police cars near us. We had quickly developed a plan to pass back to the half of the circle and to turn left under the prohibitory sign. That was the only exit.

At my request Oleg asked a police officer which of the two roads we should use after the circle.

“I know. First, let’s go to the left, after to the right and cross the bridge. Road signs will lead us to the highway.”

“Sure?"

"Yeah, let's get out of here quickly.”

"Well, show the way,” we hoped to get out of that labyrinth.

The police blocked the road and I could hardly pass back along roundabout traffic. Oleg jumped into the truck and ordered: “Go to the left along the circle and after to the right to the second turn.” At last waving to the police for help, we rushed forward. After the circle we went along winding turns, and hundred meters further behind the bushes we saw the brick arch bridge. They showed us the wrong road. The police were in a rage. They spent much time to explain something to Oleg. It appeared much more difficult to get out of that place. I could not drive backward to the circle because the truck would not fit in tight corners. I could not turn on the spot. All maneuvers were repeated. The police blocked the road. I slowly turned the truck and carefully maneuvered back and forth, called on at the waterfront. We had to stop every time when the police were noisy. The noise meant that I had hit the lawn by a wheel or was about to collide a road sign or a car.

I danced fifteen minutes on the parade ground and finally had lined the truck in the right direction. The senior police officer told Oleg something rather testily.

“Park the truck over there,” the partner pointed along the border.

“What does he want?”

“What's that? He wants us,” replied sadly Oleg. “He will have us for the full.”

In the sky along the wake of the river, three combat helicopters flew low. I sadly watched them after. Across the river between trees the White House appeared. Again, the same police officer ran and said something.

“Quickly go of there.”

“What did he say?” I asked when moved.

“He said that we were exceptionally very lucky. They had an urgent call and that we would have to get out of there.”

All the patrol cars flashing turned left to where helicopters flew. Oleg said that we would have to turn and go across the bridge. The road turned into cobblestones. We had appreciated the beauty of the sculptural reliefs, on the left side there was the White House, straight on the road towered the Capitol.

“After the bridge immediately to the right and then an exit to the highway.”

After a turn behind the bridge the road diverged in three different directions.

“Where next?” I asked quickly.

“Mmm… Come left,” Oleg duplicated the direction by a flick of the hand.

“Right here?”

“I do not know… It's too late. Anyway we had turned.”

After a protracted turn in dense thickets we went straight… to the next brick arch bridge. I slow down in the left lane. Because of the traffic, I could not maneuver in any way.

“Well, where's next?” hopelessness fettered sober and logical thinking. It was impossible. Was there no exit from here to a big way? “Go, block the road I at least move the truck to a secondary street.”

Behind in the park there was a deserted road. Out of there it would be difficult to block the high-speed traffic that came from a sharp turn. Nothing could be seen except the trailer. Oleg tried to do it a couple of minutes and returned back saying that it was unrealistic. The situation was really difficult. Cars raced, dramatically slowed down while seeing the truck and drivers honked incessantly complaining. Of course, the truck was in the extreme left row of the fast lane.

I asked the partner to go to the opposite side of the road to be seen in advance on the turn and to wave actively by a warning triangle. As soon as he had managed to stop all the rows of cars I quickly moved the truck in reverse to the quiet road. In the park the truck did not hinder anybody and, therefore, it would be possible to stay there indefinitely, that’s why we were glad. It was necessary to reassess the whole situation. No one knew how to get out of a Washington’s maze. If we called the police, there would be serious consequences.

Oleg went to find out where the road in which the truck was located would lead to. After a sharp turn, the road led to the required highway. But we had to go backwards to turn the truck in the direction of the road traffic. Several attempts and we cried of joy celebrating our victory.

“Could you imagine what would have happened if we had not had a car carrier, but a standard enclosed trailer with the sign of forwarding either a flammable or an explosive cargo. The situation required an emergency relaxation after such adventures. After explain the FBI agents we had found ourselves quite by accident at the White House…”

“Stop to say this,” Oleg interrupted me. “I'm afraid to even think about it. This... The whole life has been down the drain,” nervously reacted the partner.


To be continued...

 

By the evening we had arrived to the destination on the other side of Washington. A parking lot at the local church appeared to be ideal for unloading. The truck took a half of the parking lot. A warden came out of the church. We assured him that after unloading the car we would go away at once and he calmed down. The owner appeared quickly. His girlfriend accompanied him as he had bought the car for her. We would have to unload an old and all scratched Ford. Even the chains fallen on the roof and left dents with holes during a long journey did not violate the general harmony of outward appearance.

I got in the car and inserted the ignition key. The result had been a zero. Another attempt and the same result Again and again…The starter treacherously knocked hinting that the battery had been low. It was not possible to hook up wires of an adjacent car and manually pushed the car off the trailer.

Otherwise, there would be no alternative but to call the emergency service and recharge the batteries. The owner did not object but changed his mind as he would have to pay for the call. Half an hour later he found a longer wire and we safely unloaded the car to the ground.

We were satisfied that all had been completed quickly. Oleg sat behind the wheel. I was going to the passenger seat. I have walked around the truck and stopped at the front wheel. The wheel had blown away but there were no cuts on new tires.

After another monologue, Ahmed swathed on the internet to find the nearest service center. While we were slacking a black man arrived of technical assistance and began to pump the wheel. No, he was not called. He drove by, saw the problem and decided to help. The wheel was not punctured but the nipple was damaged and let the air pass.

Upon hearing that the problem dealt with the nipple Ahmed was delighted. He told us to replace it in the nearest workshop or advised, at worst, to go to a stop for trucks and buy a nipple and a pump. We had gone around the nearest garages. After we spent much time to explain Ahmed that there were no the required nipple and a compressor to inflate a truck’s tire.

Three hours later an emergency service arrived and replaced the nipple. The nipple’s top body had been cut and bent and its bending had resulted in the valve damage. I did not understand who could have done such a diversion. The total cost of repairs amounted to $ 350. Only some time later after parking at the curb I noticed that the nipple’s cup touched the edge of the curb if the wheel did not stop successfully. Probably, it had happened while cornering in front of the bridges in Washington and the truck’s wheels repeatedly grinded to the curb and at some point the cap and the nipple’s body part had been cut. We were exceptionally lucky because the tire deflated slowly and we had not got stuck in front of the White House.

Serge and the local fitter greeted us at the home parking lot. They were interested in the technical problems. There were no comments about the truck but they pointed to the fact that the track’s hydraulics was out of order.

“I will sell this trailer. The buyer will come tomorrow to look at. Check the rear axle,” Serge turned to the fitter.

“The weld had been broken,” the fitter referred to a rift between the two axles. “It is better to weld the patch here. It will be safer.”

“But the buyer will see it right immediately,” retorted Serge.

“I can certainly to weld again the seam but no warranty that the seam will not break again,” suggested the fitter.

“This is not the welding I has smeared with silicone and painted to hide the crack.”

I and the fitter were in a stupor after we had heard this.

“See by yourself. It's your equipment and problems,” mused the fitter and left on his business, probably wondering about the usefulness of his craft.

Ahmed was still in California and daily asked us whether we were ready for the next trip. We assured him that we would be ready in a couple of days. Three days of holiday stretched out for full two weeks. Every day there were excuses either the truck had not been repaired or the trailer had been broken or there was no cars.

Instead of California, we could gather cars for Texas. Ahmed said that we would quickly take a trip to Texas and then immediately would go to California. We did not object as the road was easier and we would reach the destination faster.

As usual we had collected cars in New York. When we picked up the Chevrolet Camaro a sender photographed by the camera all scratches and chips of the car. We actively helped him because the more problem areas noted, the less claims when the car would be handed over. But there were few claims. The terms of delivery stipulated the Chevrolet would be last unloaded and we put the car behind the truck’s cab on the upper desk. Almost at dusk we drove towards Texas. Oleg drove at the night shift. I did not sleep and was in the passenger seat.

“I need to relax a little as I am tired,” said Oleg in the next parking lot. “I do not want to sleep but no strength to drive.”

It was his usual habit. He drank his daily limit of coffee and the next amount of it did not help him. His last fatigue criterion was not to nibble sunflower seeds.

“It would be better to know what the first, early criteria of fatigue are. And you go further and do not always know whether you’re tired or not.”

"Actually, there are such criteria, of course with a certain degree of conditionality,” I said sipping tea. “Psychologists have identified three levels of fatigue for drivers. After some driving experience I adapted them for myself.”

“Which ones?”

“General fatigue and periodic drowsiness are the first stage. The truck “reels” from one side to the other and frequently impacts on the dividing lines and you drive outside of your own lane. These are obvious signs of fatigue and attention deterioration. I overcome it by short stops combined with exercises and wiping the face by a wet towel. One can win a short time constantly chewing something. For this case, I have a mixture of nuts and dried fruits.”

“The second stage is a significant decrease in concentration and attention. You are not able to recall the last few minutes of trip. The brain switches to autopilot and I managed the truck by muscles’ consciousness rather than physical memory. I had a couple of such situations. I tried to outplay the body and began to count the mile pillars. 75, 76, 77… 82. “So stop! Where were the last five miles?” I wondered. “Everything is fine! Do not worry! I can and will drive a little more. A little bit more and enough for today. I only have to be careful. 85, 86… 88, 89… 101. Come on… Sleep, sleep, sleep!” I said to myself and pulled over to the first available exit. It was better to deliver with a delay rather than to break the car or even worse. It would not be worth of it.

“A third degree is mortal in the full sense of a word after you have met a Bob Partner.”

“What kind of partner is Bob?” Oleg was bravely fighting fatigue.

“The story has been long since first truckers appeared. The name has been given in honor of the driver who first told about the Bob partner. No one knows from where he has come. He has always appeared unexpectedly, unpredictably and not associated with any geographical location. He does not vote by showing a hand on the road, not appear as a ghost, and not fly towards in the truck in a fiery. After meeting him rare surviving drivers said they had seen in the Bob teammate themselves! And who are you most in life is willing to trust in?”

“Mmm… Me,” after some hesitation, said Oleg.

“That's right. Nobody else only to yourself. So, everybody trusts in him and the confidence is infinite. The drivers who met the Bob partner and survived told roughly the same story. I have heard one in a diner.”

A driver told. “I was going to Montana in the evening. The road was quiet and smooth. Listened to music and drank a large flask of iced tea. Per day I had traveled many miles and still had a couple of hours to a stop. In the truck I switched the cruise control and looked out the window. The last rays of the sun hid behind small hills and silhouettes of grazing cows were still discernible in the crimson glow. I felt tired but not to the extent that it was quite pressing on consciousness. I got used to this state…

At some point I realized that somebody else was in the cab. And I was sitting in the passenger seat. I turned to see who drove the truck… and I was a driver of the truck! I was sure in my professionalism and always was calm. I trusted in myself.

I began to examine the track. Turned my head upside, down, look around and fainted. That was the truck I had always .dreamt. That was the truck that I had pictured, about which I had dreamt for a long time. Chairs were made of a snake’s genuine leather and the headrest in the form of expanded hood of a cobra with an open mouth and a stirring forked tongue. The eyes blazed red. The armrests were made of a crocodile’s leather with dangling paws. The armchair tailored for me. While sitting in it I did not want to do anything except sank into sweet dreams.

The instrument panel was similar to that one of an alien spacecraft. It was of precious wood trim All devices of the control panel were at hand and I managed them by a finger’s touch to the air smoky designators. The truck parameters were shown as three-dimensional images. You could touch any device and all the information about the state of a truck’s assembly of interest instantly appeared.

I looked back to the sleep compartment. And there was a washbasin, a shower, a toilet, a kitchen with a refrigerator, a cutting table and a stove. Soft steps led to the second floor where there was a bedroom with a king size bed and TV. And soft and enveloping light shone. So and beckoned you to lie down on the bed… My mind resisted that wish! Curiosity was above me! I had not seen the truck from the outside yet.

The car body appeared to be in full compliance with my desires. Smooth lines, an elongated hood with no protruding element. Windshield looked like a continuation of the hood and the hood itself was a single whole with a roof like in a modern high-speed train. The color was black matte non-reflective. The radiator’s chrome grille looked like a cobweb. Stretching from the center, the cobweb’s filaments diverged and extended along the truck’s sides to the black trailer, stronger and stronger crisscrossing the trailer’s end. In the dark, the cobweb sparkled as if it had been parking lights. Two huge exhaust pipes protruded over the truck’s body. Each pipe is crowned by the cap with a huge black spider.

The lights were hidden under the frosted light-transmissive hood. I could not imagine an object resembling their light! When they were lit, they seemed to have a predatory squint and shone cold bluish-white.

There was no empty disconnecting gap between the truck and the trailer. They were interconnected by flexible rolling plates which diverged just enough to how much one wanted to turn and folded into the place after the trailer had been aligned.

The truck’s wheels and body were painted in black matte color and blended by the rubber. Neon lights illuminated the bottom of the truck and trailer, and the white smoke flowed down the entire contour as if the truck had been a ship which was carried forward into the dark unknown, hoping to see the sun of distant roads.

And there I was again sitting in the passenger seat. All the thoughts were about what I had seen. When I was afraid to think about it… When I had lost all the hope… And… My prayers had been answered. The dream had come true! I managed the truck of my dream!

My impression of joy was broken by the one who led the truck and, having turned, he asked me: “How do you like my truck?”

I was overwhelmed by emotions, joy, and finally delight. There it was happiness. After all, I was behind the wheel of my own truck. I was only going to answer. But the color of his face was changing, faded and gradually sagged down exposing the real face of the truck’s mistress. The whitish skull with empty eye sockets. “How do you like my truck?” once again it kept running through my consciousness.

At that moment, something pulled me, in my head there was a noise, I shuddered and woke up. The truck’s wheels crossed the noise line on the road’s verge and rolled to the exit. I gripped the steering wheel, drove through the exit and stopped. That night the Bob Partner probably decided to give me a second chance directing my truck to the exit. Otherwise, I would hardly manage to pull the truck on the road. After that incident I avoid driving at nights.”

I was sleeping and in a dream heard Oleg’s mumbling. I kept my ears open. Oleg said desperately: “The Bob Partner, I am not sleeping. The Bob Partner, I am not sleeping… This is my truck. This is my truck.” Five minutes later, the truck stopped. Oleg switched off the engine and went to sleep.

A day later we arrived in Texas. As usual we knurled enough through the main streets of Houston and Dallas, maneuvering through all lanes to avoid trees low crowns Several times we created traffic jams, loading and unloading, and two hours waited for a client who had promised to bring a car in five minutes. The owner immediately admitted that the car battery was weak.


The Chevrolet Camaro was the last to be delivered. By prior arrangement, the owner of the car would wait for us until eleven at night. We managed to park the truck in a deserted street near the delivery address. I went to remove fasteners off the car and Oleg went to drive away of the trailer an unspecified masterpiece to pave the way for the sport car.

“Have you seen that Camaro?” I asked Oleg after had gone down.

“No, I did not pay attention,” inserting the ignition key replied Oleg. “What is it?”

“Yes there… There is a complete nightmare. The hood, the roof and doors have been scratched by branches to such an extent that “Take away fuel take away fire.” The hood had been scratched up to the primer. Have you already called the owner?”

“Yes, he was going to be in ten minutes.”

“Again, hurried. I asked you not to call in advance. Look what the surprises were.”

I jumped upward, rubbed scratches by a mitten, and poured water on the body. Surface scratches disappeared, others became less visible. In the dark, under glimmer, the car glittered as if it had been washed.

Downward Oleg suffered to start the masterpiece’s engine. All the attempts to revive the battery were unsuccessful. The portable battery that would have been useful right then, Serge openly had appropriated. The owner had approached and offered to bring the wagon, connect its battery to the masterpiece’s battery and start the engine. The wagon’s battery power was not enough to start the masterpiece’s engine, although we had spent ten minutes.

Oleg called an owner of the unknown car and asked about insurance. Yes, there was the insurance. An emergency service could be ordered free of charge to eliminate such troubles. After many repeated calls, the insurance company wondered whether the car was on the auto transporter. If so, the insurance would not cover all the costs and they would send for the emergency service free of charge. The owner immediately refused to pay per a call of the emergency service as he had no money. The only option was to pay by ourselves and would bill to the customer.

Oleg had called dozens of times and delivered his catchphrase.

“Well, morons! Can you imagine they are unable to find this street on the map,” the partner boiled helplessly.

“How could it be?”

“I do not know now I'll ask a local.”

The American slowly walked around the trailer and looked at his car which nobody could remove from the upper desk. He spoke with Oleg, he got into his pickup and departed.

“This quarter was settled a month ago, so the street has not mapped yet.”

“Where did the American leave?”

“Let’s go home. I'll call as soon as we have taken off the Chevrolet. We should not stay here.” The partner stretched on the grass and closed his eyes.

The situation was paradoxical. It was stupid to slow down rare passing cars as there was not enough power to charge the battery. The emergency service would not come to an unknown address. The car could be removed from the trailer but it should be taken back on the trailer. We could call the police to help but as to what address they would have to come. The only way was to sit and wait not clear for what. Perhaps, a miracle would happen.

I did not know whether it was a miracle, but an hour later attracted by our prayers or by squealing of locals a police officer stopped near us. Oleg explained the situation and asked to help in any way. The police officer walked around the trailer, wondered what should be done the cars, convinced that we were unloading but not loading possibly stolen cars and stayed near us.

It was a sheriff of a very small stature, but smart and tidy. His service clothes were flawless. I stared as later told Oleg at “the shahid belt” around his stomach. In each pocket there were three phones which called alternately one after another, two two-way radios, two diaries, a notepad, the handcuffs, as well as pepper spray and a gun. He looked like a snowman due to the equipment that felt heavy on his belt.

“How can I help?” asked the police officer.

“I have already said that the problem is due to the battery. You can see by yourself,” Oleg pointed out to the problematic car. “Can you call the emergency service here?”

The sheriff clearly brightened.

“Let's see who will be able to come here.”

He took out of a pocket at the waist the diary, unfolded it and it stretched to the ground. It looked like an accordion. Each pocket contained business cards backed to each other.

We saw it and laughed.

“You have been ready,” laughing politely stated emphatically Oleg.

The sheriff smiled.

“Personally I cannot render any assistance since it will seem to be a public servant’s advertisement. But if you ask me for help, I will not have the right to refuse.”

“It is an interesting position.”

“The instruction.”

The sheriff chose two business cards folded the accordion. It took five minutes to talk simultaneously on two phones, and in half an hour later an emergency service appeared in the street. The police officer was satisfied with his work after both arrival an owner of the Chevrolet and made certain that everything had been done in compliance with the instruction, we bowed out.

Oleg had landed the Chevrolets to the pavement and I asked him not to put the car under a lamppost, but a little further in the dark.

“I paid a hundred dollar tip.”

“So, well. What tip?" asked the partner. “We have not been tipped.”

“When I formalized the car with your boss he offered me to give drivers $ 100 tip for a gentle and quick delivery of the car.”

“Now I understand why no one gives a tip,” stated Oleg sadly after the customer had left.

We had been tired of long suffering and the eyes were just sticking together underway. We had to relax somehow and decided to make up for the lost time over the next two days.

“Here you should move out,” Oleg pointed to the exit when I asked him to find on the map the closest truck stop to refuel and rest.

“Are you sure? I do not see the signs of to a truck stop,” I became more doubtful.

“The guide shows that exit. If that, we will pass through the crossroad and drive back to the highway,” assured Oleg.

We came to the crossroads. There were no information signs.

“It is not the required exit,” as if nothing had happened said my partner. Pass straight through the crossroad.

“Look forward. Mind a hill at the crossroads, the gap between the trailer’s clearance and the hill’s height will not let us to pass straight.”

“Well. We will pass through.”

“Get on the road and look at the clearance,” I asked. “You will command.”

Oleg reluctantly went on the road and waved. The truck slowly moved forward. The trailer’s mid touched the asphalt and the trailer jammed, neither back nor forward.

“Now, what can you offer?” I had assessed our situation’s futility I asked the commander.

“Well, what could I do? Everything was Ok. No offerings.”

We would not be able to reduce the trailer’s weight by taking off the cars because its back part climbed up the hill and the loading ramp did not reach the ground. Only a tow truck could remove the trailer off the ground.

A nearby car braked up and the driver offered to call the emergency service for which he worked. Only we had agreed to call the tow truck as a passing by truck offered to help free of charge. Oleg gladly accepted. We quickly hooked a chain. I could hardly get to the truck while the driver hit the gas and of all forces pulled forward. The chain strained, clinked and broke and flying in an arc about twenty centimeters from the partner’s jaws, bitingly struck the rear rack of the last car on the trailer.

“Go to hell… such assistance,” said my partner shaken by a major tremor. “Nay but, I might lose not only the teeth but the jaws.”

The truck’s driver had seen the assistance’s results, quickly picked up scraps of the chain and left as saw the riding up tow truck. Professional help was more efficient and fifteen minutes later we went to the highway without five hundred dollars in our pockets. At the truck stop my partner stayed next to the fridge with beer for a long time.

“You will go on driving,” commented I his continued staying at the showcase “When we come home you will be able to drink as much as you wish.”

“I would like now.”

“Look, you might lose the driving license.”

“Have you ever traveled drunk here,” Oleg suddenly asked when we drove away from the truck stop.

Once it happened I drove a car and how on earth but a police officer stopped me.”

“He did not check you, did he?”

“Bread never falls but on its buttered side. But I managed to get out. A month earlier, my friend, a doctor, told me in detail how to simulate the response of a sober person to tests carried out by a police officer. With me, he twice passed the tests without consequences.”

“How's that?” asked with interest the partner.

“If the police stop at best you should not deny. “Yes, drunken.” I have drunk two bottles of bear two hours earlier. It will not improve the situation as the police in any case will ask to leave the car and take a test, but it is better than to be sent to a medical examination.

At first, they could give you a tube to breathe in. No one gave it to me. My friend was less fortunate. When he exhaled a sound of alcohol intoxication was similar to the whistle of a steam locomotive. But you should know that the reading of the instrument could not be decisive for the police. For them it was important the adequacy of consciousness and the body's response to external stimuli. Therefore, the test was continued.

In front of your face they drove a pen up and down, right and left, staring fixedly in the eyes. At the same time, they shone a flash light to them. The eyes pupils dilated or reacted poorly to light if a person was under alcohol intoxication or otherwise influenced. They were like glass. One should force himself to turn his eyes after the pen. It was very difficult. Moreover, It was extremely important to portray a grimace of discontent and squinted to look away from the light of the flash light. Like, why you were lighting into the eyes of a good citizen. I had to undergo that procedure twice. First, with the police officer who had stopped me. After, with his partner who drove up in five minutes.

The next in turn test was to show coordination when they ordered to touch with your finger to the tip of the nose, eyes closed. The test had been familiar since childhood. Here, the main thing was to try to bring to the face not a finger tip, even in the normal state one could miss, but the entire surface of a phalanx. It appeared to be a safe option.

The police checked me with passion. They asked me to name the letters of the English alphabet in the reverse order. I always had an excuse; I was an immigrant and did not really know the native alphabet and the English even more.

Afterwards, I took the test to verify the physical condition. I had to stand at an attention to attention stance, pulled one leg forward and remained in this position for ten seconds. The police officer counted seconds. He looked neither at the extended leg but on the support leg. For me it was an easy test because daily hours of training in the Honor Guard had proved to be effective.

If the police were still not sure of the adequacy they asked to pass along a conventional straight. You should not prove straightness of your walk. But not to discuss the effectiveness of the catwalk was of utmost importance. Sober people did not always go straight.

Test results proved that I had drunk both police officers stated my adequacy. They asked where I was driving urged me to go home just what I had done. It was the first and the only case when I got behind the wheel drunken. I had never experienced the fate afterwards.”

The partner thought for a long time.

“I do not know how many times I went drunk while being a restaurant owner. I got used to it. Got away with it… Perhaps it is better to pretend to be dumb not to open the mouth. The smell would be less accurate.”

“Either get away with it or not get away with it will depend on how a wheel of fortune turns. It once helped my friend.”

“It's like,” did not let up, Oleg.

“He poured beer into a flask of tea and drank it gradually on the road. Immediately, a police officer followed behind him. He closed the flask but how to hide the smell. He could reach only the sweets. He put them in the mouth.

The policeman offered to show the documents and then began to ask something. He should reply but couldn’t. Because of such despair tears welled up in his eyes. That's got so it. How foolish it had been.”

“Are you dumb?” said a police officer after my friend attempted to say something.

My friend actively waved his head and pointed to his mouth.

"Yes, I understand, it is difficult for you. Well, ride.” And let the unfortunate creature go peacefully.

My friend just tried to explain that the toffee had stuck to the teeth and he could not open his mouth.

Sharp jolts woke me up early in the morning. The road leading to the finish line of the parking lot in Philadelphia was blocked ahead. The police were reversing all the traffic. Oleg stood at a crossroads wondering how to reverse.

“Halt! I saw nothing in the mirrors. Let me go out and help,” I said and went out of the truck.

“At the rear axle there is strong whistle,” I said when returned back to the cabin. “What has happened?”

The partner jumped up.

“I do not know. I did cling nothing at the night.”

Oleg managed to slip through the cordon and we were on the unusually deserted road. Ambulances and police cars raced conversely.

“The brakes have failed,” frightened and in trembling voice said the partner. His bluish fingers tightly gripped the steering wheel.

“As how have the brakes gone?” surprised I had already jumped on the seat.

“Well, I press the pedal and the truck barely, barely slows down.”

“Slow down the speed and move carefully. Where are all the cars?” I asked no thinking.

“But I do not know. It is well. At this time there had always been the crazy traffic.”

We slowly crossed two intersections and parked the truck in the parking lot thankfully. While we were surveying the truck we had found a new scratch instead of the cut bulb and fitting on the trailer’s exterior and the air whistled through that fitting. Oleg hooked something at night and tore down the auxiliary fitting that pumped air to the rear axle of the trailer.

The fitter spent much time wondering why the brakes had not worked. But some time later he had found out the cause. The air passed through the entire system and was outputted via the torn down fitting. While driving the compressor worked in an emergency mode and the supplied volume of air to the system was sufficient for motion. But as soon as we had stopped in the parking lot the compressor power decreased and we would be unable to move the truck off its place.

We went home by taxi. The driver gave a detailed account of the morning's incident and the cause of traffic jams on the road. The police officer chased a drunk driver and on the bridge he lost control and crashed into a bump. When the news of his death came, almost all of the city’s police cars escorting the ambulance had arrived at the scene of the tragedy. We should be grateful to such a coincidence that had helped us to reach safely the parking lot.

The following month we completed only two travels. We were no longer satisfied with a work schedule. Especially that the financial rewards did not also suit us. Deductions from our salary comprised the sums of our mistakes and mistakes of the owner of the company, of the delivery and selection of cars by a contracting company, particularly of the places which the truck and trailer could not reach, calls of the emergency service, of the repair of doubtful damages of a car. In total, after every travel each of us got about $ 800.

We were concerned most of all by the traffic forced violations either at delivering or loading cars. Constant races under signs prohibiting freight transport, parking in sites not designed for loading and unloading, and dangerous maneuvering through the narrow streets and small crossroads. Otherwise, we were obligatory behind the schedule. Of course, Ahmed held the opinion that in ideal situation we had to stop in a large site closest to a delivery and the owner of car would come to us. But life as usual brought about changes. Either an owner was at work and we had to wait until the evening or as an option the car should be delivered to his office in the city’s center. Or if the owner of the house was alone and he would come to us by a car, then, how to come back if there were two cars. Ahmed did not want to call the broker once again and to complain, and offered us to decide that issue. We were very lucky as despite the huge number of violations the police had never fined us, only warned orally. We did not like to wait when the luck would become the other party. One could lose very quickly the driving license for the truck. We assessed our labor, working conditions and tension and moral load we decided to do away with the trucking, as we had already been invited to another company.

 

A week later, we met new employers. The cousins, Rustam and Said, had three trucks with refrigerators. The story of their prosperity was standard. They started as hired drivers. Five years later they had gained progress and become independent.

We had long and detailed negotiations. The negotiations dealt with a work environment with particular emphasis to the timely payment of wages, to a fuel card availability and money to pay for the toll roads and bridges. The brothers beat their breasts and promised to pay 40 cents per mile for two. Salaries would be paid in five days after delivery with no cheating, they would give us a credit card to pay for fuel and we could withdraw the money from it to pay for roads and bridges. Timely delivery of a cargo was the keystone.

They specified where we should park the truck after returning home. They explained that it would take forty minutes to get from our residence to the nearest truck stop. We had agreed all the working conditions, drawn the documents, passed a drug test and gone to the first travel. The cargo was being delivered to the west coast of Seattle and we were quite happy because more miles more money. Simultaneously in the same direction left the senior brother.

The travel was calm; a cargo had been delivered on time, there were no problems with money. We stayed two days waiting for the next cargo and a distance to loading was 200 miles from us. We wanted to refuel at a gas station but failed as there was no money on the card.

“There is no enough fuel! We wanted to refuel and the card does not work,” said Oleg.

“Why do you need fuel? My calculations prove that there is enough diesels in the tank prior to refueling,” said Rustam amazedly.

Oleg was surprised with that issue.

“It is not the fact. the computer shows our fuel supply will last for 150 miles,” recovered from astonishment said Oleg. “And it is cheaper to refuel now than to stop on the road. Further, there are mountains and no one knows where the next gas station will be.”

“As soon as a broker has transferred an advance, the money will be on the card.”

“Let him send a cash transfer,” I offered as an option.

“Too expensive,” answered Rustam.

"Are five dollars for transfer expensive?" becoming indignant, blurted Oleg.

“Okay, okay. I'll call my brother and he will bring $ 150 to refuel.”

Said came three hours later. He was extremely dissatisfied as he had been torn away out of the festive table. He gave us money and warned that the next time we would have to deal with such small problems by ourselves. I asked how. His answer unpleasantly surprised us. “Pay by your own money. I'll repay your money with the salary.” He shocked us completely. Said jumped into the truck and looked at each locker, tested the bulbs and cleanliness of the refrigerator and the floor.

“Is he, in general, normal?” Oleg looked at me questioningly when the benefactor had left. “Neither the work itself nor such an approach inspire optimism.”

Rustam asked us to refuel at gas stations of the network where he had a discount. We were not care but he should warn us in advance. On the way home, it became increasingly difficult to refuel. Rustam was afraid of outspending the fuel and extra miles; therefore, he gave the money only for the next 600 miles. At the gas station I once again called Rustam.

“We need to refuel,” I said. “The lamp has lit.”

“How many miles have you covered?”

“Approximately, 520.”

"Too small a distance. You could cover another 60 miles even if the lamp has lit.”

“Perhaps, the distance is negligible. You know better. But the next desired refueling station is at a distance of eighty miles.”

“Go. You will call from there,” Rustam hung up.

I was able to get to the refueling station. But when there remained the last half a mile the computer displayed zero. The fuel in the tank had been expended. I called again.

“I need to refuel. There is fuel shortage.”

“I'm at a party. I will be able to transfer the money four hours later,” Rustam answered in a drunken voice.

"It's, of course great. But we're practically having no time. Four hours are of great luxury. We can be late or the delivery.”

“Brother, the main thing is not to stop. I will do everything for you. Pay by your money. I am swearing by my mother. I will repay, brother,” exactingly said Rustam.

We were not tempted to pay for fuel by our money. Each of us had already paid a hundred dollars out of our pocket for toll roads. Half of the debt was paid back by money on fuel and that had caused a storm of indignation. The second half had not been taken yet as we would possibly stay somewhere on the road with the empty tanks.

“No money,” trying to stop this booth I said. My patience was running out.

“Oh, you just do not want to work! So tell me…”

I switched off the phone. We were late for the delivery half a day. The recipient did not indignant and did not raise any claims. The goods were not critical. He asked us to be at unloading tomorrow morning.

A week later after the next travel we were coming back home. The situation with the payment for fuel had not been improved. It was more and more unbearable to speak to the brothers. The heightened sense of a master and a teacher of life bulged outward. For the third consecutive week the brothers had been promising to pay the wages. The entire time they were finding excuses: the broker pulled with payment, then a waybill had not passed yet, the money would not be transferred.

“We should get out of here. There is nothing good there. Otherwise, we will be able to lose more,” I told Oleg.

“You seem to be right. Let’s depart but only after they will pay our wages.”

We were at home the third day and waiting for the wages.

“Brother, I have found the cargo, Pick up at three o'clock in the afternoon. You should leave in ten minutes. You have time,” busily said Rustam.

“You have not paid our salaries yet.”

“As soon as you have departed I will pay at once.”

The clock struck 12 p.m. I looked at the map.

“Rustam, we will physically be late for. Another 170 miles behind New York from the truck stop to the pickup should be covered. We are now at home and it will take us an hour to get to the truck. At best, we will be able to cover 60 miles per hour. This is New York, with its eternal traffic jams. Even if we had been in the track and ready, earlier than at five o’clock in the evening we will not come to loading.”

“Why are you so slow I could barely have found the goods. I’ m caring for you. And you are showing off.”

I was speechless because of such impudence.

“Rustam… Rustam!” I tried to insert a word. “Rustam,” he heard nothing and continued to raise claims.

“Rustam!’ I had cried into the phone.

“What?”

"You, go to… God #### your concern… You know where the truck is. You will take it by yourself.”

Rest of the day the brothers had rung endlessly. They promised everything. As soon as I had brought the truck they would pay back the money. They would raise the salary up to 42 cents per a mile. When good options had been exhausted they started to intimidate. They would inform the police. They would appeal to the court. Yes, they were so powerful people and would found a way to punish us. I once again sent the brothers to hell, and they had no longer manifested themselves.

It was a good example of business in small companies if there was no an insurance to cover a truck breakage, refueling with “empty” miles and other unforeseen expenses. The principle of operation from wheels and a hope for the mercy of God from time to time failed. Drivers were the first to suffer. For a truck repair, insurance policies and other delights one had to pay to the state immediately and there and salaries for divers could be delayed.


After such adventures I would like to have a rest. I had left for Belarus. The eternal need of money made Oleg to seek new work options. When I came back my partner had been working for Andre from Brooklyn as a driver of a flatbed and was completely pleased.

Master Andrew was a typical Russian resided in Brooklyn. He tried to be a polite American but had been unable to eradicate the Russian rudeness. They had deprived his driving license for the truck because of certain “merits”. That’s why he was working as a manager of his own truck which we used as well as a manager of his two relatives. He succeeded in it as “well” as he drove the truck. There was frequent and prolonged downtime. Cargos could hardly be found and found cargos were either like “Lego” bringing typical problems to load and fix to the trailer or there were difficulties to collect money from a broker. Thus wages were delayed.

A months of a quiet travel and all the truck’s problems deferred until better financial times had appeared at the same time. Such regularity was a consequence of the host’s disregard to the track.

“Yes, this is nonsense! Pour water,” Andre replied. “The radiator is normal I drove six months.”

“Andrew, the air is whistling. So, I cannot remove the brake,” lamented the partner.

“What do you mean? So, crank gas. The pressure will increase and you will squeeze the brake,” dazedly replied the owner.

“Andrew, the truck wheels’ rubber has worn off. The tread has not seen. They will fine us at the weight station and force to replace wheels.”

“Go at night when they are closed.”

And we would have to go at night regardless that we worked as a team.

But there was certain advantage of that work. We negotiated by ourselves the delivery time with the client. The best option was chosen for leisure and work. Working like that we could find time to go sightseeing along the route and there were many such places.

The first such place was the fallen meteorite crater in the Arizona desert. There was an excellent driveway and a special place for trucks in the parking lot. We went up to the observation deck and saw a giant almost round funnel made by the fallen meteorite. Its diameter was 740 feet, the depth of 560 feet and the stone edge towered above the surrounding area to a height of 148 feet. About 50 thousand years ago, a heavenly guest in width about 160 feet hit the ground at a speed of 28,600 mph. The power of its explosion was comparable to the power of 150 atomic bombs dropped down on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. All the information was in the tourist center situated in the edge of the crater. In one of the rooms there was a piece of the nickel-iron meteorite dug out in the middle of the crater and I photographed near the piece. Around the crater the absolutely lifeless desert stretched. It was red and extended to the horizon and in the molten air one could see snow-capped mountains.

I tried once more to go sightseeing in Kentucky. I liked all sorts of caves. There was five miles from the highway to caves. The highway turned into a narrow country road of winding turns. Another sharp turn and there was steeply rising uphill. An attempt to overcome the rise on the move appeared to be unsuccessful. The loaded trailer’s right side had pulled off the asphalt on the verge and it was useless to return the trailer back on the road. The truck was shaking, skidding; the engine was roaring but the truck could not move forward. After long and difficult cornering maneuvers, I had managed to bring the trailer wheels on the asphalt and slowly crawled up the hill. I lost the desire to see the cave. I would have to find an exit to the highway. I wandered between the houses then the trailer’s wheels fell into a ditch on a narrow crossroads. Wet with sweat I had come back to the highway. Later, I traveled to the places of interest by the truck without the trailer.

Neither the truck nor the trailer was ready for the next departure. Rather, Andrew had done what he could. He showed them to the fitter, identified problems and the cost of repair. After he took an ordinary decision of a new businessman: “You will make a couple of travels, earn money, and I will repair. I have no money now.”

We suffered for a week and required an Andrew’s permission to come back for the truck’s repair. We drove back from Texas. Our cargo was transformers and we forwarded them from south to north, not for the first time. Those electrical transformers were hung on poles. They were about a meter in height and two feet in diameter. We put on the top of pallets wooden beams and dragged them by slings mechanically as the method had been developed.

We had immediately encountered the trucks’ old problems after the departure. The last tenth gear was tumbled. The truck was shaken after one upshifted from the ninth to the tenth gear and squeezed the gas. It resulted to a resonance with the road surface. If the speed was closer to 60 miles, the oscillation amplitude became stronger. We had to reduce the speed, downshifted to the ninth gear and slowly continue to drive.

In shaking we reached the Niagara Falls. In the morning, we checked the truck, the wheels, the cargo lashing and pleased Oleg sat behind the wheel. We wanted to reach quickly, to unload and to be at home. Our thoughts were only of a warm shower, a hot soup and a soft bed. There remained 40 miles prior to unloading. We went to the empty highway the partner started to gather speed. Neither of us had already paid attention to familiar shaking.

A car that was overtaking us signaled. We intuitively looked in the rearview mirror. At the same time a transformer fell down from the trailer, hit the asphalt flew in the ditch scattering sparks. Completely shocked we stopped Oleg was in a quiet panic. I was running back to check the transformer and cherished the hope that the damages had been minor. I ran to the end of the trailer and frozen in a shock. That second, the second to understand what I saw could probably be compared to the first jump into the abyss. Here you were standing on the solid ground in safety and in a moment flew into space. One trailer’s wheel was torn and the three transformers had disappeared. One was beside but I did not have any idea where the last two had been.

I was jogging lightly along the road. Next a car stopped and an excited American couple reported that there were two transformers on the road.

“How far is it from here?”

“There are about three miles. Could we help?” kindly asked the couple.

“Thanks. Already not,” understanding that it would be useless to run three miles.

I came back to the transformer on the verge, uplifted it and looked at the damage. Porcelain insulators had been broken, the body had been dented, the lid had been punched and through it the oily liquid was flowing. No one could say that it was a new one. I tried to pick it up. It appeared useless. Later I looked at the weight marker. It weighed over 400 lb.

Workers to clean debris from roads appeared very quickly. I liked their advice. I liked their piece of advice. We should not have stopped and if we had gone further than nobody would have known. Three of us were trying to lift the transformer. They were called by the radio. One of the transformers fallen three miles back was hit by a truck at full speed. The bumper had been dented; the front wheel and the tray had been punched. Moreover, it would be necessary to lift the truck to extract the rumpled transformer. We did not understand how in the daytime on a deserted road that overall obstacle had not been noticed.

A police officer appeared. He was smiling. Even shining. I had never seen such a joyful and friendly police officer. He was smiling and his laud laughter completely discouraged me and my partner. We did not know how to behave ourselves. We could only smile silly and tried to keep our self-control, although it seemed to be a disaster.

Obviously, he was in some stupor too. He kept muttering: “Yes, I have not met such an accident in my work for three years. I usually write out fines for speeding up… But this… There was not!”

“There will be something to tell your friends at the table,” retorted sourly Oleg.

“That’s exactly!”

The police officer began a procedure with both the cargo inspection and a method of its mounting. He spent much time wondering why the pallets remained to be fixed on the trailer, but the factory twine attaching the transformer to the palette had torn. I did not say that right before his arrival I had corrected empty pallets and checked fasteners. Together with him we inspected the goods and found three torn twines as well as the transformers that moved freely. He had interviewed us and smiling went to his car to write a report.
The police officer spent in his car for about an hour and a half. It was a hard time to wait. In his monologue he said that the situation was serious because a car could smash the transformer and would cause a serious harm to human health or even lead to fatal. It was be a matter for the courts. And it was likely that a driver would lose his driving license.

However, he did not think that the accident had been completely our fault. He held the opinion that the reason had accounted for the factory’s poor-quality twine. The factory twine had not withstood the vibration on the road. One of the falling transformers touched the wheel and tore it. He had described everything in his report. But, as he still had to punish the driver that’s why Oleg would be fined twice. One would be for the poorly secured cargo, the other would be for the traffic on the road. These violations would not be reflected in the violation history database. Oleg fought the urge to lash out at the police officer and kiss him. His gratitude was boundless.

Later, we had calmly reinstated the accident’s causality. Two days the truck was shaken and we did not notice it. If the truck was in running order then vibration was the first sign of an exploded wheel. So, apparently, it had happened with us. The last bald tire to be replaced exploded and it increased vibration in the rear of the trailer. As a result the fixing twine had been turn and the transformer had fallen on the highway. In total, the owner had been obliged to pay seven thousand dollars to repair the truck, to scavenge trash from the highway, to utilize the transformers, to Increase the amount of insurance for the next year. A month later, we parted because we covered 70 miles by “the just repaired truck” and the air had vanished. Together with the air our weekly wages amounted to $ 1,300 per each of us had disappeared. “You have not covered many miles, not earned for me, no money to pay you salaries,” said Andrew.

I had ceased my experiments both in employment and to work with the partner. Until you started working all employers promised brighter prospects and conscientious attitude. But in the case of force majeure a driver would be the first to suffer. The driver bore responsibility for all the slips immediately. It was clear that there was no owner-altruist to pay extra money but there was no perfect driver. The dilemma of whom to be either a man or a beast was the choice of each. But the main role of a choice was money and not cares for each other.

To be continued...

 

Chapter 3



Owner operator



Six months had passed since I started to travel through the expanses of America. I had been tested by winds, water, snow, sleet and inspections and developed the iron will rather than provided financial freedom. The work was hard, exhausting and monotonous. I was under constant stress, abnormal vibration, waiting for loading and unloading, infinitely late and ever sleepy. The biological cycle was been disrupted, the body did not know what to do either to sleep or to stay awake. The only way was to drive forward until tired, to fall into bed and to sleep like the dead. And all those delights of life were determined by a driver’s salary that in no way covered physical, emotional, nervous and moral outlays.

Twice on the highway I met newcomers who could not withstand its hardships. Healthy, physically strong, mentally stable but not psychologically ready for the work’s hardships, they went off into hysterics and cried as children. All they asked was to take them home and unload from that #### truck.

In life, everyone went his own way. Some people were eager not to move, to sit still doing nothing, justifying their laziness by either unsuccessful conjuncture or difficult circumstances, and it was much easier rather than to go forward, to make experiments and to achieve the required goal. There needed both the will power, a die-hard inner core, coupled with boundless optimism and crazy passion to comprehend the new. All this had led me to the logical conclusion. It was high time to cease working for someone's uncle and I should start to build my own empire. Alex and I had taken into consideration the potential risk of relegation from the business at the beginning, and decided to become partners and co-participate in the project. Our goal was to lower possible adverse effects.

A very important issue should be solved. What kind of cargos would be forwarded? Trucking was the most effective component of the formula "time is money" as most of the money would come in cash. But, on the other hand, forwarding was the most nervous and labor-intensive. I had no desire to drive a flatbed after lost transformers. Seasonal factors strongly influenced on performance of a refrigerator. Yes, I did not really want to listen behind the back the cooler engine’s noise. We had chosen a simple trailer.

The coming year plan was drawn up. It stipulated provisions to earn money and to buy alternatively five trucks for our fleet. The plan seemed to be quite real and while I was working for the last month of employment Alex actively searched an iron horse. We planned to spend about $ 25,000 in cash to buy a truck. It was clear that regardless of the truck’s status a certain amount would be spent on repair and if not immediately, then certainly in the first month. One could assess visible problems immediately but hidden ones would become apparent only after the first travels. That was why we had established a special purpose fund.

Every weekend, Alex went to auctions, sales and dealers and we viewed the advertisements through the Internet. A choice was changed weekly but there was no interesting variant. Because of hopelessness Alex went to Indianapolis to see the three trucks at the auction. Judging by the photos one might take and ride. The mileage was up to 600,000 miles and the age did not exceed seven years. But actually Alex described: “That's how dreams have collapsed. They have painted visible parts of the engine but other assemblies are rusty and will remain so. Would you like to see, and then bend. Two out of three trucks failed to start. The third truck’s driver door was not opened. But worst of was that all the three trucks had been sold at the price of $ 25,000 - $ 29,000.”

Once in the evening, Alex read the advertisement to sale a six years old Freightliner truck the mileage of which was 700,000 miles. Neither an inspection nor a test drive had revealed any problems. The cab sparkled, some parts were new, the assemblies operated, and sensors were in order, no rust, new wheels. The truck had just returned from a trip. The owner asked for $ 23,000. We traded a week and cut the price by $ 1,000. We would not need to have additional investment for the truck and were very happy. We congratulated each other with the truck’s purchase and with future big problems. But we should go forward, the basis had been established and then gradually we would need to create financial prosperity.

The American business law was the keystone of a professional activity. A lot of guys who had passed the stage of start-up recommended us to register as individual entrepreneurs. A state registration did not strongly hit the pocket and taxes were levied on a simplified basis.

Prior to further actions, we had decided to call the American trucking company for which former colleagues of Alex’s worked to clarify the prospects. We had bought a truck and registered as individual entrepreneurs, and were eager to use the name of the company for which we were going to work as well as to insure its cargo. Preliminary talks had been disappointing. Firstly, almost all companies had stopped hiring entrepreneurs who had trucks. It was not profitable because of insurance. Secondly, it would obligatory need to register a legal entity that’s to say a corporation. Thirdly, for dispatching services (search of cargo) they took 20 percent of the goods’ value. We looked forward to ten percent.

We refused to join the familiar trucking companies. Many American companies offered working conditions via colorful ads. But those conditions were absurdly incorrectly for us. A fixed amount of 88 cents - $ 1 was paid per each covered mile. Of course there were a lot of obscure bonuses for fuel, a truck repair, and health insurance. Out of this amount one had also to deduct the insurance cost and payment for rent of the trailer from $ 800 to $ 1,300 monthly. The conditions were ideal to experience a constant need of money.

There were pitfalls to register as an individual entrepreneur. The cost of a procedure would be $ 400. A truck registration number would cost about $ 1,300. A truck monthly insurance without trailer (if you wished, you could refuse) for the first six months would cost approximately $ 350. That provision’s main disadvantage was that one had to pay the truck’s purchase tax amounting to ten percent of its value. We would not like to pay a next truck’s purchase tax at the amount of $ 2,000-$ 2,500 as taking on discount prospects for development.

Also we had to search a company and to register a corporation. There were many options, but offers proved to be negligible. The majority of offers were either in New York or Chicago. Of two evils we had chosen the nearest, namely: a Russian company in Brooklyn to facilitate communication.

“Have you already had a company?” asked quickly master Dima in between calls.

For the club to tobacco smoke, I could hardly see him. Dima was a little over forty. He was short in statue but the beer belly not being a yet into a big barrel compensated it. His hand was involuntarily stroking “the labor corn” and the shiny bald head alternatively. His colloquy and behavior completely destroyed any germs of dissent. A sort of preacher was sitting at the table. Only appearance had disappointed. He wore a sports suit, white socks and, what was very important for a business person, shoes. The only thing missed, that’s a handy and a cap. He was not even the spitting image type. As he had got used to that way to the tips of hair, a pure a robber, the real robber of the late 90s.

“No, now we are doing it.”

“Have you ever registered companies?”

We shook our heads negatively.

“I do not advise you to register by yourselves. You will lose time and not save the money. You’d better pay to professionals. I have a good company here next. You will call on the road and talk.”

“What kind of cargos and how much do they cost?” we asked almost simultaneously.

“I have my own partners. For example, the distance between Pennsylvania and New York is 200 miles and for forwarding I pay $ 800. There are other options. Routes are around the east and the center of America. There are no routes to the West because prices are low. I have reliable Chinese partners. The cargo is delivered for short distances and it is expensive.”

“How much does the scheduling cost?” I asked.

“Ten percent.”

“What is the net profit weekly?”

“There won’t be less than $ 2,500. Usually it is about $ 3,000.”

“What are working conditions? A dispatcher calls and offers a cargo, if I like, I will take it.”

“No. I have a strict discipline. You're taking the cargo offered by the dispatcher. If you do not like the cargo, then put the trailer to parking and good bye,” peremptorily said the host.

“But I'm my own boss,” Alex protested. “Why should I go at a loss?”

“It happens. If you bring the cargo to one direction it could be expensive. The problem is to leave that location. The value of cargo can be a dollar per mile. The main provision is to go out.”

We both tried to challenge that postulate.

“You do not like it, then put the trailer to parking and good bye,” repeated Dima.

“What are conditions of a trailer’s rent?” asked I.

“There are two variants. The first trailer’ rent is $ 300 monthly. The other’s rent cost is $ 400 monthly.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The trailer’s technical condition costing $ 400 is ostensibly better. But it differs insignificantly. I advise you to rent the one for $ 300.”

“Do you give a fuel’s credit card?” I kept asking.

“There is no credit card. As soon as you have taken the cargo you will send an invoice and a broker will transfer 50 percent of the goods’ value.”

“Will you render financial assistance if the trailer brakes somewhere on the route?”

“Of course. I will help you to repair a minor problem. But naturally, if the engine fails I won’t help.”

I was dissatisfied with the conversation. Alex held the contrary opinion. On the way home we stopped at a law firm. The hostess seemed to be a combat woman and talked as if she were a commander. She informed us about special particularities of registration and the State requirements for different types of reports. We were told to pay particular attention to the credit rating of the driver and the company. Otherwise, the insurance would go off-scale. The State’s regulatory authorities could close the company if it had reached the “red” strap. But if we used another company’s name that procedure would not threaten us.

We had signed standard forms as founders, paid a number of fees, a duty and insurance. The amount of $ 4,000 was deposited for the company’s registration, $ 150 for a courier’s services and $ 400 to help the company. Ten days had passed since we submitted an application and got the company’s registration certificate and the trucks’ state numbers.

I was waiting for the documents and did not waste time in vain to find potential employers. There were no new advertisements. Friends could not help too. We made our mind to work for Dima. If we did not like, then we would find another company.

Two weeks later we were again in Dima’s office. The documents were signed and we went to the parking lot to look at the trailer. To say that the trailer was miserable meant to dilute paint strongly. Sides were decorated by homegrown street graphics, the wheels’ rubber had worn out, and here and there metallic cord appeared. The doors were rusty, the corners were chipped. The right door’s pillar was broken. The latch locked up only the top catch and the lower latch hung by itself. The stop signal lights had rusted and fallen deeply inside and were kept miraculously. Later I came to know that the trailer did move along the slides neither back nor forward at the weight station because guides had rusted.

We resented but Dima denied the problems. If you would like to repair the trailer somehow, then you were welcomed. But the trailer’s technical conditions should be the same as those initial. Nobody would return money paid for any repair. He had seen the trailer and held the opinion that it was in working order.

The next day had become significant. It was my first solo trip. I was stressful inside. An environment was new, unknown, interesting, frightening and intriguing. How I would cope. What spot the Lady Luck would show?

I had to go by the truck to Brooklyn and drag an empty trailer to the parking lot of the company in the south of the city. They paid $ 250 for the job. All went well my knowledge of city streets in New York was based on short tourist trips the public transport. I had never driven along them by large vehicles. I spent two hour on the maps and elaborated the route of travel to escape routes for emergencies.

When I was driving to New York the “CHECK ENGINE” light bulb of the instrumental panel had lit. I could not stop because a bridge was ahead. I could not stop on the bridge as a fine amounted to $ 2,000 and evacuation was over $ 1,000. It was a fun start Let it be what it would be decided I and continued to drive along the bridge. I was lucky to pass through. In a cold sweat I had reached the site to pick up the trailer. But the bulb did not fade out. Immediately I had called all familiar fitters. The problem might be caused by everything. It could be found only in site. Dima hinted that there was a fitter in the parking lot. I would drag the trailer and clarify the matter.

The required parking lot was almost on the coast. Drizzling rain and strong winds from the ocean had transformed the former airfield in the real skating ring. I carefully hitched the trailer. I checked the coupling levers and connected hoses. After I walked around the trailer to make sure that all the lights burned and the doors were closed.

I carefully drove along all four turns at the airfield, and went to the treated by defrosters urban road. After the crossroads I increased speed. Parking brakes in the cab had released and the air was whistling. I cuddled to the curb. What had happened? What was the problem? I squeezed back the brakes. The truck had operated. But the trailer did not. I looked at the mirrors and at the same moment was covered by ice sweat. The trailer had been lost.

The trailer’s support pillars touched the ground. It covered ten meters and had rested against the curb by the right side. Its rear side barred a half of the first lane out of the two ones. I walked around the trailer. Nothing had been broken, everything was intact. The truck’s hoses had not been damaged. The police had come: “What happened?” “I had skidded on the ice. I will check the truck and drive away.” “Could we help you?” “No. Thanks.”

Three minutes later a new problem appeared. I had not managed to align the truck in reverse with the trailer to make it symmetrical to the king pin. The rear wheels should be stopped off at the curb and the lawn but the former unfortunately had been swamped by large chunks of asphalt after the road’s repair. Half an hour of exercise and I had finally called for the trailer. I hit the king pin by the saddle plate five times. The trailer was only pushed into the middle of the road but the fastener could not be snapped. The truck’s rear axle and the saddle plate were located at an angle to each other. The trailer’s push rod docked but the fastener could not be snapped.

After much thought, I had found the method. On the verge I chose a chunk of asphalt. Its height was the same as the curb’s height and put the said chunk under the trailer’s rear wheels. After a third attempt I had managed to snap the fastener. Three hours of slaughter rescue operation and I had moved out to the road.

 

In the parking lot the fitter spent three hours to detect the problem. The computer found nothing. There were no bruises on the engine. All the liquids level was normal.

“The turbine is defective. Here is an oil bruise,” he pointed to a black spot under the turbine.

“Is it dangerous?” I asked warily, mentally counting cost of the turbine’s repair.

“The oil bruise is after the turbine. If it had been in front of the turbine you would have replaced it urgently. Now, the turbine is in operating conditions but it will slowly fail. How much time will pass no one knows. Perhaps it will take a month, perhaps a year. It will be different for each turbine.”

“How could I understand that it has been high time.”

“The engine will be losing its power. It will be more difficult to drive.”

I left the fitter feeling differently. I seemed to be encouraged but temporarily. The first repair had already loomed on the horizon.

I left before dawn to be loaded in Pennsylvania. One would have to cover 220 miles. The delivery to Bronx had been scheduled in the morning. They paid $ 4 per mile. But miles covered without a cargo, toll roads, bridges and a dispatcher’s commission should be taken into account. That was why $ 1.5 was per mile. The income was below the average one. By the way, it would be a silly thing to enter New York with an empty tank. There were practically no parking lots for trucks as well as truck stops to accept checks for refueling. And a ride to search salvation places might result in a rescue operation for oneself. I had to use the emergency fund to refuel the tank.

The next cargo was unloaded and loaded in Bronx and after I went to the State of Man, the payment was $ 2 per mile. They considered it to be a good luck because the cargo was light weighted there were short miles for good money. But I had to go back heavily laden in Iowa. They paid less than a dollar per mile. Somewhere near Chicago, an advance for fuel had ended. I opened my emergency fund the second time. Moreover, the alternator belt of the truck broke and the front wheel strangely became flat.

I was driving to Miami from Iowa. I passed the first inspection when entered Missouri. A female inspector checked all documents for the truck, invoices, and the log book and asked me to overtake the truck to the site for inspection. I got in the truck but could not start the engine. Electricity did not fail but the starter generated a distinctive sound and further silence came. I showed .the inspector a problem I was unable to solve. She checked the batteries and let the truck to be inspected. I executed all the required actions: turns, lighting, signals and brakes. There were no claims to the truck, but that was not true for the trailer. She led me to the trailer’s rear axle and pointed to one of the brake chambers hanging on the air hoses. The rear cover of the camera had completely rotten around the mounting bolt on the axle. The trailer’s documents recorded in the database the inspector reported that two years before it was removed from service but entered back the two nearest weeks earlier.

She did not let me go to the road because of that problem and I had to call a technical support to fix the problem. While I was calling to the nearest services, fortunately their numbers were on the bench in the weight station, there was no electricity in the truck. I turned the ignition key and the response was silence.

A fitter appeared quickly. He spent two hours to fix the problem. The bolt had rusted and he cut it by welding. The trailer’s brake chambers were outdated and had not been produced. I paid $ 300 totally. The fitter did not want to engage in electrical equipment as the instruction let repair it only in daytime. He would come tomorrow morning if I sent my order once again. I had to sleep in the frozen truck at the temperature of 14oF.

The next morning I again called the technical assistance and it addressed the problem with electricity. They had checked the batteries, the starter, and the switch. All the parts were separately operative but it was not possible to repair the truck. Wiring between the batteries and was last to check. There was leakage but no critical. The fitter began visually to inspect the wiring. By design, a toggle switch was mounted near the seat of the truck cab’s floor to switch off electricity and save the batteries capacity under long absence. The fitter checked the wiring and twisted the handle toggle, the truck started as if nothing had happened. Obviously, in the evening I touched the toggle switch by a foot and put it into the “off” position. At the service station workers long laughed over that idiotic call that cost me another $ 250.

The cargo should be delivered from Miami to Indianapolis at the price of $ 1.3 per mile. Dima held the opinion that it was a big fortune because Miami was out of season and would be practically impossible find the cargo. I was lucky because he maintained friendly relations with brokers.

As usual, Dima gave me a check to pay for fuel. I had covered half a way and there still left the unused amount of $ 600. That sum covered fuel costs with a vengeance for the first time. At a truck stop I tried to write a check for the full amount but there was shortage of money on the account. I knew that at truck stops they could take a commission for often withdrawal money from one and the same check, and reduced the amount by $ 10, $ 30 and $ 50 respectively. The system continued to deny. I had to call to the company and ask what had happened. Dima quickly answered that $ 200 had disappeared but he could not help because the sum had been transferred in full and mistakes sometimes happened. The form was not filled accurately and I should be more careful next time. I had failed to find out the truth.

At lunchtime I parked near a restaurant in Indianapolis. After the whole week of dry rations the stomach had yearned for normal hot food. I liked to eat at truck stops in first weeks of practice in the school. Everything had been in wander and new. Although, I had tasted lots of dishes in my life, namely: frogs' legs, bovine eggs, and the meat of deer, bison, crocodile, peacock, and even a dog in one of the Asian countries. But all the dishes were ordered consciously and I knew that I would eat. There, one was completely in the dark even after had eaten the product, followed by the mandatory disappointment in stock, quality, prices. Chemicals, preservatives, genetically modified foods had neither odor nor taste just the same color. In the mouth, one clearly felt all the ingredients of each product separately. No wonder that the body had resisted to such a food in every way.

After a hearty lunch, I returned to the truck. There was no need to hurry as the delivery had been scheduled for the following day. Last three days I failed to sleep. It was the constant race against time. Finally, I had surrendered to fatigue and being exhausted collapsed on the bed.

“Have you already made the delivery?” excitedly asked Dima by phone.

“No. The delivery has been scheduled for tomorrow?” in the head a plan of actions was scrolling. Where had I mistaken.

“Are you far from the site?”

“There will remain a couple of miles.”

“Come to them. Find out whether they will be able to unload today.”

“Why? The delivery will take place tomorrow,” not understanding the reason for haste I asked drowsily.

“The Chinese partners have a good cargo from Brooklyn. They will pay $ 800 in cash. There are no paperworks. Per night you will just have time to come. You will take the cargo and drive calmly. Find out whether they will be able to unload today,” babbled Dima.

I did not like to drive all night for the distance of 700 miles, to take unknown cargo and even more to carry it without paperworks.

“Dima, I don’t like it…” I tried to challenge his arguments logically.

“You understand nothing. These clients cannot be denied. Let’s do, I am waiting,” and hung up.

I would have to deny accurately not hurting feelings of a business “shark”. Naturally, I did not drive anywhere and sadly reported that no one would unload my cargo that day. In response, the owner did not calm down and offered to give them for unloading $ 20, 40 or $ 50. After a while, I again sadly reported that they had denied. Dima retorted that he “had hit”.

Finally, I had got the first check for two weeks of work as a freelancer. The joy was quickly replaced by disappointment. After deductions, there left a little over $ 2,000 on the account. I studied the figures thoroughly and found out that Dima had diminished the cost of cargo and for a transfer of checks for fuel took $ 50 while the cost of service was from $ 3.5 to $ 7.5 depending on its type.

Almost all the company’s cargos were directed to New York. The next cargo should be delivered to Brooklyn. The loading time had been scheduled at 5 a.m. and Dima strongly recommended to leave the parking lot at two hours am to avoid the traffic jams and not to be late for loading. I spent two hours to plan the route but in vain. Firstly, many streets were lined by parked cars for the night, that’s why I could not go to the right street via the last turn. Secondly, low bridges and the elevated subway abruptly changed the route. By 6 a.m. I had reached the destination site. Nobody was waiting for me and the doors were closed. The workers had appeared around at noon. I saw Dima’s reliable partners, they were Chinese, and the first time I doubted him. A Chinese would never get up early in the morning for anybody. Such a silly and inflated confidence in the asian partners and much wasted time had caused me to think about further cooperation with the company in Brooklyn.

The last straw that broke my confidence had become the cargo for good as Dima said money. It was $ 2 per mile. The cargo should be delivered to both the Manhattan and New Jersey. I would not say that wanted to ride on the truck around Manhattan. But I had finally decided to leave for New Jersey after unloading; I had to return the cargo to New York and to pay twice for bridges there and back again $ 135. After I had to deliver the cargo to Nebraska and they paid one dollar. I told Dima that I would leave his company and since then he had stopped to take off the tube and to speak to us forever, although he had to pay $ 3,000 for the last week.

Our friends helped us to make inquires about the host. Dima appeared to be a common thief who had recently been released from prison. As it would be necessary to occupy him, he had scored loans and opened the trucking business. As an ordinary cheater he was deceived everybody. He had not paid $ 8,000 for the work to some hot guys. They had come to find out the reason and started “to polish faces” to each other. The police had not allowed them to identify the winner.

Dima created his business very simply, that’s he bought a killed truck by a minimum amount, returned it to the road and hired a trusting driver. Neither of a truck stopped at a weight station had passed the inspection. All required emergency repairs and so he had lost more and more money. My truck had been his best one. The credit rating of his three companies had been tending to infinity. Therefore, he periodically opened a new company and the wife, mother, father, and so on became its founders because the state government had banned to record the tracking business after his name.

I and Alex crossed ourselves that in due time and minimal losses we had been able to leave the company and started more meaningful to look for new employers. We verified a company’s rating, a credit history, and people’s references. That time we had chosen a Chicago’s company.

We settled all the issues of arrival in Chicago and the owner phoned and asked to provide the service. One of the owners of a truck of his company hired a black driver a week ago. The driver came to the meeting accompanied by both his wife and daughter. The spoke friendly, came to a mutual agreement, agreed payment conditions and parted being satisfied with each other. The insurance company sent an affirmative acknowledgement. Well, and what doubts one would have if the driver’s experience had amounted for twenty years with no a significant accidents.

The first trip was from Chicago to Alabama. The second one was from Alabama to Baltimore. The delivery had been scheduled for Monday and on Friday the driver reported that he was in Baltimore and had a rest. On Monday a broker called and asked where the cargo was? The driver’s phone did not answer. In the evening of the same day the owner reported the police that the truck with the cargo had disappeared and according to the navigator the truck itself was at the distance of 60 miles on the border with Delaware. The police responded quickly. Both the truck and the driver had been found. The driver told both the police and the owner a sad story. He was taken to hospital and had just checked out of it and ready to deliver the goods.

Everybody was satisfied with the explanation. The police gave back the keys; the delighted driver borrowed $ 200 from the owner to buy the medicine and vanished with no traces. After he had withdrawn the card’s money. Next day the police again found the abandoned truck in an industrial area of Baltimore. But there was no trailer.

There was no a navigator in the truck, and we had gone along the truck’s route to find the latter. On our way we had checked all the truck stops, resting places along highways, parking lots of hotels and casinos. We passed the sites of the delivery point, rang up evacuation companies. There was a hope that the truck had created a traffic jam and it had been pulled to a penalty parking. We toured around the surrounding neighborhoods of the industrial zone near the abandoned truck. Nobody had seen anything, no met the unattended trailer. We came home not understanding either motives of the driver or his behavior. A week later the driver wrote a message pointing to the trailer location. The truck was found, the trailer was hitched and the cargo was delivered.

On Monday I had started a new life from scratch the second time. In the Chicago’s company I signed a lot of papers, listened to a lecture on safety, intra - regulations, filling a logbook and administered of accounting documents. I was greatly surprised with such a rigorous approach as at my previous places of work nobody had required to send the logbook, checks for fuel and the cost of the truck. Everybody was indifferent to everything. Two companies had not sent me to undergo a drug test while hiring. Everything was completely different in Chicago. Strict control was over the clerical work and a weekly delivery of documents.

I accepted working conditions. Weekly payments amounted to $ 100 for insurance of goods and $ 180 for both a new trailer’s rent and its insurance. A dispatcher’s services were ten percent of the goods’ value.

Soon my job was bringing a positive effect and even the pleasure. The roads’ extraordinary situations had decreased. Everything came out in the normal working rhythm. The dispatcher offered a cargo and I either agreed or denied. Initially I strongly criticized the dispatcher for slowness and downtime. Educational sermons had had their effect and mutual understanding had become the norm.

The first working week passed after accounting documents had been sent and there was a company’s call. They asked me to be more attentive while I was filling the documents. The reason of so scrupulous attitude had become evident quickly. The regulatory authorities were checking the company. An inspector had shown the most frequent mistakes. Inspections at weight stations were not recorded in the logbook. Ten hours of sleep and a weekly rest period were infringed. Refueling time and a log book’s appropriate record mismatched. Even a five minutes’ difference was considered an infringement. No questions would arise If a truck’s owner fueled it via own account. The owner was not obliged to submit information on time and place of refueling to the inspector. But if he used a company’s fuel card, than the company would be obliged to inform the inspector.

Any infringement would increase the company’s negative rating. If the red zone had been reached, then the supervising authorities offered two ways. They might close the company. The other was to fine and to equip obligatory trucks with electronic logbooks. Inefficiency of trucking and financial losses would follow inevitably. Therefore, the company strictly supervised the documentation’s correctness. Afterwards, I repeatedly thanked them for such a valuable experience.

I could not find a reason the starter malfunction after turning the ignition key. Initially I tapped the contacts by a hammer but later that method had failed. Another way was to touch the switch contacts by a screwdriver. The morning procedure had become the norm. I poured water into the radiator and then touched “the holy place” by the magic stick wand. The truck was under repair the fitter found oil leaks of the trailer’s rear axles. I had had to replace seals, couplings and two bearings.

After the workshop my bank account was zeroed but I was sure that the truck was exactly in perfect order and the fitter had done his best to prevent problems in the near future.

Our route passed through Eastern and Central America. Arrivals in North Dakota and Wyoming were considered to be extravagant. After the slalom by the fully loaded truck along the dusty, hilly and unpaved roads I strongly asked the dispatcher to exclude those areas from the route. The truck had appeared to be a dirty red monster with angry eyes. I had been shaking the air filter at a truck stop for ten minutes.

After Wyoming I was driving to South Dakota for loading. I had not to be in a hurry. The cargo had been scheduled for the morning and there was to rest. Tired of the constant noise in the track I turned to an untitled exit, turned off the engine and went out. There was neither a flashlight nor a ray of light. Motley silence was instantly surrounded me as if I had been in vacuum. There was no a sound, a cry, a rustle. I stood for a long time motionless, being afraid to stir, frightened to flash out the unknown, listening to the heart of the nature. Both hearing and touch slowly became acute as if I had remembered long forgotten something. A bird flew in the night sky flapping by the wings. Someone ran on the hill. The nose barely caught pungent odor of an unknown plant.

I terribly wanted to record the silence and to listen to it in the truck. The life had become so urbanized that silence itself seemed to be an alien environment. How far the being had become distant from the beginning of nature, its harmony, balance, peace of mind.

Over the head a boundless depth of the night sky stretched. In my childhood the father had woken me up at night to show the Great Bear, the Little Dipper, and the Polar Star that was the center of The Universe as well as to show that our Earth was a grain of sand in the vast expanse of eternity. There had been my first knowledge of the astronomy. Stars continued to shine and shimmer in the sky, calling and beckoning to know the depths of the universe where there was much unknown, where all of us, perhaps, had been born, and where our future would probably be. It was those moments when you understood that you were, existed, and lived. A magical environment in which there was an acute desire to live.

The trucking business had forced me delve into the system of interrelations between different participants, into the system of financial flows distribution, into a gaining profit mechanism. The figures suggested thinking. A manufacturer (supplier) and a buyer (recipient), were the main players in the process (buy-sell) and they would form both trade and financial flows. But the chain would be vulnerable without transport logistics. Therefore, intermediaries had appeared and they would take their shares out of the financial flow: on the one hand, it was a broker who would find cargoes, on the other, a forwarding company’s dispatcher who would provide jobs for drivers. The dispatcher’s share was well known, that’s 10-20 percent of the cargos’ value, but the broker’s share was the mystery behind the seven locks.

Sooner or later all the trucks ‘owners would find cargoes by themselves. Financial calculations showed that such a type of activity would become a good support in the company’s income. If a truck brought in average $ 200,000 annually, then one would be able to save at least $ 20,000 on the dispatcher’s services. A dispatcher not sacrificing efficiency in finding goods could serve up to ten trucks.

Ideally, it would be to combine brokerage with dispatch and to retain the full amount of forwarding cost. But the question was the availability of the necessary funds because transactions between a buyer and a seller did not occur instantly and sometimes with a delay of up to 60 days. Not every owner of a truck would undergo two months of work before the first income to his banking account. An emergency fund of $ 10,000 was negligible as the weekly costs of the truck amounted to about $ 3,000 - $ 4,000. The solution was factoring when a certain financial institution gave the loan equal to the value of the goods and would pay the money after the delivery. For their services these companies took 5% and that percentage had already been included in the amount of the dispatcher as a rule. The system would greatly facilitate the working conditions in the event that either a broker or a dispatcher had been having a good reputation for a long period of work.

After a hot discussion about development trends we had reached a consensus to postpone elaboration of both our dispatch services and brokerage until the best time. We had neither a relevant experience nor financial resources, anyway prior to we would move to a new residence.

We had bought a second truck and Alex and I were going to leave for Texas. We were quite tired of a rainy weather and cold winters, constant hustle on the roads, shortage of personal space, and high real estate prices. New Jersey appeared not to be the best place to develop our own business. Tax burden and insurance were more expensive. It seemed to be trifle but for the year the sum amounted to $ 5,000 per the truck. The annual average rate of the trucking business maintenance was around one dollar per mile. The maintenance included all the costs of fuel, insurance, and all possible payments to the government, toll roads and bridges, repairs, a dispatcher except the wages of hired drivers if they were. Cost optimization would be an important factor in the prosperity of the business.

They paid well for the cargo directed to the north-eastern coast, on the average, $ 2.5 - $ 3 per mile. But after you had passed through all the toll roads and bridges, gone back up $ 300 would be lost. And all this despite the fact that I had learned to bypass toll roads in the vicinity of Baltimore, toll roads in New Jersey, drove to New York via the toll-free bridge,, and in some places where there were some areas to collect tolls I managed to cheat toll machines. But still there remained places that you would not pass and would not rush. Moving out of the East Coast was akin to madness. While waiting one could lose a day or two and at best would earn $ 1.5 per mile.

Any attempts to bypass toll roads were hopeless. The Americans had calculated the price of alternative roads properly. The fuel average consumption was six miles per gallon but the transit price was equal to the price of fuel cost of the shortest indirect route. Time would become the most crucial factor. It would be useful both to lose time and to drive roundabout miles only if there was no money to pay tolls.

Alex was employed to forward port containers and was planning to become a discoverer of Texas lands. I would like also to join him if the salary was good. Preliminary talks with managers arose optimism. The informed that containers were transported at the distance of a hundred miles from a port. One would be able to carry up to five containers per day the turnover was rapid. After all expenditures on the truck the weekly income was $ 3,000. The amount of income actually was the same as a travel cost across America but every evening and on the weekend, we would be at home.

Dreams were destined to brake of the everyday life rocks. During loading at the port in Houston I went to container carriers’ drivers to know about life and habitation. In the port a driver arrived at 4 or 5 o'clock in the morning and was queued for loading. The sooner the driver arrived so the quicker he was loaded. If he was lucky then he would leave the port at ten o'clock. Of course, there were two variants. Either there were no queues on the site and after quick unloading one would return to the port and became the end of a living queue. Or the majority of container carriers were driving to the site and one had to spend half of the day waiting for unloading. On average, forwarding of three containers per week was thought a good result. A daily income per own truck fluctuated around $ 1,500. To earn more one would need to work at the weekends.

Somewhat later we met a good broker in Texas and he briefly and succinctly described the situation in that segment of the trucking business. The container’s traffic was so competitive that an own operator received $ 250 daily. Gains appeared to be modest and we lost a desire to deal with the business. Nevertheless, in a year we were engaged in this business but differently.

Meantime, the road inspections started to choke me. Across ten days they checked me twice, although after the latest check the driver was free from checks for a month. The first time I was fined for violation of records in the logbook. An inspector held the opinion that I had indicated too long time to cover short distance. There was no a part of the retro-reflective strips on the truck cab’s rear side and it had resulted to a second violation. I did not have a permission to travel on the roads of the New York State and I had been punished once again. I had been guilty of that violation. I was fined in the New York State, but the most interesting thing was that the amount of penalty had been increased by $ 100 when the letter came home. In the state of New Jersey they had added their bit for processing of information.

Moreover, the company had deducted $ 400 because of a negative inspection and fines as such issues would deteriorate the company's credit rating.

“What is it?” I poured out my sorrows to a female employee of the control department. “The week of active checks on the roads has been over and inspections still continue to commit atrocities.”

“You should be careful. They will continue inspections and the intensity will be increased.”

“But this has not been before!”

“There has not been before, Now, our authorities have ordered to close trucking companies massively,” explained the female.

“For what purpose?”

“We do not know. But they are checking our company a third time during three months.”

Familiar guys were also discussing appeared complexities of the work, inspections the number of which had been suddenly increased and loading problems. The situation was equally negative for all: for own operators, owners of refrigerators, owners of flatbeds. There were many goods but at the price of $ 1 per mile. Brokers categorically refused to raise the price and why they should do this, if large cargo carriers agreed with the suggested price than they would have to provide work for drivers.

The own operators were confident in themselves and had never complained about difficulties. They had found their niche and had been able to defend it and earned big money. Somebody carried the mail around the closed circle. Somebody carried pipes from Texas to Wisconsin. Somebody carried fossilized wastes of dinosaurs from Colorado to Chicago; by the way, those fossilized wastes were the valuable material. There was also a well-established route in the reverse direction. Some of them justified the complexity of the situation by seasonality and according to the theory of cyclic recurrence they hoped that the situation would be improved; a someone’s customer had reduced the production and, thus, the need for freight depended on the provider and if conditions were being changed than an own operator would be the first to suffer.

Later, I had met cumulative friends and they explained me such a strict policy to the trucking business. Everything turned out to be much more serious. It was well-known that the United States of America had not signed the Kyoto Protocol that stipulated the emission of harmful substances into the atmosphere as those substances were a cause of the greenhouse effect. But America had established a number of inner provisions to limit carbon dioxide emissions. The commercial road transport was one of the air pollutants and a plan of measures of its reduction had been elaborated. The influential lobby of Trade Unions haulers prohibited to stipulate more drastic measures. All the parties had agreed to participate actively in transport upgrading.

More sophisticated engines were promoted to the market actively to implement the assigned task. But only large forwarding companies could let scale purchases of new equipment and they submitted to administrative regulations. Individuals bought the used equipment in the market. Used trucks did not meet modern requirements to reduce the emission of harmful substances into the atmosphere. They should be decommissioned. The state could toughen cargo forwarding regulations to increase a number of inspections and audits of transport companies’ business activity.