Swift - Starting the New Year training with Swift 1/7/13 - A long read...

Yeah it's been cold out there. I know Wisconsin has to be pretty cold this time of year.

We may have just passed each other. Make sure you wave if you see a Prostar with blue neon lights inside the sleeper (you can see these from outside coming down the road) and a large Red/White, circular "Rutgers" magnetic sign on the side.

 

I dropped that 2600 mile load today in Salem. I was late due to some high winds in Nebraska and a lot of fog in Wyoming (I think). I sent the Mac 22 so that should be covered.

Before I left my drop today I called the terminal and asked for a load up to the Sumner terminal for my hometime. A DM here at the terminal patched me through to a planner, I explained to him that I was scheduled for hometime yesterday in Sumner and he immediately got me a pickup near Portland that t-called here. And here I am.

I went out to start my GSXR. It hasn't been started since August or early September. It started although it was a little bit slow cranking for the first 2 seconds before it fired up. I don't think I'll be riding it this time around since it is wet here and generally gloomy. Can't have that much fun in this weather and I guess I'm just getting too old to be riding in the dead of winter in the wet and dreary Pacific Northwest. I did that for years. I didn't own a car most of the 11 years I've lived in Washington and so I used my motorcycle year round for everything - work, errands, travel, pizza pickup. Everyday I went through the same routine. I geared up in my protective wear plus raingear, warmed the bike up and crossed my fingers as I rode out into the wet, Western Washington winter. I guess I enjoyed it a lot but it was also my only mode of transport so some of it was riding out of necessity. I guess I'm getting too old to ride in this garbage when I really don't have to. It's just not enjoyable, especially if I'm riding in traffic.

So I think this short hometime here will be just about getting a few things done like my laundry, a shower and some wifi usage. Then I'll get back on the road either tomorrow or, most likely, Tuesday morning.

Tomorrow I'm going to use the day off to call the Idaho terminal. I want to switch terminals and I want to do it now. I waited last time and I never ended up switching terminals. This time I'm not going to wait. I have to review my upcoming paycheck and ask some questions as well. I did the macro for the paycheck review. I almost lost my head when I saw it. I had to take out a $105 advance the first week to hold me over until I got my first check. Sucks that I had to do that but it is what it is (when I returned from my vacation I mis-budgeted a little and had more auto-debited out of my account than I had planned). Swift didn't take it out of the first check but it is coming out of this check. After that is removed the amount of money I am left with is ridiculous. I won't say exactly how little my net remaining amount is on this next paycheck but I would say that, with what little money I will receive, I would have the option to buy: 3 pizzas (not delivered) OR...1 cheap pair of Walmart work boots or 2 pairs of somewhat ugly sneakers OR...13-15 half gallons of milk OR...4 scale tickets OR... You get the idea. It will most likely all go towards bills and I will have to continue using my credit card this coming week. Not sure exactly what happened to this last paycheck. I know it must have covered the time period when I was running around trying to get my truck fixed in Ocala. I don't think they put in for my breakdown pay which is kind of what pisses me off. As a matter of fact, I didn't have any breakdown pay on this check. But even if I did, it still seems that my check is pitifully low. I don't think I've had a check this low since I was 11 years old delivering newspapers and some of my customers had stiffed me on paying their subscription. I'm going to be asking questions tomorrow and I'm going to find out how I can switch to the Lewiston terminal. I'm ready to start running Canada and my goal is to be nothing short of platinum.

 

Waiting for to use some available hours so I can finish up this load to Massachusetts. I've been getting great mileage these past couple of weeks. Averaging my last 7 days mileage I'm at 2923.

I took one day of hometime out in Washington, stayed at the terminal for a day and then went back out on the road. I took a load into Oregon. Then Oregon to San Francisco.

San Fran has no truck parking and it's not the easiest city to deliver to. The Lowes I was delivering to kept me for almost 5 hours. As time ticked down I used my trucker app to look for parking. There was nothing nearby. Not being familiar with the city I didn't want to leave and drive aimlessly around looking for what I would hope would be legitimate parking. I started sending freeform messages about my clock ticking down. Of course, after all was unloaded, the Manager On Duty left me sitting there waiting for my paperwork. Per the comments we were not allowed on the dock. I called him twice and let him know that I didn't have much time on my clock and that I really needed that paperwork. When he finally came out and handed me the BOL to sign where he had entered my arrival, dock and completion times they were all cut short. I kind of found that insulting. In front of him I wrote in my actual arrival time, docking time and departure time and then initialed next to that. He didn't seem pleased and I didn't care. I drove out to find parking and went over my HOS doing so.

The next day I picked up a load local to San Fran. It was heading out to Michigan. I dropped that yesterday. Great run and great mileage. Traffic leaving the Bay Area all the way through Sacramento was some of the worst I have ever experienced. Unbelievable. Checking my average moving speed on my GPS I was at 17 mph for a while. It went up slightly after that but when I checked my mileage after 4.5 hours of driving I had barely driven 120 miles. Tedious and my clutch leg was tired. I got unloaded in Michigan yesterday and got another load taking me from Michigan to Massachusetts. Delivers tomorrow morning. Another good run over 700 miles.

I finally got that breakdown pay for two days. It took an extra week. When I got that first real check I had three things that I need to replace over time - my cooler that broke, my lunchbox cooker that is lost and my satellite radio which never worked since returning to Swift. Out of the three I replaced the XM satellite radio first. Shows where my priorities lie. I have no regrets. I can cook food using the truck stop microwaves. I've been buying bags of ice for my broken Coleman cooler. But radio I can't live without - especially my old timey stories like "Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar"...or "Gunsmoke"...or "The Shadow"...or... I have to have my satellite radio. I saw the XM Onyx on sale at Pilot for $50. When I went to pick it up I just missed the sale by a couple of days and it was now sold for $70 at Pilot/Fly J. I called Loves down the road and they had it on sale for $50 still. I told Pilot that Loves had the same unit for $50 still and since it was only a couple of days past the sale, I asked if they would sell it to me for $50 - either price match or honor the sale price from a couple of days before. No, they wouldn't. So I bought the XM down the road at the Loves. I'm starting to feel better about not getting my fuel at Pilot/Fly J. I guess the lack of customer service at Pilot bothered me. I come from a retail background, specifically Lowes, and Lowes has a habit of doing almost anything to give a customer good customer service - including price matching or honoring a sale that has passed a couple of days before. Not a big deal but left a sour taste in my mouth. Guess I'll continue getting my points and showers at the T/A and Loves.

When I got my second check I wanted to replace my lunchbox cooker. Usually it runs about $30 at the chain truck stops. I saw it on sale for $25 at Loves and bought it. I forgot how much I love this thing. Happy to have a new one back in my truck. Now the only thing I need to replace is the Coleman cooler. Not sure yet if I want to replace it completely or if I want to look into just replacing the motor. I haven't found a replacement yet or a new motor so for now it's going to work with just ice.

 

Daydreaming about other places...

I'm back in the swing of things driving the truck. It all came back to me pretty quick. Things are normal again and it is almost like I hadn't left for 2 months and went on vacation. Almost.

As I drive I reflect on those months spent on my motorcycle and I am left thinking about the experiences. Whereas right after the adventure I could only feel the overall impression of the trip, now I ponder the individual experiences and those I met along the way. This is especially true when things are quiet and I'm just coasting down an interstate, the cruise control on. My mind begins to wander. Sometimes in Spanish.

"Aunque mi familia es aqui. Aunque mi trabajar es aqui. My cabeza y mi corazon es alli - pasado la frontera, en los montanas, en los pueblos con la gente. Esto es mi luchar".

In English. "Although my family is here. My job is here. My head and heart are there. Past the border, in the mountains, in the towns with the people. That is my struggle".

During the trip I posted my pictures and adventures on Facebook. Other riders heard about my trip through the grapevine and we became acquainted through this social media. I also belong to a few Facebook riding groups as well and through these groups I met people. They offered to meet up with me along the way and I did. New friends. Also while I traveled I met up with other riders by happenstance. More or less, I just bumped into them or them into me, we met up for a beer or two and became instant friends. I am still friends with these people and we keep in touch. It's come to the point where some days I avoid looking at Facebook because seeing these friends pictures in places I once visited or places that I wish I could journey to makes me long to ride again and it makes me long to join them.


Canadian Patrick...

I was only in Mexico a little over a week. I had rode from Chihuahua down to Creel, Creel east to Parral, Parral to Durango, west over the mountains to Mazatlan where I had stayed only a matter of hours. Mazatlan was for U.S. tourists retired with fanny packs, college kids on spring break and snow birds looking for something resembling the United States with better weather and barely cheaper margaritas. It wasn't my thing. As I neared the edge of the city I stopped at a little family run burrito stand and met Josue, the son of the stand owner. His mother and him treated me like family and despite communication barriers, we enjoyed each other's company. Josue and I still email each other to this day. Although this experience with Josue and his family was what I had been looking for I had already committed to myself that I would leave Mazatlan. I brought some of their food with me for later that night and started heading south down the coast.

Prior to actually leaving on my trip I had planned on stopping in San Blas. All I knew about it was that it was a small community. It was a somewhat hidden surfing gem and that there was a lighthouse somewhere nearby. That was it. I went south and then started heading west towards the Pacific Coast where San Blas was located. I passed a dirt lot on my left where locals had gathered to watch the crocodiles that lie almost completely submerged and continued straight on he only road into town, Avenida Benito Juarez. As was always the case when I first reached a new town or city, I rode blindly into the heart of it all just trying to get a feel for it. As I rode slowly through town I tried to get a grasp of the attitude of the place, I tried to locate lodging that would be adequate and I made mental notes of places to return for food. San Blas was reasonably small and not touristy. At least the few visitors that were there were international and not from the states. Mostly the tourists were from Mexico and, even then, there were few. From what I could ascertain, San Blas at one time had dreams of being a Mazatlan but for whatever reason, it was not meant to be. Sometimes things like that come down to access like an airport nearby. Despite the dreams San Blas once held, I was happy to have found it as it was in it's current state - small, welcoming and relaxing.

I rode to the far end of town and ended up riding a short stretch of road made up of mostly compacted beach sand. This was the Turistico Playa del Borrego and I was keeping an eye out for a place called "Stoners Surf Camp" in San Blas. I was curious since I had read that Stoners rented beach huts for cheap, little straw-roofed huts with almost no amenities but with a view of the ocean and a soundtrack of crashing Pacific waves. As I rode I kept looking to the side glancing over at each of the passing outdoor, beach-front eateries. I passed one and spotted a big bike. It was another BMW GS, like mine although a newer model. I was curious since was the first and only big bike I had spotted in town. Obviously another traveling rider like me. I pulled in, parked my bike in the beach sand between this other motorcycle and one of the beach-side cabins and approached a Hawaiian looking guy that seemed to be running things. "Hola. Buenas tardes. Es su moto?". I greeted him and asked if the bike was his, fully knowing the answer but not wanting to be too direct in my questioning about the bike's owner. He pointed me to a guy sitting at one of the plastic tables in the beach sand. He was the only customer. I was walked over to him and introduced me to Patrick, the owner of the big GS and a guy heading somewhere south - maybe to Panama, maybe to S. America- he just didn't know. He was in his early 40's, long salt and pepper hair, kind of curly and tied in a ponytail. He was dressed appropriately for this setting in shorts, button down untucked white shirt with sandals. He was sitting there smoking a cigarette and there was a now extinguished joint in the ashtray that him and the Hawaiian looking proprietor had been sharing minutes before. We introduced ourselves and became friends. His Spanish language skills were non-existent so that night when we went out to a roadside food stand I took care of the food and beer ordering and he paid for my drink. That night we went our separate ways, exchanging emails with the suggestion that maybe somewhere later down the road we would maybe meet up again, since we were both basically heading south even if neither one of us had a real concrete plan on where our separate adventures would lead. That day was the first time I had a real connection with anyone, particularly an English speaking individual, since I had arrived in Mexico. I had met a younger rider days earlier up in Batopilas along with a man and wife from Colorado and the four of us had shared some beers. But the connection wasn't quite the same. So the connection down here with Canadian Patrick was the first real connection.

The next day I woke up quite hung-over from having a few too many at a small local bar with the Anglicized name of Billy Bobs ##### Tonk. Without any set plans on what this day would bring I instinctively headed back over towards Stoners. I figured, if anything, I needed to grab some breakfast and would start my day that way. As I rode up I saw Patrick's bike. He hadn't left yet. I parked and walked over to Patrick and a young, attractive blonde sitting at one of the white, plastic tables. I think both Patrick and I were surprised to see each other and he joked about me not leaving yet. He introduced me to his new friend, Helena. They were the only people here. Helena was tiny. Short with long blonde hair that was still wet from the ocean. She had just come back in from surfing and had been stung or, more specifically, stabbed in her heel by the tail of a manta ray. A local remedy, Helena was soaking her injured heel in a bucket of warm salt water. Occasionally, between conversation, she would pull her foot out and push hard on the abcess to push out some of the nastiness. She was taking it all well. I was sitting there in a state of semi-disbelief just trying to take it in that someone, that people, can get stabbed by the sharp tail of a manta ray somewhat covered and hiding on the ocean floor. Her story was interesting and far more adventurous than mine or Patrick's. She was from France and was on a solo surf voyage taking her this time through Mexico, Central America and South America. This was not her first solo surf trip, as she has surfed all over the world, and she has lived and surfed in places most people would describe as exotic. And she was young, just barely in her mid 20's. Prior to this latest adventure she lived in the S. Pacific islands working as a diplomat. It was pretty unbelievable considering her age but there was no reason to doubt what she said. She profusely apologized for, what she considered, her bad grasp of the English language. She spoke English fine and was easy to understand. In actuality, she put Patrick and me to shame as she could speak Spanish pretty well, as well as her French fluency and her English near fluency. And those were just the languages that we knew of. She was pretty amazing. We took turns ordering rounds of beer, just the three of us and occasionally the Hawaiian looking proprietor, passing the day talking, looking out on the ocean and intermittently changing her tub of warm salt water. I had loose plans to head down to Puerto Vallarta to meet up with Cisco, a Guatemalan friend from online that I had planned on meeting and riding with. He was vacationing in Mexico. As the hours passed and the sun slowly slipped lower in the sky to the west over the Pacific Patrick suggested that it might not be the best idea to ride down to Puerto Vallarta on this day as it would undoubtedly be dark soon and I had been drinking most of the day. That was the excuse I was looking for as the current situation was exactly what I had wanted. It was, for that time, paradise and I was more than happy to stay in San Blas one more night. As night fell the three of us walked into town and went out to dinner. The night ended with Patrick heading back to Stoners where he had been camping on the beach and Helena and I back to her motel where she had been staying. The rooms were cheaper than the one I had the previous night and I boarded in the room next to her. We all said goodbyes and went to sleep.

I didn't see Patrick again, at least for a while. He had started to continue south down the coast by himself. We kept in touch every few days via email, updating each other on where the other one was for that particular night and any new adventures. We discussed the things we saw. He ended up down in Acapulco when a storm hit and flooded the area. He stayed at a family's house and the water they offered him that night with his meal, which he couldn't refuse out of respect and shared hospitality, was drawn from a well. The well must have been contaminated from the flooding and, as a result, Patrick ended up with worms in his digestive system.

I did see Helena that following morning. She was at the community table in the common area of this family-run motel and as I started to drag all my bags out of my room to mount onto my bike, I saw her sitting there on her computer. Her foot was soaking again and the lady of the house, the proprietor and overall most accommodating woman, was bringing her a fresh bucket of warm salt water. I talked with Helena for a few minutes between strapping bags onto my bike. She reluctantly took me up on my offer to run down to the pharmacy and pick her up something for her heel. When I returned I finished securing my gear and wished her luck. It was time for me to move on. Her next move was to head up to the Baja Peninsula and meet up with one of her surf buddies whom owned a house there. She would have to stay in San Blas though for a couple more days until her foot was healed enough to make the trip. She was traveling by bus this whole trip, just her, her surfboard and her bag and this bus and ferry ride to Baja would be too much with the current state of her injured heel. I gave her one of my contact cards upon leaving but I never heard from this little French surfer girl again. I wish her the best as she searches for the perfect wave.

On the way out of San Blas that morning, just outside of town and on one of the main roads heading towards the highway, I passed a police car that had pulled over another vehicle. There were two cops, one outside the car and one inside. As I passed I heard the telltale "whoop...whoop" of the police siren. I looked back in my mirror and the cop car was still parked there, no flashy lights. I figured that this wasn't sounded for me since the cops were already busy with another vehicle so I continued on. A little while up the road I saw the flashing lights of this cop car behind me. Long story short, they stated I was speeding, I wasted 45 minutes of their time talking crazy and nonsensical Spanish jibberish while they tried to get a bribe from me. I wore them down, they didn't get anything from me other than a couple of cigarettes and I rode away down towards Puerto Vallarta to meet up with Cisco. I had beaten the notorious "la mordida", the bribe.
I made my way south and met up with my friend Cisco in Puerto Vallarta.