Ridin' the Governor

For all of you who thought I was talking about Granholm, send yourself to bed with no supper.

I'm a Company Driver. I drive a truck owned by the company. An Owner/Operator is a driver who owns his rig and leases his services to a company. My truck (actually, the truck of my trainer) is therefore set up with the company in mind. The engine has a governor. I can only go about 68 mph. Of course, I've hit 75 mph down a mountain. :o)

It actually works out OK. Most states are 65 mph states, I can ride the governor and not speed enough to get noticed. In the 70 mph states, I'm pretty darn close. The 55 mph states are just a drag. So I spend a lot of time with either the Cruise maxed out or with the pedal jambed to the floor.

Not only are there cultural differences between Company Drivers and Owner/Operators, but not all companies govern at the same speed. There are some Co. Drivers I know I can pass; others I can only catch downhill. :o) Still others that are so close it takes miles to pass them. You little four wheelers have no idea some of the strategy that goes into just picking a lane to get through a big city.

Seeing the world at 68 mph creates its own issues. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to stop and back up to take a picture. And the Arizona desert around US93 at dusk makes me want to paint. I might yet bring some colored pencils along.

Like when I came down out of Chattanooga around a curve and across a lake, the road was cut into the side of a mountain loaded with pine. Or the snowy egret standing on one leg in a river in Texas over a perfect reflection of itself. Or the sunset behind the mountains in the High Desert of New Mexico.

Was it really such a beautiful sunset? Can I really tell at 68 mph. It is the same with women in cars; the wind whipped hair, the delicate wrist and hand on the wheel, the hem of a skirt, even those cute painted toes up on the dash on the passenger side. Was she really that pretty? I like to think so.

I'm living without a governor. Literally without the weight. I am on plan; working toward doing exactly what I've always wanted to do. I think the sunsets and the beauty are out here, but most of us are so wrapped up in a life that we don't notice. Your assignment for today is to catch the sunrise or wait for the sunset or find that perfect photo; even if you're traveling too fast to get out the camera. Notice. Acknowledge. Absorb. Enjoy.

The Night and The Road

Picture finally. El Paso Truck Stop WiFi FTP Blues.

The last bits of evening sun seem to only fall on the lake. Every wake, cats paw, and ripple is dark black against the color. The trees and the hills smudge into the background. Pinks and Purples and Oranges of every variety rip across the clouds. No time for the camera. I'm driving a heavy load of glass. Mirrors or something bound for Arizona.

By the time I cross the next valley the light is gone. There is nothing but flatness in North Texas. I can see towns in the dark from miles away. Streetlights twinkle across the valley; like spilled marbles.

Driving along, I grip the wheel like a skeleton, in some cave, clutching an obelisk. The dry sinew creaks and cracks as Indiana Jones, or some other intrepid explorer, pries it from my boney fingers. In the dark, I see a doe on the shoulder of the highway. My senses crackle to life. Where I come from, deer travel in pairs. Miles later a coyote skitters across right in front of me. I remember my dogs running around the kitchen. I imagine, if I could have heard him, the coyote sounds like that on the tarmac.

There are so many bugs out here on the plains, plastering the windshield. The road becomes something I can sense more than see. I had stopped to wash the windows at a little truck stop. The handles were so short on the squeegee that I opened the hood and climbed up on a tire to reach. Hanging on a frame member and stretching over the churning diesel, I am just spreading bug guts around. I got that much from the windshield wipers earlier.

I slept through Memphis as my trainer was driving. Probably not much to see from the highway. Tomorrow we cross New Mexico. Tucumcari is one of the first towns. Tuc is in a cool song called "Willing." It's a Little Feat song, but I think I've heard a Steve Earle version. Everyone should listen to more Steve Earle.

It is a different life out here. Another version of vagabond, so I'm comfortable. It is tough to do normal life from the road. Trucks can't go on just any road. Shopping becomes difficult. Ralph calls grocery shopping "marketing." I love that. Marketing is tough from the road.

The night is surreal, but its also just a job.

South of Tucson

South of tucson.

Storming over Flagstaff.

Storming over flagstaff.

Cool Quote

I found a cool quote. It flies in the face of my Objectivist tendencies, but I felt it rather than read it [which also flies in the face of said tendencies].

"Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men or governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds or principles, I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity - I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples." Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer.

I think that it fits well with the Anarco-Capitalist tendencies I have been feeling lately. It also resonates with the freedom of finally living my own life the way I want to be. Perhaps I have nothing to do with the creeds and principles of the bland "pinks" that trudge along 'in quiet desparation' in modern society.

I started working as a Boat Broker. The people I work with are great and like minded in many ways. One of the guys not only likes to hunt up ethnic foods, he and some friends built a Wharram Catamaran one summer in college. Until I bought In A Mist, I was carrying around James Wharram's Design Book for the last 15 years. Finally walking in my own skin, like minded people recognize me, as me. Think of Emily's First Law of the Spork [see below].

No Matter Where You Go . . .

Sometimes, even for an atheist, the universe seems to be sending a message. Either that or you just need to be good where ever you go. I had the weirdest revelation this evening.

I found a boat on the internet this February, bought it, quit my job and moved to Bay City, Mi where the boat is. Earlier I had commented to people that it was a little eery that I found this boat straight across the river from where I found a boat 10 or 12 years ago. I thought that boat was THEE boat, but it wasn't for a variety of reasons; not the least of which is that I had even less money then than I do now.

I found who I think was the previous owner. I even poked around and found out some details about the guy. I'll not reveal him, until I've discussed that with him. Last summer, while ushering at the Elkhart Jazz Festival, I stood no more than 20 feet from the very person who used to own my boat!!! I believe that he played there the year before as well. When I saw the band's website a couple months ago, it did not occur to me.

I was trying to find an email to send a note to the previous owner. As I cruised around the website again tonight something hit me. I hadn't even finished reading about the places they'd been. I looked at the previous owner's picture again and I could see the whole band in the tent by the river in Elkhart! What a great show too. I'm just dumbstruck.

There is some info that I can share with you. I suspected that the boat's name, In A Mist, was derived from the 1927 Bix Beiderbecke jazz piano composition. The band has actually played a Bix Beiderbecke festival out in Iowa. I love it! I am leaving the name just as it is. I will, however, add "Bay City, Mi" on the stern in celebration of where my adventure started. For all intents and purposes, my home port.

Just remember, be good no matter where you are!

The Tao of Spork.

My brother commented on a favorite geeky website of mine, that he had had a titanium spork for a long time. These little things get stuck in the cracks of my mind.

A few years later, I'm thinking of things to outfit the galley aboard s/v In A Mist. I thought of the Titanium Spork! There are also some cool chop sticks on ThinkGeek.com as well.

So, I was talking to my friend Emily, who is wise beyond her years, about the spork. Her response was that the spork ends up being neither a very good fork or a very good spoon.

I am struck that Emily's First Law of the Spork goes double for people. If you are trying to be more than one thing you'll be good at neither. Especially people who are trying desparately to be something or someone they are not.

One of the things that my coach Kathy helped me so much with was to separate these two. This is not a yin and yang relationship, it is a parasite and host. Once you stop listening to the constant hum of the what if's and worries of your life you can begin to here the soft whimpers of the real person you've been ignoring for so long.

You must do this now. Your real self, your actual soul, is not going to survive forever without nourishment. Consider also that you may have just enough in your life that your real self is alive. But if you slap it down everytime it rises to the top of your mind, it will find some other way to die.

I was lucky in a way. I had gotten so low that I didn't have much to lose. I also didn't have much to pay off or sell. I was really lucky in the timing of it all. Almost as soon as I realized I was on the wrong heading, I was able, and willing, to gibe and start heading away from the clouds.

I am not completely on the right heading, but I am going the right direction. I have a few details to clean up. Nevertheless, I am back. It is the real me. I am doing, almost exclusively, exactly what I want to be doing. It was some work to get here but you can do it too.

It takes a real hard eye and an internal ear. It is not unlike what I've been going through the last couple weeks. I am a natural born pack rat. While packing to go from a small apartment to a small boat, I am making decisions about stuff. Man, that's hard. There are things, and boxes of things, that I have been carrying around for years; and many many moves. These things are excess baggage; sheer dead weight. I have had to literally go through boxes three and four times. Each time I manage to sever the emotional attachments and really make a hard decision about something. I am staring now at three years+ worth of my sailing magazine. It is a lifestyle magazine more than a how-to publication. I have loved every sentence I've read and all the deck fluff pictures. :o) I haven't been able to throw them out yet. They will contribute nothing to my voyage. I subscribe, I will get them a while longer. I need to read them and pass them on. I may see if Dad wants to look through before I pitch them. I have done the same thing with clothes, knick knacks, books, two portfolios of drawings from junior high and high school etc.

None of that is easy, but is the same thing that I did with my life. You go back through several times. Each time that you pick something up, ask yourself: does this contribute to my happiness? If you cannot give an unqualified yes, it needs to go. I am not belittling all the different considerations and commitments you may have that I did not. The process and its benefits are the same. If you are carrying around more than you need, that is too much weight. If you are trying to be someone you are not, you can't possibly be happy no matter what you tell yourself. Go through your life's boxes. Ask that hard question.

You can't get rid of it all, but you can make your life easier, better and happier. I never did sort my CDs. I'm taking them all, you've got to have some ballast in a sailboat. :o)

It must be right.

This morning, the beginning of the first week of my new adventure, birds were singing and the sun was up. It was an awakening of a new sort. Things are working quickly and according to plan. I will keep you posted.

A new era has begun . . .

My last day in the rat race was friday! It took three guys and four parties to get rid of me.

Last Saturday night, Junior and the Igniters were playing at the venerable Midway Tavern. 6 or 8 of my closest friends were celebrating bon voyage with all attending, including several of my blues show phone bank friends from WVPE.

Wednesday night, I had sushi and beer with a wonderful woman and great friend. We must have been the talk of the bar; laughing and carrying on. A true friend, we talked for a couple hours, I think.

Thursday night, Mouldings Division people, plus Jeff D. and Bill, went to Hacienda. Chuck's Deb was there too. It was fun. Pete and I traded bad puns for hours. Somehow, I talked to Tony F. for three or four hours and we closed the place.

Friday night after work, my old friends from Industrial, Roxi and Ralph [with wife Cathy], Emily and Suzy, and Elaine and her husband Mike feted at Between the Buns. Food and Friends. Thank you all.

My coach Kathy got to BTB just in time, she and I tried to talk over the din; moved to the Mishawaka Brewing Company. Then, the MBC band Jazzy Grass showed up. I lost my voice about 11:30. Kathy and I will try again. I owe all this to her help. Jazzy Grass sound pretty good. I don't think the grass referred to bluegrass. :o)


Saturday, I helped Albert celebrate his birthday; 37, what a pup. 6 of us joked with Randy, all star bartender and harassed his compatriot, Charlotte. The waitresses were probably sick of us and we sat at the bar! The food was good, the beer was better. Albert had is Blazin' wings and several Guinness. I had Mango Habanero and Newcastle. The rest of the guys were whimps!

I was in sad shape and went to Barnes and Noble for coffee afterward. A couple hours of cruising the web did me good. I went home and slept the rest of the day away.


Hopefully, all that, except the good friends, is out of my system.