Take Me For A Ride: Episode One

Take me for a ride in your Mack  truck,

Take me for a ride in your truck, Mack.

Take me for a ride, take me for a ride,

Take me for a ride in your Mack truck, Mack.

--Woody Guthrie, as sung by Peter, Paul and Mary

I’d like to insert a you-tube video of Peter Paul and Mary singing “Car Car,” but there doesn’t seem to be one available.  It’s a song I love, especially when Mary puts on her sexiest voice to sing about the 3.2 liter Ferrari with the torsion bar suspension and the ported venturi carbs.  She makes it sound as lubricious as Monte Python’s “wankel rotary engine.”  So run, don’t walk, and grab yourself a copy of the Peter Paul and Mary In Concert album, or better yet, get someone to take you for a ride in their car car.  (As an alternative, you can buy the album from Amazon.com, or even just download “Car, Car” for only $0.99.  I’ve put a link below.

 2007 Navistar International Eagle 9400i

Taken in Missoula, Montana 4/24/2012

And for the record, no, it’s not a Mack Truck.  Officially it’s a 2007 International Eagle 9400i with a Hi-Rise sleeper and a Cummins diesel engine.  Owned by Kevin Sept Trucking of Miles City, Montana, and driven by non-other than my own Kevin Kerr, the truck served as my home away from home for most of the past week as Kevin (my Kevin, not owner Kevin—it gets confusing at times) took it on its inaugural run for owner Kevin.  Last Monday morning (April 23, 2012), Kevin drove his Expedition, a vehicle I used to think of as large, from Missoula to Miles City where he traded seats and returned to Missoula in the Eagle.  He pulled up outside the house sometime after midnight and parked where I normally park the Volvo.

 Interstate 90 through the Bug Screen (er Windshield)

Taken along Lake Coeur d'Alene Idaho, 4/24/2012

Our goal was to get to Orting, Washington where we would pick up a trailer and then, with any luck, load it up for the trip back to Miles City or some other destination off the West Coast.  It’s my understanding that owner Kevin had just recently purchased this particular Eagle, and had not, as yet, put it into service.  He did put his distinctive logo decals on the cab so it’s not a truck you’re likely to confuse with any other 2007 Eagle you might find in your parking lot.

Understand that with the exception of a ten-mile jaunt down Interstate 90 some twenty years ago, I’ve never ridden in a big truck.  Oh I suppose, wordsmith that I am, I should use the technical term.  It’s not a truck.  It’s a semi-tractor, or semi for short.  About noon, we had our gear loaded inside the cab and we were filling up the tank—topping it off actually, for a mere $700+.  Talk about sticker shock.  Heading west, the Eagle handled beautifully, although Kevin kept mentioning how much better the ride would be once we had a loaded trailer to pull.  We stopped for dinner at a truck stop in Ellensburg, Washington.  You don’t just pull one of these up to the valet parking at your typical five-star restaurant, or even your local McDonalds, for that matter.  Up and over Snoqualmie Pass and we were into the Seattle metropolitan area and parked at the King Oscar Motel in Pacific, Washington by ten p.m.  (I have no idea who King Oscar is or was, or why he owns a motel in Pacific, Washington.)

 The Columbia River and Interstate 90 Bridge

Taken at Vantage, Washington, 4/24/2012

Wednesday morning we drove the remaining ten miles to Orting where we picked up a fifty-three foot long four-axle flatbed trailer.  If maneuvering the semi is tricky, imagine what it’s like when you have another fifty-three feet behind you.  City corners can be a real pain, so we didn’t drive to an Orting restaurant for breakfast.  Kevin assured me we’d stop at a truck stop along the way—the way to where we still we not sure. Owner Kevin called and suggested we head to Blaine, Washington, where we would pick up a load of 'bins."  Someone would be calling us with instructions on just where in Blaine these bins were located.

Blaine is about one hundred miles north of Seattle, right on the Canadian border.  It's where the famous Peace Arch is located.  Exit 275 is the last US exit from I-5, and all commercial vehicles are required to take that exit.  We did--we would have even if it weren't a requirement, for neither of us had our passport along, and you don't get into Canada these days without a passport.  Kevin wanted to weigh this rig, so we headed to the only truck stop we could find and yes, they had a scale.  I won't go into the details, but weighing something as long as our outfit is quite a process--a process made more difficult in that the venue's scale recorder wasn't working properly.  Eventually we figured out that we weighed about 36,000 pounds.  That's empty, remember.

 The Cascade Mountains

Taken west of Ellensburg Washington, 4/24/2012

During the weigh in, my Kevin got a call and learned that we had overshot our destination by about ten miles.  So back on I-5, heading south, till we turned off the interstate headed for an industrial complex I won't mention by name.  What I will say was that there was a major security fence surrounding the property, and a sign courtesy of Homeland Security telling us (warning us?) that we were about to enter a "foreign enterprise security zone."  Now if I used the word "security" three times in the last sentence, there's a reason.  I've never been through such strict scrutiny, nor have I ever seen the kind of barricades Kevin was forced to manoeuver that rig through.  We both had to turn over our photo IDs, and we were issued name badges, protective glasses and hard hats.  After that, the drawbridge was lowered and we were allowed to cross the moat into the castle.  Well, that's what it felt like.  While our cargo was being loaded on the trailer, I asked if I could take a few pictures.  The response I got. while positive, had enough caveats in it that I chose to leave the camera in the rig.  No sense in losing my equipment because I'd fallen afoul of Homeland Security.  The picture of the loaded rig, shown below, was taken much later, after we had left the facility.  I don't believe there is enough information available to give anyone a clue as to what we were hauling or where we picked it up.  I don't even know what exactly it is, and I've read the manifest.  Maybe I should have spent more time with my least favorite college subject, organic chemistry.  What I do know is that it's some kind of catalyst used in the oil business, and that's why we're taking it to the Bakken.  I can also reveal that the eleven "bins" on the trailer weigh a combined total of 43,000 pounds.  Add that to the 36,000 pound weight of the tractor and trailer and we're talking 40 tons of weight going down the highway at 65 mph.

By 3:30 we were loaded and back on the highway BUT we still hadn't had breakfast.  Kevin's plan to stop at a truck stop along the way was thwarted by the mere fact that there were no visible truck stops along the way.  His position, and watching him handle this rig makes me understand it very well, is simply this.  If no truck stop is visible from the highway, then there is no point in getting off the highway and facing the possibility of having to back this mess up because there is no place safe to turn it around.  The place in Blaine where we weighed the truck was called a "truck stop" but its people fuel was limited to grease and carbs--most of them pre-packaged.  Nothing that appealed to me.   

 Anyone Need an Extra Large Copper Top Battery?

Taken at Mount Vernon, Washington, 4/25/2012

We had seen an International dealer/shop in Mount Vernon on the drive north, and as Kevin was concerned about some readings he was seeing on the dash, he directed me to look up the phone number of the place and call to see if they could look the rig over.  Aren't smart phones amazing.  Using my phone, I went online, found Motor Trucks of Mount Vernon, and gave them a call.  With Kevin telling me what to say, I described his concerns and yes, they would be able to schedule us in, sometime after 6 p.m.   It was now 4.  We pulled into their lot, left the rig, took the loaner they graciously supplied, and went in search of food.  By the time we were out of the shop and at the restaurant, it was close to 5 pm, but I insisted that the delicious London Broil I ordered (with a chicken peanut satay appetizer) was really breakfast.  After eating, I suggested that we stop at a grocery store and fill the rig's refrigerator with something other than water.  I didn't want to be caught again in a situation where there were no visible truck stops and nothing to refuel my own belly.

The Motor Trucks guys gave us the bad news that the radiator was clogged and would need flushing at some point, but other than that, they saw nothing terribly wrong, so by 8:30 we were back on the road.  Turning off I-405 onto I-90, we started the climb toward Snoqualmie Pass and immediately noted two things.  First, the semi had no power.  Second, there was a lot of black smoke coming out of our stacks.  Neither of these were good signs as we had six mountain passes to cross between Seattle and Williston.  I got back on my smart phone, called Mount Vernon, found out that they had a location in Seattle as well, and called Motor Trucks Seattle.  They couldn't see us until at least sometime on Thursday, so on to plan B.  As I mentioned above, the motive power in this rig was built by Cummins Diesel, so I called Cummins Northwest and described the problem.  They said bring it in (it's now after 9 pm, but these places stay open until midnight), so at exit 18, we turned the beast around and headed back into the city ending up just a few miles down the highway from the King Oscar.  Taking various pieces off the engine showed that the problem was more extensive than could be fixed easily, so we grabbed our bags and headed for a nearby motel, leaving the semi in the shop over night.  Thursday morning we found that the shop had ordered a part from Portland, a part that wouldn't be delivered until Friday, so we had a full day to ourselves.  I'll write up our day in Seattle in a separate post.

What impressions did I get from my seven hundred plus miles in the semi's cab?  Well, first, I have a lot more respect for the men who handle these things.  Watching Kevin negotiate city streets while towing a sixth of a football field behind him was awe inspiring.  Watching the idiots in the  Hyundais who think they can take on such a beast was even more impressive.  I've been accused, many a time, of intellectual snobbery, but all I can say is that there is an amazing number of really stupid people on the road.  Finally, while I've noted before that I really don't like taking photos from a moving vehicle, this is one ride where I can't ask Kevin to stop or turn around so I can get a good shot.  No driving into downtown Ellensburg so I can photograph the Kittitas County Court House, for example.  But you're sitting so high that the views are completely different from what you see in the Volvo, for example.  So I did take more than a few shots both through the side window and through the bug screen, er windshield.  I don't know why, but that piece of glass collects a lot more bugs than the Volvo.  I purposely left the second picture above un-edited so you could see what I was looking through.

Will we make it home?  Will we make it to Williston?  Will Kevin enjoy Indian food in Gig Harbor?  Stay tuned for further episodes of Take Me For A Ride.

Memory

Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again  -- Trevor Nunn

A fragile thing, memory.  But what a role it plays in our lives.  Marcel Proust wrote some one and a half million words on the subject, contrasting voluntary memory with the involuntary sort.  The most famous song from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Cats is titled "Memory," and the lyrics are based on two poems by T.S. Eliot.  Elvis Presley sang of "Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind."  And now we have a new meaning for "memory," a techological one.

The genesis of this soliloquy is a trip Kevin and I took this past Saturday (April 21, 2012).  As we continue to sell off equipment we no longer need, we received an order from a young man in Madras, Oregon.  I remembered Madras as being some twenty-five miles or so south of Biggs Junction, the community on the Columbia River where US Highway 97 crosses Interstate 84.  In actuality, my memory was faulty.  Madras is closer to one hundred miles south of Biggs.  That's the kind of memory that Proust calls Voluntary.  We summon things up, rightly or wrongly, from whatever musty corner of our mind.

Proust contrasted this type of memory with Involuntary, the memories that certain events or items trigger in us.  At the end of the opening section of Swann's Way, the narrator bites into a madeleine, a shell shaped sponge cake, and is taken to his childhood,  For me, the better example of an Involuntary Memory trigger is the sight of a Red Delicious apple.  (We didn't eat madeleines when I was growing up, so they carry no weight for me the way they did for Proust.)  Seeing a Red Delicious apple in the grocery store, I am instantly transported to Billings, Montana, to a house just off 17th Street West. a house that no  longer exists on a street that similarly has been replaced.  I am seven or eight years old, and I see the box with the snowman holding an apple.  I see the deep, dark red of the perfectly formed apple.  I taste the sweet flavor, hear the "crack" as my teeth bite into the crisp fruit, feel the liquid on my chin as the apple's juice overflows my mouth.  The 1958 Snoboy Red Delicious is to me the epitome of appledom.  Each fall my parents would buy a crate which would live on the back porch of that house in Billings, always available for an afternoon or evening snack.    Note that it is only the sight of the Red Delicious that acts as a trigger.  For at least the past thirty years, biting into one has been a major disappointment.  Today's Red Delicious is neither sweet, crisp nor juicy.  It is not what I want when I eat an apple.  Today I would choose a Gala or a Fuji to get the same gustatory pleasure I remember from the late 1950s.

Red Delicious Apples (My Madeleines)

My first experience of the fragility of memory came in the fall of 1976.  (There may have been earlier episodes, but if so, I have forgotten them.)  On my way to the San Francisco Caledonian Society's Highland Games, I stopped in Smith River to visit my parents.  My car's battery died, and Poppa suggested we drive up to Brookings (Oregon) to replace it.  On the way, he asked that I stop at the pharmacy in the Brookings Harbor Shopping Center.  He thought that something he had eaten at Kiwanis that noon was causing some indigestion.  The pharmacist graciously offered antacids, but suggested that he wanted to call a doctor because he thought Poppa was having a heart attack.  The doctor put Poppa into an ambulance and took him to the nearest hospital, twenty-five miles away in Gold Beach, Oregon.  Later that evening, Poppa suffered two cardiac arrests, and was resuscitated both times with electric shock.  When Momma and I got to the hospital, we found Poppa in a coma, and the hospital staff told us that should he come out of the coma, there would almost assuredly be some sort of brain damage.

Three days later, Poppa did emerge from the coma, but over time we found out what brain damage had occurred.  The most difficult issue for me was his memory loss.  He had essentially no short-term memory.  Photographs, or in his case photographic slides, would trigger memories from my childhood in the early 1950s.  Seeing a image that he had captured on film, he could tell you where the picture was taken, when it was taken, who was along on the trip and how many fish they caught.  BUT, he couldn't retain for five minutes what you'd just told him in conversation.  I found this extremely frustrating dealing with it from a distance of nine hundred miles.  I have no idea how Momma dealt with it day by day.

Poppa & Hans (My favorite photo of my dad)

Taken in the early 1970s near Stevensville, Montana

Events from  our drive to Madras brought all this back to mind, triggering these memories as it were.  As regular readers know, I am putting together a photo book on Montana's fifty-six counties.  At this point, I have completed the photographic work, and am finishing the writing.  Once this project is done, I want to do similar books on Idaho, Washington and, yes, Oregon.  Madras is the county seat of Jefferson County, and this trip would allow me to get photos of the Jefferson County sign, the county court house, and at least some images of the scenic beauty of the county.  Now I hate taking pictures from a moving car.  They almost never come out the way I want, and focusing the camera while passing scenery at seventy miles per is just a bitch.  Besides, we have driven to Portland and beyond so many times, that there is very little I haven't already captured along that route.  On this trip, I didn't even pick up the camera until we had turned off the Interstate and were heading south on US 97.  At that point, I found that in a bit of supreme irony, I had forgotten my memory card.  The 16 gigabyte Toshiba SDHC memory card that usually resides inside my camera was, at that moment, in a slot on my computer at the gallery, over four hundred miles away.  Kevin, anticipating such memory lapses on my part, had insisted that I always carry a spare or three, and sure enough, even though I didn't have my camera bag along, the man bag I do carry had a Transcend 4 gig card, which I promptly inserted into the camera's slot.  It did not take long for me to become concerned, alarmed even.

I shot a few through the windshield shots just to capture the road and its twists, turns, rises and falls, and then my camera gave me a warning message.  The card needed to be formatted.  I've never before had that particular message appear,  The camera gave me the option of letting it format the card, so as I seemed to have no choice, I agreed.  With first Mount Hood then Mount Jefferson on the western horizon, I took picture after picture as we passed through Moro, Grass Valley and Shaniko.  Once in Madras, we found the court house and I got a few shots of that building.  Trying to get more shots of Mount Jefferson, the camera gave me a new error message, CHR.  I had no idea what this meant, but when I tried to review the pictures I'd already taken, the screen told me that there were no images in memory.  My camera had, apparently, forgotten the twenty-six shots I'd just taken over the past hour or two.  At this point, I still have not been able to view those photographs, even though when I insert the memory card into my computer, I can see that there are twenty-six images on the card, all with the correct "NEF" extension that Nikon uses to denote RAW images.  When I try to download the set, Adobe Bridge tells me that it cannot "obtain files from this device."  Should I try to load a single image into Photoshop, I get the message "Could not complete your request because it is not the right kind of document."  A scan of the card indicates that the files are "corrupted or unreadable."  This is not helpful.  Fortunately, there were no "one-of-a-kind" shots on the disk.  Anything that might have been there can be recaptured at another date.  All it requires is another trip to Madras, Oregon.

Not a view from Madras, but a similar one from further south on US 97

Taken 4/16/2007

In closing all I can say is that I'm glad I didn't insist that we take two side trips while visiting Jefferson County.  There is a bridge in the Peter Skene Ogden State Park on the Jefferson/Deschutes county line that I will need to document for my upcoming book on the bridges of Conde McCullough.  It's about twenty-five miles south of Madras, and thus would have added at least an hour to our drive.  The Cove Palisades State Park should offer plenty of scenic views where the Crooked, the Deschutes and the Metolius Rivers all come together in a lake behind Round Butte Dam.  This is just a few miles west of Madras.  Finally, the Crooked River National Grassland surrounds Madras and probably has at least a few places worth viewing and sharing.  None of these areas were among the shots now lost on the four gig card.

As I check things out at home, my Nikon Coolpix L3 tells me that it cannot use the 4 gig card.  The D80 has no trouble with other cards I had at home nor with the 16 gig card it normally uses, now that I've retrieved that from the gallery computer.  So at this point, I'm crossing my fingers and saying that the problem was the card and not the camera.  It's much easier to replace a twenty-dollar card than a thousand dollar camera.  Now if we could just find a way to replace the memory cards in our brain--after, of course, backing up and saving the information of the existing memory.

On the Jefferson/Wasco County Line, US 97, Central Oregon

(Taken with my iPhone--always carry a backup, right?)