Moving Words – Slip-Sliding

Timothy Brady

“Courage is being scared to death… and saddling up anyway.”  – John Wayne

You are traveling through another dimension, a dimension of not only sight and sound, but of moving. Making a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of furniture, odd objects, and interesting people. That’s the signpost up ahead: your next stop……The Movers’ Zone!

We are experiencing more extremes in weather conditions regardless of whether you drive north, south, east, west or someplace in the middle of the country. From record snowfall in the Northeast to polar vortexes hitting close to the Gulf Coast, to the cold and precipitation-filled weather patterns of the west, winter driving has become a case of slipping and sliding along – with your heart in your throat, wet palms and the fear that comes with driving on ice and snow.

All the arguments for and against climate change really are of no consequence if you’re in command of an 18-wheeler as the weather goes from wet to freezing in the course of a few miles and a few minutes. Fact is, this kind of weather has inflicted itself upon truckers across the decades in which trucks have been the major transport of all the things the American public needs or wants.

Here’s one of my winter driving experiences from several years back. It was the middle of February; the weather patterns were very similar to what we’ve seen over the last 10 years: cold arctic air masses joining moisture coming off the Gulf Coast and Pacific Ocean. I was in Ohio, loading a publishing company’s entire operation that was moving to new headquarters just north of Seattle, Washington. This particular load became one of the heaviest shipments I ever loaded in my quarter-century of being a van operator in the moving industry. When I scaled what I’d loaded originally into my trailer the combined tractor, trailer, and shipment weight was nearly 91,000 pounds! That was 11,000 pounds over the legal limit the semi-truck combination was licensed to weigh.

The next morning was occupied by unloading at least 11,000 pounds to ‘get legal’: several fireproof 5-drawer file cabinets and a Datsun pickup truck. Once legal, I was ready to roll. But first I checked the weather. My first route choice would have been to run I-80/90 across Ohio to Chicago, then pick up I-90 across Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota, Montana, and Idaho into Washington. The second choice was to take I-80 from Chicago across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming and Utah, then I-84 through Idaho and Oregon and catch I-5 into Washington.

However, the weather showed the jet streams converging over both routes, to the extent I’d experience numerous weather-related shutdowns and chain laws being implemented. The third choice, I-70 across Kansas and Colorado didn’t look much better, so I opted for Choice Three and a half, which would, under normal conditions, take most of another day to traverse. This was to take I-70 to St. Louis, Missouri, I-44 to Oklahoma City, I-40 to Albuquerque and what was NM 44 ( now US 550) to US 64 to the old US 666 (now US 491) to US 191 in Monticello, Utah which would take me across Soldier Summit Pass and on to I-15 North to I-84 to Portland, Oregon where I’d pick up I-5 on into Seattle and beyond.

Now, while this route was 500 miles farther than the shortest route across I-90, I was able to avoid most of the icy slick roads such winter weather systems produce. Note: Most.

I made it all the way to Oregon and I-84 and La Grande on the east side of Cabbage Hill, also known as Deadman’s Pass. That was where all the weather caught up with me as another load of moisture came off the Pacific Ocean and met an arctic express coming out of Canada. Most of my day coming from Twin Falls, Idaho, where I’d spent the previous night, was one of those touch-and-go days. I’d come across an icy road, start thinking about shutting down and parking, and conditions would improve just enough to continue. This happened about a half dozen times, each time causing me the fearful prediction, “I don’t think I’m going to make it to Portland tonight, much less my destination north of Seattle.”

Added to this, the closer I got to La Grande, the more I saw both automobiles and semis which had slid off the road into the median or off the side. When I reached the exit for the truck stop at La Grande, the Oregon Highway Patrol had closed I-84 over Deadman’s Pass due to white-out conditions and too many accidents.

I figured the decision had been made for me as I exited the interstate and traveled down the service road, which was already a sheet of ice. From the CB chatter, the truckstop parking lot was full. So, the only choice was to park on the shoulder of the service road, which didn’t excite me because of the icy condition of the road. Too much chance of someone sliding into your truck when it’s parked on the shoulder. But there are times when you must take what’s available when going forward’s no longer an option. Believe me, I regretted not stopping in Baker City about 40 miles back east, but it was too late now, as going back was no more a possibility than going over Deadman.

I picked a spot on the shoulder that looked as if it might be safe – as safe as you could expect under the conditions. I pulled onto the shoulder and parked, along with every other truck coming off the exit. When I stopped, I intended to get out and check the truck and trailer to be sure they were safe. I climbed down out of the cab, set both feet on the ground and the next thing I knew I was on my butt. I’d parked on an ice rink. Climbed back in the truck with my sore rear and bruised pride; intended to move the truck forward about 20 feet to what appeared to be an area not quite as slick. Not going to happen. The tires on the truck went ’round and ’round but to no avail; no forward motion was attained. I was parked there whether I liked it or not, so I pulled the parking brake valves and figured I was set until things thawed.

Skated into the truck stop and had coffee and some pie, always a wonderful way to think things through. I went to the weather monitor to see what was forecast to come our way, and it didn’t look good. The winter storm was just starting to pick up steam and was expected to last at least another full day. Plus, they expected high winds to come through early the next morning. Well, not much I could do; it was around 4:30 pm and as darkness fell, so did the temperature. I headed back to the truck to wait out the storm; best to be parked and safe. So I thought.

Everything was good; the truck idled and kept me warm. I slept quite soundly, at least until the wind started up in earnest. Then the truck rocked from the wind, which startled me awake, and then … the truck felt as if it was moving. I bolted out of bed, grabbed my boots and jumped into the driver’s seat.

I looked out the driver’s window and yes, in fact the truck was moving…. not forward…. but sideways, right towards a bar ditch and a line of trees. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about stopping it. Uh huh – 80,000 pounds of truck and trailer were about to slowly tip over on their sides. I immediately jumped to the passenger seat, put the seat belt on and got my feet into my boots, while the truck continued to slide to its fate in the bar ditch.

Frankly, I didn’t know whether to bail out the passenger door or stay in the truck.  I just sat there and waited for the inevitable. I wondered how I was going to get the truck upright, considering the icy conditions. How was I going to explain this one to dispatch? I could just hear the conversation, “You’re telling me you were parked and in the sleeper, and your truck just suddenly ended up on its side in a ditch? Right. I think you need to go take that drug and alcohol test and then sober up before you start trying to sell that story.”

The wind seemed to be picking up velocity as the truck moved closer and closer to the point of no return, where the dead weight of the truck along with its angle – and gravity – would take over and lay it over like a dog doing a trick for its owner. I grabbed onto the door handle and the passenger-assist handle, made sure the seat belt was cinched tight, and waited for that final point when gravity would win ….

Then the truck and trailer suddenly stopped moving sideways. The wind quit rocking the semi-tractor as the fast-moving weather front finished its traverse through the area. The only noise was the idling of the truck, but I couldn’t hear it over my heart pounding.

Shaken, I climbed out of the cab and found the gravel just off the paved shoulder was what stopped the sideways slide of the truck. At once I went into the truck stop and bought a case of salt from the kitchen, then poured it around all the drive-tires and steer-tires. Next, I poured household bleach over the same ten tires (bleach makes the tire rubber tacky so it sticks to the ice) and got the hell off that shoulder. I was incredibly lucky that as I finished this, another truck pulled out from a parking spot in the truckstop, and I took its space.

It was another two days before the highway on Deadman’s Pass was cleared of both snow and accidents and I continued to deliver north of Seattle.

This has been a true episode from “The Movers’ Zone.” We now return to you control of your computer and place you in your original dimension.

“It’s inevitable that you feel scared when you don’t have control of a situation.”  – Cristiano Ronaldo