Size Matters

I used to think this was a really big country. I used to think Denver was close to the West coast. I used to think the Appalachians were real mountains, and I used to think that all orange moose were only about 6-7 feet tall at the shoulders. I'm not so sure any more. All this back and forth, North and South, has changed my perception some, and we all know that perception is reality - everything else is mere illusion.

For example, I used to think Texas was big, and I'm still pretty convinced about that. If you drive from Houston to Los Angeles, the half way point is El Paso. And, if you drive from Dallas to Denver, the half way point is Amarillo, and you still have another hour or so left to drive in Texas after that. On the other hand, at one point Rhode Island is only 25 miles wide; that's about Detroit to Ann Arbor - three, maybe four exits on the interstate.

Then there's Montana. If you drive across the state on I-90 and I-94, it's just over 700 miles, which is pretty close to the same as Detroit to Atlanta - only without so many people and fast food restaurants along the way.  However, Montana has other issues - Clinton, Montana holds the Testicle Festival every fall (no shit, you can look it up on the Internet, although I wouldn't recommend it), but I don't think anyone really lives there - it's all just smoke and mirrors.

The lesson here so far is: Texas is big with lots of people and Montana is big and is inhabited almost entirely by cardboard cut-outs and buffalo. I'm pretty sure the buffalo are real, though.

There are a number of states that have really big features even if they don't have a whole lot else going on - Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming come to mind. It's hard to drive through these states and not be thoroughly whelmed by the real mountains, mesas and buttes that seem to go on forever. In terms of sheer rugged beauty it's very difficult to top these three states. Also, there is a very large amount of nothing in Oregon.

Then, so as not to be remiss, there is California, which is not really so much a state as it is a foreign country. They play by their own set of rules out there, which they make up as they go along, and then they wonder why the rest of the country doesn't understand them or feel their pain. It really is a beautiful state, it's just that it's also very bizarre. And, it's farther from Los Angeles to San Francisco than it is from Cleveland to Chicago (in more ways than can be measured by miles alone).

By the way, as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, Denver is no where near the West coast, even though you have to drive west from St. Louis nearly forever just to get there. It takes longer to drive from Denver to Seattle than it does to drive from Boston to Columbus. 

So, I guess the bottom line here is that this is still a pretty big country, it's just not big everywhere - it's all relative. And, size really does matter, unless you're Rhode Island.

You Can't Get There From Here

You have to go somewhere else first.

As you might well imagine, in a 65-70-ft long rig, there are simply some things you cannot do and places you cannot go. That's the number one drawback in driving one of these things, and I believe the single largest source of stress we encounter. It's pretty hard to come to grips with simply missing a driveway into a truck stop or a customer's receiving yard, and having to actually drive three or four miles or more through unfamiliar areas just to get back to where you needed to be. Better yet, have some Einstein locate a Seven-Up bottling facility right next to a residential area so that if you miss the turn you actually have to drive down a street with overhanging branches and signs telling you that children are playing and trucks are not allowed, and the stress sets in pretty quickly.


Portland almost did me in one day last summer. An exit off of I-5 split at the top of the ramp and I guessed wrong. So instead of going left into what was a pretty typical industrial area, I went right across the river and into downtown Portland. The turnaround at the far end of the bridge was closed for construction and my adventure began. Finally, about eight miles later I woke Beth up so she could help me back across a traffic lane in a strip mall so I could begin to retrace my steps. Then, when we finally did get to the railroad drop yard the dude at the guard shack was pretty rude to me. Little did he know how much I would have enjoyed feeding him a knuckle sandwich.

We have a Rand McNally trucker's road map, complete with laminated pages and spiral binding. We also have two GPS systems on board - one built into the truck (known as Rude Bob*) and one that we bought ourselves (Tin Lizzy*). We also usually get final local directions sent to us over SATCOM (satellite communications - fancy schmancy), and still sometimes we find ourselves backing several hundred yards off of a bridge that's closed, in the dark, that had somehow seemed to be a good idea only a few minutes before. Once in a while we just kind of average all four sources of directions together and hope for the best.


You'd also be amazed at just how many drivers of small vehicles do not understand the limitations, and the brute force, of big trucks. Most of the time other drivers' indifference to what big trucks can and cannot do is harmless - other times it can get a little scary. You really do have to change your attitude when you drive one of these things. Use patience, use your turn signals, and back off a bit - it becomes habit; either that or it becomes road rage, and in a truck this size you simply cannot let yourself go there.


I do have to admit that a lot of the time people in other vehicles are pretty decent about things. If you are in heavy traffic and you put your turn signal on, a spot or a lane magically opens up (I think this is referred to as self preservation on the part of the little cars). And, if you're moving slower than people around you would like, they are more often than not pretty understanding. Still, there is the butt head that has to get in front of you, and then slow down just enough to be irritating, or the jerk that hangs on your back bumper, in the blind spot (you know he's there but you can't see him) until there is just enough room to pass. It's tempting to think about how momentarily satisfying it would be to flatten one of the jerks, but the end result would be incredibly devastating. 

Think about it - it's pretty close to 70 feet long bumper-to-bumper, depending upon where you have the fifth wheel set, something like nine feet wide, and generally around 13' 6" high. Ours is governed at 65mph, but there are a lot of others that can go a lot faster. And, when you fill the trailer up to the legal limit, it can weight up to 80,000 pounds. I don't understand all the formulas involving mass times velocity, etc., but I do know that the deer I hit last Thursday evening in Southern Oregon had a real bad day.

(* Rude Bob and Tin Lizzy deserve their own explanation at some later time - stay tuned - film at 11)