I'll get around to it eventually

I loaded up in Tacoma. The load was paper. Big, brown, rolls of paper.

Once I got down past Sacramento, I took 99 south in order to avoid the construction delays on I-5. I was ahead of schedule; not terribly, but enough that I knew for certain that I would make my delivery on time, early even.

When I got down to Bakersfield, the amber Caltrans signs had changed to read "GRAPEVINE CLOSED". The Emergency Broadcast System interrupted the local NPR station with news of flash flood warnings. It started to rain.

In Bakersfield, most of the trucks turned east and took 58 towards Mojave. They were most likely heading to Las Vegas and points eastward; they had no reason to go over the Grapevine. Past the cutoff to 58, I pretty much had the freeway to myself.

I figured that, whatever the problem was, Caltrans would have it long fixed by morning. I pulled over at a small Truck stop and parked for the night. It was still daylight, I had only 150 miles to go and my load wasn't due until 2:00 pm the following day. There was plenty of room to park, and I chose a good spot along the end of the row with an easy exit.

As dusk fell, more and more trucks came in. The lot was soon entirely full, they kept coming. Now it was dark and the trucks just parked every which way. In the morning, we learned that, because of mudslides, the CHP had also closed Highway 58. Bugger!

Foggy, too.

From listening to news updates on the local NPR station, watching the web page of the local TV news station, following along with the (highly recommended) California traffic app and listening to the knuckleheads on the CB radio, I now figured that I wasn't going much of anywhere anytime soon.

By 9:30 in the morning, I was getting pretty antsy. The rumor going around was that Caltrans was going to open up I-5 by 5:00 pm, but my load was due at 2:00. Drivers huddled in small groups, discussing strategy. There was another way around this mess: by taking Highway 166 west, through Maricopa and New Cuyama and over to Santa Maria, we would would meet up with Highway 101 which we could then take south to Los Angeles.

Everybody else had the same idea. It was a pretty stupid idea.

A long line of trucks soon clogged up the road. Just west of Maricopa, right at the top of the hill, a semi truck stalled and completely blocked the westbound direction of the two-lane road. The CHP halted westbound traffic until a heavy wrecker could arrive from Bakersfield. That took awhile.

Hwy 166 west of Maricopa

When the errant tractor-trailer was finally hooked up and removed, traffic was quite backed up. We drove at 15 mph for hours. It cleared up a bit after that, but came to a standstill again a few miles east of Highway 101. All the vehicles that would normally be on Interstate 5 were now trying to coexist on a much smaller freeway. It didn't go that well.

From Santa Maria all the way down to Santa Barbara, the Friday rush-hour traffic crawled along at 10 to 15 miles per hour.

Soon, all the trucks ran out of time (permissible DOT hours of driving time) and started dropping like flies. Highway 101 has no truck stops or any real places for trucks to park, so they just parked; hundreds of semi-trucks parked alongside the shoulder of Highway 101 wherever they could find a place wider than 10 feet wide.

I pulled over and slept near an off ramp in Carpinteria, just south of Santa Barbara. The local Police ignored me. The next morning, I was on the road before daylight. I made it to my destination by 8:30.The receiver grumbled a bit, but agreed to unload me on a Saturday, almost an entire day late.

My company gave me another load heading north. I drove back up I-5 and over the (now cleaned up) Grapevine.

Once back over the hill and onto to Highway 99, I stopped in at the same truck stop, wandered over to the nearby cafe and treated myself to well-deserved chicken-fried steak for dinner.

Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours.

Every time I get loaded (or more accurately, my trailer gets loaded), a seal gets put on to ensure integrity of the load.

The seals are made from brightly-colored plastic or finger-lacerating aluminum, occasionally made with a braided cable or a steel bolt-like thingie, but never with wax or a with a kiss. Each seal has a special number and that number is dutifully recorded upon the shipping documents and who knows where else. The number on the seal must match the number printed on the bills.


At a lot Shippers, someone comes out from behind their glass window, follows you outside and puts the seal on your truck for you; they wait impatiently for you to shut your cargo doors and close the latches and then they bless your load with the seal. After that point, with shipping documents finally in hand, you are allowed to drive on down the road.

Sometimes, a uniformed guard will double-check the integrity of your seal and record the number just before you exit the gate. (The guards are always polite. Go figure.)

The first time that I get a chance stop to pee is when I also will put a special padlock on the hasp. It's special, because it is designed in such a way to make it more difficult for a pair of bolt cutters to snip the shackle. This feature gains me maybe an extra 30 seconds in security, but it enables me to sleep without worry.

With that padlock, I am hoping to discourage someone messing with my load. I am not worried about organized crime as much as I am worried about teenagers hoping to climb inside, grab something interesting and flee in their Camaro. (I would never hear them. I sleep with earplugs; truck stops are noisy.)

Casual crooks don't know what's inside my trailer, it could be anything, really.

Sometimes I haul alcohol, sometimes ammo, sometimes power tools, but most of the time it is much more mundane; sacks of rice, sugar, giant rolls of brown kraft paper or something equally boring.

Today it was cups and lids for Jack-In-The-Box.


The custom is that when you get to the other end with your delivery, somebody with a clipboard is supposed to earnestly check and record that the seal was still intact with the right numbers on it to see that it hadn't been messed with. It's hard to mess with seals without it being plainly obvious.
 Modern truck seal technology is marvelous.

(On a side note: I pass through a California Agriculture Inspection station about once a week where all trucks have to stop and show their bill of lading for perusal by the uniformed Agriculture Technician dudes. They don't slow down  us (regular, familiar) trucks that much, but I have seen them break seals on the odd, unfamiliar trucks; badly painted rentals and such. Afterwards, (assuming that they're not transporting a load of marijuana) those inspected trucks get a new special California Ag seal so the poor driver doesn't have to explain the missing seal to his boss.)


The high-value loads are where all of this makes a difference; Fred Meyer or Lowe's guards (for example) are going to make certain that the load of home appliances and power tools remains untouched by human hands until a staffer at the other end checks it out and blesses it.


Much of the time though, nobody really cares much about the seal. The person behind the window hands me my bills and a fresh, new seal. ("Put it on your own damn self!") At the receiver, they usually just tell you to cut off the seal, open your doors and back up to door number such-and-such. The Lumpers are verifying the count of the merchandise as they unload anyway, God forbid you be over or under on your numbers. Company Drivers have long since been vetted; we are not going to risk our jobs over some stupid cargo.


When I need to cut a plastic seal, I use my Swiss Army knife, I have a proper snippering tool for the finger-lacerating aluminum ones. When it's a bolt seal, the guard shack always has a pair of humongous bolt cutters available to borrow. At Home Depot, the guards use macho power tools that produce a terrible racket and shower sparks all over their uniform shirts.


I save the broken seals as long as I am there, just for the rare event that someone wants to double-check. I put them in my pocket and throw them into the trash once I've left. It's really a dick move to litter in the parking lot of your customer.

Besides, they have cameras watching my every move.

This May Trucking load for Lowe's had three seals.
Good indication that it had expensive home appliance and power tools inside!