Driving With Dr. Seuss

Today found me out on the road in another brilliantly modified school truck- this one a '93 Freightliner sleeper cab with a backseat where there would usually be a bunk. The truck also had what most everyone calls a "chicken brake"- an auxilliary brake control on the passenger's side, in case a student gets themselves into a tight spot. Fortunately, the chicken brake went unused today. Along with two young ladies and a fellow a few years older than me, plus our long-suffering instructor, we hit the road. We wound up going down Route 5 into East Windsor- there's a diner there, and a Wendy's across the road. So we alternated driving in and around East Windsor, walking (or in some cases lurching) the truck through all the gears, then back down again. Truck transmissions require double-clutching; instead of just moving from gear to gear, as you would in a car, you have to first move out of one gear, into neutral, then back into the new gear. The process differs slightly whether going up or down gears, but all will require using the clutch twice. There is a distinct rhythm to this, and it is occasionally hard to get down perfectly- most drivers occasionally miss a shift and grind gears, (if you can't find it, grind it) but that's a big no-no on the state test. However, to catch the shift pattern almost all the time, I noticed that you can say "one fish, two fish" and get it- tap the clutch on "one" and "two", and the rest of the time the gears are either engaged or in neutral, to get into gear. (It actually is that quick, and is for all intents and purposes one motion.) So now I'm driving along, going "one fish, two fish", with everyone looking at me like I inhaled too many exhaust fumes. But I did get the shifting down, and explained what I was doing. Everyone still looked at me like I was nuts, but it worked.

Moving Along

A cold, rainy day in a several-acre paved lot- this was my day today. Now that I've passed all the school's training and testing requirements, there's nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile. And do maneuvers in the school trucks- some are registered and street-legal, some are not. But they all run well enough to practice on. The only disadvantage is that, being somewhat longer of limb than many of my colleagues, it becomes a challenge getting into the seat- I usually have to move it back to avoid driving with my knees. But it's going surprisingly well- as long as you understand what the truck is meant to do and what it will do, you're all set- there's a great deal of interaction between driver and driven- must be why all the old-timers named their trucks. ( I have a few names for the old International with the sticky clutch I've been running as of late...) Apart from a few initial stall-outs, things are going well- don't leave the truck in gear when releasing the air brakes and putting the parking brake on, or the truck will have a mechanical grand mal seizure and stall out, leaving you wondering what the hell just happened and your field supervisor swearing a blue streak. But such are the things learning is made of, much like life- if you get it right, try to remember what you did. If you mess it up, try to remember what you did. In the one case, do it again. In the other, don't.

A Mathematical Existence, Questioning Its Reality

I want to go back
back to the beginning, where it all
began,
Infinite probabilities- the primal Chaos in which
I stand up on the lotus blossom, my
meditations ended, I reach out across
probabilities, my arm
decaying to bleach-white bones, I reach
across to infinite outcomes, I grab one with pain in nerves long since
ceasing to scream, to hear,
and I see the Light, its elephant-god head dissolving into
a web of possibilities, expanding complexity
we divide by zero and laugh at the equation sets, and He is still
creating order from the random laboring on, on,
I see too much, too much, I see
all waves collapse to a single point and I am
so luminous we cease to be
so real we cease to be
so alive we cease to discriminate not-I, not-I is only
A single point, mere numbers, and open my eyes
to the new sunrise across the highway

It's All About the Crowbar

Hard to believe it's been a month since I last wrote anything- time flies when you're working your tail off to get stuff done. To date, I now am one step and about a month away from finishing school- I need to demonstrate to a state inspector my ability to handle a truck. That shouldn't be a problem, but the school requires a little more field time. I'm already scouting out trucking companies to go work for- my wife was pretty adamant that I stay local and be home every night to watch the little ones, but I was looking as well at a regional route (home every weekend, running Monday through Friday) on a flatbed- the pay is good, and the route is good, but that's pretty up in the air at this point. There's a local company as well that I was looking at- also good pay, but not flatbed. The general plan at this point is to start local, then as the kids get a little older, start doing longer and longer runs for more income. This will mean less home time, but on the plus side, most companies have a rider policy that kids over a certain age can ride with you. Depending on age, this could be either a reward or punishment...

The picture above is a fictional PhD from the PC game Half Life, which I spent more time playing than I would readily admit. Gordon Freeman by name, the game centers around him. The basic premise is get out alive from the laboratory where he worked until an industrial accident caused the stuff to hit the fan- an alien race comes stomping on in through some unexplained method of teleportation, and pretty much wipes out the lab. So what, you're probably saying. Well, being the geek that I am, I actually found inspiration from this. Here's a guy who really has a can-do attitude. There are big scary monsters around every corner waiting to eat, kill or impale me. No problem- I'll hunt around until I find enough weapons to take them out. Make it through a waste-processing plant filled with industrial rock crushers? If I can avoid them, I'll be fine. Hop around through the core of a nuclear reactor and not die of radiation exposure, poisioning or worse? I've seen tougher stuff than this. The point is not to go into a reactor, (generally design prevents you from hopping anywhere- the core is usually underwater, and hot enough to burn you pretty bad) but rather to get it done. This is a lesson I've really come to understand as of late- life comes down to me, and what I make of it. No one will get it, whatever it may be, done for me. I'll do it myself, and make what I want to happen happen. If I want to pass that inspection, no one but me can learn how to handle those maneuvers. No one else but me can get in with the trucking companies and convince them that they want to hire me. (With clean criminal and driving records, as well as knowing what I'm doing, they do want to hire me) There are days when it's an effort just to get up- I'm sure everyone has had days like that. But it's not the day, it's whether you get up and get going, or not.

The Casket Shop
It’s what I am
what I’ve been
looking in at the caskets lined up in an undertaker’s window
What nice containers we give our dead, they
look so cozy, maybe I should
carry one on my back
to remind me that
maybe it isn’t so bad if this is
the worst it can get
I think I’ll hole up in my own satin-lined
time, candles burning silent
Neither and both a comfort and a reward, just
the way it all comes down in the end