Epilogue

Off road, and in class.

Wow. It’s been so long since I’ve been back here. I feel like a different person—the old me, actually. I can't begin to tell you how weird it feels to type this not over a steering wheel, rather a real desk and chair. I’m also a little surprised that the counter keeps going despite the fact that I explained in the last entry that “this” was over.

I believe that adding content to this project (especially now that I'm off the road) would water down the integrity of the work that I’ve created. As I sit here writing, I feel almost like a fraud; Like I’m defacing a classic structure with pointless, self-promoting graffiti. While my experiences will always stay with me in my mind, this journal speaks to me of a former life—a book that I have already read and put away on the shelf. This weblog is not me anymore, and it would seem inappropriate and uninteresting of me to dirty it up with the ramblings of a “four-wheeler.”


In any case, I do sometimes go back and look through my old posts. I go back to remind myself of the people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had—both positive and otherwise; After all, I do not detest my career behind the wheel—Quite the opposite. I consider it a great accomplishment to have ventured out on something so seemingly not “me.” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that I’ve actually ‘been there—done that,’ and viewing the proof of my experience through my own pictures and words become a practical means of remembering. Doing so is very important for me, more so as the time between then and now grows longer. Realistically and in retrospect, this web journal was probably more for me than any kind of outside audience.

I am discovering, however, that my final post was fairly open-ended. As of late, I’ve received several emails asking me to post an update. Some people are curious as to my whereabouts, and some wonder if I made it back into teaching. Still others (I can only imagine) are simply addicted to all things Jason, and are probably stalkers looking for a way to find out where I ended up.

Stalkers, grab a pencil and paper and pay attention.

While I was more than a little excited to get out of the truck and off the road, the major reason for my career-ending decision was to free up time to pursue my teaching career. For a couple of months, I lived with “the folks” and helped them refurbish their house. There was a lot of work to be done, but mostly it was good time I got to spend with them. I worked some days on the house, and some days with my dad, and kept my living situation rent-free. It was a pretty sweet deal on both ends. I know this sounds a bit morbid, but I know that one day, in the hopefully distant future, I’ll look back and be grateful for the time spent with them.

June and July are pretty big months when you’re looking for employment in education, and if I were going to find a job teaching, it’d probably be around this time. There were many days where I’d head up to the mall’s food court (wireless Internet and people-watching) and spend hours searching online for work. I lost count how many school districts I’d applied to, limiting my search only to districts that were within California.

After weeks of not hearing back from any of them and a checking account that was “circling the drain,” I decided to take the few dollars I had left and ride my motorcycle up and down the 101, stopping by as many school districts as I could between Southern California and the Bay Area. My plan was to introduce myself to as many principals as possible, hand out hundreds of resumes, and come home with at least a few leads. I look back now and figure that I just couldn’t take the sitting around, waiting for call-backs.


While the motorcycle trip was a blast, those labors produced no fruits. It was a couple days after I had returned that I finally got a call from a principal in a Monterey County school that saw my online application. A couple days later, I was back up the 101 for a Friday interview.

The following Monday, my now-principal called me back and offered me the position. I would be teaching Kindergarten in a small agricultural town named King City. Of course, I gracefully accepted, jumped up and down a couple of times, and sighed in a manner that reflected my emotions—relief and joy.

Below is a picture of me (on the far right) attending the new teacher seminar, at the King City Elementary School District office.


When I tell people now about King City, most people admit to never having heard of it. I had never heard of it either, and unless you get off the 101 for gas, you might not even know it’s there. Sometimes I’ll talk to someone and they’ll say, “Oh, yeah… I got a speeding ticket there once.”

Oh yeah—King City has a Highway Patrol office—FYI.

It was at this point in time, right after the job offer, when all of my cards started to fall into place. I found a perfect apartment in nearby Greenfield, and all of my future coworkers were friendly, helpful, and informative. I got my dad to help me move 340 miles, both of our trucks loaded down and towing trailers. The whole trip up, I wouldn’t let my dad go over 55 (you can take the boy out of the truck…). My entire life fit in a Honda Ridgeline, a ’93 Toyota Pickup, and two small trailers. A life full of classroom supplies, the random junk I’ve acquired over the years, a new bed, and a motorcycle.


After my dad left, I had a couple of weeks to get my life in order. I got settled into my new house, and my new town. About a week before the first day of school I started setting up the classroom. There was a lot of work to do, but I did it with a smile in anticipation of meeting my new class. Then, in the last two weeks of August, it happened—The first day of school.


That morning, I met 20 kids—Kids that would be the new focus of my life for the next nine months. It was a feeling of indescribable responsibility and joy. There’s nothing quite like having 40 eyeballs looking at you, all of them curious to the process of going to school. It was a feeling that was coming back to me, as it had been a little while.


Room 14 is a tight group. Now, almost four months into the year, I’d say that we’re very close to being what some might call a family. Each of my students have a personality all their own, and I have very individualized interactions with each of them. I have students that try and test me each day, both in how much they can get away with and in what they can learn.

I have students that get frustrated easily and rely on constant reassurance that they’re doing a great job to keep them going. I have students that miss their parents, students that can’t sit still, and students that ask me for more homework. I have students that work hard to tie their shoes, students that tie others’ shoes for them, and students that have a hard time keeping their shoes on the whole day. Every day someone cries, but it’s rarely me.

Sometimes at recess, students get hurt. A fact of life for kids, sometimes it happens. Sometimes, a student takes a fall and cries so feverishly that I’m the only one (on campus) that can ease their pain and help them recover from a vicious boo-boo. While I push my students towards independence and strength, the big mushy spot on my heart is always secretly flattered that my students see me as a healer and a comfort.

While my professional future will—for the most part—always be uncertain (have you seen the governor’s latest budget?), I feel very good right now. I’ve been successful in making the transition back into teaching, which was a move that I was a little afraid that I would have problems with. What’s more, is that with the economy the way it is, I have a commercial driver’s license to fall back on and nine months of experience that tells me that I could do it if I had to.

It’s no secret that trucking wasn’t the life for me, but I think that statement may only ring true because of my passion for teaching. Throughout my time on the road, in truck stops, and in the nooks and crannies of this country’s warehouses and manufacturers, I never felt as if I really was a fish out of water. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not claming to be a professional super-trucker of any kind, but it’s almost like trucking was somehow in my lineage, a trait visible in my DNA. In fact, I get 2 or 3 months off every summer, and I really can’t think of a better way to spend them than behind the wheel of a rig.

Thanks again to all those that have wondered where I am and what I’m doing. For the comments and emails about both me, and the weblog, I’m deeply flattered. Keep the rubber side down, come on.

Out.

Usually, when I don't post for a really long time, it's because there's nothing new or notable going on in my life. Usually, I get bored of updating the world on the smallest minutiae of my every-day life. "I haven't showered in..." or "This is a picture of me standing in front of..." is to me, not helping in my efforts to win that Caldecott Award for writing excellence. I'm the first to admit it--Sometimes, I bore myself.

But that's not why I've prolonged posting for this long. Not this time.

The reason this post has taken me so long to squeeze out is because I actually have a lot to say, and I'm a little weary about both what I'm doing, and how I'm going to put it into words.

I decided a few months ago, that while I'm enjoying my time out on the road, I desperately miss being home. Although I'm not married (or even dating anyone [Ladies, now's your chance!]) and don't have any dependents running around, I do have a strong network of friends. It's a network that I've taken for granted for a long time, before I left home for months on end.


In fact, there's a million things that keep my mind on home--Family, friends, pleasant Southern California weather, my motorcycle, a real bed, a real shower, and so on, and so on. Of this list however, one of (if not the) biggest items, the one I keep up at the top, is an item I talked about in my very first post:

"...I venture out on 18 wheels because I now have the time to do so. While teaching and working with children has been, and will always be, my greatest life accomplishment, I now find myself on hiatus from these goals. I know that I will be returning to education one day in the not-so-distant future because I really feel that's where I belong..."

I am a teacher. Plain and simple. I feel that I will always be one. You know those people that win the lottery and keep their job because they enjoy it, using their salary as a means of funding their antique hairbrush collection or emu farm? That'd be me, emus and all.


When I came home on the second day of April, I decided that life on the road had been too much for me to take, and that a measly 4 days home simply wouldn't be enough. Not by a long shot. Not only was the short home time annoying, it was also keeping me from getting the job I want.

How am I supposed to go to interviews if I'm 2500 miles away? How can I apply for a position and hope that they'll wait for me to get home before they fill it? In reality, I can't. The trick is, I finally figured out, to save up a little money and then get out.

And that's exactly where I'm at now--Out.


My current quest is to find two jobs. I'd like to find a job teaching, which would start in September, and I'd like to find a job that will keep me busy and off the roads until then. So far, I've applied at a dozen or so schools up and down the California Coastline, and I'm waiting to hear back from them. My guess is that I'll start to hear from schools in July, as that's when most schools concentrate on their hiring (I think).

In the meantime, the search for a Summer job 'round here is just as uneventful. It seems that nobody likes to respond to my applications and resumes, even with a "no, thank you," or even a "would you please leave us alone!" It seems like bad business to me to leave someone hanging. Come to think of it, I do have some resumes to resend and businesses to boycott.


Because I used to make tons of money as a teacher ('tons' being a relative term) I have a fat tax refund to live off which should last me until the end of the month. Also, I am working in the family business until I can get a "real" job, so in essence, I'm not going to starve. I may not be able to eat at The Crab Cooker every night, but I'll get by.

This has been, and is currently, a really hard time for me. I've spent the last month and a half in kind of a 'limbo' stage. As hard as it was to sleep in a truck stop or back a truck down a narrow, one-way street, it's even harder to live with my parents (there, I said it) and not be certain of my future. It's hard to look around at my friends, already deep in their careers and family life and not think to myself that life is passing me by.


As down as I sometimes get, I understand that life is not fair--and in the end, I'm an optimist. Uncertainty is just as much a possibility for greatness as it is for devastation, and there's a lot of good in my life. I'm home with my friends and family, who at the moment are all without health concerns, I'm not in New Jersey, I get to see my nephews and my good friends once or twice a week, I'm concentrating on my next move (whatever that may be), and I can ride my motorcycle as often as I want.


I was watching the season premier of Ice Road Truckers last night (something I couldn't have done from the truck) and thinking back a month and a half to my days on the ice-less road (mostly ice-less, anyway). On the show, there was a guy who had to sit around waiting for a truck and a load, and I was reminded of the few instances where I'd have to just sit, waiting either for other people to get their act together, or for pieces of a puzzle to fall into place before I could roll.

As I thought back, I remembered how often my DM, Jen, kept me rolling, kept me happy, and kept me earning money. Granted, there were situations where nothing could be done but wait, but really, Jen worked hard for me. In talking to other drivers out on the road, both Swift and other, I realized how lucky I was. There were many other drivers who couldn't get along with their driver managers, and while I often thought that the fault in the relationship might have lied with the driver more than their support, I'd always had the opportunity to brag about mine.

Jen, this one's for you:


Of course there are things I'm going to miss about being out on the road. While I was certainly limited as to where I could drive a 40-ton truck, there was a sense of exploration to my day. As nerve-racking as it was, I LOVED getting to drive into a city. I loved seeing new places, and facing new challenges on a daily basis.

I liked the physical aspect of maneuvering the truck. Backing a 65-foot truck is a life-skill that not everyone gets a chance to practice, and it was something that I was just starting to get good at. In fact, my very last delivery here in Fontana, required me to do a blind-side back into a narrow dock. To my surprise, I backed it right up to the dock on the first try. I didn't even have to pull up once, which to me was pretty amazing. I felt like Jerry Seinfeld, ending an era (albeit a short era) on a high note.

Perhaps the most amazing aspect to my job were the people I met. In every other job I've ever had there were a limited number of people to interact with each day. Often times, it was with the same group of people, day after day, after day. I got the chance to meet with a multitude of people on any given week, and learn something from each of them. As some warehouse workers were very focused on the task at hand, others were overly-willing to tell you about their lives or the culture and happenings of wherever we were. I always liked learning from these people.

Sometimes, I was able to talk to people over the radio. Most of the time, some other trucker would break in and add their unwanted two cents about the topic, often involving a mother and a lewd act, but there were times I made connections with other drivers. Leaving Laredo, Texas, for example, I was talking to another Swift driver over the CB.


This other driver, Tom, was fresh back to the road after being on sick-leave for over 6 months. Tom had been dealing with a series of illnesses, the biggest of which being Cancer, and had to get off the road to attend a daily chemotherapy regime. He told me how being home to deal with his illness gave him a chance to visit with his sick, bedridden father on a daily basis. Every morning after his therapy, Tom would walk a short distance to his parent's house, where he'd get the chance to visit and become re-aquainted with his parents, whom he hadn't seen in years.

It was the same week that Tom got the "all-clear" from his doctor that his sick father passed away. Tom said that, "It was like he was waiting to see that I'd be ok before he could go. Had I never been home do deal with my own illness, I would have never had the chance to get to know my dad."

I only talked to Tom for 20 or 30 minutes (his truck was 2 mph faster than mine), but I haven't been able to forget his story. Also unforgettable was the guy who was trying to sell a used blow-up doll over the radio, but really, who could forget that.

That's right, I said used.

In closing, I'd like to say that it was worth it. Leaving my home for a month at a time was a blast, but I just couldn't see making a life of it. In fact, I'm still not sure that I've made the right decision. I do, however, have a newfound respect for the profession--Not as much for the skill it takes to do the job (although it's quite a skill), but for the time spent with family that is taken from the drivers. When I'm out on my motorcycle or in my truck and I see a truck driver, I think about the sacrifices he or she is making to get that load from one place to another. That's where the driver makes their money. Not by mile driven, rather minutes and hours spent away from family.


In this, the last post, I'd like to say a big thank you to everyone who's been checking in on me over this last 9 months. It's been very therapeutic for me to write, both in terms of documenting my travels and as a means of keeping busy the other side of my brain. The fact that people even cared enough to read these posts at all, much less comment on them, means the world to me.

10-4, good buddies.

Old, old salt

I've always wanted to come here


Well, even though I didn't really have the time to see much of it, I was able to stop for a little while at a rest stop along the edge of the Bonneville Salt Flats. According to the sign, I was still 7 miles away from the 10-mile-long course where people come every year to (try to) break land-based speed records.


I wandered out a little bit on the salt, past the worn area of footprints and dog poo, but not so far as to leave the highway by much. As much as I'd like to wander out into the white nothingness, I kind of had the feeling that I was seeing as much as I was going to see from where I was, unless, of course, I wanted to huff it the seven miles out to the black line. The white of the salt, however, was becoming blindingly bright, even through my sunglasses, and I could see a large dust cloud back in the direction of my truck that was moving pretty quickly towards me. Time for a quick picture, and I was out of there.

On my return trip to the truck, I had to literally put my shoulder into the headwind. There was some kind of dust (salt, perhaps?) that was pelting me in the face and arms, and I decided that I picked a good time to wander back to the truck. I imagine that a white storm could be pretty disorientating.


The small print on the sign is a good read, actually, and I suggest clicking on it to open up the big version. Also, so you know, there was no place to drive the truck down onto the salt flats. I'm sure that Swift doesn't exactly want my truck to get salted anyway.

My week in a series of photographs

I've never slept under a water tower before, but if you think about how many water towers there actually are in this country, it was bound to happen. Oddly, I forget what state I was in at the time, but I'm thinking it was Indiana. Anyway, I had odd dreams that night about losing control of my truck as I came into the truck stop, hitting the base of the tower, knocking it over, and spilling water everywhere. Oh, the humanity.


Also in Indiana, here's a look out my mirror. This is what I see, hundreds of times each day. I happened to be stopped at a construction site, waiting for some guys in orange vests to give us the signal to drive around them. We were there for a while, but I guess the shovels and brooms won't hold themselves up.


As my friend Steve joked one time, "Caution: Trucks on Triangles." While in Wisconsin, I came across a small hill while touring the back roads of the state. This is the steepest I've ever seen. Normally, 7% is a big hill, and I think that the Grapevine in California is sometimes 6% and sometimes 7%. 9% means that for every 100 feet of horizontal travel, you descend or ascend 9 feet.


How can you go to Wisconsin and not stop for some cheese? Well, if you don't like cheese I guess it's easy, but I like cheese, so I stopped. Good ol' Igor the mouse. I'm not quite sure why he was there other than to stop tourists like myself, but I took the picture anyway. Mom and Dad, I've got a wedge of really good cheese I'm bringing home. Break out the crackers.



So I'm waiting at this red light in Indiana, and I see three dogs come out the end of a driveway and start walking alongside the road.


It kind of struck me as three friends going for a walk, and I was compelled to take the picture. The one in front was being kind of protective. He/she kept looking back at the other two to make sure they were right behind, and once stopped the line so the last dog could catch up. Once the last dog was there, they all started walking in single file again, out of the way of traffic. I snapped the picture as I drove by, but kept thinking about what kind of adventures they'd get in over the course of their day. I guess I've seen too many Disney Movies.


A few days ago, I was cruising down Interstate 80 in Nebraska, when I heard someone calling for me over the CB. I answered, and they informed me that there looked to be a tire on the very rear axle of the trailer that was running without air, essentially flopping around with the other wheels. I thanked the driver, and pulled over when I could. I always do my pre-trip inspections, and while I don't use an air pressure guage, I do thump the tires with a mallet. When I ate lunch, a half-hour previous to the flat, all 18 of them were good. That means that I picked up the bolt recently, and hadn't been running with the flat for too long. I always thought that I'd notice a flat, if by no other way than by an odd vibration to the truck. Even as far back on the trailer as that one was, I thought I'd notice something. Guess not.

Since I wasn't into waiting on the side of the Interstate, I drove at 45 mph for a good 30 miles, where there was a good truck stop I pulled into. I waited for about 2 hours for a repair guy to show up, and when he did, he pulled the tire off the rim (leaving the rim on the trailer), patched it from the inside, and slipped it back on.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I know that it's been a little while since I've posted anything, but I... I... I can't think of a reason, really, why I haven't. It's true, that I've been in the Midwest, and there's almost nothing noteworthy about what I've been seeing and doing, but I still should be able to bore everyone with some lame anecdote at least.

I do have a few pictures I want to post, and the other day I had a flat and there's a story there, but my Internet connection stinks at the moment (my cell phone says I'm roaming) so I'll have to post all that another time.

To update you on my current situation, I'm in Wyoming on the 80, making my way to Reno, Nevada. From Reno I'll get a load home, at which point I'll... Well, that's a whole new post right there.