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THE SMALLER ROAD (cont.)
The R/T needed some mechanical attention and a good bath, and it received both on Monday (8/27) before I loaded it up and headed west that evening. My old elementary school in Cheyenne, WY would be the first stop of my trip. I arrived in town late Tuesday evening, and then put the R/T on display Wednesday for the first day of class at the school. My mother is the librarian at the school, so it felt really good to not only do something really cool for the school that I once attended, but to help add to the already good reputation she has at the school. By the time I had loaded the R/T back up, Jan Doyle was the hero of the school for getting the Raminator to come all the way from Illinois to Wyoming for the first day of school. I can’t describe to you what it meant to be able to do that favor for my mom and the school, and I thank Tim and Mark from the bottom of my heart for letting me leave the shop early to pull off that gig.
The Sacramento, CA suburb of Davis would be my next stop, and my crew member for the remainder of the trip would be none other than my dad, Kevin. Although a traveling man he is not, our team was in a bit of a personnel crunch and my dad saw a chance to help me out, and I’m thankful that he did so. The drive to Davis from Cheyenne was a scenic one, and I got to introduce my dad to a number of stops and sights I had discovered last summer on one of my trips to Cali. The red rock Canyons that greet you upon leaving Wyoming and entering Utah were the first of several “scenic diversions” we stopped for. Following that, we paused at a roadside rest area on the shores of the Great Salt Lake just west of Salt Lake City, then on to the Salt Flats at the western end of the state. Nevada’s arid desert conditions along the I-80 corridor are somewhat boring, at least from the highway, though as one enters Reno at the west gate of the state, the scenery changes dramatically, as does one’s altimeter reading (of course, my tractor doesn’t have an altimeter, but you get my drift).
As we departed Reno and entered the state of California, I was instantly thankful to be navigating the infamous Donner Pass by way of semi, as opposed to any sort of non-motorized transportation. Although I understand that the Donner Pass section of I-80 is much more user friendly these days than it once was (truckers’ horror stories are easy to find), it is still a tough climb for the equipment, so I wisely decided to take a break at the Donner Summit rest area, located at *gasp!* the top of Donner Pass. The rest area appears normal at roadside, but is actually very large and scenic on the other side of the main lobby/restroom building, and features a large pond, and all manner of beautiful woodlands scenery. The air was terrifically fresh and invigorating, and for a moment I wished that I could maybe bottle some of it for later use during our stay in the crowded and pollution-heavy Sacramento area. I soon abandoned my pipe dream as rain began to fall, and I decided that we should descend the summit in the driest condition as possible, so without haste we climbed back aboard the semi and headed downhill. Keeping the rig’s brakes cool while heading down the massively long Donner Pass isn’t exactly easy, but if you play your cards right, stay in the proper gear, and rely heavily on the integrated engine brake, it really isn’t the terrifying roller coaster of doom that some truckers will tell you it once was. Of course, the engine brake thing only counts when it actually is working right, which mine decided to quit doing about halfway down the pass. I worked diligently to keep my service brakes cool, and I was slightly more than relieved to be back on “level” ground once we were off the pass. As it was, we were off of the summit in less than an hour’s time, tearing across the flat, hot, level ground, Davis-bound.
A quick truck-wash in Sac-town prepared us for our arrival at the Dodge dealer in Davis, and in a matter of minutes after the wash we were at the lot. I had to pull off some slick backing-up moves with the rig to get parked in place, but in less than ten minutes or so we were parked, had a rental vehicle for the night, and were off to locate suitable food and lodging. I decided after careful consideration and much driving around that Davis was in desperate need of a.) more affordable hotels and b.) more “mainstream” restaurant selections. We settled on a Comfort Suites room for $130 a night, and a mediocre Applebee’s dinner. I also decided that a more affordable hotel would be in order once we had more time to scout the area out, but Beth, in her infinite wisdom, located a slightly more affordable Best Western near the University of California-Davis campus about three miles from the Comfort Suites. Amazing how a girl in Indiana on a computer can more effectively locate a hotel than two doofs in a van on the scene. Upon completion of our gig the following day, my dad and I traded in our rental van for my Chrysler Sebring Touring that I had hauled with us in my trailer, and set off to find our new and (relatively) affordable hotel that Beth had searched out for us. The University Lodge Best Western is, simply put, a totally kick-butt hotel, even for the average price of $100 a night. I explained the high price to my dad: “Hey man, it’s California. What’d ya expect?”
The University Lodge was a refreshing and relaxing place to spend an evening after a long day in the triple-digit California heat. For the most part, we elected to spend our evenings simplistically, sampling a different local restaurant for dinner each night, though eventually I commandeered one of our evenings and routed us into downtown Sacramento. Sac-town has a Hard Rock Café of its own, so naturally I made my pilgrimage, in search of milkshakes and nighttime guitar photos. This HRC had ranked high on my list of need-to-visits, as one of their primary pieces of memorabilia is a beautiful gold Gibson Les Paul guitar from Pete Townshend’s famous “numbered” collection. After a great dinner and amazing service from our waitress, I stopped the manager as she was walking by our table and expressed to her that I was really impressed with the quality of service we had received from our server. I explained that this was the seventh HRC I’d visited in 2007 (and yes, I am an All Access Member), and that our service was the best of any yet. She thanked me and made sure that our server was aware of our satisfaction, and she then asked me if I wanted to request a music video to be played over the audio/visual system in the Café. Naturally, off the cuff, I said “Uh, sure. How about some Rush or The Who?” I know, I know, go figure. But I know from previous experience that they have videos from both of those bands on their play list, and besides, it’s not like they’ve got a John Bonham drum solo floating around on DVD in the back. Much to my surprise, about fifteen minutes later, as I was walking around taking pictures of their great selection of artifacts, my two requests came on back-to-back. I enjoyed a music geek moment of elation and allowed a smile to cross my face. “Closer To The Heart: Live in Chicago” by Rush followed by “Who Are You?” by The Who (shot live in Toronto, the hometown of Rush, oddly enough.) Good food and good music really can’t be beat, and despite all of the stress and drama that my life had been subjected to recently, I was quite happy to just let go of that stuff for awhile and enjoy my time in the Sac-town HRC.
We finished up our gig at the Dodge dealer in Davis on Labor Day Monday, and after loading the R/T up in the blistering afternoon heat, I was terrifically happy to retire to the University Lodge for a cool shower and some dry clothes. All in all Labor Day wasn’t so bad, despite the heat. I managed to do some shopping for Beth on our lunch break (apparently the Bath & Body Works in Davis stocks more stuff than the one in South Bend, IN does), and for dinner we decided on a regional steakhouse chain that had some really great food. Among the list of accoutrements at the University Lodge is an outdoor hot tub, which was quite unappealing during the day, but was oh-so-amazing at 11p.m. by which time the air temperature had dropped a drastic 40+ degrees. I had developed a routine revolving around the hot tub over the course of the weekend that went as follows: around seven or so in the morning, I would compile a tray of breakfast foods from the continental breakfast and then retire to the secluded hot tub to enjoy my bagel, yogurt, and coffee. In the evenings, sometime between 10 and 11pm, I would fill the supplied ice bucket with ice, grab one of the cheap plastic room cups, and a small can of Mountain Dew AMP energy drink, which is absolutely smashing when enjoyed slowly over ice. Energy drinks typically only make me sick, but I’ve found that if I can enjoy them slowly over ice, they taste a lot better and are far more enjoyable. This became my nightly routine, an AMP and the hot tub, followed by a cool shower and a solid eight hours. Though the University Lodge is located a mere two miles from I-80, a traveler must navigate a series of narrow city streets to find it. Oh, how it pays to follow the smaller roads (and streets).
Our next gig was in Nampa, ID, but with that being a few days away, we decided to take a day entirely to ourselves and head an hour and change down the road to the small coastal village of San Francisco. Sorry, make that “bustling, diverse, over-populated, sky-scraper-studded seaside metro-plex of San Francisco”. While in Sonoma, CA last year for the Dodge-SaveMart 300 NASCAR race, I gained some valuable experience in navigating my way into and out of San Francisco, so the San-Fran-Or-Bust Tour ’07 went off without a hitch as far as the driving was concerned. We jumped off of I-80 in Vallejo (Jeff Gordon’s real hometown, by the way), sped past Infineon Raceway in Sonoma, and eventually ended up on US101 / CA1. Perhaps two of the most famous roads in the United States, or at least in California, these two roadways run through the hills above Sausalito, then onto the Golden Gate Bridge, which they both share.
My dad is not too keen on heights, and our first glimpse of the bridge was nothing more than a dense bank of fog with a giant redish-orange tower peeking out through the top. An impressive sight it was, and perhaps a bit too impressive for my dad, so I exited just before we crossed the bridge, opting to spend some time at Golden Gate National Park (which is on solid ground, much to my dad’s relief) before we went ahead and crossed the breathtakingly long suspension bridge. The trip “up the hill” to the park’s many scenic viewpoints was well worth the time, as it allowed me to catch some fantastic shots of the bridge with the fog rolling in off the ocean in random barrages. When it comes to shooting pictures of something like the GGB, it is hard to be really creative and take an original shot, simply because the bridge is likely one of the most photographed landmarks in North America, if not the world. That being the case, I quickly abandoned my quirky artistic side and instead opted for some simple, traditional shots with my Nikon (which is a much finer instrument of photography than last year’s Fuji). I mean, seriously, what more can a guy do with less than $1000 of equipment at 9am?
After a couple of hours up on the hill, I finally convinced my dad to let me drive us across the bridge, although he was quite nervous to say the least. I suggested that he recline his seat back and act as though he was sleeping, so that he wouldn’t have to see anything too breathtaking on the way across. Before either of us knew it we were getting gigged for $5 on the other side, so after paying the requisite southbound toll I guided us along US101 towards the world-famous Fisherman’s Wharf. Again, drawing on last year’s trip with Darrell to SF, I quickly found my bearings and ended up parking my car about 100ft from where DW and I parked our Neon last year. (Editor’s Note: For coverage of last year’s visit, see “Ping Pong” in the article list.) As the day progressed, we traipsed a good ways down the tourist-friendly coastal area. Lunch was found at the Hard Rock Café of San Francisco, located on Pier 39 (this would make HRC #8 on the year). After hungrily devouring a great plate of nachos, I acquired my traditional pilsner glass souvenir, did some gift shopping, and then continued down the Pier. Pier 39 is a shopper’s delight, especially if you have a woman and money. At the time, I had neither with me, so I opted instead to shoot a series of pictures of the sea lions basking in the sun on their designated floating pads on the west side of the pier. Although they stank to the high heavens and pierced the air with their loud and often high-pitched barks, squeals, and squawks, they were a real treat to watch. They reminded me very much of a large group of friendly dogs, as their level of social interaction was far more advanced than “lesser” mammals. I think the smell must have bothered my dad more than me, as he seemed to be interested in moving away from the location of the sea creatures, and closer towards the location of some sea food. Speaking of sea food, an ominous though crossed my mind as I departed the sea lions and their Pier 39 hangout. It dawned on me that if sharks had a bit more thinking capacity, Jaws and his pals would find some easy chow down by the Wharf.
The hike back to my Sebring was a long one (a couple of miles, at least), so once we reached the car we agreed that our legs would be placed on the disabled list, and we would rely on my wheels as much as possible for the remainder of the day. I had a strong desire to catch some west-coast sunset shots, so I headed further into town towards Chinatown to kill some time until the sun began to retire for the evening. That proved to be a very interesting choice, as I was able to get some shots of some of the steepest hills that SF has to offer. Some of the “streets” were so steep that any form of vehicular traffic was strictly forbidden. When the sidewalks are actually stairs, then maybe its time to consider finding an alternate driving route.
The day was growing long, so we looped back around to the Wharf, where we purchased some fresh seafood to enjoy once we re-entered Golden Gate National Park on our way out of town. My dad is a country boy through and through (unlike yours truly, who can pretty much adapt to any surroundings), so the hustle-bustle, shoulder-to-shoulder atmosphere of San Fran was wearing on him pretty badly, therefore I decided that we should head back across the Golden Gate as soon as possible, especially considering that rush hour was just beginning to kick in.
We made it across the bridge without any traffic delays (I think sitting idle in traffic on the GGB might even be more than even I could take, much less my dad), and exited with plenty of time to hang out up on the hills before sunset. As the sun went down, I realized that the location of the sun in the sky was going to prevent me from getting any really cool shots of the sunlight hitting the bridge, so we climbed back into the car and wound our way down a very narrow, at times one-lane road that zigs, zags, and drops down towards the water. The road eventually led us to a secluded and nearly abandoned lookout point on top of a cliff-like mound that gave us a beautiful, unobstructed view of the mighty Pacific Ocean. I found it mildly amusing that I had driven my Sebring so far west that I had flat run out of road! The winds were blowing in off the water at a solid twenty or thirty knots, and that combined with temps in the 50’s, made for some pretty chilly conditions for a couple of guys who just the day before were nearly passed out from triple-digit head in Sacramento. Despite my crappy tripod and the gusty breeze, I managed to snag what I feel are some of my best sunset shots, that really capture the mood of the evening (tired, lazy, hungry, in need of AMP and a hot tub, etc).
As the sun went down on the western shore, we wound our way back towards Davis, passing through the impressive bayside village of Sausalito. Although the town appeared to be inhabited mainly by wealthy Californians, it definitely found a spot in my Top 10 places I need to visit again list. The town was lit up beautifully that particular eve, with the sun’s last rays disappearing behind the hills to the west, and the dark purple waters of the bay finally settling for the day. I was tired, as was my dad, but the trip to SF certainly proved to be worth it.
We checked out of the University Lodge the following morning, and arrived at the dealership where we had left the hauler parked at just after they opened, and we began the process of loading the car right away, anxious to get on the road for Idaho. Things were going well until I went to lower our electric/hydraulic car lift, which the Sebring rides on in transit. The lift refused to rise up off of the stops that it was resting on, making it impossible to park the car in the trailer. Of course, had I been able to lower the lift, I certainly would not have been able to raise it back up, due to the fact that the trailer batteries were dead. After attempting to rejuvenate the trailer batteries with a battery charger, I determined that they batteries needed to be replaced. Frustration was beginning to take hold, but I did my best to get the batteries swapped out in the cramped “utility closet” in the nose of the trailer. Fortunately, I had a brand new pair of Optima red tops with me and the wiring job was fairly simple, so the swap went without issue for the most part. A short juicing from the battery charger, and we were back in business. Once we had the car, the tires, the truck, and all of our associated business loaded up, we climbed into the semi and got the hell out of there. We had our fun in Cali, but I can speak for the both of us when I say that we were glad to be leaving. There’s a reason neither of us live there.
At this point, despite the fun in SF and Sacramento, I was beginning to feel as if I had been on the road for weeks, rather than the week or so that it actually was. My dad and I are drastically different people, not so much in our general morals and values, but in practically every other capacity. Be it political views (staunch republican for him, middle of the road for me), musical tastes (Lynyrd Skynyrd for him, The Who for me), etc, etc, we find a way to disagree on a lot of things. For the most part it is not really a big deal, but every now and then, in the privacy of our hotel room or the semi, we tend to engage in the occasional heated debate. This goes back as long as I can remember, and as long as I can remember I’ve always been right (so has he, for that fact). This was beginning to take its toll on the both of us at this point. I had been gone from Wyoming for nearly five years, and the fact that he had only seen me for maybe 20 days over the course of that time period allowed the two of us to forget how to put up with each others’ imperfections. Suffice it to say, there were extended periods of quiet time on the drive from Davis to Nampa, ID.
We arrived in Nampa the following day, having enjoyed (much to our mutual surprise) the cross country drive across the barren plains of northern Nevada, southeastern Oregon, and western Idaho. The dealership welcomed us with open arms, which was a relief after the somewhat strained experience in Davis. After parking the rig, the used car manager loaned us his Jeep Commander for the weekend, and a particularly nice one at that. This saved us the hassle of having to unload the Sebring, which was a blessing as far as I was concerned at this point. I wanted to do a good job for the dealership and I knew that I would, but all I could really think about was going home, which at this point in my life was something of a joke anyways. That realization hit me like a ton of bricks over dinner that night, when my dad and I both were discussing what we were going to do when we got home. He listed all of the relaxing and fun things he was planning on doing with his time upon returning home, and it got me wondering about what I was going to do when I got home. Pack my stuff? Sit in awkward silence? Try to find an apartment?
One has to be careful to not get too wrapped up in the moment, as situational emotions are often some of the strongest. Poor decisions are often made on the spur of the moment, rather than over the course of time. I decided to shelve my “negative” thoughts for awhile and instead concentrate on my chain-restaurant fair.
That night, around 10p.m. or so, I made the decision to ahead and tire up the R/T under the cool cover of darkness, rather than under the heat of the mid-morning sun that we would otherwise be forced to work in. This proved to be a wise decision, and things went quick and easy for us.
The following day was slow, as most Friday gigs are, and as the day drew to a close, Beth called me and asked exactly which town in Idaho I was in. “Nampa,” I replied. “Why do you ask?” She explained that she had been in her local Old Navy store checking out a coat that they had that she really, really liked. Unfortunately, however, the coats they had in stock were too large. The store had called over twenty other Old Navy stores, even some as far away as Dallas, trying to find the appropriately sized coat. She gave me the names of a couple of towns in Idaho that just so happened to have the correct coat, although none of them were Nampa. I told her I would check on the locations of the stores, and get back to her. After consulting with a fashion-minded receptionist in the building, I learned that the nearest Old Navy on my list was only about six miles down the interstate from the dealership. Score. I passed the good news on to Beth, and after the gig ended around 7p.m., I headed the few miles down the road and picked up the coat, which a call ahead from Beth had allowed them to have it ready and waiting for me. I think that might have been a record in/out time for me at any kind of store. At least something fruitful might become of this trip, I chuckled to myself on the way back to the semi.
The next day went quickly but the traffic was slow, apparently due to a college football game of severe importance to the locals. It didn’t really matter to me at this point, and after ensuring the staff and management were happy with our job and no longer needed us, I tired the truck down as fast as I could and got on the road, east-bound and hammer down. I was in a grumpy mood, and not in any real condition to talk to anyone. Back in March, I had purchased tickets to see my favorite band, Rush, in Chicago on their “Snakes & Arrows” tour. I requested the September 8th concert date off, and got the OK to buy my tickets, figuring that our schedule would get booked figuring on me being unavailable that weekend. Well, as the summer progressed, that date got more and more booked, though I was still under the impression that I would be able to have someone fill in for me and I would get to see this concert that I so badly wished to attend. Well, as you have no doubt read, the schedule became heavily booked, to the point where I had to recruit my dad to tag along with me. I understand that I’m here to do my job and that’s fine, but at the same time I was hideously disappointed to be driving across the southern part of Idaho while my favorite band of all time was rocking out in Chicago. $200 of tickets were sitting on my desk at home, unused. I was unable to sell them as I wouldn’t have been able to get anything near what I paid for them, and Amanda had asked if she could use them while I was gone. I said that was fine, but I eventually came to find out that her employers had sent her off to a work-related event at the last minute, thus keeping her from the concert as well. I settled into my “drive hard” mode, turned up the radio (that would be the only Rush for me that evening), and motored on. I was sad, more than anything. I still am to this day, as a matter of fact.
We called it a night in mid-west Wyoming that night, sometime beyond midnight. After about five or six hours of sleep, I climbed back behind the wheel and made tracks for Cheyenne. I wanted to give my dad as much recuperating time on Sunday as possible, as he would have to be back at work on Monday morning. The long trip out west had proven to be very taxing on him both mentally and physically, especially considering his deteriorating health. A number of increasingly serious health issues are plaguing my father, and as the trip wore on that became more and more apparent, and my initially obtuse and stand-offish behavior towards him gradually morphed into a strange mix of concern, pity, and confusion. I felt bad for him, and to this day I wonder exactly what’s going to go wrong next and when (and if) I’ll get to see him again. As my mom and sister pulled up to the hauler once we had parked in Cheyenne, I could tell how anxious my dad was to get home. I bid farewell to him, gave my mom and sis a quick hug, and said my goodbyes. I wasn’t sure when I would see them again either, so inside I was a swirling mess of emotions. I haven’t seen them again to this day, and I’m not sure when I will again. I climbed back into my semi, and pulled back onto the highway, continuing my way east, leaving behind the last place I was really able to call “home”.
I had a day off waiting for me when I got home, so I ran fast and efficient, stopping only when absolutely necessary. There may be nicer semis on the road than a Freightliner Century, but I will say that my tractor ran solid and got respectable mileage the entire trip out west and back. I called it a night just outside Omaha at a Flying J truck stop, where I rendezvoused with Travis, who was actually on his way out west for an extended trip. We discussed current events in each others’ lives, our current states of being, and our future plans (or lack thereof). I bid goodnight to him shortly after supper, and retired to my sleeper for the night.
I hit the road early the next morning, having made my day-off plans the night before. I had decided to leave straight from the shop and head to Beth’s apartment in South Bend, IN where I could hopefully relax and bleed off some of the stress I felt saturated by. Not even an hour after leaving Omaha, an Iowa DOT cop picked me out of a line of semis traveling together and pulled me over to do a log book and paperwork check. Fortunately I had been running legal and had my log book just damn near perfect, so after pointing out a minor flaw in my record keeping and wasting 40mins of my time, he sent me on my way. That only added to my grumpy, “get home right now” mood, so again, I went without stopping unless totally necessary. I arrived home that evening, and after unloading my trailer and my car by myself, I made tracks for Indiana just as fast as I figured I could get away with, somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 or 90mph.
My brief respite from the road went all too fast, though my time spent with Beth is always refreshing, rejuvenating, and therapeutic. A short couple of days passed and before I knew it I was on my way to Lost Creek, WV with Geremie and Mat to run the R/T and Rammunition at a small town festival that the local Dodge dealer had some sort of involvement in. It was as odd of a gig as I’ve ever done, but it went quite easy. But, nothing in life is ever easy, and this trip was no exception. While on the way to Lost Creek, a 3ft section of exhaust pipe broke off under the cab of the tractor I was driving, so for the rest of the day my ears were assaulted by the crackle-crackle of the unmuffled exhaust and engine brake. Mat is pretty talented at fixing things like that, so he was able to rig up a suitable fix upon arriving in Lost Creek, much to the relief of my temples and eardrums. Gremlins struck again on the way home, however. The truck’s fuel filter became too clogged to function sometime around 11pm on a Saturday night while I was passing through Dayton, OH en route for home. I limped the choking truck off of the highway and into a Meijer grocery store parking lot as quickly as I could, and set to work changing the filter out for a fresh new one. About 20 or so minutes later I washed the putrid diesel fuel smell off of my hands and headed down the road a short distance to a rest area, where I gave up for the night.
The Indy Jamboree and a dealership gig in Pontiac, IL would make up the schedule for the following weekend, and a hectic one it ended up being. I had been planning on having Beth attend the Jamboree with me, but once the Pontiac gig popped up, that added a bit more driving into my plan. After the Jamboree Friday night, Dale and I sped home in a pickup, and then left out the following morning with the R/T to knock out the gig in Pontiac, which we did with flying colors. Upon returning to the shop Saturday night, I headed for Beth’s place while Dale headed home. Sunday morning Beth and I met up with Dale and the rest of the team in Indy, and finished out the weekend with a win. While the rest of the team headed home to IL, Beth and I decided to hang around in Indy for the evening, with the Hard Rock Café being our destination of choice for dinner. I started feeling quite ill during supper, so we called it a night earlier than we might have otherwise done. We arrived back in South Bend, just in time for me to enjoy a restless night of fighting with flu symptoms. I don’t know if it was the flu or something I ate, or maybe it was just stress and exhaustion.
After months of serious pondering (combined with some recent events), I made up my mind that Indy would likely be the last race of my career as an HBR employee, at least in a full-time capacity. 2006 was a rough year for me, and I don’t think I fully recovered before 2007 kicked in, which of course proved to be even tougher. After all that I had been through, all that I was in the process of going through, and all that I could see ahead of me, I decided that I needed to throw in the towel and come in off of the road. Although professionally I had grown by leaps and bounds since starting with HBR fresh out of high school in 2003, I felt like my personal life had begun to suffer, to the point that my stubbornness and intensity played a part in the falling out between Amanda and I, in addition to some other things. I became determined to find a new and healthy way to live my life; I made up my mind that I wanted to take some college classes in photography; I made up my mind that I wanted to be able to spend more time focusing on my new relationship, so that it could live and breathe and grow into something more successful than my last one. I assure you that this was no easy decision to make, but it was one that had to be made. My life had reached a crossroads, and I had to choose between the hustle-bustle of the big road I had been on, or the relative unknowns of the smaller road. I decided in the hours and days after Indy the smaller road would indeed be the correct choice.
I still felt a sense of loyalty and commitment to the team and to Tim and Mark, so after I made my feelings clear to them in the weeks following Indy, I agreed to finish out my remaining list of events in the month of October, which consisted of a series of dealership events and a community car show in, of all places, Little Rock, AR.
As each weekend passed, it became more and more clear that the end was in sight. I spent a lot of time reflecting on the things that I’ve done, the things (and people) that I knew I would miss, and the things (and people) that I wouldn’t miss. Salina, KS came and went; then Dallas, TX; then Milford, PA; then, at last, the final gig: Sonic’s Big Cruise Fest in Little Rock.
How fitting is it that the site of my first gig of the year (and my first ever solo gig) should be the site of my final gig of the year (and my full-time career). Dale would be my companion for this last trip, and we did our best to do it well and have fun in the process. The “work” part of our gig never got too terribly busy, so it was nice to not be totally swamped. The “fun” part of our gig was memorable and tasty, as we were able to enjoy some of Little Rock’s best eating joints, both out of desire to do so and convenience (there are no fast food or chain restaurants to speak of in downtown). We even managed to soak up some live music one of the nights, much to the enjoyment of both of us.
However, for yours truly, the trip was not all giggles and smiles. Over the course of my career working for HBR, I had managed to not damage any of the tractor-trailer rigs I had ever been tasked with driving, nor had I ever seriously wounded the R/T in any way. I began the Little Rock trip with high expectations of myself, as I obviously wanted to keep it that way. I’m pleased to report that I did accomplish this task, much to my relief, though I was confronted with a disproportionate amount of “challenges” on this last trip. Dale and I arrived home on a Sunday evening, and for the final time I turned in my paperwork, loaded up my gear, and headed “home”.
In the time between the Little Rock gig and right now, I’ve left the house that Amanda and I were sharing and moved into an apartment in Champaign, and began my new professional life as a sales consultant and photographer for a network of Kenworth/Volvo dealerships in central Illinois. So far, my real-world knowledge of heavy duty trucks had come in quite handy, and my keen eye for photography has impressed many of my superiors and co-workers (much to my relief, of course). It has been a long time since I’ve felt this upbeat, positive, refreshed, and optimistic.
It has been quite fun so far, but certainly not easy. I often feel like a character from the Steven King movie “The Shawshank Redemption”. One of the characters is released from prison in the 1950’s as an elderly man, and he finds that the world has changed drastically since he was incarcerated nearly 40 years prior. He struggles to adapt to a drastically different lifestyle, one so different from his own that the can barely fathom it all. Although this character’s story has a sadder ending than this one does (at least I hope so!), I can relate just a bit to how he might have felt.
Looking back, I will never forget the day, a high school senior sitting in my living room back in Wyoming, that Tim Hall offered me over the phone the chance to work for the team over the summer of 2003. I will never forget how it felt to leave my life behind in Wyoming and start a new one in Illinois five days after graduating high school. I will never forget how I felt the first day I put on that crew shirt. I will never forget how it felt when Mark won the first race I ever went to with the team. I will never forget the highs, the lows, the long days and late nights, the pride, the joy, and the pain. My time with HBR has given me a lot, and it has also taken a lot. But I wouldn’t trade my time there for anything. It has made me a more mature person, who has a better grasp on how the world works and what I have to do to be successful. I’ve also learned what it is like to love, to loose that love, and to find new love. I’ve always felt a sense of purpose and a sense of direction while working for Tim and Mark, no matter how happy or sad I was.
In closing, I offer this thanks to everyone that has helped me find my way to where I am now; my family, my friends, my teammates, and my enemies. You have all helped guide me to where I am now. I’ve been to the top and spent some time there, and now it is time to move on. It is a bit unnerving to be starting over from scratch, especially when I had my own special place on the team. But it is what I have to do. It is time for me to leave the big road, and find my way on the smaller road. I don’t know where it may lead me, but I can’t wait to find out.
Sincerely yours, one last time.
- KD Email KD and let him know what you thought!!
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