Chapter 19

After a while of just riding I noticed Jerrilyn was keeping it on 75 miles per hour and I wondered why, since she hadn't felt a bit odd about doing 90 while we'd been practicing with Jim. Finally I asked her.

"We decided to hold it way down while in California. We're still going a little fast for their limit of 55, but since we're headed out of state we figure we'll do ok on this stretch from nowhere to nowhere. We'll probably pick it up to 85 across Arizona, as much as we can anyway.

"What do you mean as much as we can?" I asked.

"We'll be climbing to Flagstaff, so there's a chance we can't keep to 85. Not much of a chance with empty wagons and these V8 Cats, but a slight chance. Of course after we top out at Flag we can roll at will all the way to Texas."

"What will hold us back in Texas?" I asked, fascinated by the information they'd all picked up somewhere I hadn't.

"Speed cops. I-40 is only a one hundred and fifty mile strip across the panhandle, but the Texas cops like to get their licks in on the cross-country traffic. We can pretty much drop the hammer again in Oklahoma, but we'll have to slow down in Okie City to turn left up I-44 for Missouri and points east," she said.

I could get a grip on what she was saying, but every now and then she'd say a word funny, like Okie City for example. Then I remembered she hadn't said Amarillo on the radio when talking to Selene and Christine.

"Why did you say we were going to stop by Morning? What was that about?"

"Amarillo by Morning. It's a George Strait song and most truckers call Amarillo Morning now. You know, like they call San Francisco the Gay Bay."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," I said, but I could remember someone saying it on the radio. In fact it made a certain kind of sense to me now I thought about it.

Just then we were crossing into Arizona and after a few miles Jerrilyn slowed down and then pulled off the road and onto a small paved driveway type thing heading up toward a small office type building.

"Where're we going now?" I asked.

"Chicken coop. The sign was on," she said, as if it explained anything.

Whether it did or didn't all we did was slow way down to about five miles per hour and roll across right near the side of the building. I could see a red light/green light type sign just past a little out thrust part of the building. It was green and Jerrilyn kept going. I noticed she was hardly paying any attention to where she was going now and was looking closely at the mirror on her side.

"What's happening now?" I asked.

"Nothing really. I'm just watching to make sure we don't have to stop. I doubt we will. I think the cops were having coffee in the scale house, but I'm just making sure they don't stop any of us," she said.

"Why would they stop us and what is this place anyway?"

"It's a weight station. It's where they check out trucks to make sure everything is legal and they also weigh them to make sure they aren't carrying too much."

"We're not carrying anything. We're empty," I said.

"I know that and you know it, but the cops didn't know. We have to go through every weight station unless the sign out by the road says it's closed. They can also hassle us about permits, logbooks, and all kinds of crap. It's just part of it," she said.

"Oh," I said, but realized the girls had been paying more attention to this trucking deal than I had. I was determined to learn about it now though.

The only hold up to my furthering education was no more weight stations. There wasn't one on the other side of Arizona and the one in New Mexico was closed so we went right on by it.

When we made it to the other side of New Mexico I thought for sure I'd pick up more information since I started hearing other truckers talking about a long line at the chicken coops as I now knew the weight stations were called. Alas, it was only on the inbound side from Texas and the weight station on the outbound side was not only closed, it looked as if it hadn't been used in years.

I consoled myself thinking surely we'd have to do it in Texas, but I was let down again. They didn't even have a weight station at all in Texas, or at least none before we pulled off into a truck stop in Amarillo.

I was glad enough to be stopping. The trucks had wonderful air-ride seats, but my ass was still a little tired since we'd come all the way from Barstow to Amarillo in one go. I wondered about fuel too, but Jerrilyn told me they were going to fuel after they crossed the line into Oklahoma. She said the tax was cheaper there.

I wondered about it and asked for more information. I found out the tax was two cents cheaper a gallon and wondered what the hell the big deal was. Jerrilyn said they were just trying to act like the other Owner Operators.

I'll admit I was lost again by now and so as we walked into the restaurant part of the Truckstops of America I asked what she meant.

"Owner Operators are people who own the trucks they are driving. They usually pay the most attention to the price of fuel. Company drivers usually don't care about the cost of fuel since they don't have to pay for it," she said.

By now I was impressed with Jerrilyn's knowledge of the ins and outs of truck driving, but as we were walking inside the restaurant I closed my mouth, realizing probably everyone in here knew as much and would think I was a dufus for asking about it at the table.

Of course the girls went to the rest room right away and come to think of it I could pee myself, so I went in and faced the porcelain. I was out before them and waited for them to exit. They came out in company with another woman and it seemed she'd be eating with us.

The waitress was quick to come over when we were seated, but she looked like she'd had a long shift already. Of course it was nearing three AM so who knew how long she'd been on duty.

The girl who had come out of the restroom with my girls was Julie and she drove for Schneider Nation Carriers. She told them she had been driving for about six months so far and liked it fine. She switched into advertising mode then, telling them all the benefits of driving for Schneider.

Selene asked if all their trucks were that awful orange and the girl admitted they were, but claimed it grew on you after a while.

"In fact it looks beautiful on the weeks I get my bonus check," she said, and there followed an explanation of the tripmaster which was an integral part of her truck. It kept up with her speed, idling time, and other things about the truck's operation. Apparently she got a bonus every month of from one to six cents per mile if she stayed within the rules Schneider had for operation.

It seemed like a lot of work for not much money when I first heard it, but then I realized the girl wasn't privy to poker games with hundred thousand dollar buy ins. I did a little calculating in my head according to the monthly mileage she said she averaged and figured 6 cents a mile for fifteen to twenty thousand miles a month was a pretty hefty bonus for a truck driver.

In fact, with her regular mileage pay she said she made about twelve hundred bucks a week. It sounded like a lot more money than I figured most of the truck drivers made.

She had some other things to say about driving her Schneider truck and they sounded pretty nice to me too. Their satellite link up let them communicate with their dispatchers any time day or night without the bother of stopping to use the telephone. It could also provide directions from any point to any other point in the US.