I don’t know exactly why, but I never considered using this blog as a journal entry type of deal. I suppose it’s because my daily thoughts are expressed on various message boards, or on Facebook. The things I choose to share here allow me to be more detailed, and express my thoughts without it looking like a novel. Message board readers tend to be fickle, relying upon their ability to discredit anothers thoughts, rather than learn more about what they’re reading.

So I’ve been somewhat stuck on what to write about here, but not because of a lack of material. The people close to me know all you have to do is mention any word and it will trigger a floodgate of rambling from me. Really, I’ve been stuck because of what I want to share, but have held off. Many would misinterpret the intent, and I’m not ready for that. So today I’m going to try something different, and give a recap of what has been happening this Summer. In short, a compiled list of what those on message boards get to read daily.



TJ started off his racing season at Cottage Grove Speedway in May. His first race back since his scary crash in Elma last year ended the same way. On a night when things looked to be going so good, it came to an abrupt end when he flipped out of the ballpark and destroyed his second car in as many races – save for a year apart. A couple of things stand out from the night, the first one being the fact that he looked like he had never even been out of the car for a year. Fred Brownfield once told me that if they are a driver, time off doesn’t hurt them. I saw what he meant. The second thing was Ann’s words in the trailer as the EMT’s checked on TJ and I tried to figure out how to load another mangled race car. I’m sure the emotions of seeing him possibly seriously hurt again got to her, but it was interesting that in less than 48 hours, she was the one coming up with ideas on how to get him back out there.

Having used up our only car, TJ was provided the opportunity to continue racing in 2010. His good fortune has turned out to be a dose of medicine that has helped heal a past ailment. It has also put more pressure on him to show that he is worthy of an investment. He has never backed away from a challenge, even knowing that he is often outmatched. His choices are not always my choice, but this is his deal, so I follow along. His return to Elma served notice that he hadn’t forgotten what to do. A late race spin negated a brilliant run, but the finishes have never been my measuring stick. A couple weeks later he went up against even stiffer competition, and showed that his father is the weak link. I just can’t seem to grasp the concept of what it takes to make these cars work, and it nearly spelled disaster until a friend we had met only a few weeks earlier gave some instruction to save the night from ending in catastrophe. Again - not a stellar finish, but we supposedly learned and moved on.

In June we went home. Home, for me, meaning Montana. It’s been 5 years since I had headed East, and I had forgotten what it was like to get off I-5 and feel the tension in my shoulders ease. I made a comment to TJ that I would rather tow 10 hours East every week then tow North or South. That’s nothing against the company we meet, just the atmosphere. The Montana trip turned in to one of the best moments of racing that I have enjoyed since beginning in sprint cars. TJ and I worked the pits and maintenance on our own, and proved to ourselves that it could be done. We did miss the company of a crew, but doing it by ourselves added to the good feeling of being home. TJ displayed another good run on the track, and we were both satisfied that we were inching forward on figuring this out. By the way - it snows in Montana in June and August.

The 4th of July weekend brought struggle. Cottage Grove has been one of TJ’s favorite tracks to race at, but it is also where he struggles. Perhaps he relishes the challenge, but for whatever reason, we just struggle to get good finishes there. Despite hitting his marks each and every lap, we were slow and missed the A-mains both nights. That’s going to prove to be the weekend we wish we had back, even though TJ continually reiterates points and titles are not his goal. We both spent some time the following week talking to Paul Silva and trying to get a grasp on what we’re doing wrong. I admit to being frustrated after coming out of Montana so well. Our toughest challenge was yet to come, and we had some work to do.

Northwest Speedweek is no easy task with a full crew, let alone a rookie, an old man, and 3 lovely young ladies to help with cleaning chores. TJ and I decided to have a go at Southern Oregon Speedway on our own for the regular Saturday night show before Speedweek began on Monday. We tried a new approach and it went OK, but did help build our confidence for the week ahead. TJ usually always struggles the first night at any track anyway. We serviced the car and waited for our ladies to arrive in hot hot Medford. Max took a dip in the Motel fountain pool, and was starting to garner his own groupies. The first night of Speedweek began and everything went wrong. We missed the setup for a totally different track, the frustration of watching the primadonnas let someone else prep their race track set off not only me, but our ladies as well. There they were working their ass off to get rid of the over-watered track everytime TJ left the racing surface, and the golden boys and their 6 men crew were sitting in the pits with nary a hint of being on a muddy race track. It set the tone for the entire night and we limped to the car wash with our tail between our legs, totally confused as to what we did wrong, and a total lack of respect for those who are too good for their own good.

Tuesday would bring another new track, and some skepticism as to what we should be doing. It would be our second experience with having to unload in the pits, but we quickly found out that being pitted in the infield would actually help us. We were well prepared for what we needed to unload, and the only thing I missed was having Max by our side. Willamette is one of those tracks that can tear up equipment, and drivers either love it or hate it. For us, it turned into love. It only took the set of hot laps to figure out what we had done wrong at Medford, and once again, we longed to have the previous race back. TJ was communicating what the car needed, and I know we’re going to look back on that drive from Medford to Lebanon as a pivotal point in our season. Once again, the professionals showed up to bolster the car count and pad their bank accounts for the expensive trip West. TJ raced well, hitting his marks, overcoming yet another luck of the draw 4th row starting position, and raced his way into the A-main. With little room to pass, he went a lap down but then was able to hang with the leaders no matter where they asked him to go on the restarts. The old track position is everything proved true, but he showed he was capable, we made huge strides in making adjustment decisions that night, and held our heads high as we headed for Banks Oregon and Sunset Speedway. The final note from Lebanon would come back to haunt us later, as there are always those who will take advantage at any opportunity.

We found Banks to be quite familiar. The setting totally reminded me of our quarter midget days where the host track would prepare for an event. The track and it’s surroundings were manicured, the walls were freshly painted, and the staff milled around taking care of last minute details as the teams arrived. Once again I experienced a TJ that was barking out changes with confidence. His typical 4th row starting spot coupled with a late heat race spin fired him up even more and he raced his way into the A-main again. Although he was starting deep in the field, he aligned himself with one of the professionals and made plans to follow him to the front. Banks is a tiny track that really, is just too small for great racing, but fun none the less. TJ lost contact with his planned teammate late in the race and ended up right where he started. But the thing that stands out in my mind the moment we got in the truck to leave was his comment – “I learned what to do when you make a mistake.” We headed for Puyallup and our own beds, ready for a day off, but brimming with confidence in the fact that we had just completed our 4th night of racing in 5 days and we were none the worse for wear. That would change.

Friday and Saturday of Speedweek is always one of the biggest races of the year. Elma has now made it their date for the National Tour to come in, and force the local teams who are worn out from a week of racing to vie for a piece of the pie. Good for the fans, they tell us good for the racers, and no doubt great for the promoter who no longer has to put up two big purses to put on a show for the fans. A lot of money leaves the Northwest, and more of it is leaving every year with decisions like this. I often wonder how that can be healthy for Northwest racing. We made our way to Elma, a route I’m all too familiar with and one that brings me much anxiety. There’s not one person or thing to blame for it – it’s just the way it is. In the Summer of 2006 I pulled out of there one Sunday afternoon and said aloud I didn’t care if I ever went back there. I think it affects me still.

Grays Harbor Raceway is big and fast, and besides making sure your race car is in tip top shape, your driver better be smooth and willing to hang it out there. Paul and Shane parked next to us and that built the confidence I had. Paul is always busy, but he has a way of helping, even if it’s just a look. TJ looked good in hot laps and we discovered a problem with a front shock. He tried in vain to overcome yet another lousy pill draw and it was getting old quick. He avoided catastrophe late in the B-main when the car bottomed out and shot him up the track. You’re hauling the mail at Elma, and it was the first time I have ever heard him say he was scared when something happened. Call it luck, call it skill, call it a higher power, he collected himself and the car and drove to the finish and the trailer. We took that into the next night and hoped for better. We know better than to simply hope.

Elma is the home of BS games and TJ forgot where he was. When daddy has 3 cars in reserve you get to play games, and when you’ve raced as long as TJ’s been alive, you know how to play games. TJ was stupid and got caught up in their shit, and coasted to the infield with the left front knocked out of the car. The damage was minimal, but enough to essentially end his night with that caliber of competition and on a track like Elma where you have to be perfect to excel, we tucked our tail and watched a melee race that in typical Elma fashion, took until well into the next day to complete. I love hanging at the trailer after the races to talk with the fans. But the continual after midnight finishes we experience at Elma is taking it’s toll. We hung out anyway, licking our wounds of the past two nights, but happy in that we had just completed our 6th race in 8 nights, and felt accomplished. As mentioned earlier, Speedweek is a challenge for a full and experienced team. We were doing OK. Max and Shane were quickly becoming close friends, we had a week to digest what went wrong and what had gone right, and Speedweek and Elma was in our rear view mirror with nary $50 in parts damaged. We were far better off then some.

The next week would bring back Cottage Grove on the schedule and the National teams once again. Brian Crockett advertised an open practice and BBQ on Thursday, and we decided to take advantage. TJ, Shelby, Max, and I, took off for what turned out to be one of my most favorite nights of the year. I’ve never been a fan of competition, and the night was perfect for me. We made adjustments, documented what they did, communicated, ate, fixed some newfound damage that the rocks that aren’t at Elma did, and headed for the Motel where things would turn to shit overnight. I had a feeling this would be the year that something bad would happen with my pick-up, and coming out of the motel the next morning, the look on TJ’s face told the story. The stolen fuel card and the $600 bill they racked up, along with taking my phone and a couple dollars in change, paled in comparison to the $1300 in damage they did getting the door open. I’m done locking doors. They’re going in anyway – why let them inflict more than just emotional damage.

We struggled once again at the Grove, but TJ raced brilliantly through another shitty pill draw and found himself in his first National event A-main after nearly winning the B-main. In quarter midgets we could DQ someone for an intentional stop after they screwed up. Apparently in the big leagues, you do what you have to do and TJ’s ½ lap lead with 2 laps to go was negated. The second night brought an un-expected surprise in a front row starting spot for the heat race and he promptly blew it. Getting ready for the B-main on that second night in a row was probably the most serious and assertive I have ever been. For the first time, I told TJ what I was going to do and told him to deal with it. He responded to the challenge and looked like a veteran racing his way forward, hitting his marks every single lap, and refused to succumb to the temptation to move off the bottom. When Paul and his group met me at the trailer afterward, their smile was all I needed to know we had done good. TJ started the A-main deep and finished deep. He was disappointed in himself as he said the goal is to move forward. He cost himself at least 4 positions by responding to another request for courtesy like happened at Lebanon earlier. He’s learning though, and sent the message after the race that it wasn’t going to go down like that again. I guess sticking up for yourself has to be overcome with high school clique like antics. How quickly we forget that the world has eyes and ears.

We took a month off in early August. TJ wanted to go to Knoxville with Shane and Paul again but they were full up. Man what a year those two are having. Shane has demonstrated he is a formidable competitor anytime and anywhere despite the wannabes thinking they have a shot at what he has. Paul – well, what can you say. Is there anybody on the planet who doesn’t have a grasp on what he has accomplished with so little. Big congratulations to those two and their team. Max is proud to have both of you as Facebook and Silver Bullet friends. He also knows where he is going to take his next dump. I hope the superhero steps in it.

A couple of weeks ago we headed back to Banks for the first of a two night Oregon weekend. TJ was brimming with confidence where as usual, he feels better the second time around. Banks went well, racing his way through dual heat races to make the redraw. There’s 8 possible positions and wouldn’t you know, his comes up 7. He did well and we did well knowing our changes are progress. He was argued for and able to be afforded what others are granted without pause to be in Fred Rannards Internet show. Teaming up with Mad Mack Brown was a perfect fit, Fred is a professional and does his homework, and the trio put on a great show for the fans. I have to personally thank Fred Rannard and Nathan Prince for holding firm in their beliefs, doing what is right, and showing the naysayers that they are the problem. We left Banks feeling tired but pleased, ready to return there in the future, and off to Coos Bay and the Oregon Coast where we had not been since TJ puked in the Suburban every 100 miles in our quest to see Free Willy.

Coos Bay fit us. I think it fit others as well. The track is sized perfect, built by a racer who understands the needs of local racers, and just a great place to spend a weekend. One night is not enough there. TJ said he was struggling, but it didn’t look like it to me. The car count improved to nearly a full field and yet we were still expected to run twice as much for the same amount. I wonder if the people making those decisions had to bare the cost of our expense – would they still ask/insist? Like a racer is going to say no. It worked out for us as track time is the main goal. TJ was doing OK in the main event until the infield became fair game for racing surface. I’m not sure how a competition director can watch the activities on the entire race track while scoring the race as well, but many are more talented than I. I was able to see the #19 sprint car spin going into turn 1 and the front axle that had folded underneath him. It’s happened before where a previous race incident cost us the following race. Visual inspection is sometimes not enough to catch the damage, and I was thankful it didn’t happen at a track like Elma. TJ was scolded by an un-involved competitor for his driving afterward and for the 3rd time in two nights. I should have discussed it with the mouth, but to tell you the truth, I’m a little confused by his tactics. I’m willing to unravel the mystery of just what someones problem is before making a decision on how to act, but I can tell you the mouth is quickly living up to my initial impression. It’s hard work being cool. We’ll get it worked out. Or rather I will. TJ said he doesn’t much care to deal with someone who won’t listen and will work out any issues he has with those whom he respects. I think standing up for himself at Cottage Grove is being met with intimidation. The last word anyone would use to describe TJ’s driving would be asshole. Especially when you didn’t even see it happen. Agenda?

Summer’s coming to an end as is our schedule. One more trip to Elma and Yakima for two nights in September, and perhaps something else added in if we can make it work out. The tracks in Oregon were prefect for us. Their efforts are noted. It’s been one of my best Summer’s and I have enjoyed every moment. Nicki’s growing up too fast, and thankfully takes after her mother in most departments. TJ makes me proud to be his father and I wish I wasn’t his achiles heel, although I’m still bragging about those changes in Cottage Grove. Ann is a trooper, and is silently addicted to what we do. That’s good for me. Much is going on and much is progressing. That’s not all good, but we smile anyway. That’s all we can do. Just a final thought for this blog – or rather, a piece of advice. If you ever have a chance to visit the Oregon Coast – do so. It’s beautiful. But make sure you fill up with gas or diesel before the sun goes down. Either that, or be sure to carry a 5 gallon can in reserve. It was just enough to get us back to the I-5 grind. If it was Montana, I'd simply stop where we ran out and call it good.

Pleasantly Blu-Team

I've been stuck in Facebook land for awhile, and have neglected my blog. FB has allowed me to string together short bursts of my thoughts, and that has ruined it for those who enjoy my blathering in Pleasantly Blu.

One of the people I enjoy reading from the most isn't necessarily someone I always agree with, and maybe that's why I find his thoughts so intriguing. Today his words centered around global warming, and I felt compelled to respond. He's un-friended many who wouldn't share his ideals, and I admire that very much. One poster commented that he was sure I would get the boot. I remarked that I've lost friends before, but have shared a close relationship for the past 27+ years with someone who I disagree with most often. I chalked the success up to never having kept score with my wife.

I was kept on as a friend with the aforementioned writer, even though it was recognized we don't always share the same views. I felt compelled to thank him, and as I wrote my response I thought to myself - why isn't this in my blog. For those who have patiently awaited my blathering -

- thanks Kevin, but truth be told, I don't endorse those people in private either. I think most politicians(and many regulars) are just a bunch of people who stand for what something does for them and nothing more. I was raised in a staunch union family by a father who was raised on a farm and thought his kids should know how to work for nothing so they could learn values. I struck out on my own 26 years ago when I tired of working for wages while the men telling me what to do seemed to have everything.
I've been told I should never be in business for myself because I'm not willing to do what it takes to truly succeed, and I'm OK with that. I am one person who could truly benefit from a national health care overhaul, but I fail to see where it will keep someone who isn't sick from making their fortune off those of us who could use some f'ing research to cure our ills. I was intrigued to see this week that Lou Gehrig may have simply suffered from too many bumps to the head, and wonder why it took 70+ years to come up with that. You're right about not paralleling some of your thinking, but I find myself wondering if Humboldt County might truly have it's benefits to some aside from just simple pleasure. I am often misunderstood which is weird because I am more often told I never leave people wondering where I stand. Perhaps I should have listened more to the teacher when she said I needed to participate in speech and drama to graduate.
Do I think the planet Earth is getting to warm? Despite the fact that I hate hot weather and am good with it being 50 and overcast all the time, I fail to see how an ice-berg melting is a bad thing. The amount of water on our planet and in our atmosphere never changes. Never, ever. It simply re-distributes itself. We're a long ways from making this planet un-inhabitable, and my hope is that before it gets too hot here, some of those genius's can come up with a way to cure the common f'ing cold, or any childhood ailment, or cancer, or my pet peeve - neurological diseases. Notice how I listed myself last.
I suspect the beginning and end of all wisdomers will have destroyed this planet with their selfishness long before the ice melts. Shit, I've seen family members do worse for less.
Sorry to ramble - but you asked. Kinda.
Your friend,
Ted
PS: I do think Mrs Palin is hot, but I hardly ever turn the volume up to know for sure.

Pleasantly Blu-Team

Objective: I saw, I counted, I observed. This is what she/he did. This is what I/we did.

Subjective: opinion, judgment, assumption, belief, rumor, suspicion. Varies: person to person & day to day. Able to take on a life of its own, not the truth, sometimes completely false. Destructive in decision making.

I had a discussion the other day about this, and how the meanings are misunderstood. I think the confusion comes when a person believes they fit one description and not the other. The problem comes when one refuses to recognize and/or admit their intent in what they are doing.

I recall back in 2000 as the racing season was winding down, the time had come for the members to recognize the achievements of the then oh so young children. Young, but not to ignorant to recognize reality. A last minute instruction from a once respected leader told the membership their vote should recognize a most improved child, and not actually an achievement. After three years, a coveted perpetual award had the parameters changed so as to fit the subjective opinion and belief of another. I said it then, and I say it now - the original recipient of the Driver of the Year award has never been the most improved anything. He simply was recognized for his outstanding achievements. An argument can be made for the 2nd recipient, though stacking the votes with family and employees yielded the desired results two years in a row. Really? Most improved for two straight years? Someone had a lot of room to improve I guess.

Eventually the parameters were reset to document what the award was set out to really mean - an appreciation by ones leaders to recognize achievements and demonstrate a goal for which everyone should try and achieve. They don't always work that way, but then again, no award can mean as much or be so accurately reflective unless it comes by way of ones peers. There is too much room for subjective reasoning and agenda otherwise, and even a child can recognize that. One of my saddest moments in quarter midgets came the day I had to present a child with a Hard Luck award. He took it around the corner, dropped it in the trash, and said "it means biggest loser". We tried explaining it to him in different terms, but he would have no part. He knew he hadn't performed, (which is after all, the goal of racing is it not?) and he wanted no reminders of it. He was being objective.

You would think I would have learned my lesson about objective/subjective reasoning at some point in my 46 years, but I guess I am just the type of person to hold out hope that common sense and objectivity will always take precedence. Subjective people will always tell you not to take it personally. How can you not? If their reasoning is directed at you, with no valid explanation for their opinion or judgment, then their actions start to take on a life of their own. And as defined above, the subjective decision making becomes destructive.

The troubling part for me is it that it doesn’t seem to matter how much, or how little, is at stake. Nobody can ever tell another what the level of acceptance should be for allowing a disruption in ones life. What may seem trivial to me, may be the most important thing in the world to another. What bothers me, may be only a minor annoyance to another. Like I have stated before, one thing is for certain, most people don’t give a hoot until they have been affected by subjective interference. But at the same time, I can hardly expect those who just plain don’t care unless it happens to them to actually stand up and be counted. Why would they? There’s too much at risk. I submit that goes both ways.

All of this is just goobly talk because I haven’t got right to the point, so let me just say it straight out – the same destructive person who has gone out of his way in private to try and discredit and hold my son back has demonstrated yet again that he is incapable of an objective thought. Whether it is intentional, or just another example of his incompetence due to the drunken stupor he lives in, he seems bound and determined to make sure he doesn’t have to deal with reality. Quite frankly, I am sick and tired of hearing the excuses offered of it being simple mistakes, and not to feel like it’s directed at us. You know – the old don’t take it so personal. How can you not?

TJ Hartman is an ASCS Region and/or National series Rookie, until such time he exceeds the standard set by precedence before him. While not a standard I necessarily agree with, still, he has come nowhere close to the 65% of races allowed per year to be eligible. I mean seriously, if Paul McMahan was a rookie, how can a kid who has ran a total of 7 ASCS races in 2 years not be one. This will all be explained off as a mistake, or a new set of rules, or whatever the hell else the subjective ass needs to say to cover up the stench of his bullshit. You have to remember, this is the same guy who whined and cried to his superiors because we didn’t want a drunk hanging all over us needing his hug for the night. TJ said it plain as day – we’re not friends. Would you want to be subjected to that?

What does all this mean? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But if it means nothing, what is wrong with making an objective decision? I saw. I counted. I observed. Leave the bullshit at home.

Pleasantly Blu-Team

Hot subject this week from the NASCAR race where Joey Logano’s father got involved in directing his son how to handle an aggressor. This is actually a subject I think about quite often, and how things should be handled when a child becomes an adult. The time when a parent has to start relinquishing his god given right as an authority, and his legal and moral obligation to guide a child into a productive member of society.



TJ and I have spent virtually every week of his life, since he was the age of 6, focusing on something he wants to do. I’ll admit that I have had my reservations about continuing on several occasions, but his innocence and desire keeps me coming back. I have offered several times to head off in a different direction, and each time, he reels me back to racing. Putting up pictures of old muscle cars just made him laugh. How can that be fun – he would ask. Yet despite my reservations, and lack of desire to compete, I cannot imagine him doing this without my involvement. That – is where others seem to have a problem, not unlike the Logana incident today.

TJ was fortunate enough to be provided an opportunity to meet and interact with a prominent person in the racing industry back in 2007. Some would say he was the ultimate father of a racer. It was an experience that would have left most people standing there in awe. TJ’s innocence helped him focus. He has never been impressed by stature, though sometimes he should be. I didn’t attend the event, but I wasn’t surprised by one of the details TJ brought home with him. Over 3 years earlier, this person had predicted/stated that over-powering fathers were going to be a problem in racing – specifically, NASCAR land. While I was somewhat puzzled by who had said this, as it was well known his involvement in his own sons career, I was also smiling on the inside. I had made a conscience decision to stay out of this step in TJ’s life, and it felt good to know I wasn’t one of those dads. Or was I?

In all the years of TJ’s racing, there has only been a handful of times where I would consider myself to be a meddling father. That is going to happen when you are in kiddy racing, and a handful out of the hundreds of races he competed in as a child is pretty good odds really. It got harder when TJ moved up to adult racing, and part of that was due to the fact he was still in reality, a child, and I was still under moral and legal obligation to guide him. In that time, I have only one regret for getting involved, and that regret isn’t because I butted in. The regret is for not knocking the head off someone who had/has some longstanding personal issues with myself, and thought he could take it out on my family at a race track. He thought he could take it out on my child. That was a huge mistake, but I digress.

Getting to the point of this – why is it that anyone would have a problem with a father being involved in their childs life? If the person (insert favorite race car drivers name) has made it to the point of success he has, how do you suppose he got there? Was it not his father who guided him? Was it not his father who nurtured, and helped him become the person that he is? Was it not the father who helped guide the career of one of the greatest race car drivers in the world? If the smile, demeanor, talent, or whatever else it is that has made the driver so desirable, and is the measure of success, do you think that just magically happens? I personally know of one father/son duo that found success in everything they did. Now, as the father is relegated to the grandstands, the success is fewer and farther between. Coincidence? I contend there was a connection that was lost. That connection included drive, accountability, direction, and perhaps knowledge. I think it’s mostly the direction. The ability to view and guide things from a close personal and blood connection.

While I don’t condone what Logano’s father did today, I also think Joey was headed in that direction anyway. He was headed to tell an aggressor that he wasn’t going to be pushed around, and he was there to stand up for himself. He didn’t need his father to remind him. It had already been instilled in him a long time ago. Dad was just there to make sure he didn’t forget it, or have doubts placed in him by outside influences. Those same outside influences that had no part in getting Joey Logano to where he is today – sitting in the NASCAR hauler explaining himself. Is that such a bad place to be?

I cannot imagine not being involved in my sons life, and giving him direction, no matter what he chooses to do. I hope he always feels the need to want me by his side, if for nothing more than just reassurance. Besides, if I step out of line, his mother is there to remind me of what an ass I am. I suppose if he or his superiors ever fire me, there’s always the chance Nicki will come back and race. She was the better driver anyway.

Pleasantly Blu-Team

So you have a couple of 21 year old knuckleheads who think they know a lot. Both share the same dream, and set out to fulfill said dream by quitting a career job and leaving a young, hot wife behind to be alone. Smart huh? Well, I didn't have the career job, Rusty did, but my wife was young, hot, and very understanding.

Like I explained in my last trucking story, off we go to Cashmere in search of fun and fortune. When we first laid eyes on the monstrosity that we would later find out was referred to as the Purple Pig, I have to admit, we were slightly skeptical. But the drive home had us amped up to take this thing on, and show the world that we could do it. A coupe of weeks later we were sweating and slaving - and learning. Aside from the little things like needing windshields, an exhaust, fuel tanks welded, tires, wheels painted, brakes, paint, air lines, paint, soap, water, and oh ya, the rear suspension needed rebuilt. Kenworth had this wonderful idea for a torsion bar rear suspension. Hella good for traction just like a sprint car. The deeper the hole, the better it worked. But it was a nightmare for bushings. LeRoy showed us what do by day, and by night he told us stories of what was to come. I don't think he told us everything. If he had, we wouldn't have loaded the first load.



It gets hot in Eastern Washington in the summertime, but after a week or so she was cleaned, prepped and ready to go - or so we thought. Now all we needed was a load. They called LeRoy Jigsaw, and he said it was because nobody could ever figure him out. Take this adventure for instance - why would anyone in their right mind load produce on a truck for a couple of donkeys who had never been East of the Mississippi. In fact, I don't think Rusty had ever been East of Spokane. Yet there we were, 11PM on a Thursday, headed for Idaho to load potatoes. Washington license plate - there was no Prorate in this state at that time, so no license for anywhere we were headed. Our route was mapped out for us by LeRoy. Take the Northern routes he said. Less hassle. You make it to Michigan and then the toll roads, you're home free. You'll have permits to come home.

There's lots of details I'll just skip through. 1. you do not need authority to haul produce, unprocessed goods, or anything not manufactured. That's the good news. 2. while they insist on loading potatoes and produce in a refrigerated trailer, the temp recorder they throw in the load is mostly just for looks, so no need to worry when the refer unit quits running in North Dakota - unless it Wintertime. 3. Road Atlas. The big kind. They show more than just roads. What they don't show is T-intersections - at least not all of them. And that leads us to the next part of the story.

So you always want to drive with someone you're comfortable with and whom you trust. No problem. Rusty was one of my closest friends. But I had never ridden in a truck with him. That night heading to Idaho I found myself sliding from one end of the sleeper to the other. He told me the next morning that there was some steep hills and scary corners in Oregon. OK. Now we got our load of spuds on, we're taking the backroads to the Northern Route, stopping for fuel all too often because even though LeRoy mapped it out for us, including where to fuel and how much to put in, we wanted to make sure we didn't get left stranded anywhere. We get into upper Wisconsin where everyone had a neon Pabst Blue Ribbon sign in their window, and we're looking forward to seeing this Mackinac Bridge across the Michigan Upper Peninsula and the Great Lakes. LeRoy had told us that the bridge was supposed to fall down anytime now, and we should take this route so we could 1. tell everyone we crossed it, and 2. avoid the biggest asshole DOT people of them all - the Wisconsin DOT. And they only set up shop on the interstates down South.



I tested his theory later in life, and sure enough, they're the biggest crooks I have ever met. In any other Northern State, they'll tell you to go knock some snow off the truck and trailer if you're overweight. It was a given, that before you entered Wisconsin, you stopped at a rest area or alongside the road and chipped snow. I worked hard one day getting all I could off, as I had driven in snow from the time I hit Snoqualmie Pass until I got to Minnesota. I was confident I had removed enough snow to make the truck legal, but I rolled across the scale 120 pounds heavy. Another hour and I was down to 80 pounds over. A what do I do now look brought the suggestion from the guy behind the desk that I leave a case of apples at the door. Trust me, I got my money back several times. That's how I was taught.

So Rusty and I are heading across Northern Wisconsin, in the middle of the night, on a two lane road neither of us had ever seen, and reading a road atlas by a dome light. It was his turn to drive, and I distinctly remember telling him - it's really foggy, there's a turn up here somewhere, and just take your time. I had closed my eyes for all of 5 minutes when I felt a rumble strip. It wasn't long after that when I heard a scream from the front - HANG ON!!!! Rusty had found the turn, or rather, T-intersection. He managed to get the truck stopped before careening down the embankment, we both cleaned our shorts out, and talked the rest of the way to the next morning. Rusty swore there was no warning signs. I drove that section of road on our next trip, and came upon two sets of flashing lights, an 8 x 8 warning sign, two sets of rumble strips, and enough advance warning of what was to come in the road ahead to wake a dead man. I'm not sure what part of that he missed, but it changed my life. You have to trust who you're riding with. If you can't sleep while they're driving, it won't work out.

We crossed the famous bridge and marveled at the sights neither of us had ever seen before. We ignored instruction number 2, by driving straight into the Detroit produce warehouse district, because as anyone who knows me knows - I am always early. Turns out in this case we had a couple of guys who were not expecting us, but were willing to help us get to the dock early. "You the guys with the lettuce" they asked. No, we have potatoes. "Oh ya ya ya, we've been waiting on you." Oh really, our appointment wasn't for another 4 hours. "Oh ya ya ya, well tell you what" the nice gentleman said, "give me $20 to buy the guys some donuts, and we'll get you backed right up to the dock."

About now is when I wished I had a packed a gun, because something just wasn't going right here. I learned something that night. Petty crooks are cowards. With a little persuasion, the guy moved on to his next victim. LeRoy had told us stories of guys being woke up and asked to move their truck forward a few feet. The next morning they would be missing their outer dual as the inside dual rested on 2 x 4's. I recognized this same helper a few trips later when he was offering used radar detectors for sale - cheap. Uh huh. Never go into the city early to deliver, unless you are delivering in the market itself. There, the guards are the only ones trying to rob you, and protection only cost $20 - but at least you get a receipt, and everyone is happy.



We figured out quickly that hauling East was easy. The trips West were difficult. We thought we were being set up for backhauls of Lincoln Electric welding supplies, but once again - who would load two knuckleheads that carried a road atlas like it was a survival kit. It seemed everywhere we went involved a week of waiting for a load. We were cheap, so days went by without showers or a bed to sleep in. I vividly recall every city where we waited a week for a load. Cleveland, Salt Lake City, Boston, Philadelphia, Buffalo, Salt Lake City again, New Jersey .......sorry, it's just New Jersey. No city, because it's all the same. It's just New Jersey. We had waited for over a week in Boston, avoided someone trying to break into the truck while we were sitting in it, and were talked into a load of cashews that was waiting in New Jersey. Unsalted cashews. That is an important part to remember. The freight forwarder we were getting the load through had no authority either, but we were willing to risk it to escape the Eastern Seaboard.

We loaded, checked the Atlas, paid an overheight toll on the Ohio turnpike(close second to Wisconsin for being crooks) because something tripped the beam at the toll booth we had been through before with no problems. We made it all the way to the I-94 Montana Port of Entry before a curious inspector asked to see our lease agreement. We didn't have one. He asked to see our Bills of Lading. He glanced at them, and said, have a nice day. WHAT? Remember that "unprocessed" goods thing and the no need for operating authority? Because the cashews were unsalted, they were exempt commodity. Rusty wiped the shit from his ass - again, I learned a little, and LeRoy laughed when he heard the story. I still recall his exact words - I don't know what you guys were so worried about. Uh, ya.

The Purple Pig just trudged up and down the road. It was powerful but slow because of the gearing. It was loud and it was hot in the cab. WE survived a broken front hub, unbeknown to us. We figured the front tires needed balanced when we couldn't hold on to the steering wheel. Michigan roads are rough, and we discovered the real problem in Ohio, and drove her into the shop. I wonder if anyone ever figured out the right front hub had 5 left hand and 5 right hand lugs. It's all we could find for a hub. It was not comfortable, but it got the job done. It taught me the value of new tires vs recaps on the road in the heat of the Summer. It taught me to strive for better, and I don't mean any disrespect by that, but it was afterall - a purple pig. The name fit.

Rusty and I gave up on it shortly after the second week of sleeping in Salt lake City. He wasn't too happy about my decision to run the Illinois scalehouse that was open without consulting him first. I could see Iowa though, and I figured we had a 50/50 chance of making it. I was wrong. The funny part is, while they wrote me a big old ticket for running the scale, they never figured out why. I just had to be overweight to do something so stupid, and when we weren't, it baffled them. I submitted to Rusty that the cost of the ticket was still less than the 3 trips we had made through Illinois without buying permits. He wasn't amused. Jail time wasn't high on his list of desires. I later acquired the Purple Pig on my own complete with a new paint job - blue of course, and yes, my own operating authority. I can't tell you how many people it served before me, but I do know it was paid off several times, and was the first truck for more than one person. I gave up on the torsion bar suspension after the 3rd rebuild, and she never rode the same. The Purple Pig taught me that cool cabovers aren't really cool. Trucking through Minnesota in the Summer or Winter brought different issues. Bugs would cake the front an inch thick, and 10 below temperatures would freeze you out in the Winter. She hauled more than her fair share of commodity's over her life span. She ran from coast to coast, border to border, and came home every time. I sold her to a guy who had the same dream I had - to be an owner operator. I never did hear if he blamed me for the opportunity, but I suspect he can laugh about it like I do.



Ann laughs now too. What she must have been thinking the day we rolled the Purple Pig in the driveway. I owe LeRoy for the opportunity to set me on my way to fulfilling my dreams and quest for fortune. I'm pretty sure he laughed about it all too. "It was an experience" is a very befitting phrase to this story, and one that I wouldn't change one bit. Well, except for maybe that T-intersection thing in Wisconsin. That was just flat scary.

In the end - Ann waited for me. How lucky am I and how dumb was she. That's my story of the Purple Pig. May she one day be resurrected to live out another dream.

Pleasantly Blu-Team