What happens when you remove the glass, slide it down by hand crank or electric button in Maine.
And happen to need directions to get from here to there. Asking one by one of the few souls you see populating sparse small rural areas of Maine. Excuse me, would you happen to know where the farm potato house on my bill of laden list destination in Aroostook County is hiding?
You are a truck driver a long way from home in Maine.
Who has delivered the last of a five stop load in the 53′ long stainless steel Great Dane reefer trailer. The one pulled by a twin screw Freightliner, Peterbilt, Western Star, Mack or some flavor of tractor cab over or conventional long snout work horse. With the Thermo King unit humming on the front of the box to preserve the temperature. The air ride bags charged fully to cushion and protect the freight.
And looking, needing to get loaded.
Not the in a glass with ice or bottoms up chug-a-lug. Not out of a bottle, can man. Not the last call at a bar kind before the arch welder bright deer in the overhead lights happens either. No no, the responsible kind.
The back haul to avoid dead heading empty. That frost heaves on Maine roads torture, tease the leaf springs. Jars the machinery that needs to flex, work, pull loads both ways. To pay for your diesel fuel saddle tank on each side. Pull over, top those aluminum tank stops. The reach down or easy pass roll through turnpike tolls. The long as your arm individual state road use permit taxes that need to be kept current.
All the expensive ones in an office somewhere overflowing, never ending stacking high. For over the road repairs, truck and trailer payments. In all the heavy ones you carry. Along with the load in the back following you like a shadow in the day and night driving.
Plying back and forth, testing way way positive for the white line fever.
On the road, turn it up again restlessness journey across the hill and dale. Shake and bake. To keep the coverage enforced on insurance boosters for the legal load limits. Everything right side up avoiding black ice, in the red ink from flowing.
For something needing to be hauled, taken someplace you boldly go. Hooked to the fifth wheel behind you still release control by hand. Even if your sleeve does have the unavoidable stripes to prove it. Gets painted with a recurring tattoo for you line of red lube grease patterns. From reaching in the tight slot space exposed to the weather.
To pull, push, do something with purpose to the lever. When the landing gear is cranked down or hoisted high. Because you don’t want to chance losing a precious cargo load. In the stop, drop, lock and load shock and awe that’s a big 10-4 good buddy.
So back to directions to the off the beaten path long tall dark bin spud house.
That the first guy you ask for help says easy as the nose on your face to find. The potato packing shed to lift the pair of back handles up and out. To open wide those twin rear doors, back into a loading shed roll away is so close by you can taste it. Easy to spot he reassures, promises.
This is your lucky day. Just pass a big red barn on the left coming up, just after a large trout pond on the other side of the drifting roadway. And swing a wide arch. Signal your intentions. Take your next right. Honey we’re home. Hey hey, how was your day?
Off you go and more lost you get.
Because yeah, there was a red barn on the right coming up. Twenty years gone occurred though. Failed to mention, provide that important tidbit of information on the “A” to “B” twist and shot direction tale telling roadside assistance. The time is a-wasting, pin the tail on the back haul jig donkey, dog and pony.
And that fish pond, yes, it is still there.
But where, how would you know? Carefully covered over by Mother Nature with help from the weather channel. Only three feet of white crystalized water.. the kind called a blanket of fluffy snow obscuring it.
Crank your head and scan slowly squinting. Nope. That snow piling up makes the entire pasture / field combination look pretty much just more of the same white out expanse. From high up in a feeling low and lost long way from family and home eighteen wheel highway jockey ride. Get on your knees, you need your garden.
When you live in Maine, you remember everything like the back of your hand. But the new to the area traveling motorists may have to ask a couple folks to get it right. Parked, placed where they need to go. For the all important destination spelled out in the log book load manifest paperwork.