Trucking career was short-lived

My truck driving days are over.
I hope.
The plan was simple — as are all plans that give God a good chuckle — in theory.
We’d rent a truck, load it with some furniture we didn’t need as a way of helping out our youngest daughter, drive it to Bloomington, unload it, then enjoy a world music festival known as Lotus Fest and get together with my old friend Jim Klopfenstein.
Jim and I have been friends roughly since the time I was 4 years old. And, trust me, that was a long, long time ago. He’s a computer whiz and a musician, and he has ties to Bloomington and Indiana University, so the festival gives us a great opportunity to re-connect.
As I said, the plan was simple.
On Friday, the good folks at Renegade Customs, the very cool motorcycle shop in Portland, were patient and helpful as they walked through the necessary forms online. (Old guys who don’t do a lot of truck driving need a little extra assistance.)
About 5 p.m. I was headed home with the smallest moving van they had. It struck me as pretty big, and the turning radius took some getting used to. But any real truck driver would tell you it was tiny.
My wife and I loaded up the furniture: A Shaker-style kitchen table that’s being replaced by a new one I just finished, five Shaker-style chairs that I assembled about 30 years ago, a nightstand that Connie’s father refinished years back and a wash stand Connie had inherited from her “aunt” Alma Smith roughly 25 years ago.
And then we ran into a problem.
Despite the fact that we believed we were moving a lot of furniture, we had more truck than cargo. Connie spent some serious time re-packing and tying things together with a piece of cord to make sure they didn’t bounce around in transit.
Saturday morning, we set off.
The plan was that Connie would go first in her car and I would follow at my own pace. Once we unloaded, we’d leave the truck with the U-Haul folks in Bloomington.
There was just one — major — complication.
Indiana 37 between Indy and Bloomington is under major construction as it is transformed into an extension of Interstate 69. We’ve heard horror stories about the delays involved.
So we decided to go the long way: Indiana 67 to Muncie, then Indiana 3 south to Greensburg, then Indiana 46 to Columbus and Nashville, entering Bloomington on the east side.
Piece of cake, right?
It was, until a little after New Castle when we ran into road construction at Spiceland on Indiana 3. The entire point of going the long way was to avoid construction, and here we were faced with delays.
Meanwhile, the distance between our two vehicles grew. Before we reached Rushville, I had lost sight of my wife’s Honda CRV.
No problem, I figured. She has a navigation system, I have my iPhone, and I have this quaint bunch of papers called a map and directions. What could go wrong?
My biggest problem was the bumps. And there were plenty of them.
Railroad crossings, uneven pavement, potholes, you name it, it gave my cargo a jostling. More than once I wondered if I might open the back of the truck to find, instead of old furniture, a pile of kindling.
Then, just south of Greensburg, something strange happened. Instead of being in front of me, my wife’s car appeared in my rearview mirror. Turns out that her navigation system had sent her off in the wrong direction for a bit.
(Arguing with a car navigation system is a 21st century pursuit that our parents would never understand.)
So as we headed toward Columbus, she was behind me. We were busily ignoring an Indiana Department of Transportation detour sign. Everyone knows that INDOT detours rely strictly on state highways and, as a result, tend to send you several miles out of your way. Both of us were convinced that we could find a better way around whatever construction lay in our path.
And then we reached Yogi Berra’s proverbial fork in the road. Connie’s instincts told her to turn left. Mine said to go straight ahead. And when I pointed in that direction, she thought I was pointing at a gas station.
We parted ways. In fact, we didn’t see one another until we pulled up at Sally and Ben’s place, less than a minute apart. Her route took a little longer; I was able to gas up the truck and still be on time.
Just the same, I doubt I’ll be working on my CDL any time soon.