A likely story...

[hotshoe36]

I wrote this a few years ago about a series of unfortunate events which occurred in 1988. Bookworm brought this back to my mind, and I thought the story belongs here.
I am a member of another board called "THE STOVEBOLT PAGE" http://www.stovebolt.com/ dedicated to the preservation of old GM trucks. My pseudonym, there as here, is Hotshoe. This is a response I wrote to a thread started by '64Buffalo, another member. It was to be a short anecdote, but then it kinda ran away. Read on...

* * *

'64Buffalo got me thinking with his post called
MY NIGHT IN JAIL. He had a similar experience to one of mine, with a benevolent cop:

"I did spend the night in a cell with a comfortable bed", he said.

What follows is my own parallel story. I swear every golden word is true!

I was in High Prairie, AB during a howling blizzard one time around 30 years ago, sleeping off the zero-visibility weather in the sleeper berth of my Freightliner. The 8V71 was screaming under me (you don't shut 'em off in that weather if you want to drive 'em again before spring) and the coolant temperature was barely 140F, while inside the cab - what with the crosswind and all - was somewhere below freezing with all 3 heaters blowing full blast. I was curled up in a ball under everything I had, shivering, until the cop stopped to see if I was alive. To foreshorten the story, read the quote from '64 above. Cop left the door open and the coffee pot full. Good cop.

A flip side exists to this happy story, though, and this is gonna be a long one, so settle in.

Not so many years after that first event I was a long-distance truck driver hauling hydroelectric generator parts from Montreal, PQ to someplace in California - Tulare, I think - and had the misfortune of travelling through Missouri. 3 times. You can't really get around that state on that haul without going at least 100 miles out of your way, and the first time I didn't know any better. So, upon entering the state I bought the 3 or 4 permits I believed would get me compliant with the laws of the jurisdiction through which I was passing - rendering unto Caesar, so to speak - and rolled blissfully out of St Louis on I-44 east towards Joplin, MO. Okay. About 35 miles out, somewhere around Union, MO, there's a truck inspection station and weigh scale. Now, attendance to these things is not optional when they are open. Being as I was - a safe, professional truck driver with a strong sense of mission (you ex-service guys know what I mean) - I had no problem with law enforcement. Or at least, that is how I thought until that day, somewhere around 20 years ago. What I did not know was that anyone not from Missouri was considered by local law enforcement officers to be a foreigner and, therefore, subject to special attention. What I mean is, if you were from Kansas City, Kansas, and not Kansas City, Missouri, you were officially "not one of us", and subject to, etc.

I was from Canada. It said so right on my truck, and my driver's license said British Columbia. One of the, ah, officers expressed interest in why a South American was driving a Canadian truck in Those Great United States. I made the mistake of ridiculing his knowledge of geography; I still thought, at that point, that I was communicating with a person. It was then that several of them began to fidget with their holster flaps. Fair guess is that not a one of the boys I met that day could actually find Canada on a globe, but that is another subject. People from Canada, wherever that was, clearly were a target. Especially those who didn't show the proper respect for the Law, personified.

I was arrested and taken to jail that day for violating a Public Utilities Commission law about which, to that point, I had no knowledge. The fine for that offence, if I had been found guilty, would have been $150.00. Some hours later I was released on bail in the amount of the fine, and ordered to appear before someone on a date about a month in the future. It was explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and the bail I had paid would be forfeit.

Right, then. I didn't like it, but I understood the words. Off I went to California.

I had contracted to do several of those loads from Lachine, Quebec (near Montreal) to a new dam in Cali. It's all coming back to me as I write. A load of glass from Lathrop, California got me home to Vancouver BC, then another load of lumber to Buffalo, NY. A short hop back across the border to Lachine. The loads from there consisted of dozens of crates of different sizes, which had to be assembled to fit on my old 40' deck, blocked and tied and tarped up. Took most of a full day each time, then at the end of the day (shipping) shift I'd roll out for Detroit/Windsor, which was where the Customs documents directed me to cross. 600 miles, I think, and the crossing was scheduled for the next morning, first thing.

Let me go back a bit and tell you something else about the first trip, so that Missourians don't think I'm slagging them as a people. The only Missourians I know are the ones I've met on (The Stovebolt) board - salt of the earth, all - and the LEO's, for whom aggressive stupidity seems (to me) to be a hallmark. I am certain that there are exceptions, but I did not have the pleasure of encountering one.

Anyway, when I arrived for the first load at Lachine, I discovered a uniqely Canadian brand of cultural bias. I have since learned a bunch about this, but at that time I was still wet behind the ears (enough to tease a heavily-armed armed idiot with a badge) and, while I knew that a lot of Quebecois' first language was a dialect of French, I knew also that Canada's other official language was English. And as my familiarity with the French language was European and sparse, I made the mistake of assuming that I would be able to communicate effectively in English. Well. Again, to foreshorten what could become a very long story, I'll tell you this: It took me 3 days to load in that place the first time. What offended me the most was that during these 3 days, two American-registered trucks came in, loaded and rolled in good time. Their drivers spoke no French.
I was driving a Canadian-registered truck. I know now that I should have started by saying, "Bonjour. Je suis desolee, mais je parle seulement un p'tit peu de la vraie langue. Can we continue in English, s'il vous plait?"
If I had done that, they would have appreciated my effort to show respect, found my atrocious accent (best I can do, even today) almost unintelligible, and been (no doubt) pleased to help in any way they could, including the extraordinary measure of speaking the hated language.
This is how it is to be a cultural stranger.
I know now that they saw me as another arrogant Anglo, and treated me accordingly.

This is how it is to be a cultural stranger.

[hotshoe36]

...continued:

So the next time, having learned my lesson, the loading went swimmingly. But then I went back through Missouri. Everything as before, but I had learned my lesson, I thought. I bought all the permits I needed in St Louis at the truck stop, and thoroughly inspected the tractor, semitrailer and the load, just as I do every day.
Rolled over that scale with a new and improved attitude, secure in the belief that I was completely compliant, and would be inspected and released by some appropriately impressed coppers.

Wrong.

I was arrested and taken to jail that day for a safety violation about which, to that point, I had no knowledge. My leaf-sprung semitrailer had 11-leaf, clamped spring clusters on all 4 corners of the tandem bogey(axle group). The 7th leaf on one of the clusters was cracked. It looked like a brand-new crack. I doubt that I would have missed it in my daily pretrip inspection, but if I had, I could have kept driving that way for a month, maybe, with only the very slightest chance of ill effect: they were clamped. No matter. I was cuffed and stuffed. The fine for that offence, if I had been found guilty, would have been $150.00. Some hours later I was released on bail in the amount of the fine, and ordered to appear on a date about a month in the future. It was explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and the bail I had paid would be forfeit to someplace. Sound familiar?

So then I went to California again. A load of kitty litter got me home that time, and then more lumber to Buffalo, NY. Same-same again, and this time in St Louis you can bet I went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. Everything. For hours, I think, and in the process I did a thorough cleaning on the inside of my tractor's cab, along with all the laundry at the truck stop's domestic facility, folding it neatly and placing it at the foot of my bed. As ready as I'd ever be, I fervently believed, I again rolled across that same scale.

I was arrested and taken to jail that day for something far more stupid than I would ever have believed possible: I had not made my bed. The fine for that offence, if I was found guilty, would have been $150.00, et cetera.

I know this one bears some explaining. When I lost control and started laughing at them - this was after they told me about the offense, but before I knew they were serious - things got very tense, very quickly. In a move that was clearly choreographed, the two furthest away from me moved away from each other, drew their sidearms and held them in the Weaver "ready" stance. A third picked up a microphone. That is when I knew I had a problem.

Let me explain the mechanics of this thing step by step, so that the uninitiated among us can understand how someone could be arrested at gunpoint and put in jail for not making his bed.
In the United States, commercial Transports which cross state lines fall under the jurisdiction of the Interstate Commerce Commission, and are required to comply with hundreds, perhaps thousands of regulations aimed at keeping roads safe and taxes paid. Among these, truckers are required to keep accurate, up-to-date records (logbooks) of their activities, and the method of keeping these records (and the activities) must also be compliant. Truckers are required to produce these logbooks on demand by law enforcement personnel. They cannot, however, be compelled to surrender them for inspection without a warrant. Most drivers don't know this, and I was no exception. When they asked for my logbook, I - ignorant of my right to refuse - handed it over.

In the logbook each page signifies a calendar day. There are 4 duty status columns, marked 1)off duty, 2)sleeper berth, 3)on duty/not driving, and 4)on duty/driving. Each of these columns is broken into 24 hours, in 1/4 hour increments. The driver is required to draw a line across the page in each duty status column as it applies, and these entries must be current to the last change-of-duty status.

Mine was, of course. There is a number of other details which must be kept current, complete, legible and accurate in these logbooks, and mine was PERFECT in every detail.

By that time I knew what fertile ground a logbook was for a zealous protector of the public interest. I had already paid some thousands of dollars in fines over the years by way of being "taught a lesson". But for some reason, NOT ONE OF THE ISSUING OFFICERS, ANYWHERE, HAD EVER FELT THE NEED TO INFORM ME THAT I COULD NOT LEGALLY BE COMPELLED TO SURRENDER MY LOG TO THEM FOR INSPECTION and so, every time I did this, by law I was doing it voluntarily. Imagine how I felt on finding THAT tidbit out!

The reason for all these regulations is clear and simple: The Interstate Commerce Commission(ICC)mandate is to ensure accountability; that commerce is not carried out in an unsafe manner. In these duty status columns a trucker must testify that he is getting enough rest, for example.

But, to get back to my narrative. Upon carefully inspecting my logbook, the scale tender discerned that I had logged time in my sleeper berth the night before. Earlier - having asked permission - another had inspected the inside of my cab(looking for evidence of drugs or other contraband, he said) and detected the fact that my bed was not made. You may recall that earlier that day I had done my laundry and my bedding was folded neatly at the foot of my bed.

How can these innocuous facts be in any way significant, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. According to ICC regulations, in order to log time in the "sleeper berth" column of one's log book, one's vehicle must be equipped with "a sleeper berth, a mattress and a full complement of bedding laid out in such a way that it is ready to be used".
Yes. In Missouri, that means your bed has to be made. The fine for not having made my bed, if I had been found guilty, would - as usual - have been $150.00. As usual, I was arrested and taken to jail and ordered to appear on a date about a month in the future. It was - as ususal - explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and any bail I paid would be forfeit. Bail was set, as usual, in the amount of the fine.

Again, I lost control. I decided to myself that any society which would imprison someone for a month for the crime of not making his bed, regardless of the circumstances, deserved whatever it got. I resolved right there to go to trial, and refused to pay the bail. It was explained to me again that if I could not(or did not)pay the bail, I would be held in that jail until the trial. I, having temporarily lost the capacity for displaying respect, retorted that I had understood this perfectly well the first three times, understood it no less this time, and that I was certain I had been in worse places in my service life than anywhere they could put me(remember High Prairie, AB?). And now, having been in custody for some hours past my lunchtime, I demanded to be fed.

I was: A soggy waffle, not hot, not warm. No butter, no syrup. I asked the guard, who acknowledged that Missouri WAS the "show me" state, what, exactly, he thought he was showing me now. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. Not long afterwards, my employer, having gotten wind of the fact that his load was tied up, bailed me out against my will.

I have not returned to Missouri since that time. Oh, I want to, though. For two reasons. Anyplace I've been which is populated by savages like the ones I met in that place near Union, MO, has also conversely been populated by some very good people. I'd like to see them, to reassure myself of God's plan. The other is perverse: I want to roll over that scale one more time, in the full knowledge of my rights, prepared to assert them with a concealed transmitter linked to a remote recording device inaccessible to those people.

* * *

The last paragraph probably no longer applies: for some time I have avoided travel in "the land of the free" so as to keep something like this from happening again.

[hotshoe36]

Another one - from right here at home, years ago. The following is an email I sent to a police officer:



>Dear Sgt. Hewer;
>
>Pursuant to our telephone conversation of this afternoon, I am forwarding
>the report I composed on the night of Nov. 18-19th, 2005. I am sending it
>in its entirety so as, I hope, to instil an impression of the state of mind
>an event of this kind can create in an otherwise calm, professional driver.
>I was unable to sleep until I had written this:

>>

>>I am livid: almost incoherent with anger as I write this. It is the tail
>>end of a long day in the saddle. Second day of a two-day trip. Except for
>>a few minor glitches - par for the course - the whole turn had gone
>>without a hitch, smooth and fast. Target time: There is no way I'll ever
>>make a faster trip without compromising safety or breaking the law. Light
>>traffic, good roads, perfect. Until, that is, with about 40 km to go I
>>managed to run afoul of Cst.(?)Germain, officer # 41557 of the RCMP.
>>I was approximately 1 km west of 264 St westbound on the TCH, travelling
>>at very close to the speed limit in the left lane, attempting to overtake
>>a vehicle in the right lane which had increased its speed upon being
>>overtaken by my heavy truck. Traffic was very light, the road was clear
>>and dry and visibility was good.

>>I noticed a dark reddish coloured minivan apparently making a u-turn at
>>high speed in an emergency turnaround just ahead of me, and braked sharply
>>to avoid a collision, and to alert the vehicle beside me to a developing
>>emergency. The red minivan made a full-throttle entrance to the westbound
>>lanes, across the path of both rapidly approaching westbound vehicles onto
>>the right shoulder and accelerated rapidly to 90+ km/h in the right lane..
>>I was impressed with the red van's acceleration, but expressed indignation
>>by flashing my high beams in its direction. By this time my speed had
>>dropped to 60-70 km/h. My truck, which was unladen at the time,
>>nevertheless weighs 23,000 kg. and took approximately 1 km to regain its
>>speed, after which I again caught up to the vehicle I had previously been
>>attempting to overtake, which was now in the left lane, exactly pacing the
>>red minivan. Eventually, the blocking vehicle changed lanes and I was
>>permitted to accelerate to the speed limit.

>>Shortly thereafter I was
>>approaching the 232nd St. interchange in the right lane, and I noticed
>>what appeared to be police pursuit beacons very close behind me, so I took
>>the off-ramp and brought my vehicle to a safe stop just past the overpass.
>>The police vehicle, the same red minivan, stopped behind me. After waiting
>>several minutes I was approached by Cst.(?) Germain, who asked me to
>>present my documents. I submitted all pertinent documents and enquired as
>>to her reason for stopping me. Her reply was vague, eventually settling on
>>her contention that either the truck or the trailer appeared to be weaving
>>in an unstable manner. She asked if I was sleep-deprived, had been
>>drinking or was otherwise impaired. When i replied in the negative, she
>>said my eyes appeared watery which made her wonder. In fact, my eyes felt
>>dry, and I told her so. Thereupon she withdrew to confer with her
>>colleague - another uniformed officer riding as passenger in the red
>>minivan - and returned after approximately 20 minutes to tell me that my
>>load was not securely attached to the truck. I attempted (without success)
>>to explain to her that my truck is a self-loading logging truck, with a
>>jeep and a pole trailer stowed above the drive axles in accordance with
>>the manufacturer's recommendations, and thereafter suggested that she call
>>a licensed inspector. She retorted that she was a certified CVSA
>>inspector, but did not present her credentials. She said I was required to
>>secure the cargo before I would be allowed to proceed, but said she was
>>unable to suggest further specifics as to how I was to accomplish this.
>>She subsequently issued violation ticket #AH17892416, dated 18 November
>>2005 at 19:45, all counts upon which I intend to dispute. She pulled me
>>over at 19:45 and released me at 20:25.

Cst. Germain's driving tactic (at the emergency turnaround under the
circumstances in which I first saw her vehicle) displayed several
characteristics: An eminent familiarity with the road, the turnaround and
with her vehicle, and a disturbing disregard for safety and for the image a
tactic like hers instils in the public. Like most seasoned professional
drivers I am familiar with the concept of professionalism, and I decry its
absence in drivers like Cst. Germain. Her driving and her clearly-displayed
attitude towards others are, I believe, a symptom of a growing decay in
society which is one of two reasons for the exponential increase in
motor-vehicle accidents and their consequent injuries and fatalities. If we,
as individual drivers, are not at all times part of a solution, then we are
part of the problem.If Cst. Germain displayed driving tactics like the one I
saw while she was in my employ, I would find a way to retrain her. Otherwise
I would fire and blacklist her.

I thank you, Sgt. Hewer, for your consideration in this matter. Please
acknowledge receipt of this e-mail, and advise me of any action you take to
resolve this issue, or any new detail that I may understand Cst. Germain's
position more clearly.

Sincerely,

[CNDTRUCKMAN]

so that was 6 or 7 years ago,things must be better in "the free land" right?:36_1_7[1]:

[Marmaduke]

so that was 6 or 7 years ago,things must be better in "the free land" right?:36_1_7[1]:

You may want to reconsider.:laugh1:

[CNDTRUCKMAN]

This is a funny truck on the "http://www.stovebolt.com/",like some trucks I saw in the cartoon movies when I was a young boy,LOL.
562

Checked little part of this site,this site is good~!!

[hotshoe36]

A lot of shared information on Stovebolt has helped me in working on my old Chevy.

This is the truck I was driving when Cst. Germain stopped me:


http://i283.photobucket.com/albums/kk293/hotshoe36/DSC00737.jpg

Parked in front of my home. All business, that truck was.

http://i283.photobucket.com/albums/kk293/hotshoe36/DSC00738.jpg

Here it is spread out, with a bit of a load on:

http://i283.photobucket.com/albums/kk293/hotshoe36/DSC00739.jpg

And here's another of my chevrolet, "Epic #2". We have since acquired a more suitable guest cabin for her to carry ...

http://i283.photobucket.com/albums/kk293/hotshoe36/Our trucks/Epiccamper1030.jpg

[CNDTRUCKMAN]

LOL,i was wondering how you load the wreckage up.oh,wait,it is not wreckage,is it your aft. flat bed?because the tires are all in good condition.
interesting :)

do you need a crane driver license to operate your this truck?

[BlueRaven]

Very interesting stories. I hate going across the border for the fear that i will say something that might trigger an officer to arrest me, authorities in the US makes me nervous because i can't possibly know all the regulations and if i'm compliant. I'm glad i don't go too far and only go to the same customer every time.