New Mexico – Heart of Loia `'.,°~

Rocky Mountain Slide

I’ve had some close calls on this road I call life. I’ve had some serious help from above too. I don’t take any of it for granted. But I’m here to tell it.

In 2oO6, I moved from Atlanta to Dallas. I took a driving job with a tiny little company called Berry & Sexton Transportation.

Or as I like to say, BS Trucking 🐮💩.

The company was brand new. They had one truck at the time, leased on to FedEx Ground, and I was their first employee. I was hired on as a driver trainer, something I had never done before in my career.

I was going to be running teams, another first for me, and my very first partner was a young black guy my age named Marcus. He was fresh out of CDL school with zero experience, and I had zero experience training. So we had something in common.

Up until then, I’d never run out west, and I was really looking forward to it. FedEx Ground had a lot of westbound freight coming out of the Dallas hub. Oh, and also we’d be pulling double trailers, or what we in the biz call pups. Another first for me. Just add it to the list. No problem.

I was a bit nervous, honestly. There was just so much going on. It was almost wintertime, and I was looking at unfamiliar roads and cities, all while having a student driver I was responsible for. I was feeling the weight of the situation, but I was ready.

I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in Marcus. He was so chill and laid back, just like me. He was a good driver. He learned fast. He was smart. It was so rewarding for me teaching him. We had no issues getting along or living in the truck together. Over time, we became the best of friends, and we often would hang out on our days off.

But no matter how good of a driver you are, you don’t learn it all overnight. It takes years. A few weeks into this new adventure, we were about to encounter our first major problem and learn some things together.

We were in Wyoming. I had been driving all day. I was ready to get some sleep. We were headed to Las Cruces, New Mexico. The weather hadn’t been too bad. I mean, it was snowing at times, but for the most part, the roads were doable. However, worse conditions were expected. So I handed the reins over to Marcus and gave him some more instructions on what to do if driving conditions got bad.

It was a straight shot for him. Just stay on I-25 south. I told him to holler if he needed me.

Do you want to know what tangible faith looks like? It’s climbing back into the bunk, zipping up the big leather curtains, closing your eyes, and trusting a beginner with an 80-foot, 80,000-pound rig on winter roads out west.

So the night rolled on. I was asleep. Until I wasn’t.

Without warning, I was thrown violently all over the inside of the bunk. It was pitch black dark. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could feel my body slamming against the walls of the truck repeatedly.

Then I went airborne one last time and landed face down on the floor.

Still in absolute darkness.

And now I could feel us still sliding. My first thought was that he had fallen asleep at the wheel. So I yelled out, “MARCUS, WAKE UP!!!”

He replied immediately, “I AM AWAKE, B!”

Then we came to an abrupt stop.

I pried myself off the floor and stood up. I fumbled for the zipper on the curtain. I was frightened by what I was about to see. Was it a bad accident? Were others involved? Was anyone hurt, or worse? I didn’t know.

As I separated the curtains, my eyes adjusted to the light, and I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The windshield wipers were moving back and forth, and they were totally encrusted. It wasn’t snow. It was ice. They looked like two white Wiffle Ball bats swinging at the heavy snowfall and striking out.

I rolled down the passenger’s side window and felt the back of the side-view mirror. It was iced over. That’s a little trick drivers will do to gauge the road. If there’s ice building up on them, then that usually means there’s ice on the road as well.

I stepped out of the truck into two feet of snow. We were sitting upright, on all our wheels, in the middle of a large median between the northbound and southbound lanes of I-25, facing the opposite direction from the one we had been traveling. lol. There were no other vehicles around. Everyone else knew better.

Turns out, we had just come down Raton Pass, out of Colorado into northern New Mexico. We basically slid down the entire thing. It’s part of the southern Rocky Mountains, with about a five-mile stretch of curvy downhill and a 6% grade, dropping from around 7,800 feet in elevation.

Tractor-trailers have to be gentle coming down big mountain grades. I’m sure you’ve probably seen the runaway truck ramps along the highways. Because of their weight when loaded, they can pick up a lot of speed. And if you use your brakes too much, they’ll heat up and fade, meaning they won’t stop you. They can even catch fire. So you have to start the descent at a manageable speed and be in the proper gear. And that’s under good conditions. You add snow and ice to the equation, and it’s a whole nother ballgame. Many times, that means pulling over and chaining up before attempting the mountain, whether you’re going up or coming down.

I got behind the wheel, and got us pointed back in the right direction. I somehow managed to drive out of the median that night, through the deep snow, without even chaining up or calling a tow truck.

I took over and drove the rest of the way to Las Cruces. I figured Marcus probably needed a break and maybe had to change his shorts. 😎

He did a remarkable job that night driving. Handling the situation. I still don’t know how he kept us from totally losing control and flipping over, or worse, running off the side of the mountain.

Oh, and Marcus was fine. I checked on him first. I just didn’t mention that part. 😁

It’s my fault for not knowing that road better. But it’s all good. Live. Learn.

I ended up becoming very familiar with all the roads out west. And Marcus? He became an excellent truck driver. A professional one.

We survived.

…

“Break 19, Break 19, how ’bout ya northbound? You got the Fishman here. Yall get off that hammer. Be easy going up the pass. It’s nasty… If ya can, just go park it and get ya a nap and try again with the sun, son. I’m out an’ done. Yall have a goodun’ an’ keep er’ tween the guardrails.”

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