York, Pennsylvania

The drive on Sunday was not to bad, except for the first twenty miles of US 322, that was hair raising. If you picture a country road, then make it weave back and forth like a drunken sailor, then add hills and mountains, you have the first forty miles on US 322 for me. I especially liked the fact that you couldn't see more than a few hundred feet in front of you, in the dark, on snowy roads. I already informed my dispatcher that I may start splitting these loads in our West Middlesex yard. All this extra driving to avoid the Pennsylvania Turnpike is getting ridiculous, and it isn't like I am getting paid for those miles either. I get paid as if I took the turnpike.

I spent last night at a fuel stop that had four parking places, all of which were taken by the time I got there. I managed to grad one of the last unmarked sections of pavement to spend the night at this place called Rutters.

Now I am being unloaded at a place that recycles plastics. Fortunately I had clean cardboard in my load, scrap plastic would have been a mess. I have no idea where I will be going next, because the load planner doesn't either.