Jason S. Harry

Coming home Friday before Easter, I checked my voice mail to find out where (and more importantly- when) next weeks adventure would begin. The message said I had a shuttle run to our drop yard in Massachusetts and the load would need to be there by 10am Monday morning. “That’s odd,” I think, usually I make that run on a Sunday and was now facing a few options. Option 1 - Get up no later then 3:30am Monday morning and hope traffic does not hold me up. Cross my fingers and hope I make it by 10. This option isn’t good for a few reasons: I hate any kind of morning where my eyes have to try and open before 5; I’d much rather be forced to listen to Opera music for several hours with no restroom break. On top of that, I would arrive back in Leesport out of hours and quite possibly end up running local for several days. Local can be okay, but it can also equal more early mornings and nightmarish names like Philadelphia! Option 2 - Leave late Sunday, and stay overnight in Mass and come back in...

Am I the only one wondering if Spring is taking unusually long to show up? We had a couple false starts over the past few weeks- but we’re seemingly always plunged back into Old Man Winters wrath. It wasn’t such a horrible Winter snowfall wise; I had only a few really hairy experiences for me to fondly reminisce over till next season. There was that time heading North on 81 to somewhere in upstate New York. Things got so bad for so long that I had a sneaking suspicion: I was [unwittingly] a new star on that History Channel series about truck drivers driving on ice surfaces. No need to fret my friend, I am a star, just not on a network TV show. Yet. The most remarkable instance happened heading South on 81, heading home from Watertown, NY. Things were fine and clear when I left, then I began to see those lit up roadside signs saying something to the effect of : “HEAVY SNOW EXITS 37-32 - BE AFRAID, BE VERY AFRAID.” It was an unbelievable ride to say the least. Lake Ontario was churning ...