Thoughts, Insights, and Musings from within the Asphalt Nation
Thirty-Eight Years, and Still Paying Attention
by Mariposa McNabb
Black Asphalt HaikuBlack asphalt, long road.
A chicken truck, cluck cluck cluck.
Oh! A Rubber Duck!
ƸӜƷ
Oct 12, 2014
There. Three lines, a chicken truck, and a rubber duck. Apparently, even after all those years on the road, I still had time for a little foolishness.
On October 21, 2026, I mark 38 years of driving tractor-trailers. In early November, I’ll reach approximately 49 years working in the logistics industry. Those are two different anniversaries. My work in logistics has included being a mechanic and working in a warehouse, as well as driving. Trucking is part of logistics, and my career in that broader industry began before I took the wheel of a tractor-trailer.
That is a lot of time spent helping keep things moving. It is also a lot of opportunity to discover that knowing how to operate one and knowing how to make good decisions with one are skills you have to keep developing.
You learn the controls. You learn where the trailer goes. Then you keep learning what to notice, what to question, and when to leave yourself some room.
The room matters.
I’m a certified Smith System trainer. Aim high. Get the big picture. Keep your eyes moving. Leave yourself an out. Make sure they see you. The words are straightforward. Applying them means paying attention to a scene that keeps changing.
When I recognize a hazard developing ahead, I lift off the accelerator. Give the situation some room to unfold. Give myself some time to understand it. Every problem doesn’t need to become a demonstration of how well the brakes work.
And experience does not make me immune to missing something.
Recently, I described a traffic signal whose yellow blended into the autumn background. The red registered, and I had to brake hard. That belongs in a conversation about professional driving, too. If I only tell the stories that make me look good, what exactly am I teaching?
Thirty-eight years doesn’t mean every situation is familiar. It means I have more experience to bring to an unfamiliar one—and I still have to look.
That applies to the equipment as much as the traffic.
I’ve talked about cooler weather bringing air-brake troubles to the surface. Seasonal changes affect machinery. Sometimes dramatically. That is why I keep coming back to proper and timely preventive maintenance.
The truck’s mechanical condition is part of every decision I make with it. Paying attention starts before I pull out of the yard.
Of course, a considerable amount of trucking involves not pulling out of anywhere.
Truck Stop Haiku
Empty wind swept spots.
Day into night, trucks arrive.
Starts the parking class.
ƸӜƷ
March 2, 2016
Ten years later, those three lines still give us something to talk about. Parking. Space. Trucks arriving. Everybody trying to fit a working life into the room available.
Then there is this:
On waiting Haiku
Backed into a dock.
Everybody is backed in.
And now, alone still.
ƸӜƷ
February 13, 2016
A loading dock can make a very convincing argument that time is standing still. The clock, unfortunately, continues to disagree.
Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about lately: the difference between a legal assignment and a safe decision.
I recently had to reconsider my understanding of how a driving-hours exception could be used. I changed my understanding. I still have concerns about planning work into the available margin and what that means for fatigue and responsibility.
Both things can be true. I can correct my understanding of a rule and still question the judgment behind a plan.
As I put it in a recent conversation:
“They have the legal right to interpret it that way. I, as a driver, have the responsibility of telling them whether I feel confident in completing that in a safe manner.”
That responsibility stays with me. The actual conditions matter. So does the actual driver doing the work.
Professional judgment includes being willing to say what I can safely do. It also includes being willing to learn that I was wrong about something. After this many years, I don’t think either one diminishes my experience. They are part of using it.
Looking back at these poems, I see humor, waiting, and people sharing space while spending so much of their working lives alone. A few short lines held onto things that a longer explanation might have driven right past.
That is part of what I want Road Rash to hold onto: the practical knowledge, the questions, the absurdity, and the person behind the wheel.
I’m proud of these 38 years. I’m also still paying attention.
Black asphalt. Long road.
Apparently, I’m not done talking about it.Words and poetry © 2026 Mariposa McNabb · Road Rash
