Where every mile was a lesson, and every stop, a promise kept.
An old dairy truck in Livermore. It reminds me of the rusted Ford I drove on my first route in 1994.
It was a rainy Tuesday in November 1994. I was 24, fresh out of college, and my first real job in logistics. The company gave me a beat-up Ford Econoline van with a dented fender and a heater that only blew cold air. My route? Twelve stops across three towns in New Jersey, all before 10 a.m.
I didn’t know what I was doing. The manifest was a mess, the GPS was a joke, and the first stop was already 20 minutes late. But I kept going. I learned that logistics isn’t just about moving boxes—it’s about showing up, even when the van breaks down and the rain won’t stop.
That first route taught me patience, planning, and the value of a little humor. I still think about it when I help a local nonprofit streamline their operations or when I sail the Raritan Bay at dawn. Because in the end, it’s all about the journey—and the people you meet along the way.
Thanks for stopping by. If you’ve got a story about your first big moment, I’d love to hear it. Let’s keep building community, one route at a time.