Is blood thicker than ink? For this assignment, I had to decide. It is 3 a.m. I am sitting in a parking lot in northern Wisconsin, about to roll off into the night to join a group of State Patrol inspectors.

I'll be tagging along as they conduct a "saturation detail" focusing on log trucks delivering to a large Louisiana-Pacific wood-processing plant. Eight inspectors in seven vehicles with four sets of portable scales will enter the area in the wee hours, fan out, and set up checkpoints along all avenues of approach to the plant.

The Patrol - part of the state Department of Transportation - views the saturation details as an effective way to remind truckers of their presence, and in this case, to make sure that spring weight limits - announced just two days ago - are being observed.

In order to be successful, an operation like this has to be scheduled in secret. When I first spoke with Sgt. Daniel Slick to arrange a Road King ride-along, he said he had something in mind, but he kept his cards close to his chest. "I can't tell you what we've got planned yet," he said.

When he finally told me - about three days before the detail - he made it very clear that I was sworn to secrecy. "You are not to tell anyone about this," he said.

Oh, brother!

Now I can keep a secret, but I had one problem. Sgt. Slick didn't know it, but my brother drives a big ol' Peterbilt log truck. Not only that, he makes frequent deliveries to the Louisiana-Pacific plant.

He runs a well-kept rig, but no one wants to get hung up in an inspection, and I had this vision of taking notes while my brother (younger and smaller than I, but certainly tougher) glared down from his cab, thinking "so big brother knew about this but didn't bother to tell me?" I kicked it around for a day or two. Then, the evening before the operation, I gave him a call. "You runnin' tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Where to?"

"Over east."

My ethical dilemma evaporated. The saturation detail would be held to the north.

"Why?"

"Tell you tomorrow," I answered. And so, in the company of Inspector Jon Bessler, I set off from State Patrol Headquarters in Spooner, Wis., with a clear conscience.

In the early stages of the operation, the inspectors communicated by cell phone and mobile data computer, keeping radio traffic to a minimum. And for quite a while, traffic in general stayed at a minimum - there were so few trucks running, as a matter of fact, that I began to fear I'd be suspected of giving the operation away.

Bessler and I sat in a deserted supermarket parking lot and discussed the concept of saturation details.

"We don't pick on log trucks specifically," says Bessler, going on to explain that operations are targeted more by the time of year and geography. "We have some areas with heavy concentrations of garbage haulers, we focus on the Lake Superior port area during peak grain-hauling seasons, and we usually do something in conjunction with potato harvest. It's an effective way to let the industry know that we're out here."

Heavy times in the woods

Wisconsin's frozen-road laws decree that when roads are frozen, log and salt trucks can gross up to 98,000 lbs. When those laws are rescinded in spring, the weight limit drops to 80,000, although a log hauler may obtain a special permit to run up to 90,000.

Because there are no scales in the woods, the intent of the legislation was essentially to give haulers overweight insurance and allow for the weight of self-contained loaders. In the classic "give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile" vein, however, most companies now treat the extra 10,000 as a given. Payment policies vary from carrier to carrier, but for owner-operators and drivers paid a percentage of the load, there is incentive to run heavy.

A county deputy pulls into the lot. Bessler rolls down his window and the two shoot the breeze, talking at one point about the price of diesel, how it's hurting truckers. The chat ends when our first customer rolls past - an old Freightliner towing a load of wood chips in a cube van with no taillights. The truck has just exited the Louisiana-Pacific yard.

"There's something you really shouldn't see," says Bessler. "A quick walk-around, and he would have caught that." The strobe lights on the State Patrol van sweep across the empty storefronts and swab across the back of the trailer. The truck pulls over, and I stay in the van while Bessler makes first contact with the driver. Shortly, he returns to the van. "Loose connection in his pigtail," reports the inspector, guiding the van around the Freightliner. "He's going to follow me to a side street, and we'll weigh him up."

Under a streetlight off the main drag, Bessler opens the back of the van and slides out his scales. Each is a heavy, flat plate with cutout handles and a digital readout. Bessler checks to see that each is zeroed out, then distributes them beneath the wheels, using plywood "blanks" to level the front tractor tires.

"Because of the way they blow these chips in, the trailer is often front-heavy," says Bessler. The weights check out within acceptable limits, however, and Bessler commences a walkaround. He finds a few violations - a cracked windshield, an incorrectly connected air hose, a non-functioning license plate light. While he stands beside the open cab door reviewing permits and licenses, an IRS agent pulls up and asks permission to take a fuel sample. "You guys do windows?" asks the driver.

Returning to the van, Bessler fills out a checklist, noting violations. In this case, the driver will receive warnings but no fines. Bessler's scales are stacked on the sidewalk.

"I usually do the paperwork first and pick those up last," says Bessler. "It's a courtesy to the trucker, to try to waste less time for him." After a radio dispatcher confirms that the records on the truck and driver are free and clear, Bessler takes the checklist around the front of the Freightliner, where he and the driver stand in the headlights and review the necessary corrections.

"I appreciate it," says the driver. "Now I know I'm safe." It is, of course, the right thing to say. He climbs back in the cab and is on his way. Back in the van, we hear a driver on Channel 19. "All of 'em are out here today! Every single one of 'em."

Prowling bears!

For the next several hours, Bessler and his crew work nonstop. He is crisp and firm in his approach. He knows his regulations inside and out. But he remembers more than just rules and numbers.

When one of the other inspectors stops a truck that is groaningly overweight, the driver pleads ignorance to a laundry list of violations. Unfortunately, when Bessler stops to lend the inspector his scales, he recognizes the driver as someone he stopped for the same violations just weeks ago. It's a costly reunion.

Sometimes, a driver just flat-out runs out of lucky breaks. Bessler stops a Mack and winds up writing a laundry list of violations. Worn-out tires. Loose tie-down straps. Unpinned stakes. Air leaks in the gladhand. Air leaks on the trailer. No coil on air hose. Clearance lights out.

These are all warnings. Unfortunately, the driver also is unable to locate his overweight permit. As a result, he is 10,900 pounds heavy. Bessler writes a ticket for nearly $1,100. "If I find the permit, can I get that revoked?" asks the driver. Bessler says that'll be up to a judge.

Shortly afterward, we get a radio call. While unloading, the driver has found his permit. Bessler drives across town and locates the driver. Slick and several other inspectors are there, and now that the trailer is empty, a sharp-eyed inspector has detected a new problem - inoperable trailer brakes.

"That's an out-of-service violation," says Slick. "But because he's empty and not far from home, we'll let him drive back to the shop." The $1,100 fine is changed to a warning. And the fine for inoperable brakes? "It'll cost him enough just to get 'em fixed," says Slick. The trucker looks like he just wants to go home.

Trying to get by, or along

Slick says there are a number of factors that can mean the difference between a warning or a citation, but three are primary: "First, the severity of the violation. Second, if it's a minor violation, have we warned you before? And finally, the state has put in the law that if the vehicle is over on a group of axles, but not overall, you get a chance to make it legal. But once you're over 2,000 pounds on an axle or axle group, we have no choice."

The chase can get humorous. Nearing town well overweight and hearing the inspectors were around, one enterprising driver zipped around behind the local high school, fired up his clam - a grappling device for loading and unloading logs - and unloaded a bundle of logs.

Good trick. Except that in his haste, he forgot to restrap the load. And so, safely underweight, he trundled happily past several patrol vehicles unaware his logs were strapless. Naturally, this attracted the patrol's attention and resulted in a sheepish explanation of how this came to be.

After breakfast in a local cafe, I finish the shift riding with Sgt. Slick. He's directing the operation, but also making stops as time allows. Each time we pull in behind some truck and switch the lights on, I feel a twinge in my gut. When you hit those lights, you're unleashing a set of headaches and stomach cramp s for the driver.

Slick understands what a fine can mean to a trucker's bottom line, and as a result he has heard his own share of complaints. But, he adds, "Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the drivers are a treat to work with."