Personal thought from my first load on my own over 20 years ago.
In 1993 my maiden voyage was a load of swinging pork, from Blue Mountain packers in Salmon arm British Columbia to Mississauga Ontario. I can remember thinking to myself after the fact that the sound of the road noise was actually drowning ...out my thoughts. So enamored with the feeling of actually being in control of such a behemoth. Unfortunately as years passed. That euphoria would somewhat subside as the whole thing of living life and delivering loads to less than cordial customers began to wear you down. The industry is full of ---well folks who do the same thing over and over and over again. And sometimes when a newbie comes along they are not nearly as impressed with you being there, as you are to be there.
Now twenty years later. I can tell you that trucking does have a romantic side. But you must be an individual that wants to see it. I valued my life as a trucker, and I understand now more than ever. That if it was not for my father who seen and felt that love for the open road and did not pay for my class “A” license. I would not be here now, typing this note to all the folks who like the OLD HAT! That old Cat hat represents so much… and those who do not drive professionally, unfortunately you won't understand. But it meant freedom in a way that you have never experienced in your life.
Most see those rambling piles of well-formed mass, shifting across the interstate as a hindrance or just in the way. But behind that wheel most times there was a pretty happy soul! And he looked down at you and was proud to be coming to your town, to make sure you had the items you required to lead your daily lives. All the sweat that I wiped from my brow, all the mistakes, all the things won and lost, earned and taken away. All the nights I spent so much elbow grease polishing chrome, so she beamed, but was only noticed by a few and rarely ever noticed by the folks it was intended too. There was one thing that could never be misplaced, and that my dear friends is a willingness to please others, and my face busted a smile full of pride. For every time I delivered successfully without incident, it meant that I cared. So Long, Old Hat; Tonight I miss you.See More
That “swinging” load sounds like fun on mountain curves!
My great-grandfather was the beer wagon driver in Milwaukee. My grandfather was a farmhand and part-time chauffeur for rich central Wisconsin farmer who did a lot of business in Chicago. Shortly after I was born during World War II, my father took up trucking, became a Teamster, and drove for 40 years for three central Wisconsin trucking companies. My uncle had a trucking company, and one of my father to go in with him, but my dad was not going to take the risk. My uncle's trucking company went under and he disappeared (found after his death in Boise with another life). Dad never drove long haul and during the last 15 years voluntarily did local deliveries… Something that greatly improved his health and lengthened his life. He never tired of talking trucking.
In spite of what he told me, that, “it takes a college education these days to drive a truck,” I got an education and spent my long-haul driving touring the country (and Canada) from sea to shining sea. Am writing a story right now about being on the road, Hitch Bitch, to be posted here soon.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
The true story of Cheryl Pierson Cuccio who made headlines in 1986 and her husband Rob Cuccio. Cheryl was abused sexually and physically and Rob died for 43 minutes on Cheryl's 43rd birthday.
