I always tell people I come from a line of truck drivers. My dad drove for many years, I have uncles who drive. I married one... I have diesel in my blood. The kind without a trace of dye in it. I have white lines and yellow lines and lines that fell off the edge of the road down into the canyon in my blood.
I've been asked many times if I drive and I laugh and tell them that I drove a truck forward once. In a parking space. And I killed it. And it was a semi-automatic. I'll have to change that now though... I drove Reece's truck about 10 feet the other day. While he pulled it with his tiny little Farmall H because the truck got stuck on a blade of grass. I have great respect for these people who make trucks go. It's scares the Swift out of me to let the clutch loose and take my foot off the brake! Speaking of Swift... I gotta give credit where credit is due. Some of their drivers managed to get the whole truck moved across a parking lot before they crashed! I'd have a heart seizure before I got out of the parking space!
I came across a book of "things about me" I'd written in one day. It asked what my dreams were. Back in the day, years before I knew my trucker man existed, I had written that my dream was to ride around in a truck with somebody for a few years. Guess what? I did. I married that guy who showed up at somebody's house after being invited to bring his truck over. He scared the daylights out of me, but he stoled my heart and I had to marry him so I could keep it semi close. Ha. Hahaha. I'm so witty.
We left our wedding in a truck, which was even better than my dream! I made it to 44 states and 2 provinces before our first anniversary. I spent so much time gazing at the road going past me that I questioned my dad's sanity when he acted like 500 miles was a fair piece of ground to cover! Yet, not much has changed since I was that teenager dreaming of riding around in a truck. Just a few little things...
I learned that there is such a thing as a rest area sign that gives you false hope. You know the kind? They're the ones that say: Next rest area 92 miles. Also the part where I could walk blindfolded across a parking lot and find my Freightliner just listening for the sound of its Detroit. Of course this includes the fact that I can pick out the difference in the sounds of the Cats and Cummins and Detroits and Paccars.
My perception of distance has become skewed. I was just shocked the other day to learn it was only 600 miles from Beach to Missoula! I duck my head going under overpasses now, whereas I used to think 13' 6" was a nice tall bridge. I always turn from the outside turn lane to make sure the trailer clears the corner and I've never even pulled one!
I have figured out that it doesn't pay to stand up under the heat shield around the pipes, they hurt. It also hurts when you stand up while still half under a trailer. Makes your spine go numb and guys laugh at you. I figured out how to fall out the door and twist my ankle, skin my elbow, scrape my ear, and hit my head all in one fell swoop. Speaking of hitting your head, don't stand up under door knobs either. They hurt too. I also found out it's possible for your nose to die of hypothermia when stacking pepperoni on pallets in a reefer that is set to -10° and that not having an air ride seat can almost kill you by means of bladder and kidney infections. Trust me on this stuff, I earned that Calamity Jane sticker on my door!
I learned the sound of the wind moaning past the pipes in North Dakota. Figured out in Little America that birds eat puke. Discovered Big Red pop in Texas. Blistered my shoulders while strapping Polaris crates and counted 126 alligators along the road in Florida. Drank a gallon of water while tarping in Dallas when it was 125° in the shade. Got a poster signed by the Bossman of Trick my Truck in Joplin. Tramped through the snow and ate clam chowder when it was -35° in Bangor. Gazed at the wild cow signs down around Hells Canyon. Threw snowballs at the end of June by the Grand Tetons. Lived to freak people out about the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. Found out that Nebraska isn't flat. Tasted Dorothy Lynch salad dressing at a stockyard cafe in Kansas. Came down Wolf Creek Pass and found out that there's no feed store in down town Pagosa Springs.
All of this happened while listening to the trucks sing. This is why I stand here across the road from the truck stop. All you have to do is listen and all their dreams and memories come floating across the breeze to you.
You're welcome to join me, we'll just stand here and listen... and feel their song.
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