Eighteen Wheels & a Double Whopper

For several years in the late 90's, I was an over the road truck driver. It was an interesting life, to say the least. While it was mostly a lot of driving, and sitting on loading docks for what could seem like days, there were some bright moments.

I was headed to my home terminal in Syracuse for time off, coming from eastern Massachusetts. This necessarily involved a trip over the Mass Pike, a drive I always enjoyed once I was west of Southbridge, where I 84 split to go into Connecticut, taking the Hartford and New York traffic with it. The ride over the Berkshires was always a scenic treat, especially in the fall, when the trees were a blaze of color. It almost made up for the ordeal of driving a truck in New England.

I was headed back to Syracuse from a pick up in Worcester that morning, and by early afternoon, maybe 1 PM, I was almost back in New York. I decided to stop for lunch at the last service plaza on the Mass Pike, just west of the Lee interchange. The next chance I'd get would not be til west of Albany on the Thruway, and I didn't want to wait that long. The plaza here at Lee had a Burger King, which was OK for road food. I pulled into the plaza, on past the fuel island, and parked.

Burger King wasn't busy; there were two people ahead of me. One was a blonde who appeared to be about 40. She looked the part of a sales/service rep, in her dress-for-success dark gray slacks and subdued pink blouse. Despite the career separates, she still cut an attractive figure. She was maybe 5'7", nice legs, what appeared to be C cup tits, which I could see a little of, along with a hint of white bra, as her top gapped when she turned around to see who had walked up behind her.

Our eyes met. "Hi," she said.

I smiled, not expecting any kind of greeting. "Hi," I said back.

"Another day on the road??" she asked. My company uniform shirt had obviously tipped her off to my occupation. I was driving for a well known carrier, whose trucks were everywhere.

I chuckled. "Yeah, just like almost all of them."

She laughed at that. "I hear ya," she said. I was always a little wary of people who wanted to make a comparison of their road life, even those who spent most of a week at a time living in hotels in an expansive sales territory, with my life of as much as a month at a time living in the back of a truck. Not to diminish their efforts-living away from home can be hard on people, even when they have the relative luxury of a warm bed and facilities they don't have to get dressed and go out in the cold to use; but their existence is still not anything close to the life I led as an over the road trucker.

I gave her a quick lookover. "Sales??" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm a rep for a pharmaceutical company. I'm on the road a lot, most days."

"What's your territory??"

"Western New England, mostly Vermont and a little Massachusetts and New Hampshire, and eastern New York, from the Saratoga area up to the Canadian border. It's a lot of turf."

"I'd say," I replied. "Not too many people, lots of trees and bears," I teased.

She laughed. "Exactly. But it's a lot of driving, Plattsburgh is a long way from anywhere, except maybe Burlington."

I laughed. I'd been to Plattsburgh any number of times. Georgia Pacific had a tissue mill there, and was a regular pick up for me. "True. I go up there on a semi regular basis, although, in my line of work, the farther, the better, since I get paid by the mile. Hate going there in the winter, though."

"No joke!! Sometimes I think it's the coldest place on Earth."

"You haven't been to Old Forge, have you??" I kidded. My mom had a vacation home there. Temperatures of minus 40-air temp, not wind chill-were not unheard of in the winter, though some places in the deep Adirondacks could get colder.

"Yes, I have," she said, laughing. "That place is cold enough to freeze a witch's tit."

I laughed, not expecting such a comment from someone who had just met me in a fast food line. "Yes, it is." I explained about my mom's house there. "I try to stay away from places like that in the winter. It doesn't always work out that way. Seems I go to Texas in the summer, Minnesota in the winter. I'm a 48 state driver, so in theory, I can go just about anywhere, though I tend to stay east of I 35 most of the time." She looked a litle puzzled. "I 35 runs from Duluth, Minnesota to Laredo, Texas, through Kansas City and Dallas."

"Must be an interesting life, driving a truck like you do." We moved up to the counter and put our orders in.

I sighed and smiled. "It's a life all its own. You have a pretty well defined area you travel in, and so do I. Mine is just a lot bigger." She laughed. "I also live in the back of truck, which is not exactly like staying in the Hampton every night."

"Well, not exactly the Hampton, or even Holiday Inn Express. Most of the time, it's somewhere a bit cheaper. The Hampton is a pretty good buck, more than my expense account will bear, but I see your point."

We got our food. "Mind if I join you??" she asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," I said. We repaired to a table out by the windows and settled in, unwrapping our gourmet selections, me a double whopper, she a chicken sandwich of some sort.

"I'm Anne, by the way," she said, offering her hand.

"Tom," I said, shaking hers. "So, where's home??"

"West Hartford, Connecticut."

"So how do you wind up going all over New England and the Adirondacks, so far from home??"

She munched a couple of fries. "Our regional headquarters is in Hartford. I'm still relatively new there, which is how I drew this plum assignment. The people who have been here longer get the closer in territories."

"Yeah, I get how that works. Gotta pay your dues, right??"

"Right. It sucks sometimes." Anne took a bite out of her chicken sandwich. "So, where's home for you??" she asked.

"Down near Elmira. I work out of Syracuse, which isn't too bad a drive. I know drivers who live way up in the North Country who have some real rides to get home from the yard."

"So you're almost home, then."

"Yeah, I'm heading home for a week or so. I've been out for about 30 days. We get two days off for each week we're on the road, so I could take eight days, but I can't stay home that long, I need to get out and make more money. Getting paid by the mile means you can't sit long, even on time off."

"That will keep you moving," said Anne. "It's like piecework, you only get paid when you produce."

"That's what I tell people. You must have some experience with that."

"I worked in a mill right out of high school. You had to really produce if you wanted to make any kind of decent money, and it wasn't always easy. How's the money driving a truck, if I might ask??" She took another bite of her sandwich.

"If you hustle, you can do OK. I cleared $55K last year, and should again this year."

Anne's eyes got big. "Damn, you must run a lot of miles!!"

"Yeah, I do. Even at 39 cents a mile, I still run everything I can get. My wife spends money like a drunken sailor." Anne laughed at that description. "Seriously. I went from making about $24K a year, to $32K when I started driving. That's still not a lot of money in the grand scheme, but was a considerable improvement. Then, the company raised everyone's mileage pay, and I made just under $50K, then $55K last year. I'm still behind the eight ball financially. I swear, if I made a million bucks, she'd spend a million, fifty thousand."

Anne laughed out loud at that. "You sure she's not related to my husband?? He never saw a 'toy' he didn't want. I have to talk him out of all kinds of things, or he'd spend us broke." Anne shifted gears, so to speak. "With all those miles, I bet you see a lot, and a lot of the country."

"Yeah, I go to the warehouse districts of all the great cities," I quipped, something I drop on everyone who suggests my life is one of Sunday drives in the country, windows down, radio up, hair in the breeze.

.

Anne looked like she didn't know what to make of that. "Yes, I do get to see some pretty places, but most of the time, I'm rolling into some city to make a delivery, and don't really get to do much sightseeing. A lot of it is driven by the need to get the freight over the road on time; a lot of it is also driven by the fact that I can't park a 53 foot trailer just anywhere. The two words that guide my life are 'truck parking.' You can imagine how much I hate going to New England. Everything was built 300 years ago, and a lot of it is still meant for horses and buggies, and no one will let you park anywhere-but they want the stuff we bring."

"Oh, yeah, that might pose a probem," said Anne, having a realization.

"And there's a lot of, not so much hurry up and wait, as wait and hurry up."

Anne looked confused. I continued, "There are times when I spend six hours on a shipper's dock, and have to be at a receiver 600 miles away by two the next afternoon, which means if I am to get the load there, I have to go 400 miles right now, after sitting all day, get my required eight hour break in(this was before the change to 10 hour breaks), and still have enough time to run off the rest of the miles the next day."

"I see," said Anne, intrigued at the planning that goes into my job.

"Yeah, you do a lot of adding up hours and miles. And those eight hour breaks?? Sometimes they're not quite eight hours."

Anne raised her eyebrows. "How does that work out??"

"Well, it all looks good on paper!! I can make my log look like everything is just ducky, even if I get only five hours of sleep. As long as I'm not sleepy, I can make this work."

"Ah," she said. "Creative writing!!"

I laughed. "Exactly. There's a reason driver logs are often referred to as 'comic books.'"

Anne laughed. "That said," I went on, "There is a lot of beauty out there, in places you would not always expect. Lots of prairie sunsets; the fall color in November on the Virginia Blue Ridge, which makes driving I 81 almost a joy; seeing the Chicago skyline-and we all hate Chicago-from the interchange from I 55 to I 94; coming down the hill on I 75 from Kentucky into Cincinatti at night. Who knew Cincy had such a stunning downtown??"

Anne was rapt at my descriptions. "But the best one was the time I had a load going to Wal Mart's DC in Loveland, Colorado. The DC is off I 25 north of Denver. You get off the exit there, turn right, then go up a hill, then a right into their driveway. You're now a couple hundred feet above the interstate, and have a panoramic view of the Front Range. I got there right at sunset one day in late October. There was already snow on the mountains, and the sun was setting behind them, turning all the peaks into oranges and purples. It was quite an image, just stunning."

Anne was just looking at me in wonder. "It must have been," she said, almost in disbelief.

"You must see some pretty scenes in your territory," I said to her. "I mean, right here is really pretty in the fall, and even in winter, when it's not actually snowing, and the Adirondacks can be really pretty the first couple weeks of October."

"Yes, they can, and it's a joy to be driving around then. But the Colorado Rockies..." her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, but keep in mind, I also have to deal with lake effect on the Thruway, or on parts of roads like the Indiana Toll Road up near Chicago. They can get it pretty bad there. And you see those trucks with two short trailers?? Out there, they allow triples. You haven't lived til you've had a couple of Roadway trucks pulling triples blowing past you at 70 MPH in the snow. You never really know what that last trailer is doing-and neither do those drivers. And then there's having to go all the places you wouldn't go if you had any choice. If I never see Baltimore or Houston again, it will be too soon."

Anne looked at me, gauging my comment. "But, I'd rather do this than be locked in an office or chained to a desk. It's why I don't go into dispatch. Even being stuck in Atlanta traffic is better than a desk job."

"Ha, ha, don't you know it!!" said Anne, "For all the travelling I do, it's still better than working in the office."

"How do you like being on the road?? I asked.

"It's not too bad, though I'm not out nearly as long as you are, a couple of days at most. I miss by boys."

"You have young kids??"

"I have two teens, 13 and 15. They're both active in sports, and I miss games, though I try to be home."

"Yeah, I get that. I have four, two girls 15 and 13, two boys, 12 and 10. I try to get home for the big events, concerts and such. They're all in band and dance, the boys in karate. I'd be home more if I didn't feel like I was always on my last ten bucks."

Anne reached over the table and took my hand. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that. It can't be easy, trying to always keep up. I've been there, early in my marriage, my husband was really out of control. He made good money, but, how did you put it?? He spent like a drunken sailor on all kinds of stuff, most of which we didn't need, and a lot of it wound up being sold in pawn shops for a lot less than he paid for it. It took a while and some serious counseling for him to get that out of his system." She squeezed my hand. Our eyes met. It was as if there was suddenly a deeper connection.

"So," said Anne, breaking out of her momentary trance, "what's it like driving one of those things. It always seems like it's a challenging thing to me, getting one of those big trucks down the road."

I smiled at her. "It's not as hard as you think. You do have to be mindful of its size. I pull 53 foot trailers most of the time, occasionally 48's. Driving straight down the road, like here on the Mass Pike, is pretty easy, most of the time. Just bear in mind that what's happening 65 feet behind you is critically important when you're making turns, lane changes, or getting on and off the highway. Where you really get challenged is driving in town-lots of things and pedestrians to hit-and backing."

"I could never back one of those things," said Anne, laughing.

"It's not actually that hard, if you set it up right. Just remember there are a lot of blind spots. And always check if you're not sure."

I continued, "One time when I was in East Brunswick NJ-we have a terminal there-for the night a friend who lives in the area came to pick me up at the yard so we could go to dinner. I took him to the truck, since he said he wanted to sit in it to see how it felt. I got him up in the driver's seat, and he looked down the side of a 48 foot container, and said, 'I don't see how you do it.' I told him the same thing I told you. If you have time, you want to come up and sit, and see what the world looks like from my perch??"

Anne looked excited. "Yeah, sure. That would be cool!!" By now we'd finished lunch, and were ready to go. We walked out to the lot, past the fuel island, and to my truck, which was parked in the middle of a row of trucks. I opened the door, and had her get in front of me. I explained how to climb up, three point contact and all that, and up she went, getting settled into the driver's seat. Fortunately, I'd done some housekeeping earlier in the day, so the sleeper wasn't the usual cluttered catch all it sometimes gets to be when I'm gone a long time.

I stood on the step, my head even with hers. I explained the various switches, knobs and controls, how the parking brake worked, how air brakes work generally, and other features.

"Now look in the rearview," I said, closing the door.

"Wow, no wonder your friend said he couldn't see how you do this. That's a long trailer!!"

"Once you get it going, it's not so hard to do. As I said, just pay attention to what the back is doing when you're making any kind of lane change so you don't whack someone, or run them off the road." I opened the door again.

She put her hand on the gearshift. "This is a standard shift?? How many gears??" she flicked the high/low range switch up and down a couple of times, hearing it click from one to the other. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just played with that, should I??"

"It's OK. You won't damage it. The shifter is in neutral. This is a nine speed, though as a practical matter, you don't really use the low, low, or 'granny' gear. You do need to learn to double clutch to shift gears, though. It makes for a much smoother transition."

"Is that hard??"

"Not really. Like a lot of things, you just need to practice."

"OK, now," I told her, "push the clutch all the way down with your left foot, and turn the key, it's on the right side of the steering wheel." Anne looked at me.

"You mean, start it??" She looked unsure of herself.

"Yup. It won't bite you." Anne did as I instructed, and the truck roared to life. I had her kick up the AC, as it was a warm day, almost 80. She took the steering wheel in her hands. "Ready to go??"

Anne laughed out loud, and looked at me with uncertainty, as if I was going to ask her to drive us away. "Can you imagine me driving this thing??"

"Yeah, why not. You can learn it."

"Are there a lot of women doing this??"

"Not too many, but more than you'd think. They're not all tattooed beasts, either. A dear friend of mine is in her late 40's, a skinny blonde who is all of 5'2" and 110 pounds, and she handles these trucks just fine. You wouldn't want to challenge her in a dark alley, though. She'll rip your lungs out."

Anne looked at me curiously. I could see the wheels turning, as if she were actually thinking about it. She turned to look around the cab, then back into the sleeper. "So this is where you live??" she asked, still looking to the back. "Doesn't look so bad," she said, taking in the scope of my International 9800, the famous flat floor cabover.

"These are a lot better than the models that came before. This is what's known as a cabover, or more properly, cab over engine. They are generally disliked by drivers for their rough ride, because you're sitting over the steer axle, and they have a short wheelbase. On anything other than perfect road, it's like riding a rocking horse. I was on a section of I 80 in Illinois one time, the ride was so bad, the truck was knocked out of gear by the rocking motion."

"Wow, that bad??" said Anne, still examining the back of the truck.

"Yeah. They can be knock-your-teeth-out awful. Of course, Illinois' road maintenance wasn't the best, either. It was pretty bad for about 30 miles near Ottawa til they dug it up and rebuilt."

"This seems roomy, though."

"These are the new models, known as a flat floor." Anne looked puzzled. "One of the other unattractive features of the cab over is that, up until this model was developed, the engine compartment came up between the seats. You could use it for a coffee table while you're driving, except that to get into the sleeper, you had to hoist yourself up onto the top of it, then scoot back into the bunk. Not the most convenient or comfortable way to go into the sleeper. This set up is a vast improvement. I kid my ops manager about having her up to go dancing in my ballroom, now that I have all this space."

Anne laughed at the idea. "Go back and have a look. I'll give you the nickel tour."

"You don't mind??"

"Not at all. I cleaned up a bit this morning, so you won't be encountering dirty underwear. And I won't bite, really."

"Not even a nibble??" Anne smiled as she teased me.

"Maybe just a little," I teased back.

She slid off the seat, stepping back into the sleeper. I climbed in, passing through the seat, and joining Anne in the back. She was looking around, getting a feel for the place. "This is nice," she said, looking at how I had the shelves set up, and my plug in cooler tucked away under the fold out desk.

"It's not bad for living in an 8x8 foot metal box. These are a lot roomier than the old trucks. I've even had some drivers who have conventional tractors-the ones with hoods-come up to look, who have said the sleepers in these are roomier than theirs."