A Trucker's Tale

A Trucker’s Tale

By Roddy J Dryer

Copyright 2012 by Roddy J Dryer

Smashwords Edition

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Introduction

Oh, come on. All you do is sit and steer.

How often is it the Professional Driver hears something like that? It’s easy to admit most trades and professions are somewhat mysterious to those not directly involved, but it’s also easy to admit most love to interject their opinions into things they deliberately intend to never know anything about. This is particularly true when it comes to positions and places they do not find attractive. And wow, does the position of truck driver catch some serious opinion slinging.

Yes, there are plenty of people who show their appreciation for the job and the sacrifices made by the unique people who can endure the job, but there are so many others who sneer and scoff. Those who show their appreciation understand the role of the trucker in the larger scheme of things, and they’re also intelligent enough to recognize why the job (like virtually every job and ability) is harder than it looks.

Therein lies some of the challenge. From the outside, it’s difficult to have an accurate idea of what it’s like to spend the day in the seat of a tractor-trailer. More people than many realize they haven’t the first idea of what it is the trucker is doing or even why. Most people seem to possess the wherewithal to recognize the how important the job is to the realm of commerce (although there are plenty who haven’t the first clue), but the process itself remains inexplicable. It’s funny to see the expressions on the faces of grown adults who first learn the driver lives in there, spends his nights in there, and doesn’t go home every night to the comfort and love of family.

Sometimes even the Professional Drivers forget that a percentage of the pay is paid because of the sacrifice made and not just the labor. In other words, it has to be worth something or nobody would do it. But it doesn’t seem to be worth as much as it used to; once upon a time, the trucker was the highest paying blue-collar trade out there. It’s doubtful this is still the case. But the sacrifices are still there. This is a very lonely, isolating job, often leaving one to their own company most of the time. Sure, there are teams, but so many single drivers. Some have pets, some have volley balls with bloody hand prints, and many enjoy the company of imaginary friends. Many would sing the accolades for the invention of the satellite radio.

While this novel was written and intended for a broad audience, the professional truck driver has been my primary focus group from the start. I had every intention of writing this in a manner enjoyable by an intelligent readership from all walks of life, but I still viewed the drivers out there on their break (or driving, if this makes it to audiobook) as my most likely reading demographic. So, while this introduction can be read and enjoyed by all, I would like to dare take this opportunity to address the professional drivers directly. And, for those of you enjoying a different career choice, please join me within this introduction as it will provide some insight to the mysterious world of the professional driver.

One of my biggest motivators of writing this novel with us in mind is because I, just like all of you, see a lot of transformation and fundamental changes coming into this industry. We all see this going from the free-spirited and independent soul pursuing a career choice nestled nicely with the comfort of being one’s own dog, to an ultra-controlled blue collar job with a number of government thumbs pressed firmly down on the back of the industry’s neck. Once upon a time, this was where the modern day cowboy found his sense of peace, but alas, it appears the cowboy’s place in the world is again shrouded in a miasma of doubt.

Just about everyone doing this job today, regardless of how long one’s been doing it, has seen an ever-increasing diligence on the part of the government to rummage their dirty hands through this industry, and they’ve continually done so largely under the notion that it’s all for public safety. While that may have been the primary motivator all that time ago, and this was certainly a commendable purpose, it is increasingly difficult to believe that anymore. Well, unless one substitutes the word safety for easy money.

To be clear, there’s nobody with a proper IQ who would ever assume safety should be compromised, particularly when it comes to the operation of a big truck. The truth of the matter is that there are virtually no small or minor mistakes with equipment that big and heavy, and it’s just that simple. Safe and proper operation is not just vital, but the most efficient route offering the best mileage. There’s never a good reason to allow a situation that could create or allow property damage or personal injury under any circumstances. Because of these facts, rules, regulations, standards and safe habits must be in place and exercised at all times.

But the philosophy that this industry is being driven by utter morons who need continual and pervasive supervision or else they’d somehow become a menace to civilized society is ridiculous at best, and largely built upon a foundation of mistruths and disingenuous rhetoric. Just about every driver out there knows that most incidents between eighteen-wheelers and four-wheelers are usually the result of the ignorance and lack of proper training on the part of the one driving the four-wheeler. But what do the reports demonstrate? What do the statistics show? The big truck almost always takes the blame, and often because of the attitude of the professional driver’s training which was supposed to prevent the incident from occurring. In fact, this training prevents an untold amount of accidents and tragedies, but there’s no statistic for that.

Then, when there is an incident with a big truck and that professional driver is truly at fault, these occurrences are nearly always newsworthy. We’ve all heard several horrifying stories of people being hurt and killed, families torn apart or lost entirely, and monetary costs skyrocketing. There is no way around the fact that the rules and laws must be in place to work towards the elimination of these occurrences. But, it appears that what we have is just more confusion and chaos coming from those who want to control every aspect of the industry.

My argument is that their actions are not building stronger and safer ranks between the seat and the wheel, but quite the opposite. These invasive rules are only becoming more confusing and complex, and this is driving the better drivers out of the driver’s seat. My concern is that eventually this industry will go the same way the custodial and security industries have gone; from being manned by humble and hardworking, honest people to being manned by those who don’t have the desire or ability to do anything else. If they keep this up, the roadways will become more hazardous instead of safer, mainly because those with the wherewithal to do it right won’t put themselves through it anymore.

I could go on for pages about my concerns for the industry, so rather than do that, I went on for pages with a positive story and with making a driver a hero. Heaven knows we need a hero in this industry. Presently, we have hoards of good people within the rank and file who are at their wit’s end over what’s being done by innumerable control freaks, most of whom could never negotiate a big truck out of a parking lot, let alone demonstrate a proper example.

So, to offer some definite morale and an example to attain by all good drivers, I have created Gunnar ‘Brick’ Brickendale. Brick is a career driver with a deep-seated and bottomless love for the job he does, and a firm understanding for how important it is to our society’s way of life. We’ve all seen the bumper sticker reading without trucks America stops, and this rings so true. What’s far truer is that these trucks must, must, must be driven by the best of us, not the least of us.

For far too long have we drivers endured the sneers and scoffs on the part of our society, stating that truckers are nothing more than dirty, grimy loners with a profound disability to do anything else. We put up with endless rudeness and disrespect on the part of just about everyone we deal with, and far too often from those we work for.

But, (and this is vital, my friends) we must recognize that their attacks on our character is not a reflection of our character, but theirs. While this is not often a backbreaking job, it certainly has more challenges than most could shake a stick at. Being stuck in a sedentary position (that seat) for hours at a time demands incredible stamina if one is to remain focused and safety conscious. Then, one must have a high degree of understanding of the rules of the road, the variant rules from state to state, and the mechanical function of our equipment, including that equipment’s limitations.

Further, the driver must have a premium work ethic. This is not a job where one can wake up feeling lazy and call in sick. The demands never stop and the rush never ceases.

I felt it compelling to write a story about a professional driver and his tale because of all the continuous concerns and complaints we all hear daily while on the CB or at the truck stop. We cope with jerks, the weather, and the consistent gauntlets known as inspection stations and weigh stations, and constant questioning of our intent and honesty when something goes wrong or goes beyond our control.

We’re supposed to be the captains of that eighteen-wheel ship, yet the respect we receive often comes down to so many places where we’re not even allowed to use the restroom. I have heard and read stories of drivers suffering immense sickness yet only to find real help as difficult to find as the whereabouts of Bigfoot. A major irritant for most of us is the inability of the industry to place accountability on the shippers, who load heavy and then bully a driver to move on. A simple fact is that if shippers were held accountable for the proper and legal weight of a load, the loads would never, ever be overweight. I can’t see how that’s anything but common sense and I thank those shippers who take the time to understand this.

Oh, how about having to meet a ridiculously tight appointment time, just to wait nearly all day to get loaded or unloaded? But I’m griping…

A Trucker’s Tale is a story about one of our best. Brick is a courageous and honest man with the true desire to be the best at what he does. But, the difference between Brick and most of us is that he is recognized for his actions and efforts. How’s that for ‘jumping the shark’ in the realm of literary drama?

My intent was to write an entertaining and enjoyable read, but my hope and desire is to create an inspiring hero for all of us to find inspiring. After reading this story, I hope you find it in your heart and mind to look upon our profession as one of incredible service and importance, and aspire to attaining such a stance of pride. Soldiers have heroes. Police have heroes. There are heroes in just about every walk of life.

It’s time the professional driver has a hero. I hope Gunnar Brickendale can be our hero.

Salutations and Dedications

First of all, this book is dedicated to my lovely wife, Mary, and my daughters, Sierra Jade and Margaret Evelyn. They are the reason I find a reason to bother doing anything at all, and they make the world a better place. I love all of you very much.

I would also like to dedicate this work to my father, Texas Jack King. He was a man who also knew the unique world of the Professional Driver, and found out the hard way that some roads in life are rougher and dustier than others. He was also well-loved by many and left this world a better person than he was when he came into it. If only everyone could make such a lofty claim.

This work is also dedicated to my colleagues, friends, and coworkers within Trucking and the Transportation Industry. Be safe and happy trails. May you profit from your work and dedication, and may the DOT end up in a ditch, contemplating a career in fast food.

Chapter One

The mid-afternoon sun shined bright onto open, dry roads, perfect for a load not too heavy or too light pulled along a highway as challenging as Donner Pass. Although the rig scaled out close to seventy-five thousand pounds, Gunnar Brickendale felt little more than the pure thrill of his new truck while hauling the load out of Sacramento, California, destined all the way to Binghamton, New York. He smiled while thinking the beast felt as though it could easily take on another fifty thousand pounds, it was so strong.

Damn, but these are some good miles, Gunnar thought. He was Brick to those who know him and his handle, and Brick knew he’d need plenty more runs like this in order to keep up the payments on this new Peterbilt 379. He felt the pride of achievement with each mile accomplished, as this was his first truly new truck. Sure, Brick’s bought a few used trucks over the years, some of which were better than others, but this Pete was the first to be truly his own. It felt great to see the odometer start with so many zeroes rather than so high in the six figures like all the others. In fact, when Brick first saw it, he struggled to recall whether he’d ever seen an odometer read so low on any truck ever before. It felt marvelous to see it on a truck called his, and it felt like victory.

On a smaller scale, it felt victorious to hold a job where one could see and appreciate the scenery and weather, and this day was exceptional with blue skies and puffy clouds over gentle breezes blowing through the forests blanketing this region of the Sierra Mountains. So it seemed everything came together just right for Brick to enjoy a marvelous drive through the mountains, particularly when being paid to do it. Making his way as a professional driver since he left the military several years prior, a good drive makes a good day in Brick’s way of life. Occasionally, he reminisces how his career choices are not just jobs but ways of life and he’s always enjoyed that.

While moving east on I-80, Brick knew it was a big step harboring plenty of risk by buying the new Pete, but he measured the risk with the confidence he would pursue his future doing this well beyond the horizon. He’s long since settled into the realization he would be a driver going forward, likely for life, so he knew he had to make such a future truly his own.

If there was one thing he admired since he started driving, it was some of the awesome trucks driven by successful Owner/Operators out there, enjoying their version of the American Dream. He occasionally fantasized about seeing a Cat Scale collector card featuring equipment with his name and picture on it. Early in his career, it felt right to leave the droning position of Company Driver behind to become an Independent. It wasn’t that he had a specific problem with working for a company, but he developed a bad taste in his mouth with how some (hell, most) companies treat their drivers and how the gulch between driver and non-driver positions flows with the rubble of awkward imbroglios while the philosophies of what a proper position in life entails become increasingly unbridgeable. Thus, while a trucking company could never succeed without good drivers, a good driver can succeed without a company just fine.

Brick’s done just that with one used truck after the next, each coming with their fair share of problems and compromises as he’s moved from his first truck, which was a Western Star he purchased looking beaten up and ugly as hell but running like a champ. It wasn’t easy to look at and a number of things on it that used to work long before he bought it didn’t when he completed the sale, but it was truly his. When he crawled into the sleeper after a full day and another six hundred miles on the odometer, he felt he had a right to feel at home. The old Western Star smelled like someone else and their brand of cigarettes, though, so he mashed on the fuel with the intent to work towards something better. He knew there would be several used trucks between the Western Star and his new truck of choice, and there were, but that was just fine by Brick.

Now that he had the new truck, a stunning red Peterbilt pleading for the chrome shop and looking as though nobody ever owned it but him (although the bank truly owned more than eighty percent of it), he felt good in making himself at home. He had his personal choice of station playing on the satellite radio, and the cozy seat has never long known another ass but his. Brick’s place in the annals of genuine success was still several more miles down the road, but he could see its lights brilliant in the sky as he pulled this load of Spiedie and picnic ingredients to the Binghamton area.

What with Spiedies (mainly just marinated pieces of shish-kebob meat) being such a major part of festivals and backyard barbecues in that neck of the woods, Brick felt his place in the world through contributing to the way of life in community after community. With a wagon full of Spiedie spices and a myriad of other things needed for the seasonal festivities, Brick figured there would be plenty of smiles widening when he arrived, even if they didn’t recognize his place in the equation. As he crossed the border of California and Nevada, he knocked back the miles while Jimmy Buffett and friends kept him company via the radio.

Rolling down the steep downgrade, a seven percent decline if not more, he was impressed with how the truck felt at home with the hills even with this much weight. The hearty engine under the long-nose hood would surely bank up miles into the seven figures while traversing the American landscape and culture between that moment and the unforeseen future, and Brick considered the day the title would be in his hand and the truck would truly be his, even when the busload of screaming children passed him by on this steep grade going more than thirty miles per hour faster than he was, and he was allowing his confidence to press on his luck.

Brick’s jaw fell slack as the bus sailed past him and his eye caught but a fraction of a second’s worth of panicked expression on the face of the bus driver. What he then saw as the bus pulled away fast was the terrified expressions on the faces of several kids pressed to the windows, seeing what they could before their lives ended and they would see no more.

The bus was obviously out of control and Brick knew these roads enough to know a sharp curve wasn’t far enough ahead that, at that speed, might bring the bus off the road and into calamity. He flipped off the jakes and mashed the fuel, not knowing what to do but knowing he had to do something. He accelerated more than he felt comfortable with, but he thought he at least needed to be there when the bus crashed so he could do what he could for any potential survivors. He wanted to call 911 but needed both hands on the wheel.

Brick’s adrenaline amped up with the speed and RPMs on the dashboard, and if there was a gauge reading his adrenaline levels, it would be moving for the red. This absent gauge also indicated Brick needed to do more than just witness the crash and make an ugly call. If nothing else, he might be able to make eye contact with the bus driver and help prevent a tragedy before it occurs. A high hope, to be sure, but that bus was moving far faster than it should down a decline like this and he assumed the situation could get worse. On that assumption, he was correct.

The downgrade, Brick knew, had some way to go before it leveled out, and it appeared as though the bus driver had no other choice but to ride it out. He couldn’t see anything obviously wrong but assumed a complete brake failure despite not seeing any smoke or smelling burning brakes as he caught up. He knew he was running out of time as the downgrade would soon veer right and the bus could be tires-up unless it decelerated a good twenty miles per hour, which didn’t look likely. Brick geared up and stepped on it despite the notion he might have all eighteen wheels off the ground, too.

Just then, Brick felt concern for oncoming traffic lumbering up the grade, still as yet out of sight. The last thing he wanted to see was the bus run headlong into another vehicle and send the entire calamity into the unforgiving trees. He couldn’t dare grab the phone and attempt to dial, but he grabbed the CB mike and said what was on his mind.

If you got it on, watch for a bus coming in hot eastbound. If you can hear me, drivers, there’s a crash in the making and a lot of kids on a school bus.

He let go of the mike and kept his foot on the fuel, creeping in close to the bus. Once he had less than a truck’s length between them, he realized he could be a part of this craziness, making himself more of a menace rather than any help. He knew if that’s how it went down, he would go down in history looking like an irresponsible idiot rather than a concerned citizen, and nobody would know the truth. Then just as he was about to step on the brakes and fall back, he spotted a runaway truck ramp blaze by.

Damn, driver. You need to pull it into one of the runaway ramps, he said out loud.

This bus driver was likely just that- a bus driver used to lumbering along, never facing this sort of challenge. In fact, the bus driver is probably panicking and not seeing the option. From what he saw of this driver in the fraction of a second when they were nose-to-nose, he saw a frantic woman struggling to maintain what little control was left. Most truckers negotiating these slopes are used to seeing the runaway truck ramps, confident they never want to have to use one. Brick’s talked to a few drivers who have seen trucks pushed into a runaway ramp and one driver who had to use one. That driver told a tale detailing how much it sucked, particularly with the laundry list of fines and violations after the authorities and tow truck arrived on the scene.

But the driver didn’t bother leaving out how the alternative would have sucked a lot more.

Right at that moment, though, a runaway truck ramp seemed to be the only thing between the lives of those kids and a gruesome tale Brick never wanted to tell. So, one way or another, he wanted to get alongside the bus and try to communicate to the driver to take advantage of the next runaway ramp. He knew the ride would be rough, but it might be the difference between bumps and bruises and broken bodies and new tombstones. If there was anything positive about this, the runaway ramps were frequent along this stretch of road. There was still a chance of this ending less than tragically.

Thankfully the Pete had the power to get alongside the bus. Brick tried to get the driver’s attention, but the driver was only focused on the dismal future. He waved and yanked the air horn but couldn’t get her to look his way, even as they passed yet another runaway ramp that could have surely saved a lot of lives.

Come on, driver, he yelled as he pulled on the air horn again. You need to look at me!

On the verge of panic himself, Brick had to accept the driver was out of her league with this. Hell, he couldn’t think of any driver who would know what to do by now, including himself at this point. But he quickly realized he still had a chance to do something just as they rounded the bend enough to see another big truck just up ahead, with him and the bus taking up both lanes.

Well, shit, he muttered.

Brick saw the only way out of this was either fall back and watch the