Left the call center after three weeks in April, $15,000 in credit card debt and nearing overdraft limit on the bank account. I forked out ten bucks to get a truck driving license again. Found some regional work doing summer relief for a large Canadian carrier. Facing a choice between making greenhouse gas for a living or filing for bankruptcy, it was easy to hop into a tractor again. Driving is my only job skill that can even remotely address our financial situation.
Middle of June found me sitting in a classroom doing the obligatory days of 'driver orientation' that everyone does when they sign-on with a new trucking company. Three days of safety, regs and procedures which is a good refresher for anyone. My fellow student: a middle-aged white guy from South Africa, recently moved to Canada with his family. An amiable fellow, Dave, he'd signed on to do an incredible job called 'team driving.' This is an operation where a tractor unit is kept rolling 24 hours a day, piloted in shifts by two drivers who take turns driving while the other guy sleeps (or tries to sleep!) in the cab bunk as it bounces down the highway. My heart went out to poor Dave. Did he really know what he'd been drafted for? When I was hired the driver manager had tried a couple times to get me on teams but I know that punishing job would reduce me to a quivering, stress-fatiqued basket-case within a week.
I looked forward with interest and pity to see how the South African would handle it. Sure enough a couple weeks later there was Dave, coming in off the road one morning. Grizzled grey stubble and fatique-squeezed eyes betrayed the terrible ordeal. Jaw set grimly, amiable-ness in full retreat but still hanging on to his polite manners, he cut our conversation short and excused himself. I wasn't offended. When a driver gets in off a long road trip, the main thing is to get out of there fast. You feel like you don't ever wanna see a truck again.
In his amusing book 'Hey Trucker, Where Ya Headin?' the old road-warrior Albert Sadowski describes a curious 'defective gene' particular to truckers:
"If it were not for a genetic flaw there would be no truck drivers. They would all quit and never drive again. They sometimes come home from a trip having endured more hard work, fatique, stress. danger, harassment, disappointment, discomfort than any person should ever be expected to endure.
They get out of the truck determined that they are never going to do that again. When they get home and are surrounded by all the comforts and love in their homes all that bad stuff starts fading away. The genetic flaw really kicks in after a good night's sleep and a big, home cooked breakfast. By this time the horrible feeling that they had in the guts when they came home is gone. Another day at home with the family, another sleep in bed and a good breakfast and the function of the defective gene is complete. They have forgotten all about the bad trip and when the dispatcher calls they are ready to go and do it all again."
I'm home most mornings to sleep but it can still be a tough grind. A coupla long swing-shifts with short sleep between that leave you staring down the road with sandblasted eyes and foggy brain. Occasional 15 hour work days that throw the body clock out the window (then dispatch calls 6 hours later). Massive swampdonkeys playing 'chicken' on the highway (moose, eh?). The regular 60hr workweek that most truckers do.
But there's an upside too. You get to see the dawn rise and sun set on some of the most beautiful scenery GOD ever created. Visit other towns. There's time (alot of unhurried time) to think about things that matter. Time to pray, study the Bible and enjoy music and literature. All behind the wheel of a truck.
Middle of June found me sitting in a classroom doing the obligatory days of 'driver orientation' that everyone does when they sign-on with a new trucking company. Three days of safety, regs and procedures which is a good refresher for anyone. My fellow student: a middle-aged white guy from South Africa, recently moved to Canada with his family. An amiable fellow, Dave, he'd signed on to do an incredible job called 'team driving.' This is an operation where a tractor unit is kept rolling 24 hours a day, piloted in shifts by two drivers who take turns driving while the other guy sleeps (or tries to sleep!) in the cab bunk as it bounces down the highway. My heart went out to poor Dave. Did he really know what he'd been drafted for? When I was hired the driver manager had tried a couple times to get me on teams but I know that punishing job would reduce me to a quivering, stress-fatiqued basket-case within a week.
I looked forward with interest and pity to see how the South African would handle it. Sure enough a couple weeks later there was Dave, coming in off the road one morning. Grizzled grey stubble and fatique-squeezed eyes betrayed the terrible ordeal. Jaw set grimly, amiable-ness in full retreat but still hanging on to his polite manners, he cut our conversation short and excused himself. I wasn't offended. When a driver gets in off a long road trip, the main thing is to get out of there fast. You feel like you don't ever wanna see a truck again.
In his amusing book 'Hey Trucker, Where Ya Headin?' the old road-warrior Albert Sadowski describes a curious 'defective gene' particular to truckers:
"If it were not for a genetic flaw there would be no truck drivers. They would all quit and never drive again. They sometimes come home from a trip having endured more hard work, fatique, stress. danger, harassment, disappointment, discomfort than any person should ever be expected to endure.
They get out of the truck determined that they are never going to do that again. When they get home and are surrounded by all the comforts and love in their homes all that bad stuff starts fading away. The genetic flaw really kicks in after a good night's sleep and a big, home cooked breakfast. By this time the horrible feeling that they had in the guts when they came home is gone. Another day at home with the family, another sleep in bed and a good breakfast and the function of the defective gene is complete. They have forgotten all about the bad trip and when the dispatcher calls they are ready to go and do it all again."
I'm home most mornings to sleep but it can still be a tough grind. A coupla long swing-shifts with short sleep between that leave you staring down the road with sandblasted eyes and foggy brain. Occasional 15 hour work days that throw the body clock out the window (then dispatch calls 6 hours later). Massive swampdonkeys playing 'chicken' on the highway (moose, eh?). The regular 60hr workweek that most truckers do.
But there's an upside too. You get to see the dawn rise and sun set on some of the most beautiful scenery GOD ever created. Visit other towns. There's time (alot of unhurried time) to think about things that matter. Time to pray, study the Bible and enjoy music and literature. All behind the wheel of a truck.
posted by Christopher at 12:44 AM
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