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Monday, 06 August 2007

My Trucking Career: In the Beginning

By William Weatherstone of The Diesel Gypsy

It was more than 50 years ago that I started into trucking. Before that, I was thrown out of school before my time. Never ever, found out why. They just told me it would be better for both of us if we parted company. Who am I to question the school principles decision? I was gone in a flash

Fortunately, I was big for my age, and had no problem lying about it. Taking my drivers license test was a snap. Since I was 13 years old, I used to ride with my stepfather on weekend trips hauling bread on overnight trips. After school on Friday nights he had a trip up north, returning by noon on Saturday. I got to help unload the bread and learn to spot the trailer into some very tight alleys.

One night he asked if I thought I could handle the truck on the highway. It was about 4:30AM and deserted. OK, was my answer. He pulled over, and we switched seats. He promptly flaked out.

It was a 1949-KB-8 Binder, (International) equipped with air brakes instead of the old vacuum type. It was great advancement. He let me take it for about 50 miles. We never saw another vehicle all night. When we switched back, I was the biggest and best King Kong, of all truckers.

This arrangement went on for over a year. One trip in particular, he had spent all day in the tavern, with the boys. By the time he got home and ready for work, he was pretty baffed out. We loaded, and took off.

At the city limits was the last coffee shop available. We stopped in, had a coffee and he almost passed out. It was an open road from there and no traffic. The sun was just setting in the west, when he asked if I would like to drive for 20 minutes to a half hour. We switched seats and I drove on.

He was out like a light before I even got it into gear. The load was going to Peterborough, Ontario, about 100 mi. away. I got her rolling and was having a ball (at 14 yrs old). I was motoring along and wondering when he would tell me to pull over and change drivers. It never happened.

I drove up through the hills and into town. Fortunately, this warehouse had a back door in a through alley. It was narrow, and tight, but it was a straight-through drive. The unloading was through the side door of the van. I got in without a scratch.

I jumped out the driver's door and around to the front door of the warehouse, and inside. Jack asked where the old man was, and I told him that I would help unload, as Roy was too tired, and was going to grab an hour's sleep. He bought it, and we got to work.

It was about an hour job for the two of us to unload, and reload the empty bingos. (Bread trays). We closed up and he stayed on to wait and load his city trucks. I jumped into the driver's seat and drove out the alley, and headed for the highway. The old man was still dead to the world. I motored on down the road, happy as hell.

The first crack of dawn was breaking through, and I was about 1/4 mi. from the starting point, at the coffee shop. The old man woke up and started screaming at me, what in hell, are you doing on the wrong side of the road, going the wrong way? He really through a sh** fit. Pull back into the coffee shop and get out!

Well, we went in and he was really cranked up over me. He couldn't figure out how, in a couple of minutes, I could get turned around and be headed back into town. During his fit of anger, the all-night waitress was putting on her coat to go home. She came over and lit right into him. She promptly told him that the trip was done already, and the sun was not just going down, but it was just coming up.

He had the most stupid look on his face I had ever seen. He stomped out to the truck and opened the trailer door, looked in, saw it was unloaded, and then closed the door. He never bugged me again after that trip.

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:16 AM | Permalink | Email this post