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Monday, 06 October 2014

Embarrassing Moment

By Old Bill Weatherstone who blogs at The Diesel Gypsy

During one period, I had a very embarrassing trip. It was an extremely busy year. You had to fight for a day off and the only real way was to get someone to run a trip for you.

Well, this time you could not even buy a driver. There were none available. This particular company was an all two-driver operation.

My partner at the time was Bill G. He was also the proud owner of this sleek new cab-over Hayes tractor. He was also hungry for the miles. He wanted to get it paid off as soon as possible.

At this time, we were on about the sixth or seventh trip in a row, from Alberta to Ontario via the USA without a day off.

My girlfriend was upset with me for not being around enough. I told her that I would phone on Sunday morning from wherever I was at the time. Well, it was in the first part of October and was pretty dark and frosty at 6AM, local time. It was an hour later at home.

I was just motoring along US 2 highway, about 30 to 40 miles west of Duluth, Minnesota. It was a barren stretch with no villages or population of any sort.

I was looking for a place to make my phone call. Finally, I came up to a closed down garage on the south side of the road. At the corner of the lot was a phone booth. I was desperately hoping that it would be working.

I pulled off, and jumped out and tried it. Great - it was working. I made my call and she was upset with me and telling me that I did not love her, that if I did, I would be with her now.

When I finished and headed over to the truck (in deep thought), I jumped in and took off.

I was just flying down the road like a maniac.

About 20 minutes later, the first set of headlights came barrelling up behind me. The first car I had seen in four hours. All of a sudden, the lights were flashing on and off and a siren started wailing. What in hell did I do now?

I pulled over onto the shoulder and the cop was running up to me, yelling, “Where is your partner?”

I said he was sleeping in the bunk.

The cop said, “Get him up, I want to see him.”

“Okay, okay.” I said. Ddon’t get your ba**s in an uproar.”

I climbed up into the cab and yelled at Bill G. to get up. He did not answer, so I pulled up the curtain, and the bunk was empty.

Well, I guess the look on my face was a sight of horror. It was then that the trooper started laughing like hell and could not stop.

It seems that a couple of state troopers were cruising down old # 2 on an early Sunday morning not expecting anything out in nowhere, when they came across what they thought, was a pervert standing on the side of a deserted highway dressed only in a pair of jockey shorts and cowboy boots.

He was cold and shivering and had no ID of any kind (except for a tattoo). They threw him in the cruiser and were about to take him in when he finally convinced them that he was a team driver.

When he woke up, he had to get out and relieve himself. He slipped on his boots and jumped down closing the door behind him, then went around the back of the trailer, to do his thing.

He was completely out of sight when I finished my phone call. I pulled away, leaving him standing there in the middle of nowhere doing his thing.

The cops finally gave in and called for another to look for and stop an eastbound speeding truck. When they caught me and told me what happened, I wheeled around and headed back to pick up my lost partner.

For another day or so, the conversation between us was limited.

Why it happened is that he broke an unwritten law: when running two drivers and one climbs out of the bunk for any reason or amount of time, you leave the curtain open.

When I climbed back into the cab, I could not have missed seeing an open curtain thus knowing he was out of the truck.

Whenever we went out for a beer with the boys, that embarrassing incident seemed to always creep into the conversation.

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Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Bill! Great story! Did you ever go past Rugby ND on HWY 2? I grew up and graduated from HS there. It was also known as "The Geographical Center of North America. There was a popular truck stop and café on the NW corner of a major intersection just off the highway. Rugby was in between Devils Lake and Minot, ND. Sound familiar?

Just read this out loud to my trucker hubby. We all laughed a lot!

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