How did a 50-something,nicely brought up mother from London, England finish up driving an 18 wheeler across The United States?
Why on earth would a fifty-something, carefully brought-up mother suddenly make a decision to drive a truck?
It was a really good question and, like most good questions it had answers both simple and complex. From ‘it sounds like fun’ through ‘it’s a conventional immigrant job’ via ‘well, I could earn more income in a truck than I could having a Master’s degree’ with a detour along ‘I’ve driven ambulances and stretch limos, if I want to be bigger it’s either a truck or perhaps a plane and this course is cheaper’…none of these reasons quite encapsulated it all.
And these were merely the rationalisations for just a much vaguer pull towards the massive beasties that I’d been seeing on the highway since emigrating from the UK to Canada. Clearly there was no rationalisation however for the other vague pull, a lifelong addiction to doing things merely because they’re a little bit strange.
Adding to my list of reasons that it appeared to be a good angle for a book on trucking helped a little when trying to explain to people who have no imagination, but not much.
In all honesty, I hadn’t anticipated fear when I breezed into Tri-County Truck Driver Training one afternoon in 2008. I just had to determine what it took to be a lady trucker. I wanted to observe North America, how hard would it be?
As expected there is a bit of a distinction between learning how to handle a 75-foot, slow-moving guided missile and dreaming aboutgetting money to see the continent; and actually earning a living. Spending 14 hours every day smelling of diesel. My first job was taking trailers filled with mail from East to West. Team driving across Canada’s vast prairies and across The Rockies, and sometimes getting lucky enough to come home via Texas. That Lake Effect Winter Storm was just an example of our countless weather-related narrow squeaks. North American trucking can be quite the drama.
Ihave been almost arrested in Baltimore, sick as a dog in Tennessee, terrified in Chicago, Dallas and Detroit and dug from the snow twice within a night in Alberta. I’ve made friends in Virginia and foes at home. And, given half a chance, I’d probably forget all about how impossibly tiring it is and go out again to drive 18 wheels over the horizon.
It was a really good question and, like most good questions it had answers both simple and complex. From ‘it sounds like fun’ through ‘it’s a conventional immigrant job’ via ‘well, I could earn more income in a truck than I could having a Master’s degree’ with a detour along ‘I’ve driven ambulances and stretch limos, if I want to be bigger it’s either a truck or perhaps a plane and this course is cheaper’…none of these reasons quite encapsulated it all.
And these were merely the rationalisations for just a much vaguer pull towards the massive beasties that I’d been seeing on the highway since emigrating from the UK to Canada. Clearly there was no rationalisation however for the other vague pull, a lifelong addiction to doing things merely because they’re a little bit strange.
Adding to my list of reasons that it appeared to be a good angle for a book on trucking helped a little when trying to explain to people who have no imagination, but not much.
In all honesty, I hadn’t anticipated fear when I breezed into Tri-County Truck Driver Training one afternoon in 2008. I just had to determine what it took to be a lady trucker. I wanted to observe North America, how hard would it be?
As expected there is a bit of a distinction between learning how to handle a 75-foot, slow-moving guided missile and dreaming aboutgetting money to see the continent; and actually earning a living. Spending 14 hours every day smelling of diesel. My first job was taking trailers filled with mail from East to West. Team driving across Canada’s vast prairies and across The Rockies, and sometimes getting lucky enough to come home via Texas. That Lake Effect Winter Storm was just an example of our countless weather-related narrow squeaks. North American trucking can be quite the drama.
Ihave been almost arrested in Baltimore, sick as a dog in Tennessee, terrified in Chicago, Dallas and Detroit and dug from the snow twice within a night in Alberta. I’ve made friends in Virginia and foes at home. And, given half a chance, I’d probably forget all about how impossibly tiring it is and go out again to drive 18 wheels over the horizon.
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