How did a 50-something,well brought up mother from London, England find herself driving an 18 wheeler across The United States? It ended up being considerably more complicated than you’d expect. However, adventures are adventures and hiccups are where the stories lay…
Why on earth would a fifty-something, nicely brought-up mother all of a sudden decide to drive a truck?
It was a really good question and, like most good questions it had answers both easy 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’m able to using 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 maybe a plane and this course is cheaper’…none of these reasons quite encapsulated it all.
And these were merely the rationalisations for that much vaguer pull towards the massive beasties that I’d been enjoying watching while driving ever since emigrating from the UK to Canada. There was no rationalisation needless to say for that other vague pull, a lifelong addiction to doing things merely because they’re slightly strange.
Adding to my list of justifications that it seemed like an excellent angle for a book on trucking helped a little when trying to explain to those who have no imagination, but not much.
In fact, I hadn’t anticipated panic when I breezed into Tri-County Truck Driver Training one afternoon in 2008. I simply had to find out what it took to become a lady trucker. I wanted to discover the US, how hard would it be?
Of course there is a small difference between understanding how to handle a 75-foot, slow-moving guided missile and dreaming aboutgetting paid to see the continent; and actually earning a living. Spending 14 hours every day smelling of diesel. My first job was taking trailers full of mail from East to West. Team driving across Canada’s vast prairies and across The Rockies, and sometimes getting lucky enough to return home via Texas. That Lake Effect Winter Storm was just one of our countless weather-related narrow squeaks. North American trucking can be quite the adventure.
I’ve been almost arrested in Baltimore, sick as a dog in Tennessee, terrified in Chicago, Dallas and Detroit and dug from the snow twice in a single night in Alberta. I’ve made friends in Virginia and enemies in Ontario. And, given half a chance, I would probably forget about how impossibly tiring it is and go out again to drive 18 wheels over the horizon.
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