Old Timer's>Story's of how you started.

Did you drive up hill both ways in the snow with no chains? Sorry, I had to. Thanks for the story.

 

Actually, there is no one point where I started out.

I have been around trucks and the trucking business since before I was born.

My first real recollection of riding in the dummy seat in a "big" (hahaha) truck for any distance was when I was about 8 years old. In the summer of 1957 I went with my dad and brother (2 years older) from Texas to California with a stop in Arizona.

The "big" truck he drove was a little underpowered International cabover with no power steering, no a/c, no cb radio, no radio of any kind, and a little bitty sleeper than wasn't much bigger than the package tray in the back window of a sedan.

And I actually spent most of my time either sitting on the doghouse or sitting in the sleeper. My brother refused to let me sit in the dummy sleep. Which was okay with me, great view from the doghouse although the ride is a little rough. (did I mention that there was no such thing as air ride or cab suspension?)

For water, he carried a canvas bag filled with water over the radiator in front of the truck.

There were no such thing as an "Interstate" and the only freeways were in urban communities. Most highways were two lane affairs of varying widths which made passing nearly impossible for dad's little truck. Of course, it wouldn't go fast enough to pass much of anything other than maybe a farm tractor, but even that was iffy.

Most "truck stops" were cafes with big parking lots, usually dirt and full of potholes. Occasionally, a cafe would be located next to a service station that sold diesel on the side (side of the building in a dirt driveway) and that had a dirt parking lot.

That was an upscale t/s.

Showers? Showers, you say? Unless you count the water hose beside the t/s, they did not exist unless you could afford a motel, which we could not. Washing machines? What washing machines? You wore what you had on until you got back home. Then mom could wash your dirty clothes.

I have few specific recollections other than the highway seemed to never end once we left Dallas and headed west until we got to California.

We did spend the night in a bunkhouse (hahahaha) in Carlsbad, NM. A bunkhouse is just what it sounds like, just like in the cowboy days, a bunch of guys sleeping on bunks in a single room. But, it was cheap and cool. Did I mention the truck had no a/c?

Sat for a day in the desert of Arizona waiting for some kind of load, which I do not recall what it was. I think it was some kind of produce (maybe rocks).

Did I mention the truck had no a/c?

We went over Tehachapi at night so I did not get the scenic tour. Did I mention there were no freeways to speak of? Tehachapi was well known for being extremely dangerous due to the narrow road and switchback turns. Not to mention the 6 to 8% grades going down into Bakersfield.

Truck drivers regularly died on the Hatch, as did many others.

If you happen to go from Barstow to Bakersfield, CA Hwy 58, you can still see parts of that old road next to that real nice freeway that goes over the Hatch today.

Ended up in San Francisco at some grocery warehouse where I ate the worst hamburger I've ever tasted. I still recall that today. It was RANCID!!! But, it was just preparing me for my later years. Now, I can eat anything without consequences. (upholstery, dirt, rocks, paper, cardboard, whatever).

Coming back east was pretty much the same as going west except we ran into my uncle (dad's brother) who was also driving a truck coming east. His brakes caught on fire coming down the hill into Las Cruces. (Did I mention they didn't have Jake brakes and had little bitty engines?)

Why were we in Las Cruces coming back from San Fran to Texas, you ask? Because there was no I-40 and little bitty trucks with great big heavy loads (canned goods) didn't try to run US 66 (now known as Interstate 40 in AZ & NM) across AZ and NM unless they had to.

And, that began my journey into a life of never ending torment, misery and joy, aka "OTR driving."

You think you have it bad today? Really?

Sure you do.

BTW, any of y'all ever heard of a "blue plate special"?

Just wondering. . .




And to be fair, back then, very few people had a/c in their houses or cars (nor did most businesses), so the truck not having a/c was no big deal unless you compare it to today's standards.

Oh, one more thing, truck drivers routinely stopped to help people because if they didn't, people could die since there was no such thing as a c-phone, cb radio, qualcomm, or any other way to tell someone he was in trouble.

And truck drivers used hand signals to indicate trouble or cops up ahead; at night they used lights for the same purpose. But, cops did not have radar, so it was a bit simpler.

Ahh, the "good old days."

 

Thank you drivers for telling your stories.

 

X10,

Yep, we probably have. Probably been through some of the same hell that makes us what we are.

Thanks for allowing me to revisit one of the most memorable parts of my young life. I enjoyed that trip to CA but I was glad when it was over. It was fun but it was ever so grueling. It took about two weeks to make that trip and it seemed like a year.

My dad passed away in 1986 and he could never get over the fact that I could run from Dallas to CA and be back the same week.

I ran team for Watkins for awhile and we used to make as many as 3 trips a week from Dallas to LA and that really amazed him.

Thanks for the memories, they are much better than the reality of the moment.

 

Great stories guys!

 

I don't really qualify as an old timer but, I got started something like WeaponX. In SD you could get a work/farm permit to drive at 12 years old during planting through harvest season and we all got started driving legally at that time. My brother and I in a '51 Chevy with an I6 gas motor about the size of the one used to power a Jeep Wrangler today. Field to farm, unload and back again. When turning 14 we could get a restricted license from the state and drive everything from sub-compacts to tractor trailers from daybreak to sundown. Before CDL's of course and SD never had a chauffeurs license. That also graduated us to driving to an area elevator, sometimes with a twin screw even! Tractor-trailer training came later with horrible equipment that taught you creativity and the value of prayer. The boss would decide to teach you to listen to the motor for shifting rather than look at the tach and bust out the tach with a hammer. It worked. Old timers expected you to be quiet and follow. A kid like me did not have an opinion till he had been on the road for five years or more. Paychecks were as often as not paid at the local VFW club, using the teen-agers legal tender. Beer. Half nuts, three quarters homeless and wholly unsavory we were not much to look at, but brother did we have a good time. It is insane that a guy would think back on those days with fondness, but I really do. I suspect many of the same vintage and older do as well.

 

WOW what great stories! I too started out driving the old fashioned way. In 1969 I lied about my age, I was 17 and lied about having experience driving truck, never sat behind the wheel of anything bigger than a 57 Chevy. I got the job with a local paving company and have been in some kind of trucking ever since. I've hauled rock, dirt, sand, logs in Oregon, and it was all exciting in ways. All you OTR guys (and gals) need to go to the Pacific Northwest and haul logs for at least a year then you know you did something. I'm now in Florida doing this flat land thing, P-$$y trucking I call it. OK gotta get back out west soon, that's in my plans. Keep the dirty side down.

 

In the 1950s, a classmate's father owned a farm and a trucking company. So, we picked up bales in the field with an 18-wheeler. One day, a rain storm was coming in. I was told to take the rig loaded with baled hay to the trucking company's wash bay about ten miles away, and they would have the door opened for me. My only prior driving experience was as a yard hostler and fueler.

For two summers, I drove for the Sand Dune Rides. On rainy days when there were no tourists, we looked for adventure. My boss and I rode with his friend "Jimmy" who was hauling gravel for construction of I-196 near Saugatuck. Jimmy was an owner-operator of a tandem dump with a four-axle pup. In winter, he removed the dump box and installed a box sleeper and fifth-wheel. I thought that was neat. I observed his work ethic. He did most of his own repairs. He was a small, wirey man, but he worked smart. The following year, I took leave after U.S. Army basic training and rode with Jimmy again. This time, he was hauling gravel with a 13-axle A train.

Fourteen years later, I found myself on a new lease and heard about one of their respected owner-operators, a guy named "Jimmy". Eventually, we crossed paths at the main terminal in Taylor, Michigan. You know, he did not remember me until I referred to my boss from the Sand Dune Rides. Nevertheless, I still regard Jimmy as a mentor. He did not remember me, but I sure remembered him.