By GHOSTTOWN, Staff Writer
10-4 to you all, I’m glad to see that so many have taken to give a shit about my search for happiness and bliss over America. Yes, breaker-breaker-one-nine, it’s Ghosttown saying thank you for reading.
Well, now that mutual bullshit is out of the way, let’s talk about trucking and traveling…and the people at the truckstops in America. Like I said earlier, I love to travel and learn and Trucking has affording me the opportunity to follow this passion of mine.
The truck I operate is a good place to start. I’ll draw you a verbal picture of what I drive. Peterbilt 387, or “Bubble Pete” as we call it out here…complete with a studio sleeper. All this means is it’s an aerodynamic style big-rig that stands 13.4-feet tall 27-feet long; giving me just enough room inside to stand-up, lie-down, and cook a hot-pocket in the microwave that I can conveniently pull from the mini-fridge behind the driver’s seat.
The rig is a small mobile-home that legally pulls 80,000 pounds of our American consumer shit across the purple mountains’ majesties at a top speed of 61 miles per hour. Yes, I’m that slow fucking truck on the highway that’s disrupting your commute to work or other mindless activity. Relax! I’m working here.
The engine: my rig is packing a six-cylinder Cummins diesel motor with 510-horse power-plant connected to a 13-speed, or 13 gears to you, Eaton-Fuller manual-transmission turning two interlocking axles with four Super-Single Tires for the drives. Now, I feel some of you are lost at what I just said, so I’ll end the picture I’m painting here, and just say it’s a common-looking big rig pulling 53-foot box-shaped trailers that probably slows your drive on the interstate. However, I live comfortably inside of this mobile road-beast, even though many do not. That’s the truck.
Life inside this Mobile Road Beast is a wonderful life style in itself. Traveling is a common past-time that many of us enjoy, but, I find so much more pleasure and opportunities of beauty in the grime-and-shit of the trucking industry than you do in your last visit to Mount Rushmore last summer. Don’t get me wrong, the sculpture that Borglum made during the Great Depression is breathtaking, but can you also smile and be left speechless at the stupidity of a lot-lizard? Or perhaps catch the sunrise over the Appalachians in Virginia, only to see it sink into the swamps of Louisiana the very same day. There is so much beauty to see in America with its people, mountains, pastures, plains, and overall amazing topography that I just smile and fill my heart with joy every day. You see, this experience is exactly what I knew was missing from that cubical I spent seven years jailed in, back when I was dead and living the life that others told me to lead.
I was missing it, life that is, it was passing me by. And what I thought back then was that you have to work hard all your life to reap the benefits when you’re older. After trucking, I have seen and proven this falsehood with my favorite Alabama lot-lizard example. Oh, for those of you who do not know, a lot-lizard is a truckstop whore. The ones I met in Montgomery proved to me that they too have worked hard all their life, but will never reach the age to reap the benefits. “Turn a trick” for a dollar, or “hop a ride” in a KW (Kenworth truck), day in and day out, just to die at an early age from the vices of escape. Or they get jailed for life after the three strikes law. Work hard all your life and reap the benefits when you’re old: what a crock of shit! You’ve heard of being “Born Again” and the hoot and holler over J.C. Well, I don’t know anything about that, but I have been born again, and born again a trucker. And I thank the Diesel Gods I don’t have to go to a church. There are no sinners to laugh at in those boring chapels, and there aren’t any sunsets over the Rocky Mountains in those Pews. I have left the sins of the stock-broking world for the much more rewarding life of the “Long-Haul.”
That’s enough preaching. But before I go, I have a quick story for you all.
Dateline: West Memphis Arkansas Love’s truckstop, exit 4 on I-55 south. In the middle of the night, I hear a knock-knock at the drivers’ door. Grumpy and groggy from the previous day, I opened the door to see a chubby black woman, who happens to be a blonde-wigged, dirty Daisy Duke-wearing lot-lizard. And she’s asking me for “a ride.” Being in a very pleasant mood, I told her, “Go fuck yourself!” The cum-in-the-wig woman immediately grabs her crouch and proceeded to finger her genitals. After about five seconds of being flabbergasted at the sight of what she was doing, the lot-lizard said in a nasty Southern accent to me, “Five dollars. Ya told me to go fuck myself.” I gave her ten, for lightening up my mood and making me laugh all the way to California, where I was headed the next day.
Catch you all on the flip side.
And that’s my giving a damn.
Ghosttown is a professional trucker of many years, and has roots all over America. When you’re sleeping, he’s likely hauling 53 feet worth of something marvelous in his rig.
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