Category Archives: Trucking

Trucking 201: Under the Hood

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.

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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.

Also from Ghosttown:

»Trucking 101: Introduction to Ghosttown

Afterwards returns this Friday for Part 9!  »1  »2  »3  »4  »5  »6  »7  »8

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Trucking 101: Introduction to Ghosttown

By GHOSTTOWN, Staff Writer

You’ve been around the block from your home, and you may have been 20 miles from your house to get to work. Ask yourself: has your job ever been your home wherever you’ve parked in America?

Hi, my name is Ghosttown. All one word. Get it right, and we’ll get along well. If not, feel free to go back to your fucking boring life and you won’t have to read someone else’s search and discovery of a blissful joyful life.

Funny name, I know, but I got the name from the 4×4 hobby of exploring the southwest back-trails over-the-air waves of the CB radio. The name is called a handle for those of you who have not seen Smokey and the Bandit, and the name Ghosttown has became much more a part of me and who I am then I have ever expected. I am a long-haul, over-the-road (OTR) semi-truck driver. My rig hauls whatever fits into a 53-foot trailer that I’ll take from the West Coast to the East, or lake-to-gulf…whatever your perspective of long distance is in America.

I love to travel and learn. My life has become a paid quest for walking one’s path to bliss.  Travel with me and you learn the road and open the door to your own path to bliss. I’ll drive the truck for now, just take a ride in your mind and I may be able to inspire you to be a better person than ever you thought possible.

Are you dead? Did life fuck you somehow and shit on you so hard that you don’t have the balls to change it?  Or, are you just content with being unhappy? Did you forget that “Life is a Banquet?” Or, are you happy starving yourself from what you have always wanted or wanted to be. Yes, I did at least. I was dying of obesity, shit on by the “great opportunities” of the financial world, and completely believed that this is the way it was and there was no way to change it. I was told that I had to go through this hell before I could get to the heaven of a successful life. “Great opportunities,” is what they told me in College, High School, and at home of my father, it is what I’ll have to do, because it is what others have done to become successful, what bullshit!

Driving over America in an 18-wheeler (and being paid to do it!) has created bliss in my life. I want to share with you my trucking travels and socializing with Americans so that you too may be inspired to find your own bliss whatever that may be. Now, this is all from me: from the perspective of an educated, cultured, Redneck-with-taste, no-bullshit man who now knows that true success comes directly from following your bliss. Read a little, it’s the same secret we all know, but mostly decided to forget.

I will not apologize for the way I communicate. You’re an adult now and maybe you always were…so a fuck, shit, or possum’s pecker remark will not bother what I hope is your mature mind. You know by now that it is immaturity that keeps us sane and our maturity that keeps us in society.  As Truckers, we are the masters of this mature and immature world.  A trucker has a unique skill of flipping between these two different sides of their personality in order to survive the next mile down the road. A trucker will save your life for your maturity, and will be forced to kill you for your immaturity. A Trucker can logically make it legal in a court of law to kill you on the road because of the awesome dichotomy of maturity and immaturity. Understand that immaturity of one’s actions, and the maturity of the action of other on the highway is what keeps truckers alive and paid every week.

Get it clear: I will not apologize for your fucking stupid mistakes, nor will I slow down for mature decisions. Truckers are bound by the same rules that were laid down by the Department of Motor Vehicles that we all learned when we where 16 when we got the legally insane card that is a drivers license. I said legally insane because any fucked up, fuck-headed, assholey, dickwadded, bitch-ass, or purely maniacal human being can pass the driver’s test for Class D license. It’s only until you drive a big-rig that you’ll fully understand the deadly game that truckers play for a living in. The deadly game which you/we have voluntarily decided to participate in with our passing test score at the fucking DMV.  I welcome you all to the open road and my travels.

Feel free to go back to your perfect little world of cubicles, and pushing money across the counter for Starbucks coffee, then get to a job that sells a product to someone else that has no bearing on who you are.  Just for now, take a moment don’t look at the face value yet and maybe you too can live. Not all that wander are lost, but all that wander can live.

And that’s my giving a damn.

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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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