OldTroubador's Blog - page 2

I sold my soul to rock ‘n’ roll
then I sold it to the open road
Gonna drive these 18 wheels to hell
Then go grab one more load

All that I was, all that I had, all that I will be
Is gone in a cloud of diesel smoke
Sold to pay the fee
Toll roads, interstates, two lane roads, they don’t bother me
Rolling concrete under my wheels
Makes me feel so free

Passing trucks and getting passed on that big old highway race
Getting the bypass for the scales
Puts a big smile on my face
Hours after the sun goes down, I roll into that truck stop place
Stuff some groceries down my throat
God bless them chicken fried steaks

Grabbing gears to keep her movin’, another milepost goes past
Top that hill, hit ‘Bama overdrive
Me and my truck be haulin’ ass
Take a hit of coffee as bugs splatter that front glass
Gear down for that exit ramp
Boy, keep her out of the grass

Some folks call me the devil, others call me a saint
I’m just an old truck driving fool
I do what others cain’t
Me and my truck we roll as one, without the other each is lost
Cruising the highways night and day
It’s our life so damn the cost
I know someday there’ll be a time when I can’t roll out again
Someday I’ll have to hang my keys
But baby until then -
I love the sound of the turbos whining, the sight of rolling coal
I’m a mean mother trucker of a double clutcher
Chewing up that road

All that I was, all that I had, all that I will be
Is gone in a cloud of diesel smoke
Sold to pay the fee
Toll roads, interstates, two lane roads, they don’t bother me
Rolling concrete under my wheels
Makes me feel so free

I sold my soul to rock ‘n’ roll
then I sold it to the open road
Gonna drive these 18 wheels to hell
Then go grab one more load

Ran hard all day and rolled into a truck stop by the skin of my teeth. Grabbed my kit and trotted inside to get a shower. I needed to get cleaned up because I was going to see........12Gauge and Imprelis tonight for supper!!!!
After some hugs and kisses (Got your message TC - I like, really like, your messenger ), we piled into the pick-up and headed out to try a new restaurant. The food was good, but nowhere near as good as the company. We traded stories and laughter as we caught up with what had been going on in our lives. After supper we went back to the truck stop and hung out at the picnic tables and continued chatting the evening away. What a great time we had. None of us wanted the night to end.
The good-byes came way to soon, but come they did. They went their way, I went mine, but with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step.
12Gauge, Imprelis, I want to thank you for getting this old cowboy out of his truck - for the laughter, for the company, for everything. I had a great time and am looking forward to finding another new eatery for us to terrorize I really appreciate y'all taking the time out of your busy schedule to spend some time with me. Thanks again.

Early morning, awake, whether by accident or design. Walk the three steps to the front and flop into the seat. Coal from the cigarette glows and reflects in the windshield; smoke curls around in front of my eyes. Surreal shapes form as I reach for my coffee and take a sip. Swallow, inhale, listen, look. Nothing is moving in the parking lot; no trucks, no people, no stray dogs. Even the hookers have left. No activity in the shop. Look to the highway, nothing moving there either.
Inhale, swallow. Watch the smoke curl.
Crickets call plaintively to each other. A couple of trucks idly rumble. A train whistle blows at a rural grade crossing, echoing forlornly down the valley. Other than that, all is still. Stille Nacht.
Swallow, inhale. Stub out the butt in the ashtray.
2 AM – demon time. My mind drops its reins and gallops through the wasteland where the detritus of a lifetime has been stored. A junkyard full of broken dreams and promises. The inventory scrolls, past fears and failures, flubs and fuck-ups.
Shit.
Fire up another one, watch the smoke curling again. Drain the coffee. Look at the inert array of semis – quiet, resting. Check the clock. Don’t need to leave this early, but what the hell. Beats sitting around doing nothing but meander through the rusted remains of my mind.
Get dressed and wander inside. Jeez, just as depressing in here. The restaurants are dark. No one wanders the store. A body is sleeping, snoring in the lounge, the TV playing an inane infomercial. Fill the coffee jugs, grab a sandwich. Go to the register and pay an equally listless cashier what I owe; back into the parking lot.
Swing the truck onto the highway, rolling up through the gears, trying to run away from the dark emptiness. It follows me, leads me, accompanies me. The road is as devoid of life as the truck stop. Nothing moving out here either, no lights coming or going. Tires hum on the pavement, dotted lines scroll by, appearing in the headlights, then dissipating into the darkness of my rearviews. Mind is wandering again as the truck drives the straight and narrow. Driving through a cut, thoughts echoing, clamoring off the rock faces as I motor west – running away from the eventual sunrise. Harsh words and hurts, both given and received, drown out the sound of the engine and tires. Faces of lost friends, images of crashes, appearing in the circle of my headlights, then dissipating in the darkness of my rearviews. Wish this damned truck would go faster. Clock moves forward at a glacial pace.
Ground fog rises as I drop into a valley. Yea, though I drive through the valley of the shadow of death….cut it the fuck out. Climb out of the valley, get your mind focused.
The headlights of a few other vehicles slide by in both directions – their presence fleeting, barely noticed, never remembered. The towns are dark and lifeless as I cruise by. Fits my mood. Rest areas and on/off ramps are lined with parked trucks – the industry is screaming for more drivers, but parking space is at a premium. Anywhere a truck can fit is used to break for the night. As I drive by I wonder if those drivers are able to sleep soundly, without the echoing voices I sometimes hear. Oh well, if they do, that’s their problem. Got enough of my own, don’t borrow theirs too.
Suck it up, buttercup. Drive through it.
I’d really like to have a bottle of Tennessee’s finest waiting for me at the end of this work night, but I cannot indulge that luxury.
I generally enjoy driving the wee hours of the morning – roads empty of crazy traffic, cooler temperatures, open truck stops when I park around the noon hour. But once in a while, Pandora’s Box opens and my world’s ills come flying out, like the flying monkees from the Wizard of Oz.
Lane reflectors cycle past in an endless, macabre dance; a treadmill of flashing white and yellow mirrors. I feel like I’m not actually getting anywhere, but am stuck on the same treadmill.
Gonna be a long night.
2 am is a lonely place.

For the last five weeks, I’ve been running hard
Factory to warehouse, truck stop to yard
Chasing sunrises and sunsets, dodging snow, ice, and rain
Running highways and backroads, side streets and Main
Less than a week to go as I hit the road
Trying to deliver one last load
Then finally I set my GPS back to you

Countless days without you by my side
Without you here, it’s been a lonely ride
Another thousand miles and my six weeks are done
Seems like forever and a week that I’ve been gone
A few more miles of these big wheels spinning
And you should see how big this old boy is grinning
As I’m following my GPS back to you.

Six days of seeing your loving smiles
Six days of forgetting those hard driven miles
Six days of kissing your lovely face
Six days of relaxing in our home place
That’s why I can’t wait to set my GPS back to you.

On the seventh morning, round about three
I kiss you good-bye, hit that starter key
Chasing sunrises and sunsets, dodging snow, ice, and rain
Running highways and backroads, side streets and Main
Six more weeks of hauling the freight
You better believe I just can’t wait
Until it’s time for setting my GPS back to you

Six days of seeing your loving smiles
Six days of forgetting those hard driven miles
Six days of kissing your lovely face
Six days of relaxing in our home place
That’s why I can’t wait to set my GPS back to you.

For forty years I’ve been pushing my luck
Delivering the goods, driving this truck
Regretting the times you have needed me while I’ve been away
Painfully remembering each missed anniversary and holiday
And it’s one last time I’m hitting the road
One last time I’ll be dragging a load
And one last time I’m setting my GPS back to you

Then it’s
A lifetime of seeing your loving smiles
A lifetime of forgetting those hard driven miles
A lifetime of kissing your lovely face
A lifetime of relaxing in our home place
And a lifetime of never having to set my GPS back to you

Sunset – the beginning of the end of the day. A time to contemplate the day that is ending. A time to relax. Put the day behind you.



Sunset – a time to sit on the porch, or by a fire, with the beverage of your choice. With or without friends. Sit back, enjoy the ever-changing scene. Listen to the night approach.



Sunset – the time when one’s body and mind and soul begin the healing process from the rigors of the day. A time to begin a new beginning.



Sunset – a euphemism for the waning days of our lives as our final night approaches. But still plenty of time to sit back and watch the wonders of Nature.



Sunset – sometimes it is the beginning of the day, for those who work through the night.



Sunset – that time of day when folks hurry home, when children come in from a day’s play; a time to gather those closest to us to our bosom.



Sunset - a beginning, an ending, a healing

I’m just an old drifter, moving from town to town
Something keeps pushing me, can’t never seem to settle down
After a while the towns look the same
Only the names have been changed.
The banks, the stores, that church over there
Same old courthouse on the same town square

Slide into a truck stop, set the brakes on my rig
It never seems to matter if it’s little or it’s big
The same old gals slinging hash to the same old busted tables
They’d like to leave this old town, but they surely ain’t able
They’re stuck here in this nameless town
But in ten more hours, I’m moving on

I’m just a hobo driving eighteen wheels

Been running so long I can’t remember what from
Pushed by that old diesel song, letting the Bridgestones hum
My life is bound by the dotted lines
The asphalt edge, the yellow pines
Hundred scale houses, a thousand bridges
Curving roads that carry me over the ridges

I left a gal back east, she wanted to make me a home
But I had to leave her behind, I was born to roam
I can’t see me settling down
I’m not one to live in the same old town
So I packed my rags, filled up the tanks
Hit the highline past the stores, past the banks

I’m just an old hobo driving eighteen wheels

I’ll just keep running, I have no idea where
I just hope I’m smart enough to know when I’m finally there
Get land, a place to pitch a tent
Build a house, a home, be content
But I’ll probably never find a place to settle
Have a bed of my own, a stove with a kettle

I’ve been running so long I forgot how to sit still
And if given a chance, I really don’t think that I will
Driving the big roads, small roads bending
Mile after mile, days never ending
The only home I can hope to have
Is when they drop me in a grave

And let the marker say
Here lies a tired old hobo, who drove the tires off eighteen wheels

I live and work in a room less than half the size accorded a death row inmate – and I don’t even have my own commode. I buy my own food, and often work a full day with just a burrito or biscuit for breakfast and then it’s 12-14 hours until the supper table beckons; no three hots and a cot for me. The books and magazines I read were bought and paid for out of my own pocket – no state sponsored libraries here. If I want to watch TV, I have to buy a satellite dish and subscription myself.
There are politicians who want to outlaw my line of work and put me, and millions of others, out of a job. The rules for my profession are written by others that travel from place to place in chauffeur driven limousines and aircraft owned by the federal government. And on any given day, I may have to answer to customs officials, Border Patrol agents, state police, county sheriffs, and/or city, town, and village police officers.
Who am I?
I work in one of the top 10 or 15 deadliest jobs in the county. The Labor Department considers my job unskilled labor. By law, other industries have one to two days to swing shifts; I often have to swing with only a 10-hour break.
I am not allowed to have a bad day. If I do, someone will not be going home. The last five minutes of a 14-hour shift have to be as good as the first five, and all the minutes in between. I have to be on top of my game at all times, not just to ensure my safety, but the safety of all that share the road with me.
Who am I?
I’ve seen people driving by, talking on phones while reading reports or working on tablets. Yet if I am caught with a phone in my hand, the fines could run to $2500 – even if I am just picking my phone up off the floor.
I share the roads with people who couldn’t be trusted to pilot a toy boat in a bathtub. I have had people tailgate me for miles, less than a car length from my rear bumper. I have had drivers dive in front of me and slam on their brakes over some imagined slight and have had to dive onto the shoulder when other drivers wittingly, or unwittlingly, decided to occupy the same piece of road I was on. And yet, if I get within 3-5 truck lengths of the rear of someone else, I will get cited for reckless driving, or possibly even menacing behavior.
I have been passed by cars with body panels missing, no lights functioning in the middle of the night, black plastic bags replacing broken windows. But if I get caught with a non-working marker light, chances are I will be pulled over and cited for an equipment violation; I will probably have to endure an hour long inspection of all the components of my vehicle and paperwork as well. As a matter of fact, I can be pulled over at any time for a random inspection to ensure I am abiding by the laws governing my industry.
Who am I?
I have passed the unmarked places where countless drivers have died as they pushed back the trees or drilled a hole in a rock face. I have seen the fires of Hell consume a truck down to the frames, with the knowledge that the driver never got out. No signposts mark their passing; no billboard proclaims a memorial mile. Just a piece of my soul left behind as I pass by, knowing that they died, not surrounded by loved ones, but in pain and alone.
I know the curves of the Pennsylvania Turnpike better than the curves of a lover. I know the rise of the Missouri hills better than the swell of a lady’s breasts. Instead of the soft murmuring of a lady whispering sweet nothings, I hear the swish of tires on asphalt, and the growl of powerful diesels running hard. And I know the abject loneliness that sometimes replaces the serene solitude of my workplace.
While most are safely inside by a fireplace, I am easing 78,000 pounds of cantankerous truck and cargo through the snow and ice, trying to find a safe haven for the night. I have almost been blown over into a roadside ditch when the winds have caught me leaning the wrong way. I have hydroplaned down mountain grades, hanging onto my last shred of control; hoping, praying I don’t punch a hole through the guardrail.
A good day usually ends with my shoulders so sore I can barely raise my arms high enough to take off my glasses; my left knee swollen like a melon from clutch punching; my hands so wracked with arthritis I cannot hold a dinner fork. Bad days are not much worse.
And sometimes, I have to pull off the road and cry like a little girl when the pain and the fear and the loneliness get to be too much.
Who am I?
I’m an American trucker. With all that is wrong with this job, you might be asking “Why do you do it then?”.
I have no ready answer other than I love this job. God help me, I do love it.

Over eight years of staring out the windshield, as this great land of ours scrolls past. Eight years of sunrises, sunsets, woods, hills, mountains, plains, lakes, rivers, bays, and oceans. Eight years of seeing some of the most beautiful land imaginable – and there is so much more that I haven’t seen.
Two weeks ago, as I was headed to the house, I crossed the Old and Lost River (before any rumors get started, this river was NOT named for me. However, I have it on good authority that one of the original SWIFT drivers used to live here; or did after he found it and decided to just settle there). It is about a mile to the Trinity River and the expanse is covered in a grassy wetland. As I crossed this expanse, a flock of two dozen white ibis rose to take flight – their long legs trailing behind as their almost as long curved, red beaks led the way.
My first pick-up after my break was in Beaumont, TX. As I sat in the staging area awaiting my call to the dock, a golden eagle flew over head. On my way west after being loaded, I crossed a crawfish farm. I was marveling at the number of egrets of all shapes and sizes feeding in the ponds, when a roseate spoonbill lifted off, powerful wingbeats propelling it in flight, its brilliant pink contrasting beautifully with the green grass and the blue sky reflecting off the water.
For the most part, I have enjoyed bright blue skies and lots of sunshine over the last two weeks. I have been blessed to miss all the storms that have wreaked so much havoc in many parts of the country. Every sunrise has been a blessing to me, every sunset a unique benediction to end the day. Although seemingly similar, each is as individual as we are. Some mornings, the sky is cloudless and the palette of pastels ever-changing in the eastern sky is mesmerizing. Other days, large puffy clouds capture the sunrise in a kaleidescopic riot of color – from ashen gray to a blindingly pure white. And yet other days, high thin clouds are dry brushed across the sky, first showing pale purples before exploding into fiery oranges, yellows, and reds.
There is a special moment before the dawn, when one realizes that one can see color where before there was just different degrees of blackness. The subtle hues and shadings are not yet evident, but the world is still green, it is pleasing to note. As you look under the trees, back into the woods, it is still shrouded in shadow – dark, quiet, mysterious, foreboding. As the sun climbs higher, the east facing slopes catch the morning in all its glory. They glow green; each individual leaf contributing to a greater whole as all the myriad variations of green are laid out for one’s enjoyment. The west facing hillsides are still in shadow, awaiting the conductor of this symphony to cue them for their grand entrance. The flowers also lend their colors to this opus, brilliant counterpoints to the main theme of green.
In the hollows where the dew lay heavy during the night, and from the streams and ponds, a light fog rises, diffusing the morning light. When caught at the right angle, this mist casts a golden hue over the awakening greens of the day. If the hollow is next to the roadway, the fog rises and spills across the road, its travel interrupted by the passing vehicles, causing the mist to rear up and roil before dissipating into the morning sky. Other times, the mist lies in the ditches along the road, like a large dragon, slumbering. As a truck passes, it causes one end to raise up, the dragon enraged at the noisy diesel which dared waken it.
There are so many images burned into my mind – the sandhill crane flying over the marshes of central Wisconsin north of the Dells, the Dells themselves, the sun shining on the sandstone rock cuts on I-49 north of Jane, MO, the endless miles of corn – from knee-high in Wisconsin to ‘ready for harvest’ in Texas. Schools of shad and finger mullet dimpling the salt water flats around New Orleans. Thunderheads building in the heat of the afternoon. Watching as a crested caracara does a barrel roll to try to escape a blackbird that was attacking it. Fireflies dancing in the shrubbery.
Then, in the evening, I watch out my window as the sun sets, again casting an amazing palette of colors against the sky, melding to a deep blue then black as the sun, reluctantly, lowers itself below the western horizon, leaving a last glimmer of light behind. And in the deepening darkness, a sliver of the moon hangs motionless above.
The soundtrack that accompanies the moving images is equally mesmerizing. The songbirds trilling their happy songs as the morning wakens them. Yes, including that one damned mockingbird that has to rise before anyone else and sing joyfully, hours before the sun rises. In the spring, crickets and treefrogs call to each other, individually not much to listen to, but en toto, a rousing concert of desperation masked as happiness. And out on the road, a different concert is being played. The hum of the tires on asphalt and concrete, sometimes to the accompaniment of stones caught in the treads clicking a syncopated beat. The roar of the diesels as they go by; the whistle of turbochargers spooling up and the growl of the big diesels as they labor up a hill or around slower traffic. The throaty chortle of engine brakes holding the weight back against gravity as the trucks descend hills and exit ramps. And, sadly, occasionally there are sirens screaming past, pointing the way to trouble, either ahead or behind. And to all this cacophony is added whatever musical selection catches my ear this fine driving day. All this and more are my daily soundtrack.
It is the memories of these sights and sounds that makes me want to get up every day and continue driving. All these things and more – the towns, each with their own history. Being able to top a hill and look down into the valley with its farms and villages. The rock cuts in the highway, telling of the prehistory of the world. The streams and rivers, looking deep into the clear water, and imagining the places where the large fish swim. Being able to see the limitless wide open spaces of the western plains, the closeness of the eastern hills. Every mile brings new memories; every turn of the wheel portending a hidden gem to be discovered.
And I will continue to partake of the visual buffet that rolls by my office window.

Happy Independence Day!!!


Where have I been lately? All kinds of places – some good, some not so good. Anyway, a few months ago, I burned up another computer. It took some time to save up the money to get a new one, so here I am, back again.
In case you have forgotten, I was able to meet a couple young ladies from here since I’ve been gone. I met Sorcha for supper one night. We had had a couple of false starts – once, other obligations wouldn’t let her meet me, the other time, the weather went bad on us and I barely made it into the truck stop. But this time, there were no glitches and I was there to greet her as she walked in the door. I had a grand time sitting across a table from her, talking and listening, hearing her laugh and seeing her smile light up the room. As always, time flew much too quickly. It seemed we had just met when it was time to walk her to her car, give her a final hug, and watch her drive away. Sorcha, the pleasure of your company is still with me, and I look forward to being able to share a table and some more laughter soon with an absolute sweetheart of a lady.
My next meet was with Free2BLady. Once again, it took a few tries before our schedules were able to mesh, but meeting Free was worth the wait. Actually, we had been missing each other for a few years, so finally meeting her seemed a minor miracle. Swapping stories while we ate, time passed very quickly and our food grew cold. But it was worth it as a delightful evening was had talking with another of the sweethearts of our community. Her charming manner and ready smile put me at ease and all too soon, it was again time to bid this fine lady adieu. Hopefully, my schedule will bring me back your way again soon.
I was also able to meet TexAngel for supper one night. This was another miracle, as I had to schedule my visit with her between all the visits to the hospital she and her family have been making. But luck smiled upon us and we were able to spend a wonderful evening together. Spending time with Angel is always such a joy, I am able to overlook her fondness for the Texas Rangers and Texas A&M.

FREEBIRD IV

The newest addition to the Freebird line has taken its rightful spot in the hallowed lineage. She is just as gutsy as the previous editions, with slightly better fuel mileage. She definitely has her quirks, and the folks at International have made a few errors in the design. But they have also made some large improvements over earlier models of the Pro-Star.
My biggest gripe is with the air horn. Instead of a lanyard located over the driver’s side window, there is a button on the steering wheel. If I had a dime for every time I rapped my knuckles on the door jamb looking to activate the horn, I’d have free coffee for life. And by the time I find the right button on the wheel, the offending party has usually gotten about five miles down the road. Also, if I am looking for another button in that quadrant of the steering wheel, I usually hit the horn by mistake – and usually in the middle of traffic. Not many folks appreciate that, at all.
The other big problem that I see is the privacy curtains. They are backed with a black felt. I didn’t realize this was a problem until a month or so ago. Yeah, when the summer sun shines in, those curtains absorb the heat and transfer it quite well to the cab of the truck. The rear A/C unit really can’t keep up with the cooling and sleeping during the day is rather difficult. I see some aluminized reflectors in my near future.
One of the smaller problems is the 120 volt electrical system; it runs off a 1300 watt inverter. The two Freightliners had 1500 watters and the Freebird I (2007 Int’l 9400) had a 2000 watt inverter. There are also only two double outlets. So if I ever re-install a quasi-kitchen in here, a lot of time will be spent swapping plugs and resetting breakers.
None of these problems are deal-breakers though, and are easily dealt with. And they are far outweighed by the positive things this truck brings to the party.

On the other hand, International has really improved the storage in their trucks. I ran a 2008 Pro-Star for a few months, and it was difficult at best to find a spot for everything. But now, I almost have more room than I know what to do with. There is substantially more floor space too, with an area set aside for a small refrigerator. There are two shelves with attached tie down straps for small appliances. The overhead consoles are two-tiered and can carry everything I need to have at hand up front. There is a closet for hanging clothes (mainly shirts and jackets) and two wall cabinets for canned foods, books, DVD’s, etc.
The Freebird is set at 65 mph – a 3 mph improvement over all the others. While this doesn’t seem like much, it does make a difference. More than a few times, I have been cutting the old e-log close getting to a truck stop for the night and having that extra little burst of speed has made all the difference. A little more speed also means that, when hill hopping, the engine is able to stay in the power band a little longer, carrying us up the hill with a little more authority and less likely to need to down shift.
The driver’s seat is comfortable, comfortable enough even for the 650-700 mile days. The gauges on the dash, and the switches and buttons, are intuitive (except for the air horn). One of the buttons even hides an Easter Egg – if held down for five seconds, all the lights on the tractor and trailer switch on and off in sequence for quite a while. This aids in pre- and post-trip inspections, as I only have to make one walk-around instead of walking back to the cab to turn off one set of lights and activate another. The stereo is easy to work with, and strong enough to overcome even the loudest Peterbilt roaring by. There are two cool features here too. First, the stereo is also a Bluetooth device (I know, the cars have had it for years, but this is a first for me). Secondly, there is a USB port on the stereo. This means I can download tunes to a memory stick and just plug that in, instead of having to keep an MP3 player charging.
I first stepped into Freebird IV on 21 October 2015. At the six month mark, 21 April, we had run a total of 74,917 miles. Two months later, that total was up to 95,189. And yesterday, 3 July, she turned over 100,000 miles as we rolled just south of Nashville. Pretty impressive numbers, as freight has been soft since the beginning of February. My weekly totals on paid miles is down by approximately 400-600/week from what they were in the fourth quarter of 2015/first quarter of 2016. But freight is starting to pick back up and hopefully our miles will as well.
This newest truck of mine definitely lives up to her name. She is built to fly low and fast into the valleys, hauling hard up the mountains. She loves to get out on the open road and just sail along; but she knows enough to take an easy tack in the towns and cities. She is rock solid, with sexy lines. And as we go driving into the second half of 2016, it will be me and the Freebird IV-ever.

I was westbound on I-70 in western Pennsylvania when I came up behind a ‘honey’ truck (a small tanker used for cleaning out septic systems). Across the back of it was painted five playing cards – the 10, jack, queen, king, and ace of spades. As I passed the truck, the company name was on the driver’s door. Then name of the company?
The Royal Flush, of course

I was at a rest area one day when a sign caught my eye. It said, “Please Walk Dogs On Leash”.
Okay, but I think it would be easier to walk them in the grass.

A billboard for a cosmetic surgeon (I wish I could remember where I saw this).
Oral
Facial
Beautiful


From the smart-ass files:
I was on the phone with my daughter the other day. I had spent 20 minutes telling her stupid trucker stories, ones I had personally witnessed in the last week. She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Between peals of laughter, once she caught her breath, she said to me,
“Daddy, your pain and frustration bring me so much joy!!!”