Truckers Always Seem to Know When I’m on the Road

I love visiting with my daughter who lives in Woodland, but I dread going there.

Now, I don’t have anything against Woodland — it’s a nice community. What bothers me is the trucks heading in that direction at the same time I am, no matter what time that might be. It’s like the truckers park their rigs on the side of the road until this gray-haired woman turns off I-80 onto I-5 and then they all pull out to harass me.

I don’t drive slow, I keep up with the traffic and I’ve been known to surpass the speed limit now and then, but by the time I get to my daughter’s house I’m frazzled from grasping the steering wheel as the big guys either pass me or pin me in between them.

I do appreciate truckers and realize they are a necessity in the world of commerce, but sometimes they seem a bit bullish.

There was a time, however, during my cross-country trip in a motor home, that I saw a softer side of them. Prior to leaving Sacramento, a male friend suggested that my sister and I follow closely behind trucks: “They’ll pull you along in their wake and that saves you gas and they can also be trail blazers.”

We thought that was a nifty idea and anxiously looked for the first truck we could follow. Suddenly, our motor home began to rock and sway as three of them passed us one after the other and just as quickly disappeared into the distance. So much for following close behind, saving gas and or using them as trail blazers!

One day after traveling on a lonely stretch of highway far longer than we usually did, my sister looked in our directory for a camp site nearby. There were none. It was growing dark and we were growing desperate when way off in the distance we spotted a big neon sign that said “camping.” Turning off at the exit, we came to the biggest truck stop and cafe we’d ever seen. There were trucks — lots and lots of trucks — parked all over the landscape and more still arriving.

Just beyond the entrance was a “campground” with not a blade of grass nor another camper in sight. We couldn’t be choosy, so we pulled in to get some sleep.

Ha! The roar of motors and refrigerator units made sleeping impossible, so we decided, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” We pulled on jeans, sweatshirts and tennies and went over to the cafe. We enjoyed a late night cup of coffee and a snack and also some laughs and great conversation. Just us “girls” and 50 truckers.

Another time, as we were leaving Syracuse, N.Y., behind us, we ran into road construction. Miles of it. It was stop and go and sudden lane changes all along the way. Being unfamiliar with the road, I had to be alert to keep up with the traffic, making it a white-knuckle drive.

A trucker must have seen the panic on my face as he passed us, for he got on his CB and told me to hang in there and he’d get us through safely. Soon, other truckers joined in to help, each one giving us directions. One would say, “OK, start making your way to the left lane,” another would come on with, “Be careful, there’s a small compact coming up on your right side.”

With their guidance, we made it through the construction zone with nerves intact. One of the truckers asked us to stop at the next roadside cafe and he’d buy us a cup of coffee. We weren’t keen on that idea, but when he heard the hesitation in our voices he added, “You’ll be OK, I’m a family man with a great wife and kids waiting for me at home.” We figured in broad daylight, what could happen, so we stopped.

We not only met the trucker who had invited us, but four of the other Good Samaritans who joined us. All were married except one, and he was the youngest of the bunch. We had a good time talking with them and looking at pictures of their families, and we regaled them with tales of our experiences along the way.

They seemed impressed with the bravado of two not-so-young women going on such a journey, and offered us some sound advice about what to do and what not to do as we traveled down the roadways. We left with new respect for truck drivers and a sense of relief knowing we had a nice bunch of guys looking out for us as we traveled on down the road.

Now that I think of it, I was younger then and not quite as set in my ways and impatient as I am today. So maybe I need to remember those experiences and quit being so hard on them now.

So truckers everywhere, accept my apologies with a promise to think of you in a better light from on. But please, if you see me traveling down the road to Woodland, be kind.