I just experienced one of those “always wanted to do” thrills. Several months ago a friend purchased a huge red Volvo “big truck.” I’d seen pictures of it, but pictures didn’t do it justice especially when it was hooked to an expansive 53 foot trailer. I didn’t hesitate when my friend invited me on a couple of “day runs” in his “eighteen wheeler.” It had been difficult to sleep the prior night and I thought 4:30 AM would never come.
Now, just before sunrise my big moment has come. I wish my three-year-old grandson, who is fascinated with everything big and mechanical, could see Grandpa now. He would be doubly impressed that Grandpa now knows someone with a big truck along with my friend he met who has a backhoe. I am kind of glad he couldn’t see me though; at least until I, not so gracefully, make it up the three giant steps into the cab.
I wasn’t sure what to expect as I entered the cavernous combination of an office/bedroom/navigation suite. My luxurious seat envelopes me as my bulk depresses its air suspension base a considerable distance before floating me at a comfortable level. The view is amazing—the type you feel you should pay admission to see. All the gauges and dials remind me of my days of working on aircraft. I survey the eight mirrors to try to capture a glimpse of the end of the trailer sixty feet behind me.
It’s time for that magic moment. The massive V-12 diesel engine roars to life. My friend gracefully slips into the first of ten gears and we’re on our way. As we progress through our first little town heading to the interstate, I wince as he clears RV’s and parked vehicles by inches. It reminds me of my fears as a new 16-year-old driver navigating through streets skirted with parked cars.
We discussed the costs and challenges of owning a big truck. With all those gears, I am especially curious about clutch replacements. My friend laughed and said that wasn’t a problem because he only used the clutch in first gear. I hadn’t notice his left foot planted as he shifted totally by “ear and experience” without the benefit of a clutch.
A brief truck stop visit for coffee (no drive thru in this monster) involved delicately backing between two other giant trucks with inches to spare. Fuel fill-ups here are in the hundreds of dollars or higher range. Soon we were on our way to deliver these tons of cardboard Christmas displays to a distribution center for a well-known retailer. This was followed by a load of recycled plastic pellets. The dispatcher said there were two loads, one for Pennsylvania and one for Florida, and asked which we wanted to take. My friend laughingly asked if I wanted to do Florida and I told him, “Not today!”
As we were being loaded and I could feel the truck sink with each pallet of goods, I realized how vital trucking is to our everyday lives and the skill of those involved. I was a bit envious until I realized that we are not all called to operate on that scale. I thought of the many folks I’ve met that are figuratively “called to deliver” and many assume that it will be with “a big rig” on a grand scale. I thought about the delivery van I drove for many years (which fit through a drive thru and a lot of them!). Then, I thought about the Meals-on-Wheels driver in his or her personal car and the newspaper carrier on foot or a bicycle. Made me realize that a big rig couldn’t efficiently go where they go or do what they are called to do and vice versa. I guess if I am called to “deliver,” I shouldn’t always assume it will be on a giant scale and wait for a tractor trailer for me to get started. Perhaps even walking over to a neighbor with some cold lemonade could qualify as a delivery?
Now, just before sunrise my big moment has come. I wish my three-year-old grandson, who is fascinated with everything big and mechanical, could see Grandpa now. He would be doubly impressed that Grandpa now knows someone with a big truck along with my friend he met who has a backhoe. I am kind of glad he couldn’t see me though; at least until I, not so gracefully, make it up the three giant steps into the cab.
I wasn’t sure what to expect as I entered the cavernous combination of an office/bedroom/navigation suite. My luxurious seat envelopes me as my bulk depresses its air suspension base a considerable distance before floating me at a comfortable level. The view is amazing—the type you feel you should pay admission to see. All the gauges and dials remind me of my days of working on aircraft. I survey the eight mirrors to try to capture a glimpse of the end of the trailer sixty feet behind me.
It’s time for that magic moment. The massive V-12 diesel engine roars to life. My friend gracefully slips into the first of ten gears and we’re on our way. As we progress through our first little town heading to the interstate, I wince as he clears RV’s and parked vehicles by inches. It reminds me of my fears as a new 16-year-old driver navigating through streets skirted with parked cars.
We discussed the costs and challenges of owning a big truck. With all those gears, I am especially curious about clutch replacements. My friend laughed and said that wasn’t a problem because he only used the clutch in first gear. I hadn’t notice his left foot planted as he shifted totally by “ear and experience” without the benefit of a clutch.
A brief truck stop visit for coffee (no drive thru in this monster) involved delicately backing between two other giant trucks with inches to spare. Fuel fill-ups here are in the hundreds of dollars or higher range. Soon we were on our way to deliver these tons of cardboard Christmas displays to a distribution center for a well-known retailer. This was followed by a load of recycled plastic pellets. The dispatcher said there were two loads, one for Pennsylvania and one for Florida, and asked which we wanted to take. My friend laughingly asked if I wanted to do Florida and I told him, “Not today!”
As we were being loaded and I could feel the truck sink with each pallet of goods, I realized how vital trucking is to our everyday lives and the skill of those involved. I was a bit envious until I realized that we are not all called to operate on that scale. I thought of the many folks I’ve met that are figuratively “called to deliver” and many assume that it will be with “a big rig” on a grand scale. I thought about the delivery van I drove for many years (which fit through a drive thru and a lot of them!). Then, I thought about the Meals-on-Wheels driver in his or her personal car and the newspaper carrier on foot or a bicycle. Made me realize that a big rig couldn’t efficiently go where they go or do what they are called to do and vice versa. I guess if I am called to “deliver,” I shouldn’t always assume it will be on a giant scale and wait for a tractor trailer for me to get started. Perhaps even walking over to a neighbor with some cold lemonade could qualify as a delivery?
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