Things were moving along steady. I had the Toronto, Montreal interplant service, running without a hitch.  The Tanker was running steady to New Hampshire. I was now setting up the Chicago run. Delivering to a customer, and then reloading at the Chicago plant for material we used in Toronto. The branch plants would supply each other with specialty products.

On this particular trip, I had delivered a load to General Foods. From there, I went over to our Chicago branch for my return load. I spent the rest of the afternoon, waiting for my load to be assembled, and loaded. I was in the cafeteria at the time, watching the news on TV while downing a coffee. It was about some riot taking place in town. There was some burning and looting going on. The fire trucks and police were having a busy time of it.

My load was now ready, and I was finally on my way. The rush hour was in full swing, and the Dan Ryan Expressway was a disaster, for traffic. I made my way south at a snails pace. Once I hit the Chicago Skyway, and headed towards Michigan, the traffic seemed to thin out dramatically. The sun was setting in the west as I climbed the skyway, and in my rear view mirror, I saw that the sun was almost blocked out by black smoke from the fires. That was the first time that I realized the severity of the situation.

I made my way around to the 76 truck stop at Sawyer Michigan and pulled in for dinner. From the bridge in Chicago, to the truck stop, I did not have the radio on. I was listening to the tape player. It was while I was eating, that all the riot news came on over the TV. The episode in Chicago was nothing to what was happening in Detroit. It was wild, and deadly.

I spent just over an hour there, and figured it time to get the lead out and move on. I had the radio tuned in, and it was just, one constant newscast. It would be a couple more years before I had the use of CB radios. It was either the news cast or the truck stop chatter that brought you up to date.

It was pitch dark out now and the traffic was thinned out, and I was feeling like I was the only one on the road. I saw taillights up ahead, and as I got closer, I could see that it was a convoy of troops heading east, towards Detroit. I stayed out in the passing lane and continued to pass. Just ahead was a road block. It was at Sargent Road, on I-94. The army had posted a check point and advised all, to not go any farther. I pulled in to an empty lot just off the exit ramp. Within an hour, a dozen or so trucks and cars joined me in the lot.

There was myself, a livestock hauler, a bedbug driver and a car haul. We seemed to connect and were exchanging info. I was getting a little dry and due for a snack of some sort. Across the street was a Dinner Club, Win Schuler's. I walked over to the entrance, stepped in and asked the maitre d', if it would be possible to take a seat at the bar, and have a snack. He was in a full tuxedo and very formal. To my surprise he agreed, as long as we did not go into the dining room or occupy tables. It was strictly a formal establishment.

I called to the other drivers and told them it was ok. With the dress code we were really out of place, but accepted.

We sat around and talked for over an hour, it was getting late and I said that, I don't know about you guys, but I have had enough, and I am going home. Is anyone coming along? It was a no go, and I was the only one to get up and leave.

I fired up the Mack and took the on ramp, and headed down I-94 to Detroit, Michigan. I caught up to a military convoy, loaded with troops. I was really motoring by now, pulled out to pass some army trucks, and ended up staying in the passing lane. There was no break in the convoy. I must have passed hundreds of trucks. There were no other civilian vehicles on the road. I seemed to be the only one.

The radio was constantly giving reports on the riots. I came into town at full speed, and had the Ambassador Bridge to Canada, directly in sight. By this time, I could hear guns going off, and wondered if I could catch a stray. The army had another roadblock set up just not to far from the bridge. They stopped me and wanted to know what the hell I was doing there, and why. I told them that I lived on the other side of the bridge, and I was heading home. Like hell you are, the bridge is closed and we are under martial law.

He kept me around for quite a while wondering what to do with me. Finally, He said that he was going to give me a military escort, north and out of town. The bridge at Port Huron Michigan, to Sarnia, Ontario, may or may not be open, take your chances, but get out of here.

Well I did not argue with the guy. He sent two armed trucks with me, one in front and the other in behind. They took me to the north end city limits, and I headed for the Blue Water Bridge.

It was about 60 miles up to Port Huron, and I was totally alone on the road. Finally I made it onto the bridge, went to pay my toll. The customs man almost had a fit, he was reading a magazine, and did not realize I was there. I scared the hell out of him. He asked where I just came from. Detroit, why? Not possible, they are under marshal law. Everything is shut down. Well they threw me out. He told me that I was the first one over the bridge, in the last seven hours.

Once over the bridge, it was four hours to Toronto, and home. I was cranked up enough by now, that I never even thought of stopping for a sleep. The company wanted to suspend all trips till things cooled down. I was headed back with another load on the second day. When you stop and think about it for a moment, some countries have this happen on a daily basis. This happened in Detroit, once in 24 years. We are still living in what has to be the safest part of the world.

                     -------------- William (Diesel Gypsy) Weatherstone.             RETURN TO STORY MENU