In December of 1956 I was running steadily to the North Western Ontario Lakehead district, known today as Thunder Bay at the head of Lake Superior, about 1,500 km or 950 miles from Toronto. In those days Thunder Bay was two separate cities: Port Arthur and Fort William.

Christmas was coming on and the two Florida drivers were getting a little nervous at about not being home for Christmas. There was one for sure that would be leaving for the south and not making it back in time. I told my boss Lou, that if it was OK, I would switch with the driver and run his load south. I had nowhere to go for Christmas anyway, and this would be my chance to get to see Florida. Everyone agreed to the switch, I was given $100 cash for traveling expense, (no credit cards in those days) and I was on my way. That had to pay for everything.

I headed home to pack my extra bag with some lighter cloths. I cleaned up and hit the sack to rest up for an early start.

I headed out for Blyth, Ontario, about a 4 hour run NW from Toronto, loading up with bags of waxed turnips, (rutabagas to the Americans). Once at the plant, and before loading, they brought in about a dozen bails of straw. The floor was of wood construction and the frost would come up through the floor and freeze the produce. The straw was first spread out over the floor to act as an insulator for the load. This was high tech in the 1950's, but it worked great, dusty, but worked. Another high tech tool was handed to me to carry on with the insulation job. It was called a pitch fork, and was manpowered. I wasn't to sure if I was supposed to be a trucker or a farmer. But if you want to get loaded, you do it.

I finally spread out the straw, and they (2 guys) started to haul the 75 pound burlap bags in on hand trucks. They of course waited for me to pick them up and pile them on the floor, stacking them about 5 high, then continue waiting, while I packed more straw around them, so as to be insulated from the walls of the trailer. The loading was performed by hand. The only mechanical tools of assistance were the two hand trucks, and the pitchfork that the warehouse guys had most generously let me use. I can't refer to them as loaders, because they didn't load, and wouldn't.

After a few hours of hand bombing this load on and spreading the straw, I finally was ready to roll. One minor detail was left to do, get the export papers from the office. This turned out to be a bigger job than all the physical loading was. It seems that no one was qualified to do them up, and the only one who could, went to the dentist and then out for lunch. It was a tossup to what was the hardest part of getting down the road. The actual physical loading, or waiting for the paperwork. While chewing at the bit to get going, I found out very quickly that all this crap is a regular part of the produce game.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I was on my way. Before I took the load, Lou asked if I knew the way to Florida. I said of course, straight down US 15 from Rochester New York. Well at least I made it sound as if I knew where I was going. I failed to mention that I heard other drivers in the food terminal discuss the hills on US 15, and assumed that to be the route to take.

In those days, as well as low powered engines, there was no sleeper cab, no Jake brakes, and no turnpikes to leisurely cruise on. And worst of all, no radios or CB's. Old roads through every town, village & RR crossing were the best to be had. On top of that you had to have x-ray vision to spot the cops behind the billboards, waiting for the unsuspecting prey.

I crossed the border into the United States on the old Whirlpool Bridge at Niagara Falls. After clearing the border, I headed over towards Rochester, NY and picked up old US 15 south. Not having a clue as to what to expect, I roared down 15 in all my glory of freedom. I now owned the world. Before I realized that my daydreaming was getting me into trouble, I found myself running away on a long grade and not being able to slow down. I quickly brought myself back to reality while entering a sharp turn at the bottom of a long hill. I thought that I was going to lose it. That old feeling of the big knot in my stomach was returning as well as my knuckles were turning white again. It was along ride down this hill, and I didn't realize just how fast I was going. Going too fast to gear down, I had to jump on the brakes, causing them to start smoking and begin to fade. I made the curve but I could have sworn that one side had the wheels lifting off the ground. I finally got stopped and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Letting the brakes cool off and regaining my composure, I started thinking that someday one of these episodes is really going to make me crap myself. After settling down, I carried on with a little more caution and attention to my driving.

It just seemed to go on forever, the small towns, stop lights, and then farm country again. There were lots of hills, giving the gears and brakes a good workout. I was climbing a long twisting grade up the Steam Valley hill in Pennsylvania. Figuring that before heading down the other side, I had better get out the most important tool in my box, the 9/16" box wrench and set the brakes up. Fortunately for me there was a restaurant at the top of this hill. I did my brake adjustment, ate and grabbed a few hours sleep time.

When I got up, I had a quick coffee and left as it was just breaking daylight. It was a real pleasant drive along side the Susquehanna River, and easy going. As I came into Gettysburg, I realized that I was in civil war country, with American history surrounding me. Acting the part of the tourist, I was on the lookout for any landmark I could find. Unfortunately this is one trip I should have had a camera with me, but no such luck.

I cut across the corner of Maryland and on into Virginia. The snow on the ground was practically non existent by this time, and the motoring was becoming dry and easy.

NOTE;

Somewhere between Virginia and down in the Carolinas, I had an eye opening experience. I have to admit first, that I can not for the hell of me; remember what state it was in. The building and happenings are like a photograph in my mind. (Such is getting old)

I was motoring along in the hills, and looking for a place to pull over and have some lunch. There was this old two story frame house, alone on top of the hill. Looked to be 100 years old, and still showing the original paint job. It looks pretty rough, but hunger prevails.

When I parked, I seem to have taken over half of the parking space. Coming up to the door there was a small porch with a handrail dividing two doors into the place. I took it to be a semi detached affair. Looking in through the left door I could see a bar and it appeared to be open. I went in and sat down at the bar. There were three guys sitting at a small table off to the side. They immediately stood up when I sat down.

A black waiter came over to me and asked what I wanted. I answered with, a ham sandwich and a cold beer. He just stood there staring at me. Curious, I asked if there was a problem. He said yes, I can't serve you. WHAT! I'm over twenty-one, why not? You're colored and I can't serve you. Colored! Are you serious? In the meantime the other customers were standing and waiting for something to happen. So what now? You will have to go next door, if you want anything.

I went outside and looked down at the door. What I had not noticed, was a small dirt covered plaque, saying "Colored". Looking over the handrail at the other door was another plaque saying "White".

Well I promptly hopped over the rail and went in and sat at the other bar. There were a couple guys in there playing the pinball machine and drinking beer.

The (white) waiter came over and said what do you want? So I answered a ham sandwich and a cold beer. Is that right? Yes why? Well I can't serve you. What in hells wrong now? You love the Nigg .... so much, you go eat with them. In the meantime, a few others had come in and seemed to take an interest in the situation.

I figured that things could get out of hand at any moment. Being the lone foreigner in a foreign country facing odds of about 6 to 1, I'd be a fool to hang around. To take on one or two, maybe, but not as it stands. I mentioned that I was from Canada, and was not familiar with the local rules. One guy yelled out, Canada? What's that? Now I know it is time to move on.

It was about an hour later that I found another spot which had just enough space to squeeze into. What do you want? (Here we go again) a ham sandwich and a cold beer. Right, here's your beer, the sandwich, in a couple minutes. Well, I finally get to eat.

I made my delivery to the food terminal in Columbia, South Carolina, with no problems except that I have about 12 bales of straw that I am stuck with, and no place for disposal.

I left on US 21 Southbound towards Savanna, GA, and then picking up US 17 South. By this time the temperatures were up in the 80's F. I was still wearing my winter wool uniform, and was just about cooked to death.

Motoring along, I came across an old small truck stop. PURE brand, if I remember right. It had a couple fuel pumps, an ice house and a small restaurant. I fuelled up and paid the bill, and that is when he asked if I was going to take the free shower. I did not know that the truck stop had a shower for drivers. I grabbed at the offer, parked the truck away from the pumps and took off up stairs. It was just in time too, as I was very sweaty and smelling from wearing the winter cloths. I cleaned up, changed to summer cloths and headed for something to eat. While there, I started a conversation with another driver. One thing led to another, and he mentioned having to find a pile of stuffing for a load of wooden crates he was picking up in Atlanta, GA. The shipment was going overseas and had to be well packed for fragile articles. I asked, how would dry straw work? It would be great if I could find some. I'll make you a deal, you buy this lunch and I'll give you 12 broken down bales. He couldn't believe it. We swept and shoveled the whole pile into his van, and then slipped me another $10 bucks. I ended up with a free meal, $10 dollars, and a cleaned out trailer.

My pick up was in Belle Glade, Florida. The other company driver down here had picked up a load of oranges and was on his way home. He had just enough time to make it before Christmas. I was to pick up a load of greens (mixed vegetables).

I followed US 17 into Jacksonville, Fl., and then picked up US 1, all the way down to West Palm Beach, and then turning west over to Belle Glade. The Florida portion was in a torrential downpour of rain for a solid 3 days. I was under the impression that this was supposed to be the sunshine state. More like liquid sunshine, and being in the steaming South American jungles.

Finding the warehouse for my load was no problem. Once there, I found out that my load was still in the field and not even picked yet. Well after throwing a proper sh** fit, and stomping around for a while, I reigned in my temper and asked when would it be ready. After checking the weather to see when they could get back into the fields, he figured about a week. Grrrreat! What in hell am I going to do now?

There was a bar down the street a ways, so I made that my immediate destination. Getting into the beer and a big steak kept me busy till after midnight. I crawled out to the tractor, flaked out completely and did not come around till about 10:00 am. Sitting there for about an hour with the rain still pounding on the steel roof, didn't do my hangover any good. It was just compounding it.

Once into the coffee, I remembered that I was supposed to have an uncle that I had never met, living in Hialeah, just a couple blocks from the race track. I phoned home and got his number and address.

Joseph O'Rourke was his name. Arriving in America from Ireland sometime between 1910 & 1915 made his way to Detroit Michigan, and a prearranged job. He was a master mosaic tile setter. His reputation spread pretty fast and was offered a job in Orange Texas. He met my aunt across the border in Windsor, Ontario, Canada at a family function. They eventually married and went on to Texas. After a long and steady career there, a job offer came up in Florida. Perhaps you may have heard of him, Al Capone, your friendly gangster. He was having a mansion customized, and the services of a mosaic tradesman were required. Joe and Iva moved over to Florida, where they spent the rest of their lives. Other than being related by family, Joe and I had one great thing in common from day one; --- we were both connoisseur whisky lovers. What else would an Irishman and a Canadian have in common?

Now back to the business of my trucking career.

I got the info from home, looked up Joe's number, called, and in seconds he was giving me directions to his place. My aunt was ill for quite some time and had past away a couple years earlier. Joe was living alone and was looking forward to family company.

The rains had finally eased off and I was on my way. I had spent most of the day in and out of the saloon. With nothing else to do, I helped a couple drivers unload at the terminal. The price I charged them was steak and beer. Well I was starting to feel my oats and figured it time to move on. I headed out to US 27 South towards Miami. It was a narrow high crowned 2 lane roadway, (with no shoulders) leading across the Everglades.

It was close to midnight and I was in no condition to go on. There was no shoulder to pull over onto, so kept going till I came to a small garage with 1 gas pump. I squeezed the truck onto the small property and flaked out. Besides, it is easier to look for a new address in the daylight.

The sun came up bright and strong, the steam heat from the swamp woke me up in a soaking sweat. (Windows closed for the bugs) I was just going to step down from the truck and stretch, when an old bearded guy yelled at me to stop and stay there. Do not get out of the truck. Why? What's wrong now? He stayed back and advised me to stand on the tanks and jump away as far as I could from the truck. What for? Just do it and I will explain after? I made a jump as far as I could and went up to him, and asked what was this all about?

Well now, are you new around these parts? Yes, why? I thought so; now take a look under your truck. I did, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack. It was the first time I had seen a real live gator. He was lying just under my fuel tank, with his tail sticking out from under the other side of the truck. He was a monster, (to me anyways) Moose and bears, I can handle, lizards and the tropics, that's another story.

He explained that snakes, and gators in the winter nights will be attracted to the heat expended from the diesel engine and could be under the truck or snakes could be up and around the engine seeking the heat.

He was good about it and explained what precautions should be taken when in his part of the country. But you could also notice a smile on his face from the shock of the greenhorn being initiated to his way of life.

He took me inside and made coffee and toast, just to get me started. He also told me that I had made his day; things had been pretty quiet around there until I showed up. At least I was good for something to someone. He drew me a small map on how to get to Hialeah and bid me luck and farewell.

I found Joe's street and drove the tractor trailer up the residential street right to his house. I was in sight of the race track entrance. He was out in a flash and I asked where could I park this thing? He had a corner lot and his next door neighbor was separated by a 4 foot high hedge. He said to back it in along the hedge and over his grass. (Right on his front yard) I asked if I should be here, and he said that they can all go to hell, if they don't like it, and if anyone complains, it will be hell on earth for them as long as I live. Park it. He was well respected and we never had a complaint, they actually thought that it was a novelty having a big Canadian truck in their midst.

We had a great time and got along wonderfully. The first morning after arrival, he came in and woke me up. Handing me a glass tumbler of straight whisky, he said to take a drink and asked me if I could name the brand. Still sitting up in bed, I took a swig and responded with "Seagram's" rye whisky, Canadian of course. We bonded immediately. Before breakfast I had to finish off the tumbler of booze. He said to eat up; we are going surf fishing for our lunch.

Well he is my host, so I had better jump to it. Got up, dressed and finished off the whisky, ate, and we were on our way.

We arrived at the coast, and he said to stay directly behind him and do not get too close to the big clumps of tall grass. I did not ask his reasons till we got out onto the shore. He explained that there could be some seriously bad snakes in the tall grass, and we should not get involved.

Now at this stage of life, I don't really know if that was the problem, or was old Joe just pulling the strings of a young greenhorn? Anyway, at the time I took him very serious.

I spent the full week with him, including Christmas Day. We had a ball together. I called in and the load would be ready in two days. I reluctantly left and we had never met again. He passed away shortly after that.

I had never drunk so much whiskey at one time, in my life. Even with the hangovers and headaches, it was a real experience, and with Joe, I would gladly do it all over again. The visit, (once in a lifetime) was a real pleasure.

I headed back to Belle Glade, loaded the greens and was on my way. I stopped for lunch about an hour after loading. I asked another driver about the load, and wanted advice.

With greens, you should ice the load down. What is that? Explain please, I have to know.

Well, with a load of greens (vegetables) you have to keep them moist, so as they do not dry out and rot. How do I do that? Go to the ice house, just down the road about a mile, and tell them you want a load of ice blown into the load. They will know what you want. OK, I am on my way.

I hit the ice plant and told them what I needed and they knew the score. Directing me to back into the dock with the rear doors open, they brought a large hose, (like a big fire cannon) pointed it to the nose of the trailer and began to blow crushed ice up and over the load. They spread and filled the top of the load with ice as they had done thousands of times before my first time. I let them do their thing, and then I was on my way.

There were two vent doors on the nose of the trailer as well as two vent doors on the rear of the trailer. To make the ice effective, I was advised that they should be open, to let the melting water flow over the lower cases of veggies.

I headed up through central Florida on US 27 and the temperature was approaching the low 80's and I was coming up to Haines City. I noticed in my rear view mirrors that there was a flood of water coming from my trailer, every time I stopped and then took off. I pulled over and checked the rear of the trailer, and found that the high temp, and the vents opened, made the ice melt off in fast time. I thought that I had better close the trap doors before the ice all melted off. Once I closed the doors I took off again, keeping an eye on the rear mirrors constantly.

I made my way up to Ocala and then caught US 301 North. The ice melting on the load seemed to slow down quite a bit with the vents closed and the sun setting. I was coming into Orangeburg, GA, when I spotted a Melburn produce truck from Hamilton, Ontario parked in front of a restaurant. I pulled in beside him and he was just getting out of his truck to go in and eat. I introduced myself to him, and we went in together. He had a load of oranges on and was headed home. After we ate, he said that he was going to grab four or five hours sleep then take off, and suggested that we run together. That was great for me, as he knew the routes to take and how to look after perishable loads. I could pick his brain if necessary, and learn something in the process.

Somewhere along the way we came across a small truck stop called the Green Gator. We stopped for something to eat. The food was pretty good, lots of it and cheap as well. During our stay, I noticed for about an hour that guys were heading towards the washroom at the rear of the restaurant. I did not give it much thought till I noticed that no one was coming back. That washroom must be pretty crowded by now. I asked Ted if he noticed anything strange. I thought possibly that I was going crazy. He started to laugh like hell, and took it for granted that I knew. Knew what? You might say that this truck stop is a place of ill repute, and if you don't know what that means, it's a cat house out back. The only reason I stop here is because the food is good and it's cheap, and if I am stuck, I can buy a bottle of booze to go.

You just can't stop learning something new every day.

Once we got up to Virginia, we started running into snow. It was light stuff in the beginning, but got heavier as we went on. They were not all that good at keeping the roads cleared of snow. A lot of times they just closed the roads down and waited for the storm to pass. In our case it was getting worse the farther north we went.

We made it to just before Gettysburg, found a restaurant and went in for a coffee. The guy just stared at us for a moment, and asked, where the hell did you come from? Florida. How did you get here? Drove. You can't do that. Why? The road has been closed since last night. Well if you feed us we will apologize for showing up. I guess that must be why we had the road to ourselves. A couple of cars had been there all that time waiting for the road to open. They were still there watching us out the window as we drove away.

It was now New Years Eve, as we made our way into the restaurant at the top of Steam Valley, Pennsylvania, hill. It was about seven pm. There were a bunch of Canadian trucks there for the night. The name on their doors read, The National Ballet Company of Canada. The convoy was moving their stage and gear to do a show down south. There were no dancers there, (damn it) just the drivers and a couple stage hands.

It was planned to stay off the road until well after daylight. It was considered more dangerous with the possibility of an incident with some drunk driver, or being drunk themselves.

We were well into our meal when one of their drivers went out to his truck and came back with a bottle of Crown Royal. It is New Years, let the celebration begin, and begin it did. Before the night was over, everyone was plastered. As fast as the bottle was emptied, another showed up. It was quite a bash. It was after 2:oo am when I crawled out to the truck for some sleep. I lost track of Ted, and really did not have the strength to go looking for him.

In the morning we had breakfast with lots of extra tomato juice and coffee. A real migraine was my New Year's bonus. The temperature had dropped considerably and was floating near the zero F. mark. Ted did show up, he was in his truck before I was. We took off again and headed to a small truck stop just inside the New York State line. I needed fuel. I was also out of money. I could not get a hold of anyone in Toronto as it was the holiday. Fortunately Ted offered enough for a tank of fuel and a few bucks to eat with. I told him I would get it back to him when I got home.

Eventually we made it back. Ted stopping off in Hamilton, and me, going on to the food terminal in Toronto. It was evening when I pulled in. Lou was there and said that we need this load really bad and trucks will be in around midnight to load up for delivery the next day. Apparently he made a real killing on this load.

I hung around for about an hour for some help to come in. When they started to unload the veggies, we found that all that water that melted down through the load had frozen into one giant block of ice. This load was 36 feet long and 7 feet wide. Now what? Lou just stood there and said to get an axe, and dig it out before the customers get here. It was the first time I ever had to unload a trailer with an axe.

Well that is another trip under my belt. I am looking forward to another new destination that I have not been to as yet. Take care; drive safe,

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