NEW ZEALAND OR BUST ---

At times while in Halifax, I would go down to the docks to deliver, or pick up a load from the ships. On a number of these excursions, I would be invited down to the ships mess for a free meal and beer while waiting for my load. I never turned down an offer such as that, ever. I would get talking to the crew and start to pick their brains on what it took to work on a ship. They would tell me about all the ports that they had been to, as well as all the trouble that they got into. It sounded good to me.

Every time I went down to the docks I would get involved in question and answers. I had always been fascinated with New Zealand. I even had their newspapers delivered to my home. They were about a month old by the time I got them. My interest was drawn to Dunedin, on the south island. I was not too interested in the tropics. The south Island had mountains and 4 seasons, such as Canada does.

During a free drinking session on the ship Rhinestien, I found out that once you had your deep seaman's card, you could apply for a job one way to New Zealand and be paid for your time. This really interested me, and got my imagination into gear.

I was ready to move on to greener pastures again. I was between trips in Toronto and I thought that I would check out the seaman's card business. I traced it down to the Canadian Immigration office on Front Street, next to the Union Rail Road Station.

After getting all the paperwork together, birth certificate, police record, and passport photos, I went back to the office to complete the final procedure, finger printing and registering. When I left, I was the proud owner of an official Canada, Seaman's Identity Certificate, #A39308. Now the world is mine, mine.

I ran one more trip to the Maritimes, and when I got back on a Saturday morning, there were a few guys hanging around the office wondering what to do next. I suggested a going away drink. In a flash, a couple bottles of whisky came out from nowhere, and the party began. At 12:00 noon the hotel's beer rooms were officially open for business. Seeing that we had used up all the available alcohol that was on hand, we immediately moved our business to the local bar. It was quite a day. I haven't had a hangover like that in years. I had two days to get my head screwed on again, as I had made arrangements to drive new trucks in a convoy to Vancouver. It was a one way trip with pay and all expenses. There would be six drivers in this convoy hauling new trucks for the British Columbia government. Each truck had two others piggy backed to themselves. The front wheels were removed, strapped to the frame behind the cab and then the front axel mounted up on a portable fifth wheel on the truck ahead of it.

The leader of our gang, Morris J. flew in from Vancouver to guide this convoy back to his dealership. He interviewed drivers at his hotel. In the end, it seemed that I was the only professional driver in the bunch. The others came from all walks of life. One in particular, Scott R. was an ex bartender coming from Bermuda to visit his sister in Vancouver. While waiting for our interview we struck up a conversation, and during the trip we got along pretty good.

After all the recruiting was finished, all of us were to meet in the hotel lobby the next morning. Upon arrival we were then transported over to Oshawa, Ontario picking up the trucks from the General Motors distribution terminal. As soon as I found out where we were going, I recognized it immediately as the same terminal that I had drove from about 10 years previous, on my trip to the Yukon.

They still set up the departure with all the trucks lined up, and pre-pointed directly for the exit gate. Finally we were on our way. It was a slow process, getting into position and then getting out of town. Fortunately we could head north directly, and not have to go back through Toronto.

Later in the afternoon, we had just past through Sudbury, and Morris was looking for a place to stop over for the night. There was a small old hotel on the North side of the highway. I just can't remember if it was Lively or Whitefish. I think it was the latter. Anyway, we pulled into the lot in front of the hotel, and parked under the only street light on the whole property. They only had 6 or 7 rooms in the place. We checked in and grabbed a quick meal before heading to bed. The owner said that he would open the kitchen before sunrise for us, at breakfast time, to help with an early start. We doubled up with 2 to a room, on single cots.

We were up early, and ready to eat by five o'clock. One of the drivers had to go out and get his shaving kit; he came flying through the front door screaming, thieves, thieves. He was really cranked up. We finally had him cooled down enough to find out what his problem was. Apparently when he was climbing up into his truck, he stepped on a cut steel band strap. It sliced through his shoe, and came just short of cutting into his foot. He pulled it out and started to look around. There was strapping beside every truck. Looking closer it showed fresh tire tracks, passing and stopping beside each truck. Some one during the night, and under the only street light on the property, cut all the steel bands holding down the mounted tires and rims, stole them, and then disappeared. There were two complete wheels per piggy backed unit missing. There were 12 trucks without wheels, and they drove away with 24 completely mounted 10:00 X 20 new tires and rims worth a small fortune. The cops were called and they took all the particulars, but did not guarantee anything. They figured that they would be gone into the bush somewhere, and with all the hundreds of miles of bush roads and all the logging trucks using them, the chances of recovery were pretty remote. After losing hours dealing with the police we were finally on our way again. Minus a lot of wheels.

Well from there on things started to smooth out and everyone was getting used to their assigned equipment. Morris wanted me stay at the end of the line and bring up the rear. He figured that if anyone had problems, I would be able to help them out. Also being the only truly experienced driver, I would be his best security to keep the others from straying off. It suited me to a "T" anyway. I have always preferred to run alone, so I would drop back about 2 miles and just cruise along behind and out of sight.

We made it through the granite hills of Northern Ontario, and after crossing the prairies we were headed to the foothills of the Crows Nest route, #3. Up until this point we had not had a problem since the tire episode. It was the first time for all of us, except for our fearless leader, at crossing the Crows Nest Pass, and on to the west coast. Any trips that I made to Vancouver were through the American side, crossing back into Canada at Blaine, Washington. We stopped over at Fort Macleod, Alberta for the night and then headed into the mountains first thing in the morning.

Well we were on our way again and were acting more like tourists than truckers. We stopped many times to take some photos. We spent some time stopped at Frank, Alberta where Turtle Mountain had a landslide and buried the Town of Frank. There are boulders there bigger than apartment buildings. You really have to see it to understand the enormity of it all.

We were moving right along now and heading up into the pass, one of the drivers had experienced banging and pounding when starting away or stopping. In fast curves, it felt as if the loaded trucks were going to fly off. He was getting pretty nervous about the whole thing. He stopped just beyond Creston and waited for me to catch up. When I arrived there, he wanted my opinion on whether it was safe enough to drive. I checked everything out visually, and then suggested that we switch trucks for a time. He jumped at the offer and looked like a ton of weight had been lifted off his shoulders. I told him to go ahead and wait for me at the summit of  Kootenay Pass. It really did not take too far to find out the problem. Sailing into a tight curve, I thought that I was going to lose everything. The truck on back was floating around like it had never been tied down. I pulled over and found that the kingpin had so much slop in it that it was, in my opinion totally unsafe. Everyone was waiting at the pass for me. I had a good talk with Morris and said that it was not safe to drive. After quite a heated discussion, I talked him into stopping at Castlegar for repairs. We made it there ok, and found a good welding shop. After a lengthily inspection of all the couplers on all of the trucks, it was found that all of them were worn out, and could come apart at anytime. A few calls to Vancouver had them notified of our repair downtime, delaying our arrival by a few days. This was estimated to take 3 or 4 days to complete.

After checking into the hotel and getting settled in for a long wait, I immediately headed for the bar. The downing of a few beers seemed the appropriate thing to be doing during all of this newly acquired spare time. Scott came in and sat with me, for a couple of drinks, and then we went to the dining room for supper. We had a few beers together 3 or 4 times on the trip. During one of the sittings he admitted to me that he was an alcoholic. He was in Bermuda for a number of years, working as a bartender. The summers were the worst when most of the tourists were gone. That's when there was nothing to do but pour himself a drink, just to keep from getting bored to death. I didn't really think too much of it at the time. When I left the bar, he would get up and leave too.

This went on for a couple of days. The work on the trucks, were moving right along, faster than expected. My truck was to be done last, and would be an extra day. Morris was all hot to get going, and asked if I would not mind staying alone and following behind a day later. He said that I was the only one here that could be trusted alone. I said OK, providing he paid the hotel bills in advance and left me with sufficient spending money, including a good size bar bill. He thought about it for a moment then started smiling in agreement.

They all left first thing in the morning. I headed over to the welding shop about 10:00 am to check on my truck. They told me it would be ready some time tonight, and I would be able to leave anytime after. Good, I headed back to the hotel for a few beers and some lunch.

There was a great looking receptionist in charge of the hotel desk. I figured I had nothing better to do, so I struck up a casual conversation with her. She had a real strong English accent and I was trying to find out where she hailed from. All afternoon, I would wander out from the bar and come up with some lame excuse to talk to her. Later in the day the local newspapers were out and a dozen or so were dropped onto the end of the counter to be sold. This time while promoting my benefits to her, I glanced down at the headlines on the paper; --- The sons of freedom are being released from prison to day.

NOTE; they are a radical branch sect of the Doukhobor clan. The sons of freedom were at war with the BC government, and would parade en mass down the main streets of town nude, in protest. That was when they were not blowing up government property.

Well I stuck my foot in my mouth this time, all I said was I guess that these jokers are going to start blowing things up again .... WHEN BOOM, --- ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE, she just blew up and went totally ballistic. She started screaming at me about how come the government can have atomic bombs and we can't. I went into immediate shock, I had no Idea what was going on. She kept screaming at me, now that the men were home they can't wait to seek revenge against the government. All of a sudden things started flying all over the room, she grabbed anything that was not tied down and started throwing them at me. What now? I don't hit women. Out of nowhere came a big hand and grabbed me by the arm and threw me out the door and into the bar lounge. The door slammed behind me, but was not heavy enough to block the noise coming in from the lobby. It was my regular waiter that got me out of there, and saved me from a possible painful death, or even something worse. He set a beer down in front of me and said that he had better clue me in before things really got out of hand.

First that young woman out there is not English. She is the daughter of the leader of the group. She had practiced the accent for a long time, just so she could move freely around the country. The others have a Russian accent, and are usually looked upon with suspicion.

There is one more problem we have to consider, those trucks you guys are driving, they are in the BC government colours, and will make a great target for someone with an axe to grind. The others have all left so no problem there. Your truck is still here, right? When will it be ready? When it is, I suggest you move it out after dark and leave quietly. I answered with .... that's a good idea, I'm glad you thought of it. I gave up any notion of trying to make time with that wild woman, and proceeded to carry on with my beer drinking schedule.

The garage called, just before closing time and said that it was ready to roll. The bill had been taken care of and it was mine when I wanted it. I grabbed my bag and thanked the waiter for his advice. He said that he would look after closing the book on my room. I got in the truck and slipped out of town unnoticed. I drove on for about 50 miles or so and checked into a motel for the rest of the night. Finally I can sleep with both eyes closed.

I was up and on the move again at the crack of dawn. I was alone and did not waste any time getting down the road. I passed Bridesville and was in a continuous climb. The road had just been rebuilt and resurfaced. It was as smooth as glass. It just seemed like I was never going to make it over this mountain. It went on and on, finally I broke over the top; pulled over to the side of the road to let the engine cool down, and to relieve myself.

I sat there for about 1/2 an hour, and then started down the other side. I made the first curve, the grade dropped a bit but nothing to worry about; I was starting to roll pretty good now, coming around a bend I found my self staring into outer space. I could see for miles and miles, across the valley and into the next mountain range. The road dropped dramatically and I was about 2 gears to high. I got it down one but was going to fast to drop another. I had to use the brakes constantly. Still I could not get slow enough to drop another gear. I had the weight of 3 trucks sitting on 2 axles of brakes. I went around a couple switch backs to fast and scared the hell out of myself. Even trying to economise the using of my brakes, they still started smoking like crazy. Here I go again, white knuckles and big knot in my stomach, the only way to truck. It was a long ways down, the brakes flamed a bit but mostly smoked. I guess the locals know what is happening when they spot smoke on the mountain road. Here comes another green horn that does not know his ass from a hole in the ground. Must be from back East.

I made it down and drifted into town with the stink coming from the wheels and pedestrians giving me dirty looks. I got parked to let everything cool down, and that includes my blood pressure. That is one of the hazards coming over a road for the first time and not knowing what is ahead. My face may be red in public but at least I am still alive, to try something stupid again.

I made my way into Vancouver from there, with no more incidents. I called ahead to get directions for the delivery point. I was picked up by a big new Caddy. The driver was Morris, dressed in a very expensive silk suit. I did not even recognize him at first, he was a real dapper Dan. He drove me to his office and we settled up financially. He was pleased about the way things worked out and sprung for the steak and drinks. After lunch he had one of his drivers drop me off at the YMCA, where I could get a new private room for $1.25 a day. I'm on my own again.

I settled in and was expecting to see Scott there. He was not even checked in. I waited around till the next day, and still no Scott. I found his sisters phone number and called. She said that they were leaving town today for a couple weeks, and didn't expect him for another 3 or 4 days. They had a beautiful apartment up over the Kitsilano Beach House.

I spent most of the day checking all the hospitals and finally went to report him missing. Well they didn't have to look too far; he was in jail since the night before last. Apparently all the drivers when finished with the trip all headed to the nearest bar for some drinks and goodbyes. They got into the hard stuff and Scott couldn't handle it. He went a little crazy and started to tear the place up. The cops were called in and they proceeded to clean house. They were all  thrown in jail.

Well he was out the next day. I picked him up in a cab, and we went out to the beach house. He was totally sober now, and quite civil to talk to. He gave me the grand tour of the place. The front window overlooking the beach was totally panoramic. It was huge, and also one way. You could see out, but not in. When we toured the beach itself, I looked back at the window and it was just a big mirror, and you could not see in.

We picked up a couple of steaks and cooked them up. The apartment had a fully stocked bar, all hard liquor. I never gave it much thought as to the drinks. Scott was drinking right along with me. It was getting late and I quit, and was going to call a cab. He said that if I wanted, I could stay over in the guest room. I said OK and went to bed. Scott stayed up and kept on drinking. I thought that he would quit when I did, the same as when we were drinking beer in the hotels. It was about 4:00 am when I heard noises coming from the front room. I got up and went to see what was happening. The room was in total darkness, with just a bit of light coming in the front window. I found Scott with a butcher knife, yelling and stabbing at the wall. I flipped the light on and that seemed to shock him a bit. I wrestled the knife away from him and got him calmed down somewhat. I asked what he thought he was doing. Can't you see them? See what? Those giant bugs crawling up the wall. Oh man, the DT's. I have heard others say they were alcoholics, but they had nothing on this guy. He was totally spaced out and out of control. This is the real world of alcoholism. He finally calmed down and passed out. I went back to bed, but I did not get to sleep. I just kept an eye on the door, wondering if he was going to charge in any minute brandishing a knife.

He was out of it when I finally came out. I took off to the store to get some eggs and coffee. I was gone about an hour. When I came back he would not answer the door. I was yelling for him to open up. He finally came to the door and stared at me out of the little porthole window. I was starting to get browned off, and I began to yell and bang on the door for him to open up, but he just kept staring at me as if he had never seen me before. I didn't realize that while I was yelling and banging that 2 cops had come up behind me, and figuring I was trying to break in put the clamps on me. Well it sure as hell took a lot of talking, but I finally got out of there without going to jail. He still would not let the cops in either, and just kept staring at them through the door. While they were busy and fully engrossed in what they were trying to do, I sort of drifted away into the park, and never seen Scott again. Now I can honestly say I do know what a real alcoholic is.

It was back to the YMCA again and a little piece and quiet. That didn't last for to long. A couple other guys staying in the next room, asked me if I new anything about trucks. I said a little, what is the problem? It will not keep running and has no power. If you have time would you mind coming down and take a look? We are leaving tomorrow for California, or hope to.

We went down to the parking lot and it was an old Bell Telephone truck, still in its original crappy green colour. The ladder roof racks and welding equipment brackets were still on it. They had just come from Toronto with it. I checked it out and it was quite obvious what the problem was. The fuel and air filters must have been in there for the last year or so. I sent them over to Canadian Tire for the parts. An hour later, I had it running with all kinds of power. As usual this automotive rejuvenation required a drink in celebration. Here we go again. Their whisky bottle was emptied in about 10 minuets. Off to the bar across the street, where the rest of the day was spent. After getting thrown out of the place, we went back to the "Y". Instead of going straight to bed, someone suggested a crap game. Well if you want to lose money in a very short amount of time, this is the way it is done.

The next morning brought me back to reality. I was almost broke, with no income and no ship for another 12 days. I'm screwed.

I took stock of what I had, and it did not look good. I owed a week for the room, and had enough to last about 5 or 6 days for meals. I sure as hell did not have enough to make it to the ship.

I paid off the room and then headed for the bus depot. The only thing that I could do would be to head back East to pick up another job. I thought of trying to get a BC licence to work here, but I did not have enough money for that either. With all the books and testing necessary, plus the truck rental, I was totally S.O.L.

It was in the last bus trip that I would ever take. The seats were too small for my large frame, with no leg room for a six foot +, man. There must have been an exodus epidemic, because by the time I got on, the only seat left was at the rear, against the back wall. With my legs cramped up, and my hips being crushed, I was finally on my way.

It was a long and tedious milk run trip. Stop and go from every village and hitching post he could find. It was after dark and I think it was Kamloops where we stopped for a short rest period and change of drivers. It was after midnight and everyone except my self were reclined back and snoring in concert. In my unfortunate case, being against the back wall, I could not recline. The guy ahead of me lying back took up the last couple inches of my leg room, sending me into leg cramps. The new driver should have been driving a lumber wagon on the prairies. He couldn't shift gears worth a damn. We are in mountainous country and all hills. Every gear shift that he made was crashed and jerked. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. I felt like pounding  his head in, and take over the driving myself.

We eventually made it into Revelstoke and had a rest stop at the terminal. I had had enough and couldn't take any more of this livestock vehicle. I grabbed my bag and departed. I figured that walking, had to be the better transportation than what I had just left.

It was just breaking daylight and I had just finished having an economy breakfast. I got directions from the waitress, to which way was east, to the Trans Canada Highway. I started hiking out of town in the given direction, and was wondering when some traffic would start coming my way. Finally a construction pick up truck came along, I stuck my thumb out for a lift, and he obliged by picking me up. At least there was sufficient leg room.

We motored on and he asked where I was going. Toronto, I replied, I have to get another job. We were driving up a steep mountain grade, and after about 30 miles he pulled up to the ledge of the road. He said that this was the best he could do for me. It was out in nowhere and he said that he was not going any farther. Why? I asked. He said do you see that bulldozer down in the valley? Yea. Well that is mine and that is where I am working. What do I do now? Well this road is not open yet, we are still building it. Guys wanting to go to Alberta usually hop that train, across the valley and ride the rails over the Rodgers Pass. Great, thanks for nothing.

Well what else can go wrong? I grabbed my bag and started walking again. Hours and hours passed and I was still climbing the mountain, getting fed up more and more. It was late in the afternoon that I saw another pickup at the shoulder of the road. I ran up to it and it was a surveyor, just packing up to leave. I asked if he was going east and he said yes, and was headed back to his construction camp, finished for the day. He gave me a lift, and got me over the pass and half way down the other side. He slowed to a stop beside a little scale shack and a bush road. This is as far as I can take you; my camp is about a mile down this road. OK thanks. I got out and was totally alone again. This scale was used by the construction companies while building this road.

I was totally pissed off again and had been standing here for about an hour, when I thought that I heard a diesel engine. It was, and it was getting closer. It seemed to be coming out of the bush road. All of a sudden a B Model Mack came screaming out of the bush hauling a load of rough cut lumber. He saw me standing beside the scale, and started to pull on to it. I waved him to pass around it and he stopped. I was dressed in my drivers' uniform and he took me to be the government scale man. When I explained why I was there, he sighed a relief. He was way overloaded and thought that he was caught. Once I explained that I was a truck driver hitching a ride, he said to jump in and at least he could get me into Calgary.

We sat and chatted, I told him what I had done, work wise including using 2 stick Mack Trucks. It wasn't 15 minutes and he wanted to know if I would mind driving for a bit. He was really baffed out. He hit the sleeper box and was out like a light the second he laid down. I drove on to about 20 miles before Calgary, and then called him to drive. It would not be a good idea for a stranger to be driving someone else's truck into town.

He took over and we drove into Calgary. He said that he had to get the paperwork for this load and if I wanted to wait in the truck, he would give me a lift out of town. I agreed. He was about 20 minutes and we were on our way again. His load was for Edmonton. I told him that I would be better off to go there too. I could go to Trans Canada Highway Express and possibly get a ride from there. They were all owner/operators and they all ran single with sleeper cabs. We headed north out of the city and on our way. It was around Red Deer, and the truck started to act up and die from the loss of power. We pulled into a service station where it finally quit altogether. The mechanic in the gas station did not know anything about diesel engines. The driver was at a loss, totally. He asked my opinion and I said I had a good idea, but needed a couple wrenches and an OK to work on it. He said to go ahead. I pumped up the primary pump and it would run for a few seconds then quit again. I then opened up the fuel filter container and found it to be full of rust and water. I pulled it out and it was totally plugged. Doesn't anyone service the filters anymore? I asked the garage if they would possibly have a replacement filter and they said no way, but if we waited till tomorrow, he would order one from Edmonton. The drivers chin just dropped, and you could see his total disappointment. I got some more tools and disconnected the filter container from the engine, I took it inside and with a pail of solvent and a wire brush, I scrubbed the container until it was shining bright. I then remounted the container to the engine sealing it closed with no filter cartridge inside. I put a pail under the fuel tank and cracked the drain plug open a few turns until fuel started to drain. It was mostly dirty rusty water coming out. When the fuel started running clear, I shut it off. Disconnecting the fuel line from the filter, I had the garage air hose put into the fuel tank, wrapping a rag around it to hold the air in. Pressurizing the fuel tank with air forced the fuel up through the lines and pushed the dirty fuel out, until it ran clean. Reconnecting the fuel line and sealing everything up again, minus the fuel filter cartridge, I started pumping the primary pump until all the lines and filter can were filled with fuel and all the air was out.

Try it, I said to the driver. The thing fired up right away, and the drivers eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. We were on the move again, and with more power than it ever had. I told him to get into the shop in Edmonton and get a cartridge installed right away.

He was so pleased that he drove me right across town to Trans Canada's terminal. It did not take long to book a ride. I signed a liability release for the company and the driver. He was leaving for Toronto as soon as he had breakfast. He paid me for the miles that I drove, and then asked if I would drive for him for 2 months, while he took his wife back to Europe for a final family reunion. Done deal, I was back in business again, but New Zealand would have to wait for another time.

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