OldTroubador's blog post - My Truck and I - repost

My truck is a 2011 Freightliner Cascadia, unit number 2906. It has a 14.8 liter engine manufactured by Detroit Diesel, model DD-15, and is rated at 455 horsepower. The drivetrain includes a 10-speed Eaton/Fuller manual transmission and has 2.64 ratio gears in the drive axles. The engine includes an EPA Tier-10 emission control system. Hanging off the frame rail is a Tri-Pak auxiliary power unit manufactured by Thermo-King. It has a condo style sleeper in the back of the cab and aerodynamic fairings all around. The DOT considers this truck to be a Class 8 vehicle. It is governed at about 62 miles per hour and the normal operating range for the engine is 1400 rpm. It was manufactured in September 2010 out of nuts, bolts, hard steel and smooth fiberglass. It is painted white, with company decals located on both doors and the top fairing. These are the specifications of my tractor. But what none of this tells you is that I think my truck has a soul.
Isaac Asimov, in his book “I, Robot”, wrote of the ‘ghosts in the machine’ to describe a robot that learned to think independently. Robert Heinlein used the same theme in his book, “The Moon is a Harsh Mistress”. Both of these are works of science fiction. But any operator of a motor vehicle or heavy machinery will tell you that each machine, even out of a lot of thousands, has its own quirks or “personality”.
I have been in this truck for about a year. I spend almost all my time in this truck. Twenty four hours a day, for six or seven weeks at a time, this truck and I are working together. It is my work station, my office, my kitchen, and my bedroom. I have spent the last year learning its quirks and its best operating parameters. But there is more to it than that.
I left Blacksburg, SC very early this morning in a drizzling rain. We went around Charlotte, NC on I485, headed to I77 north to go into Virginia. I wasn’t carrying that much weight, maybe 35000 pounds, but my truck was struggling. It was as if it knew that we were headed the wrong way and not toward Texas like we should have been. But something strange happened. I was listening to a classic rock station and as we neared the exit for I77, “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi came on. The second verse started as we hit the ramp and I slowed down to eighth gear. We got to the apex of the turn just before the song bridge and as the guitars took off and the drums started to pound, I romped down on the accelerator and grabbed ninth gear. I shoved the stick into tenth and dropped the hammer as the last verse exploded out of the speakers and the truck took off like a stripe assed gazelle. I let the weight and momentum carry us down the ramp and by the time we hit the highway, we were doing about 70 miles per hour. After that, there was no more tiptoeing along the highway, no more lugging along the flat stretches or down the hills. We had it going on and flew through the morning. And that got me to thinking.
I have always talked to my trucks. I urge them on when climbing or passing another; I caution them when dropping down a hill or rounding a bad turn. I even thank my truck at the end of the day for a successful trip. But none have ever responded like this truck does. I will show her a truck in front of us and say “We need to pass that one”. Before long, we have scooted past and are looking for another target. Or when we are climbing, I will point out the top of the hill and the turbocharger will start to sing and the power comes up and she tops the rise at full speed, ready to windmill down the other side. I tell her when we are top heavy and she will ease through the turns, not anxious to tip over the trailer we are pulling. She and I both know that trailers are stupid, soulless creatures without any sense.
There is a synergy between the two of us. I depend on her to keep on pulling and she depends on me to keep her out of the ditches. I can sense when she is ailing and needs to see a mechanic to make her well again. She can pick up on my mood and knows when we can lay back a bit or if we need to hustle. She can tell when we are in traffic and will stay between the lines so I can concentrate on what lies ahead. She knows when the road is clear and she can use all the asphalt to get through a turn. She has seen me doze off a time or two and has given a shake and a shudder to wake me up. I protect her and she protects me.
Some drivers treat their truck like an inanimate object. And many others view trucks as just that, or as an obstacle that needs to be passed. But she knows I think more of her than that. She is a draft horse, a Morgan or Clydesdale, that has the soul of a thoroughbred filly. She loves nothing better than for me to drop the reins and just let her run. But, being a female, she is tempermental sometimes and will spit the bit. She usually doesn’t mind if I scratch the gears now and then, but once in a while will get upset with me; then I am scrambling to try to find a gear, any gear, I can. Once I do, I might waggle a finger at her and she will toss her head and prance a bit, then we will get back to business and keep on keeping on.
By now, a lot of you are thinking that I am goofy or worse. That’s okay, I probably am. But this truck and I have been through a lot in the last 135,000 miles and we have a long future ahead of us. We have slogged through mud almost two feet deep. She and I topped Donner Pass in a blizzard with the tire chains clanking like old Marley’s ghost. We have driven through 42 of the lower 48 states together; she has yet to see Wyoming and Nebraska. And the two of us still need to drive through South Dakota, North Dakota (does anyone actually live there?), Montana, and Washington. She and I have breathed in the salt air from the Atlantic and the Pacific and gazed across the northern and southern borders at our neighbors. And she seems to run best when I have some homegrown southern fried rock screaming out of the speakers. Yeah, we have been nearly everywhere and are standing tall. We have seen a million places, and rocked them all.
It’s about time to go; my trailer is nearly loaded. We will be heading back to Texas this evening and will be there in a couple of days. After I have rested a bit, I will get out the brush and soap and give her a bath and get after her with a curry comb. I will clean up the interior and restock the shelves and refrigerator. I will probably visit her a little each day, just to make sure that she knows I haven’t forgotten her. Then, before the New Year, we will be back on the road, chewing up the asphalt and drinking that old diesel juice.
To all my brother and sister truckers out there, keep the bugs off your glass and the bears off your…..tail. May your roads be straight, your weather clear. May you make it back safe to those you hold dear.
This is Tux the Trucker, 10-10 on the side. We’re gone, bye-bye.