Alberta trucker Mike Murchison shares his experiences on the road through music, photography and humour.
Tobermory, Ontario, 1978 Photo: Mike Smith In April of 1963, Bob Dylan recorded a composition he wrote entitled “Girl From The North Country.” Great lyrics squeezed in between a feeling of sadness and longing to go back. To her? To
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Every tree will have a story to tell, long after it has been cut. Every strand of phosphorus metal will have a unique vibration when pulled tight.
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Regardless where you run: be it along the Danforth, or across the foggy flatlands of Idaho, neither the city streets nor the highway owe you anything. You owe them your best in all you do. Regardless what you drive or where, don’t ever lose sight of what a privilege it is to drive. It’s just that: a privilege.
A bad fare, a bad load can make or break your attitude, which can lead to self righteous action on your part. You know what I mean. Road rage, aggressive driving. Stupid things that can risk your privilege.
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I find as I age, I don’t expect much from people anymore.
It’s not that I’m writing them off; it’s just that I have learned over the years that I have to deal with people where they are standing, whether they be high on the mountain or deep in the valley.
As a young man full of gas and gun powder, it was more a question along the lines of “What can they do for me?” Or, “How do I give my best ‘shuck and jive?”
I often shrugged off the concerns of others simply because addressing those concerns didn’t suit my needs. But that’s where aging has wonderful insights.
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With the truck in the nearby Peterbilt dealership, I needed a place to stay. With no means of, transportation I picked the closes place. Across the 4 lanes of highway 395. A two mile walk from the dealership. It was there where the dealer rep dropped me off, and the adventure began.
It wasn’t the nicest motel. Somewhat rundown, questionable characters lurking around. Cigarette butts everywhere and vehicles came and went all hours of the night.
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My truck has broken down. Has been down since Saturday morning. No big deal, right? Wrong!
Parts. Where are they? Why can’t I get them? Why doesn’t the dealer or any other heavy duty shop have them, for that matter?
That’s right. They are on a ship somewhere. Anchored off of either the Pacific or Atlantic coast, awaiting its turn to nestle into a berth and get unloaded.
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That light you’re seeing outside is dawn, not dusk.
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Photo: “A life well lived” by Mike Murchison There are times when we catch ourselves asking the question “Why am I doing this? What is the end result of long days, hard roads and tired bodies?” Doesn’t matter what we
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There is, and always has been, the open invitation go get into trouble. It lies there in waiting, just around the corner for the unsuspecting Driver away from home.
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