Post by trailboss on Aug 11, 2022 8:23:17 GMT -5
I have never been an outlaw trucker, I started in 1980 and have been a company driver paid by the hour, but I ran with a lot of these guys from SF to LA…It was certainly better back in the day as far as the caliber of the driver. Courtesy was common, left lane losers were extremely rare as was middle lane morons.( ELD=electronic logging device)
Copied from a Facebook page.
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I wrote this in response to a guy who thought he knew what an Outlaw Trucker was. This was trucking "back in the day", and how it was when I first started. It's changed so much now. I still enjoy it, but I'd swap the high side of my 18 to bring it back. 😉
Outlaw Trucking has nothing to do with how many years you've been driving. Big difference. It's a mindset and a lifestyle that most "drivers" nowadays days don't understand. Outlaws didn't have dispatchers they had brokers. They'd swap a cellphone for a Cobra 148 with a linear in a heartbeat. They kissed their families goodbye with no guarantee of when they'd be back. There weren't any Little League games, birthday parties, or school events to attend. Their event was the next truck stop to hang out and swap lies with their buddies. They used words like The Windy, Smoke City, The Guitar, The Big Apple, The Big A, The Lonestar, The Big Easy, and lots of others. They'd wake up before dawn, swish the bad taste out of their mouth with a leftover beer, smoke a Marlboro, swallow a cup of joe, while they figured the miles to their next stop with a worn out map. I learned to stay out of their way. We never had a GPS on the dash or Google to tell us how to get anywhere. Our directions were scribbled on whatever scrap of paper was handy when the broker began to rattle them off. Many times it was a page torn from the phonebook while you tried to hear them over a row of other truckers doing the same thing down the line of payphones. There wasn't any ELD to babysit us, and if you had .99 in your pocket, you were never out of hours. Your second or third log book was packed away in the overhead, cracker box, pillow case, or anywhere you thought "the man" wouldn't pick through, and it could get aweful confusing remembering which one to hand him. We'd pull out and head down the highway in the right lane. There weren't any left lane losers, or middle lane morons back then. You stayed where you were supposed to be, or got run down by the other truckers running convoy. You apologized to those behind you if you mistakenly thought your Freightshaker could pull the hill. We flashed our lights, said "blink blink, flash, flash" on the cb when we passed or got passed. And if you didn't have a four and a quarter Cat, you stayed out of the way. I remember the left lane looking like a game of leap frog as old time truckers passed and then pulled back in line. You never stayed out in the left lane unless you were the front door and had the moss to keep it. You never heard "I'm doing the speed limit" over the CB like these yuppies, unless that driver never planned on stopping for fuel again, or stopping at a truck stop... ever. If you did, well... When we did stop for fuel, we fueled and moved. We respected each other, knew each other, drove mile after mile in groups with each other, talked all night with each other while we kept an eye out for other truckers and breakdowns. Everyone had a CB that was turned on when they left their yard and stayed on 24/7 until they got back. We slept to the drone of the chatter, and more than once believed we'd been struck by lightning when a linear keyed up out of the darkness. It was like the voice of God in the Wilderness. We warned each other about full growns, diesel cops, county mounties, city kitties, and bears. We knew every mile post, exit and truck stop on the party route, and what drivers stopped where. Every truck stop sold boots, cowboy hats, belts, jeans, had a CB shop, a shoe shine stand, trinkets that we'd buy and take home for the kids, and a counter to grab a quick cup of coffee while we made our check calls. When we did leave, we'd drop it in the big hole headed west, while chasing down the sun, and there just wasn't anything better. We didn't have yuppies, snowflakes, Karens, or the like to get offended while we talked politics on the radio to keep each other awake. It was the old way, the only way, and how it should've stayed. These drivers today would've never survived years ago. And no my friend, an Outlaw Trucker would've just as soon worn a pair of bright pink flip flops across the fuel island at the Iowa 80 back in the day, than ever drive an automatic.
Copied from a Facebook page.
——————————————-
I wrote this in response to a guy who thought he knew what an Outlaw Trucker was. This was trucking "back in the day", and how it was when I first started. It's changed so much now. I still enjoy it, but I'd swap the high side of my 18 to bring it back. 😉
Outlaw Trucking has nothing to do with how many years you've been driving. Big difference. It's a mindset and a lifestyle that most "drivers" nowadays days don't understand. Outlaws didn't have dispatchers they had brokers. They'd swap a cellphone for a Cobra 148 with a linear in a heartbeat. They kissed their families goodbye with no guarantee of when they'd be back. There weren't any Little League games, birthday parties, or school events to attend. Their event was the next truck stop to hang out and swap lies with their buddies. They used words like The Windy, Smoke City, The Guitar, The Big Apple, The Big A, The Lonestar, The Big Easy, and lots of others. They'd wake up before dawn, swish the bad taste out of their mouth with a leftover beer, smoke a Marlboro, swallow a cup of joe, while they figured the miles to their next stop with a worn out map. I learned to stay out of their way. We never had a GPS on the dash or Google to tell us how to get anywhere. Our directions were scribbled on whatever scrap of paper was handy when the broker began to rattle them off. Many times it was a page torn from the phonebook while you tried to hear them over a row of other truckers doing the same thing down the line of payphones. There wasn't any ELD to babysit us, and if you had .99 in your pocket, you were never out of hours. Your second or third log book was packed away in the overhead, cracker box, pillow case, or anywhere you thought "the man" wouldn't pick through, and it could get aweful confusing remembering which one to hand him. We'd pull out and head down the highway in the right lane. There weren't any left lane losers, or middle lane morons back then. You stayed where you were supposed to be, or got run down by the other truckers running convoy. You apologized to those behind you if you mistakenly thought your Freightshaker could pull the hill. We flashed our lights, said "blink blink, flash, flash" on the cb when we passed or got passed. And if you didn't have a four and a quarter Cat, you stayed out of the way. I remember the left lane looking like a game of leap frog as old time truckers passed and then pulled back in line. You never stayed out in the left lane unless you were the front door and had the moss to keep it. You never heard "I'm doing the speed limit" over the CB like these yuppies, unless that driver never planned on stopping for fuel again, or stopping at a truck stop... ever. If you did, well... When we did stop for fuel, we fueled and moved. We respected each other, knew each other, drove mile after mile in groups with each other, talked all night with each other while we kept an eye out for other truckers and breakdowns. Everyone had a CB that was turned on when they left their yard and stayed on 24/7 until they got back. We slept to the drone of the chatter, and more than once believed we'd been struck by lightning when a linear keyed up out of the darkness. It was like the voice of God in the Wilderness. We warned each other about full growns, diesel cops, county mounties, city kitties, and bears. We knew every mile post, exit and truck stop on the party route, and what drivers stopped where. Every truck stop sold boots, cowboy hats, belts, jeans, had a CB shop, a shoe shine stand, trinkets that we'd buy and take home for the kids, and a counter to grab a quick cup of coffee while we made our check calls. When we did leave, we'd drop it in the big hole headed west, while chasing down the sun, and there just wasn't anything better. We didn't have yuppies, snowflakes, Karens, or the like to get offended while we talked politics on the radio to keep each other awake. It was the old way, the only way, and how it should've stayed. These drivers today would've never survived years ago. And no my friend, an Outlaw Trucker would've just as soon worn a pair of bright pink flip flops across the fuel island at the Iowa 80 back in the day, than ever drive an automatic.
Yep when I had to Hot Shot I really appreciated those good AMERICANS on the road, they keep the nation running, thank you Charlie and all the other fellows.👍🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👌🚛🚛!
