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Bollweevil

Pedigreed Bulldog
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Blog Entries posted by Bollweevil

  3. Bollweevil

    Projects

    By Bollweevil,

    With the demise of dump trucking, in my area, and the soaring price of scrap metal. I have spent just about all of my available time creating a purpose built Ford F 350 scrap car hauler. I will try to get a couple of pictures posted later.
  4. Bollweevil

    Spring Fever

    By Bollweevil,

    It is starting to look a little like spring around here, peach trees and pear trees are in full bloom. I don't know if I really qualify for spring fever, or if I have just got a case of the mullygrubs. It just seems that when I have time to do something, it is raining, snowing, too muddy, or it's below freezing and the wind is blowing 50 mph. I did manage to get out with some friends a week ago, and get up to Marble NC, to pick up the dump body. I had bought the thing 6 months ago, but there has been no reason to get in a hurry. A good coat of paint, and a little TLC, and it will look about as good as a new one. Check my album for a picture. James
  6. Bollweevil

    Lemon Pie

    By Bollweevil,

    What is this? This looks like scrambled eggs. I don't even like scrambled eggs. This odyssey had began late Wednesday afternoon. I had picked up a frozen load for export in Atlanta. A Pompano, Miami split, with a Thursday am delivery was the usual drill. Both stops had come off without problems. At about 2:30 pm, I was on my way to Homestead. Usually by this time of day produce of all descriptions had began to make its way from the fields to the packing sheds. Availability of product to fill orders, and just being in the right place at the right time, have a lot to do with getting loaded. I had spoken with my travel agent before leaving Miami, and it looked like I would have 4 or more pick ups down south, depending on orders. With about half of my load, I got out of Homestead by about 8:30 pm, ran 27 up to Belle Glade. and shut down for the night. Belle Glade was a good call. The next am. I soon found that I needed to load several pallets of sweet corn at a local shed. With the corn on board, I set sail for Apopka, a small town N. of Orlando, on 441. Let's see, carrots at Apopka, beans at Live Oak, up close to the GA. line, then I would finish out at a small farm just east of Valdosta. This sounds like a lot of work, and it is. Keep in mind though that I was getting a box rate. The more boxes, the more money. At this time of year, California was dead. Guys were coming back to Atlanta for $1700 to $1800. I have gone from S. Fla. to Hickory NC. for $2270. I stopped for lunch at Ocala, and while waiting on my order, I called my best, friend Robert Ware aka Peg-Leg. Rob was recovering from Colon Cancer, they had removed a large part of his Colon, and he was in to the treatment stage. After telling him where I was, and what I had left to do, he wanted to know how I was going to run. Just like I always do, through the woods, whats the use of being an outlaw if you can't terrify someone. Well, He said if you are going through Soperton I'll call mom and have her make you a lemon pie. Just save me a piece. Well I had looked over my shoulder at that beautiful pie all night on the way to Hickory. After unloading this Am, I cut a shuck for the house. Now hear I am in my drive way, and my pie is all scrambled. Disgusted, I made my way into the house, opened the fridge and found about a quart of iced tea. Nothing left to do, I grabbed a spoon and started right in the middle ummm ummm
  7. Bollweevil

    Trucking Up

    By Bollweevil,

    The truck speed limit in California is 55. That is not much for such a wide open area as I-40 between Barstow and the Arizona state line. But thats where I was, in the right lane, headed east. I had just passed the east bound rest area, which is at about the 22 mm, when an owner operator pulling a set of pups blew by. Come on big truck, she said I need to get this thing to Memphis. I can't do that I said. I always ran the speed limit until I got past Ludlow. CHP had a refueling stop at Ludlow. No sense in peeing on somebody's leg and trying to convince them it's raining. At least in the high desert anyway. Well, Ludlow was behind me and I had begun to pick up the throttle a little bit. I soon caught up with, and passed the girl with the doubles. I as I went by, she said, well you can run if you want to, do you mind if I tag along? No, I said just pay attention, and give yourself enough room if I have to get on the binders. Who am I talking to? Little Bo Peep is my handle. Ok, Bo Peep, call me Bollweevil, I'm just a looking for a home. A funny thing about the desert, radio reception is fantastic. 20 to 25 miles with a well tuned CB is not unusual. We ran along together for 15 or 20 miles, it was full dark by now, and we were running 30 0r 35 mph too fast for a bust your butt state like California. There were 5 or 6 drivers some where in front of me chattering away on the radio, and every time I tried to get a bear report, one of them would cover me up. After a while I began to get irritated. Bo Peep, I said, I can't run front door like this with all this racket. All I can hear is these guys bumping their gums. Out of the night came a voice " You Probably don't have a truck that will run the front door anyway, come on up here and we will show you what a front door truck looks like." Dang 98.6 to 212 in a 1/10th of a second. Kinda like saying sic-um to a bull dog. It took every bit of 30 min. to find them. I caught them on a long grade about about 10 mile before the Goffs cut off. I passed the last one just as we crested the hill and pulled back in line without saying anything. All the while these guys were running their mouth. Who is that? That looked like so and so. We were coming up on a slower truck and the truck behind me flashed his lights. I took the left lane and left. That driver said, I don't know who it was, but he's gone now. By the time I got to the Goff's exit, I couldn't see headlights behind me, so I took the exit pulled under the overpass and cut all the lights off. A they went by they were still chattering about the red truck with the turbo wing. Hee Hee Hee
  8. Bollweevil
    West bound I-20, pretty close to the center of nowhere. If you could say you were sitting on the edge of a truck seat, thats where I was. Cringing with every breath. A 100 miles from a wrecker big enough to handle a rig, and a transmission that sounded like a hog eating hickory nuts. I had just passed a road sign, Toyah 12 miles, and I knew I could at least find food and water and get out of the highway. The transmission was ruined, so I kept tickling the throttle, just enough fuel to keep it moving. Eight miles, six miles, four, then I was at the exit. Off the highway and into a small Truck Stop. Toyah Texas, is at the edge of the Permian Basin, just 22 miles east of the junction of I-20 and I-10. It is an unlikely place for a settlement, unless you take into consideration it's proximity to the Texas oil patch, which during this time frame was not doing well. Toyah was also the home of Bill Kiker, a genuine southern gentleman from Mississippi. I never knew exactly what had drawn Bill to west Texas, but I was glad he was here, since he also owned the Truck Stop. This was my kind of place, and I had been stopping here for a while. A gravel parking lot, and just 3 or 4 pumps, a nice quiet place that mostly catered to regulars. A better than average restaurant, was a big bonus. Well here I am miles from nowhere with a broken truck, at least I could have some lunch, and have a conversation with someone who spoke southern. I found Bill in the Restaurant, explained my situation, and asked permission to dolly the trailer down. Just don't block the road or my fuel pumps was his reply. Across the road from the Truck Stop, an older fellow operated a truck garage, I didn't know him at the time, but I knew that he and Bill had managed to keep a feud going for a while. As I approached him I didn't know what to expect. When I told him the transmission would have to come out, he said "son I can't do that anymore". Well, I asked, can I rent one of your bays and use your transmission jack. Yes, he replied, if you will hire my grandson to help, he needs to learn to do some of the things I can't do anymore. All of a sudden things were looking up. Back at the restaurant, I called Haygood Truck parts in Dallas, now TruckPro. Do you have an RTO14715 in stock? No, what have you got? An RTO15615, Has it got an oil pump? It has,
  9. Bollweevil

    Unexpected Guests

    By Bollweevil,

    Sierra Blanca Texas, I had pulled off the interstate onto a graveled area beside the highway. I had arrived here about 4:30 AM, and passed out. Now, something had startled me awake. I thought I had felt the truck shake. Did someone open the trailer door? What time is it anyway? As I sat up and parted the curtains, I could see the hood of my truck standing straight up. What's going on? Well, it didn't take long to get my jeans on. As I slid through the drivers seat, on my way out the door, I could see someone sitting on the drivers side steer tire. When my feet hit the ground, I slammed the door, prepared to do battle. Maybe next time, It was my best friend Robert Ware aka Peg-Leg. He was sitting there with his head bobbing, humming a tune. umm umm umm. Realization began to sink in, he wasn't humming he was eating. Before turning in I had wrapped a couple of burritos up in aluminum foil and left them behind the turbo to keep warm. Robert, I asked what are you doing? Eating breakfast he replied. Just whose breakfast I asked? Well, mine I reckon, I could smell them all the way across the highway. It's a good thing I got here when I did, you're getting careless, another 30 minutes and they would have burned up. You know where those came from I asked? Yeah, Not YO Mama's, they were good too. Robert, you're being mean, I think you are still upset because I didn't save you a piece of that lemon pie your mom made for me. That wasn't my fault, there wasn't but one piece. Now I'll have to go home hungry, and you'll stop at Leroy's and pig out. No, he said I'm parked right behind you, lets go we'll find something somewhere.
  10. Bollweevil
    " Lots of folks stop at truck stops, they just naturally think they should. Cause they figure any place that a truck driver eats, well the foods just got to be good." Thats the way the song goes, but the reality is, if you're driving a truck, and you want to stop and eat. You have to find a place where you can park the truck. One of my all time favorites, was located off the main highway, in Goodyear Arizona. "Not Yo Mama's Down Home Southern Style Mexican Restaurant", Was owned and operated by Leroy Johnson, Leroy and his brother had driven for LS Trucking out of Forest Park Ga. When Leroy hooked up with a Mexican girl from Gila Bend, his brother went back to Americus Ga. to manage the BBQ Restaurant owned by his mom and dad. A lot of the drivers who had known Leroy, got into the habit of stopping, just to be supportive of his new business. A place to park and, and the down home southern style food were almost an instant success. After all, there was not another place anywhere on I-10 where you could get a collard green burrito, or a bowl of refried blackeyed peas.
  11. Bollweevil

    Check Up

    By Bollweevil,

    Alright James, what seems to be your problem? What problem? I don't have a problem. I just thought I might need a check up. Why? Well, I can barely hold out to work 14 to 16 hours a day, my knees hurt like they are on fire, so do my elbows as a matter of fact. And crawling around in the dirt under a truck just isn't to appealing anymore. Alright, how old are you James? I am 16 you Moron, you should know by now, you ask me the same thing every time. OK, OK, how long have you been 16? Well let's see, since January first 1959. Hah, you're not 16 anymore, you're 64, Liar, Liar your pants are on fire. Actually you're not even 64, you're 64 and 3/4. Ahaaaaaaa . Are you sure? Yep. Don't you need to run some kind of test, to be sure? Nope. How in the heck did this happen without me knowing about it? Ahaaaaaaaa.
  12. Bollweevil

    A True Story

    By Bollweevil,

    Do you know the difference in a fairy tale, and a truck driver story? Well, a fairy tale starts with "Once upon a time" and a truck driver story starts with " You ain't gonna believe this s---. The line I like the best, I borrowed from my friends from Louisiana's bayou country. "Now this is a true story." Stories, to follow, James
  13. Bollweevil

    Going To California

    By Bollweevil,

    Joey Spencer, was just a young fellow when I first met him. He had a young family also. If my memory serves me right, there were two or three little girls along with a boy who was about three and a half, at the time. Every time Joey would start getting ready to leave on his run. That little fellow would say " Mama, I'm going to California with Daddy this time." Then every time, Joey would have to get him up into the truck and hold him. After talking to him for a while, joey would pass him off to Mama and leave. Not this time. I'm not staying here this time, he announced. I'm going to California with you Dad. To keep from leaving on a sour note, Joey told his wife," I'm just going over to Athens to pick up a load of chickens, probably won't take long then I'll bring him back by." WRONG. It took all day. That chicken plant actually has a nice break area, and cafeteria. Joey didn't know that though, He and his son spent the whole day on the opposite side of the plant, backed up to a loading dock. The day was about gone, when he finally got his bill of lading and closed the trailer doors. When he stopped off at home he got out and carried a worn out little boy inside. as his mother took him into her arms, the little man said "Mama I'm not going back to California no more" Why son, she asked? " Cause there's no food and there ain't nobody to play with." Good Night, James
  14. Bollweevil
    I-10 east bound, somewhere around Wilcox AZ. Bring it back over Charlie Marion, said the driver I had just passed. Thanks, I replied. Hey, he exclaimed, your the guy who passed me coming up the hill out of Indio yesterday. I'm sorry I said, I apologize. Yeah, you passed every truck on the hill. Well, I said, I just couldn't help it. Who have we got up there? Call me Bollweevil I said , I'm just a looking for a home. Who am I talking to? You've got the Whirley Bird back here. Well, Whirley Bird, lets make some miles. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and as we talked back and forth the miles flew past. We cleared the NM. port of entry, and were bearing down on Deming. The 112 mile marker east bound will be forever etched in my memory. Whirley Bird, take the left lane and get beside me, don't let anybody around. There is a bad wreck in front of us. I can see a van on it's side, and there's people and junk every where. As we stopped and set the brakes I could see that we were not the first on the scene. There were 3 or 4 Air-stream trailers parked to the side. When I hopped down,and rushed forward, I realized I was stepping in someones hair and brains. There were three children involved , a baby boy about a year old still in a car seat, screaming his head off. A little girl about three, apparently unhurt, and another girl about four with a mild asphalt rash on her arms and legs. A young man was on his knees cradling the injured child. Suddenly he stood up, Where is my wife , he cried. She is still in the van, an older gentleman said. I need to go to her, I need to see her. No You don't, she didn't make it, and you don't need to see her explained the older fellow. Has any one called this in? I asked . We stopped a fellow and sent him on to Deming to call the state police. Thank God for Grand Mothers, there were the or four, just like yours and mine taking care of the children. Is there anything we can do to help I offered. No, we are just waiting now, was the reply. Well, Whirley Bird, let's move the luggage and clothes to the side, and get out of here. Shouldn't we wait for the police, he asked. The police can see what happened, these people have had a bad enough day without having their stuff scattered all over. My wife and I are going to stay. OK I'll see you Later, James
  15. Bollweevil
    Aguilar Colorado, just a small place, small fuel stop, small cafe. I sat in a rear booth nursing a cup of coffee, along with a bad case of the Mullygrubs. What's Mullygrubs? Well, it's a state of mind, kind of like the" Can't Hepit's" mixed with the " Don"t Lakit's". I had left Denver earlier in the day, empty again, and was dreading the prospect of having to clear the NM, port of entry. I still haven't forgotten the Alamo. The self important attitude of the port officers, coupled with the fact that NM has an agreement with Colorado to collect fees and fuel tax unpaid when leaving CO. all added to the way I was feeling. Shucks, I would probably head out through the Comanche National Grass Lands, and just bypass the whole mess. As I sat there, looking out of the window, I saw a Tyson truck pull into the lot, and in a few minutes, the driver came in and sat in a booth nearby. The waitress brought a menu and took his order for ice tea. When she came back I overheard him say " I think I will just have a bowl of chili". FLASHBACK, Van Horn Texas, the Chevron Truck Stop Greyhound Bus station. I was a lot younger then and had started hauling produce from California to Atlanta. Just like this driver, I knew I didn't want another cheeseburger, Chili I told the waitress, and about a gallon of iced tea. When she brought my order, I did a double take, it looked like beef stew. large pieces of stew beef and peppers. just like beef stew only no carrots, just pepper no potatoes, just pepper no onions, just pepper. Wow. Red or Green I heard the waitress say. Huh. Red or Green. Red or Green what? Said the driver. Chili said the waitress. WAIT A MINUTE. Where are you from I asked? Alabama, he replied, north of Birmingham.
    Well, I explained, they don't make chili out here, like we make it at home. Can you bring this driver a sample of red chili, I asked? Just a spoonful? Sure can. Wow, he exclaimed after tasting, I am sure glad you said something, I'll have something else. I guess if a man likes home cooking, he needs to stay at home. I like truck stop food myself. Home cooking tears my stomach up. Hope every one has a good day, James
  16. Bollweevil
    Late one night, on my very first trip to Reno. I was headed N. on 95 about midway between Vegas and Reno. Traffic was light and mostly trucks. In the distance, I could see a lit up area and as I approached I saw a marquee, advertising somebody's Bunny Ranch. Being the country boy that I am, and a little slow as well, I thought to myself, this isn't much of a place to have a rabbit farm. As I drove past, a womans voice broke in over the CB. " you drivers stop in for a free cup of coffee". Huh, then a young sounding driver broke in " have you guys got showers" answer " well the girls have showers in their rooms". SILENCE

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