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Conversations over coffee eventually led to some dates, and several months later, Peggy and Scott got married. Peggy and Scott have been traveling all around the country for Transport America, finding their favorite places and living their dream together. But driving through Seattle and the Pacific Northwest in the summer is my favorite.

Minnesota couple hits the road for lifetime of adventure | Transport America

Exploring the country together from the front seat of their truck has allowed Scott and Peggy to live the exciting life they had dreamed about. So what advice would Scott and Peggy give to other couples thinking about embarking on their own adventure as truck drivers? Third, Scott and Peggy recommend driving with Transport America over a different trucking company.

My palms went sweaty. Not so soon, anyway.

~ A Trucking Adventure by Chris Cox

Suddenly, the road looked ominous. Cars seemed to drive faster.

A bridge in the distance appeared too low to clear. I felt woefully unprepared. His breezy reply had a soothing effect that essentially stopped my inner whimpering. I was making too big a deal out of everything. My hands clutched the steering wheel as if somehow the connection would transmit instructions. I especially abhor social situations, fearing someone whose name I should know might approach. In those cases, my memory often evaporates. And they may even be someone important to me. And as he said that, one of the blanks in my mind finally filled with instructions: Inspect the truck before departure.

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So I stepped out of the truck to do so. As I climbed down onto the pavement under the pitch black sky of rural Missouri, the truck appeared huge and menacing again. I sort of looked the cab over with a flashlight, thumped a tire, wiggled the wires and hoses.

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When I reached the back of the trailer, anxiety gripped me as if I were a stuffed squirrel being chomped on by a dog. I feared I might simultaneously cry, throw up, and crap myself. For a few seconds, I actually considered making a run for it. I could be home in a few hours, watch some TV, maybe ask for my roofing sales job back in the morning.

A few buildings squatted nearby — perfect for hiding — and I could get a running start. I pictured myself tiptoeing away while watching for his face in a mirror. The combination of his cowboy boots and age would give me a distinct advantage. In retrospect, Bill should have leashed me with one of those harnesses bad parents use on kids at the mall.

Minnesota couple hits the road for lifetime of adventure

Then I considered his magic hat. What was the extent of its power? God his glasses were huge. But eventually, the training kicked in. Bill and I chatted about our favorite food me, Indian; he, Mexican , movies me, too many to list; he, westerns and war , and music pretty much everything; country as we headed east. The stars beamed around us in panoramic glory. I asked where I could pull over to pee in thirty minutes or so. My face must have appeared as one big question mark. Or a milk jug.

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Or my container of choice. At first, I thought, You must be joking. Ha ha , I thought.

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Apparently we were enlisted men. I wanted to ask if we could expect a parade upon return from our mission, Operation Potato. He said some truckers actually cut a hole in the floor, rigged a hose, and peed right on the road.


Obviously, an important part of my training had been omitted. But to be fair, only so much information can be conveyed in a three-week course. Thirty minutes later, my bladder pulsated with pain. I eyed the boots one last time. I needed to pee a lot. Normally ten to fifteen times a day. I think I had diabetes, or an enlarged prostate, like the guy on the TV ad at a baseball game who leaves his seat multiple times to use the restroom, annoying spectators each time he apologetically scoots by. How inefficient to pull over every time I had to go!

When my vision cleared, everything turned eerie. Tufts of fog stretched across the road and swirled around trees like ghosts. After a mph curve, the ghosts parted to reveal the mouth of a bridge and the aquamarine braces supporting it. But, as I would many times in the early days of my trucking career, I clung to faith in the D. When the first big truck approached, I stiff-armed the wheel, held my breath, and tried not to cross the middle line.

In the right mirror, I could see my trailer tires just two feet from scraping the concrete shoulder. In the left mirror, tires hugged the middle line.