When you look back on your life, does the life you live every day register in your memory 3 years later? I don’t feel like mine does, and it bothers me. Surely we can’t have memorable life-affirming experiences on a daily basis, but the days become the weeks, and the weeks turn into years. My little adventures in my free time are highly valued, but I cannot recall many individual experiences in them from the last ten years.
Some of the most memorable experiences I have are the ones I had driving truck. It exposed me to new areas almost daily, along with new challenges or new sights. At the time the challenges were not particularly pleasant or valued—even now they are not all pleasant or nostalgic memories—but they were memorable moments that have had a lasting impact. Snowy, windy conditions, winding narrow canyons, or just captivating views are burned into my memory.
Montana is always beautiful, whether it is covered in snow pillowed atop houses, or the sea of green rolling hills in the spring, there is always a wild beauty to the varied landscapes. My favorite will always be fall in Montana. On one particular trip I was heading North toward Helena on 297 in late September. The sun was low in the sky casting long warm shadows towards the east. The orange setting sun washed over the straw left standing in the wheat fields giving the already golden straw an unnatural saturation. The sky was deep blue and the air flowing through my window was warm. The steady growl of the diesel and the feel of the road all combined into a weird idyllic euphoria. I felt so free in that moment, despite my deadlines, my debts and expenses, something about that moment of traveling through such a beautiful moment seared the picture and emotion into my memory. As James Taylor went to Carolina, in my mind I go to Montana.
On another trip after a long day of driving I was northbound out of Farmington, New Mexico, in cold and snowy conditions, I was forced to chain up on a steep mountain grade. I was stuck behind another truck that had spun out. The temperature was 15 degrees fahrenheit, so not unusually cold, but after a few minutes of handling frozen, ice-covered chains and slogging through wet snow, I felt chilled to the bone. I was forced to abandon my task several times to thaw my fingers in the idling truck.
With my gloves saturated in salt and snow, I had resorted to working without them. The cold steel of the chains stung my skin, and the bits of sand mixed into the snow ground painfully into my cold hands. With my chains on I set off again into the darkness of the storm. The pass was steep and snow covered. The warnings from other drivers about the pass ate at my mind as I continued onward. The conditions were nothing to be put off about, I had driven in worse, but the warnings had flared my anticipation. Each curve took me higher until the snow stopped. I continued on past the worst of the conditions while driving possible—apprehensive of what the next day would bring. When the pavement was visible, I found a pull-out and crawled into the comfort of my sleeper, and let the rumbling engine lull me to sleep.
Nothing was exhilarating about that night. I had chained up in the cold dozens of times but that night stood out. Probably for the anxiety that was made worse for the dire warnings of others. But memories like this drive my dissatisfaction with my local job. I miss the exploration of the world outside of my daily perimeter. I miss encountering an unexpected challenge and adjusting on the fly to surmount it. I miss meeting the crazy characters at truck stops, and the interesting stories at delivery destinations, and I miss seeing the passage of time along familiar routes.
Once or twice a year we take a small family trip to St. George, Lander Wyoming, Mccall Idaho, or other short-distance trips. If I have the time, I like to divert from the regular route, particularly the interstate, and explore a side road. Venturing through a small town, or a different landscape gives me a little taste of that adventure that I had trucking. It is a bittersweet experience. I enjoy it at the moment, but it only fuels my need for more.
I love the photos! There’s nothing better than leaving and going home.