Running Boards

Summary

The author recounts their childhood experience of learning to drive their father's tractor-trailer in the summer of 1968, particularly highlighting the challenging journey up Black Mountain.

Abstract

In a nostalgic reflection, the author shares a personal story from the summer of 1968 when they were a 12-year-old learning to drive their father's Ford 800 tractor-trailer. The narrative focuses on a memorable trip up the treacherous Black Mountain, where the heat was so intense that the author's father had to stand on the running board to cool off while the truck was in motion. The author also reminisces about the freedom and adventure of those days, considering them the best days of their life, and invites readers to explore more of their writing on Wackemall.com, soliciting support through Ko-fi.

Opinions

The author has fond memories of their youth spent driving with their father.
The author believes that the experience of driving a tractor-trailer at a young age was formative and positive, despite the potential danger.
The world has changed significantly since the author's childhood, but the memories remain vivid and cherished.
The author values reader support for their continued storytelling on Wackemall.com.
The author suggests that the fear and danger associated with Black Mountain were well-known among truck drivers.

Where were you in the summer of 1968? I was a twelve year old learning to drive my daddy’s tractor-trailer.

I remember going up Black Mountain in my Daddy’s ’68 Ford 800 in granny gear under a heavy load. It was so hot in the cab he locked the throttle wide open, opened the door, and stood on the running board to cool off. He wasn’t the only driver to do so back in the day as air conditioning on trucks was still very rare.

For those who might not know, Black Mountain refers to the steep grade just east of the town of Black Mountain, North Carolina. Black Mountain has terrified many a truck driver, and killed quite a few as well. While multi-lanes and part of Interstate 40 today, the road we traveled in 1968 was mostly 2 lane, crooked, and had few places to pass or pull over. It was also the best route available.

As I was 12 at the time I jumped off the truck and ran ahead a ways. Daddy shouted, “You better catch it when I come by ’cause it won’t take off if I have to stop. Miss it and you’ll run miles to the top.” It was moving so slow I had no problem getting back on.

I sometimes think back on those summers and Christmas vacations spent traveling in Daddy’s big rig before I was old enough to get a workers permit and think how those were the best days of my life. It was during that same summer that I learned to drive by driving Daddy’s tractor-trailer. Back then nobody thought anything about a boy too young to drive actually driving as long as his Daddy was in the truck with him. Had Momma known she would have gone ballistic.

Yes, the world has changed but the memories remain.

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