Debt-free Trucking and How It All Began

Hulk hates debt!

In my attempt to take over the world, one word at a time, I wrote an article for Pilot Travel Center's Challenge Magazine and it was published in the February edition.

I have linked it under the tab Other Published Stuff but you have to click, like, 3 things to get there and who has that kind of time?

So, because I care about your time, I am posting it here in all its wordy glory.

You're welcome.


Freedom on the Road and Freedom from Debt

My husband and I have been trucking for so long that our shirts have a seat belt shadow; a dark, diagonal stripe that doesn’t match the rest of the sun faded cloth.  Of course I could replace those shirts with new ones, but frugality is a hard habit to break and I consider those stripes a badge of honor.

Nine years ago we got the idea that trucking would be an interesting life and a good way to see the country.  We went to truck driving school, hired on with Schneider National and began driving as a team.  This was a disaster.  Neither of us could sleep while the truck was moving, and the truck was always moving; a thousand miles a day leaves no room for stopping.  After criss-crossing the continent several times, going the same route over and over, we realized that team driving wasn’t the life for us.  I also discovered that while I liked the traveling, I hated the driving.

So when a new dedicated route with Schneider opened up in Wyoming, we decided to quit team driving and leave the Sunshine State for the Cowboy State.  For five years, my husband drove 495 miles of Wyoming, five days a week by himself, while I got a “normal” job.  If you’ve ever driven anywhere in Wyoming, you know what a lot of empty miles that is!  It wasn’t the most exciting job for him or me, but we had to recoup our losses and rethink our plan of seeing the country, a dream that never left us. 

We decided the best way to earn a living and see the country together, without both us us driving, would be to own our own truck.  We planned and saved for a year.  We forced ourselves to live on my husband’s paycheck and put mine in the bank to save for the truck.  We lived below our means, had no other debt than our modest house, and saved, saved, saved. Did I mention we saved?

We bought our 1999 Freightliner Century on eBay for less than $20,000, put in another $15,000 to get it road worthy and signed on with Crete Carrier Corporation as own-operators.  We got a small personal loan to cover what we lacked in savings and set out for the open road.  I am the bookkeeper, navigator and chief radio button pusher, and my husband drives and maintains the truck.  It is the best of both worlds for us; we can see the country and earn a living at the same time.  

We began as owner-operators in 2007 and in that time we have had our engine rebuilt, replaced the clutch, rear differential, radiator (twice), the bull gear, and every a/c component know to man. We have seen the price of diesel fuel fluctuate wildly and even hit the $5 mark.  We’ve seen freight boom and bust.  We have sat empty with hours to run and no freight to haul, and we have run so hard and used every hour on line three and four that we didn’t know what day it was, when freight was good.  During all of the inevitable ups and downs though, we have been consistent in one thing: we live below our means.  We pay cash for every repair, whether it be routine maintenance or a side of the road emergency.  

What I have learned in the four years of running the business of our truck, is that while I can’t control the freight, the fuel price, or the never ending need of maintenance, I can control the impulse to buy things I don’t need.  Every dollar that didn’t go into the truck went into savings, even though for the first couple of years it seemed the truck ran on dollar bills instead of diesel.  We lived pretty frugally during that time but we had a goal in mind: saving enough cash for an emergency fund of six months of expenses.  We didn’t go on vacations or spend frivolously at Walmart and we ate a lot of sandwiches instead of eating in restaurants.  We saved with focused intensity and with each dollar closer to our goal, a little weight seemed to lift off our shoulders.  

Here’s the thing about being debt free and having an emergency fund that trumps all the boring facts and dry arguments of personal responsibility; it feels good.  The freedom of being in control of your own life, knowing that if life throws you a curve ball it won’t put you out of the game.  The freedom of wiggle-room, the freedom of being beholden to nothing but your future, the freedom of a good night’s sleep, the freedom to plan.  Money may not be able to buy happiness, but living in constant debt will never buy you freedom.

I am enjoying the trucking life, seeing the country in all its diversity, looking out my “office” window everyday to a new view, and being my own boss.  We have reached our savings goal and everything looks a little brighter and the truck seems to run a little smoother.  I can afford the money for new shirts now, but those stripes were hard earned.  I think I’ll wear them a little longer.

How to Avoid Work and Make People Uncomfortable with Your Phone!

(It's kind of like How to Win Friends and Influence People; Bizarro World Edition.)

I should be adding and subtracting numbers since:

A: that is my job as business manager/accountant/radio-button-pusher of this operation, and

B: tax time is just around the corner, and

17: the internet connection is too spotty to look up useless things.

But I'm not. I'm just not feeling it.

I do know that we spent almost $60,000 in diesel fuel last year. That is a lot of dinosaur bones or fairy dust or whatever that stuff is made of.

This was found on a wall in a truck stop
in Virginia. I call it
Last of the Mohicans
 wearing Peter Pan shoes.

Here's an example of what I do to avoid adding and subtracting numbers.

I replied to a text sent to us by mistake and now Mike is probably calling AT&T to get his number changed.

Text conversation with a wrong number:

Wrong Number Dude: Hey.

Me: Hey. 

Wrong Number Dude: Who’s this?

Me: Who’s this? You texted me.

Wrong Number Dude: Mike.

Me: Well Hello Mike. You must not have much to do if you are texting people you don’t know. I like walks on the beach and world peace.

Wrong Number Dude/Mike: I’m bored at work. I didn’t mean to text you, I hit the wrong number. What ur name.

Me: I am Death. I work the southeastern Wyoming region. Work is slow for me today, too. 

***

He never texted back. And I thought the conversation was going really well. *Sigh* It's so hard to connect with people these days.

"Call me Mr Flinstone
I can make your
bed rock."

I would have called to tell him he spelled Flintstone wrong, but he didn't leave a number. Another friendship thwarted.

Read All About It! A new column and a random fact.

Today's column in the Douglas Budget has been posted to the website and you can read all about it here.

It's all about hurricane speed winds in a state that has nothing to blow down and why I like to live there despite that.

This picture has nothing to do with wind or Wyoming but I love the light.

We were driving along in rural northern Nevada before sunset and air just turned all glow-y and golden. Kind of like a Doris Day movie without all that virgin-ness.

Random Fact:

Sedona, Arizona has the only McDonald's in the world to have turquoise arches on their building, instead of the ubiquitous golden arches. City officials thought yellow would look tacky near all the natural red rock of the area.

Bewildered and Bewitched in the Big Apple

You know what's fun about driving around in a big truck through heavy traffic and big cities? (And by fun I mean not fun at all.)

Poor signs.

Our truck is over 70 feet long, 13' 6" tall, and 102 inches wide. There are 18 wheels, 10 gears, and we weigh 80,000 pounds fully loaded.

We cannot start or stop quickly.

We cannot zip around and make a U-turn if we get lost.

In other words, we need to know where we are going before we get there and good signage helps us do that.

Our first time through New York City was quite the experience. The quickest route to New England from pretty much anywhere, is through NYC and it is decidedly not truck friendly. Heavy traffic, bridge, tunnel and parkway restrictions, and bumpy roads built by the pilgrims, all conspire to make it a nerve wracking adventure.

One thing we knew for sure, was that we did not want to get off the interstate. We had heard trucker-horror stories, of getting stuck someplace where the roads were either too narrow to make a turn or clearances too low to get under. The prospect of backing up a crowded NYC street or running into a low bridge or having to be towed out of a situation did not appeal.

So imagine our delight at seeing this sign in Brooklyn:

What do you think this sign means?

Well, we assumed that it meant that if our vehicle was over 12'2" (and we are more than a foot taller than that), that we should use that exit because going beyond that point would surely result in a truck decapitation.

Himself and I debate it quickly. It didn't feel right but the sign seemed clear. Did we want to take the chance?

We took the exit.

It was not the correct decision.

I don't know what kind of sadistic people there are at the NY Department of Transportation, sign making division; they probably can't afford NYC and have to live in New Jersey and so they are filled with hate and self loathing. I don't blame them there, but I don't think they should take it out on truckers.

But I digress.

As we came to the stop sign off the exit, we were confronted with crowded narrow streets and no signs directing us around the low clearance to get back onto the interstate.

We frantically looked for a way back to the interstate with the fewest turns possible. Himself, ever cool under pressure, spied the route ahead and we forged on.

We were sitting at a red light when we noticed the overpass straight ahead was marked with a 13' clearance. There was nowhere to go. We had to go under that to get back on the interstate.

Insert cussing. Lots of it.

Himself jumped out of the truck, crossed 2 lanes of traffic and knocked on the  window of a NYC cop car. The light turned green and a great cacophony of honking ensues as cars moved around us.

I mentally prepared myself for jail, wishing I smoked so I'd have cigarettes to barter with. I'd have to get a tough sounding nickname and learn how to make a shiv out of a toothbrush. Not the life I planned at all.

The cop gets out of his car, stands in the middle of all the NYC traffic, and puts his hand up for everyone to stop. Amazingly, they do.

He tells Himself that he sees trucks going under that thing all the time, no problem. Just go slow.

Himself jumps back in the truck and we creep under that overpass, cringing, just waiting to hear the screech of metal against concrete. Nothing. We made it.

We made it!

At that moment I want to kiss that NYC cop on the mouth. In fact, I feel like kissing NYC on the mouth. I want to sing New York, New York! at the top of my voice. I don't have to go to jail, yippee!

We're old hands at driving through NYC now. We ignore signs all over that city and stay on the interstate now, no matter what.

What I assume they mean with those signs to exit are that if you have to get off the interstate use that exit to do it.

Then you're on your own and good luck with that.

Driving with Dinosaurs

(Disclaimer: We don't actually let the dinosaurs drive. Their arms are way too short to do it safely. This should be common sense, people.)

Do other countries have so many roadside dinosaurs or is it just an American thing? Understandably, some of these prehistoric critters are advertising a museum or somesuch, but a lot of them are just hanging out. 

These pictures are just the ones I've taken when I can get out my camera fast enough. I'm only covering a tiny portion of the highway-dinosaur-extravaganza.

Himself likes to play a little trick where he waits until the last possible second to say "ooh look at that!" Then I have to break my concentration, come out of my internet stupor, scramble for the camera, and roll the window down. Yes, we have manual windows; our truck is prehistoric.  

Inevitably, the camera won't focus correctly or the battery dies just as I frame the shot. This is followed by several minutes solid of cussing and threatening to throw the camera out the window. Good times.

Barstow, CA

Green Bay, WI
He's either a Packers fan,
or he's a debutante learning to
walk with head held high.

Milford, NE

Ok, a dragon is not technically a dinosaur.
Probably because they have
better proportioned arms.

Cave City, KY

Plant City, FL

Casper, WY

Casper, WY

Holbrook, AZ

Douglas, WY

Lakeland, FL

Flatwoods, WV
Pterodactyls are not technically dinosaurs either
and this one was in a laundry room,
not on a roadside, but still.
Isn't he cute?
Plus, I can make a really good pterodactyl sound.

Tumbleweed Resolutions

Have you ever wondered where, in these United States, you can find the darkest night sky? (Presuming you don't count Alaska, that is.)

Well, read all about it here in my latest Douglas Budget column.

Also, it's about New Year's Resolutions. Do you hate telling yourself what to do as much as I do?

I'm giving it a try anyway.

Maybe this will be the year I get off the fence.

Happy New Year! Now where's my hovercraft?

Ok people. 

It's a new year. 

It's time to put aside past grievances and petty differences and look forward instead of backward.

If Jasmine and this future ham sandwich pig can get along, then why can't someone perfect hovercraft technology? 

Hmmmm??

 Really, how difficult could it be?