Pondering The End

I just passed Kings Mountain, North Carolina, peddling toward Greensboro. I'm dropping a load there that I'm bringing up from Lithia Springs, Georgia. A short run. And after this they have me pre-planned on another short run (Greensboro to Rocky Mount). This week is not going well. But I guess I set the pace on Monday when I didn't deliver until almost midnight. I think the company figures if I want a break, they'll give me a break (that's not the nice thing it sounds like).

I'm a little paranoid about going to Greensboro. I probably will be until the end. Of course, having said that, I realize that I haven't mentioned any of the upcoming changes.

First off, I'm going to stop driving a truck in October. This is partly by choice, partly by circumstance. I got another speeding ticket a few weeks ago. Yet another bear trap. I was on US 17 in South Carolina. I came up to a car that was going about 45 miles an hour. Since there was a passing lane, I went around him. Since I was in a 50 mph zone, I watched my speed. I never got above 60. Well, shortly after passing the guy, there was a state trooper behind me with his lights flashing. I eased over to let him pass, figuring he was after one of the six or seven cars that had just rocketed past me. Nope. He was after the easy money.

He claimed he clocked me going 69 mph. I told him the same thing that I told the cop in Tennessee a few months ago, who supposedly clocked me doing 78); that my truck is governed at 65 and will not go faster than that (and I wasn't even doing that). He still wrote me up for 69 in a 55. We had words. I was livid. I told him I realized that all trucks were to them were rolling dollar signs, and I didn't know how he slept at night after spending his days raping people for a living. He basically got both barrels, and all my frustration from eight years of truck driving and ticket after ticket of being strung up by one cop or another, being written up for things I hadn't done, seeing that smirk on the officers' faces that said that he and you both knew that however much you might bitch, moan and complain, in the end you would pay the ticket, because it would cost you a small fortune to fight it. This cop just smiled and said “That will be four points on your license. Have a nice day.”

After I pulled back out onto the highway I started mulling this over. Obviously I'd have to get a lawyer. Four points on your drivers license is grounds for immediate dismissal for a truck driver. But damn I hated the hated the idea of giving another lawyer $500-700 or more to get more bogus charges reduced. I'm sick of paying blood money into the states' money making scams, much less the exorbitant fees of bottom-feeding lawyers who really aren't going to do anything but plug into the corrupt machine and see to it that when they hang you it's with a more comfortable rope.

Well, in the hours that followed that, thanks to my dear friend Victoria, my perceptions about my options changed. She offered me an out. And I decided to take it. What she offered was something she's had on the table for awhile, and something I thought I might take her up on next year after I'd bought the last of the recording equipment and restored my Thunderbird. She offered me a place to stay. A room where I could record and write. An opportunity to concentrate on my writing and music, and a foundation upon which I could finally make a serious attempt at launching my bid for global domination. She offered me friendship and a home. And I finally accepted.

What this means is that I won't be fighting the ticket. No lawyer. I'll pay the state of South Carolina their blood money. I'll take the points on my license. And when the time comes, I'll park the truck for good and walk away. I'm done with truck driving. It didn't come about like I thought it would, and certainly not within the time-frame I had set out, but it came about. My court date is September 29th. I hope to stall the free-fall until then. I'll pay the ticket as late as possible to keep my company from knowing about it as long as possible. Hopefully I can remain employed all the way up to the week of October 21st, when Victoria will be visiting in North Carolina. Unless she changes her mind, that'll be the week I move to St. Petersburg, FL. That'll be the week I officially stop being a truck driver and go back to being a musician, writer, artist and/or a human being.

There are no words that could express my gratitude for what Victoria is offering. So I won't try. I just want it noted in the years to come that, for better or worse it was she who let Wic out of the box. And for that she will deserve a fair share of the credit or the blame for what happens next.