The First Load
It was 1978. I was twenty-two, fresh out of the truck driving school in Durham, and I had just landed my first long-haul contract. The truck? A 1965 International Harvester, painted a shade of blue that the sun had long since faded to grey. They called it "The Old Gal."
The load? A crate of handcrafted furniture from a small workshop in Raleigh, destined for a high-end showroom in Atlanta. It wasn't just furniture; it was someone's livelihood, someone's dream, packed into wood and nails. I treated every box like it was my own daughter.
The road from Kinston to Atlanta is a long one, filled with curves that test your patience and hills that test your brakes. But the real test came on a rainy Tuesday near Augusta, Georgia. The brakes started to fade, just as the rain started to pour. I pulled over, got out in the downpour, and spent three hours fixing a leaking line with nothing but a wrench and a prayer.
When I finally rolled into Atlanta, the furniture was intact. The client, a man named Mr. Henderson, looked me in the eye and said, "You didn't just deliver these chairs, son. You delivered a promise."
That day, I learned that a driver isn't just someone who steers a wheel. We're the keepers of trust. Every mile, every stop, every repair — it's all part of the story.
The Blues of the Road
You can't drive the highways of the South without the music. B.B. King's "The Thrill Is Gone" was the soundtrack of my early years. I'd crank the radio loud enough that the speakers would shake, and I'd sing along, even if I didn't know all the words.
There's a rhythm to the road, a cadence that matches the blues. The hum of the tires on the asphalt, the clatter of the gears, the silence of the night — it all fits together like a perfect song.
Now, I teach the young drivers how to find that rhythm. I tell them, "Don't just drive the truck. Listen to it. It'll tell you when something's wrong, just like a good bluesman tells you when his heart is breaking."
The Chain Link
Back in 1978, I was hauling a load of tobacco from the Piedmont to a warehouse in Durham. Halfway through, my transmission gave out on a dirt road outside of Wilson. No cell phones, no tow trucks for miles. Just me, a piece of tire chain, and a whole lot of stubbornness.
I remember how the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, and how the smell of tobacco leaves mixed with the diesel fumes. I used that chain to lash the axle to the frame, and we limped into town just as the moon came up.
That night taught me something I still carry with me: when the road tries to break you, you don't just fix the problem — you make something beautiful out of it. That piece of chain? It's still hanging in my garage. A reminder that sometimes the best fixes come from the most desperate moments.
Read the full story here.
Why I'm Here
These days, I'm not just driving. I'm building something new. A community-focused delivery startup, where we don't just move things from A to B — we move stories, memories, and hope.
I believe that every package we deliver carries a piece of someone's life. And I believe that if we treat every job with respect, we can build something that lasts.
So, if you're looking for a story, or just want to hear about the old days, come on by. I've got a lot of tales to tell, and I'm just getting started.