Giddy Up Go - The Real Story
By Carla Ann
2014, All Rights Reserved
Edited by Tiffany Shar
With apologies and admiration to Red Sovine and America's great legacy of country troubadours and storytellers.
Note: All the people, products and events are fictional. Only the trucks and placenames are real.

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It had already been a very long day. After being waylaid by the construction outside of Pocatello Idaho, I'd hit that awful rain near Rock Springs, Wyoming. There was even a coat of mud on the interstate there, and I wasn't too happy. Not that it put me any more behind than the traffic in Idaho, but I'd washed my rig last night and now it looked like it had been stucco'd with red mud.

I was so proud of my pink tractor! It cost a lot to wash it, especially with the set of doubles I was pulling today, so I wasn't a happy camper. Normally I'm pretty stoic about these things, it's just part of being a trucker. I decided the real reason for my lousy mood was that after 10 hours of fighting the wind and nearly empty trailers jostling around I just wanted a break.

The good news is that I was rolling light. Most of my load was Styrofoam plates and cups that some company back east had ordered for a big picnic. They had contracted them to be printed with their logo out west somewhere. Why they didn't order them locally is just one of those mysteries about how really large companies operate. I had been called to pick up the load in Salt Lake City after the original driver sucked a valve on his Mack. So, I was making really good time and not using much diesel. But the other side of the coin is, trailers and fifth wheels, and especially my tractor, were built for a lot more weight, so now I was bumping along as if I didn't have any springs. I was so light in fact, that my tag axle wheels weren't even on the ground. At least I wore a loose skirt today, my normal work jeans would have rubbed me raw by now.

I rolled through Laramie with barely a slowdown, and in a while flew by the Lincoln Highway Pass visitor center and started down the legendary long drop into Cheyenne. If I had been in a better mood, this would have been the high point of my run, it's always pretty through here if you like desert mountain country. The sun had set behind me and the lights of Cheyenne were lighting up the horizon now. I rounded a corner and came up fast on a heavily loaded rig pulling some kind of dozer on a long lowboy. He wasn't over width or length so he didn't have escorts. Truckers generally don't care much what they haul, as long as it stays put on the trailer. He was going slow in the safety lane, no doubt so his speed wouldn't get away from him on the steep grade. I didn't have that problem of course, I could probably stop as fast as the cars whizzing by in the inner lane. Even though he'd been an inconvenience being where he was, I felt bad as I whipped by him knowing the air concussion from my rig would rattle his teeth. I continued down through Cheyenne, to the east side. I pulled off east of town at Campstool Road, where one of my favorite truck stops is located. I liked the place because the pump islands are paved, and the hands there regularly clean the handles on the pump hoses so you don't smell so bad after fueling. The smell of diesel on my hands is one of my least favorite parts of trucking. I went inside to settle my account and order a shower, then pulled around back where I could park for the night.

Unfortunately, in this country drivers start early and quit early, so the yard was already full of rigs. The only long pull-through lane was at the back of the lot, past the paving, and it was too short for my whole rig. I'd have to drop the trailers and park the tractor elsewhere. I pulled forward until the front trailer was in position, then hopped out to disconnect it. I cranked the landing wheels down to take the weight off the skid plate, and then climbed up on the truck frame and disconnected the air brakes and lights. After I jumped down and straightened my long skirt I realized I had a problem!

The lot wasn't paved back there, so it wasn't real level either, and the right wheels of my tractor were low, while the same wheels of the first trailer were a little high. As a result the kingpin was in a bind and when I yanked the release it wouldn't budge. I struggled with it for about ten minutes with no luck, all the while regretting my attire too. If I'd worn pants today, I might have been able to put a bit more back to it, but as it was I didn't want to drag my skirt on the oily ground.

As I stood there wondering what to do, the driver pulling the dozer pulled into the last lane next to me. His lane was even shorter than mine, but plenty long enough for his lowboy trailer. He was driving an old long wheelbase twin screw Peterbilt classic, probably built in the early eighties. It didn't even have a sleeper, but it was ideal for short to medium runs pulling heavy loads such as his. When I was very little my dad had one of those.

He walked around my tractor about that time, not too tall, and thin, lanky even. He was quite fit, and with his cowboy hat, he looked like he'd be more at home on a horse. I was surprised by his perfectly white tee shirt. Hygiene doesn't seem to be a priority in this industry. He paused to look at my tractor, letting out a low whistle in admiration. Not that it looked its best.

"Evenin' Miss!" he said, tipping his hat. "That sure is one fine piece of machinery you got there! Freightliners are tough machines too! You went by me so fast I wanted to get out and see why I was stopped! Looks like you got a spot of trouble though, I hate that lane. Popped a tire once in that very hole," he said, pointing to the low spot my tractor was sitting in. He lifted up an old six-cell Mag-Lite flashlight and bent down to investigate where it was jammed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to get here, have a shower eat dinner. I didn't mean to buzz you like that but I have almost no weight and I couldn't see piddling down the mountain in the truckers lane. I have to drop my trailers but the kingpin's jammed. I don't want to park out on the road." I didn't elaborate because he was old enough to be my dad and I could tell he'd been doing this a long time. "That sure is a big flashlight!"
He grinned and held it up. "This old thing? My wife gave me this the last Christmas we were together. Back then you had to buy 'em at the police supply. The cops liked 'em 'cause they doubled as a helluva a billy club. But I like it because I can thump the tires with it. Costs an arm and a leg for batteries though!" he laughed. "Well Miss, this ain't never gonna work. Why doncha roll yer gear back up three or four inches, and I'll be right back."

I figured he was going to suggest that I just park out on the access road, but I looked over to see him pull a shovel off his trailer and walk over to the fence. In a few minutes he returned with a large flat rock which he dropped by my tractor. He left and returned with another a few minutes later.

"Now, little lady, back up a foot or so and I'll drop these into the holes. I think it'll be enough we can unhook you then." I climbed in the cab, fired the engine and did as he asked. He placed the rocks, then I carefully pulled forward onto them. I sure didn't want one of the rocks to break and take out a tire.

While I set the brake and put the tractor in neutral he ran around and started cranking the landing gear again. After he got the pressure off, he grabbed the kingpin lever and gave it a mighty heave. When it released I saw my tractor shake. He'd cranked the trailer wheels down enough to start to lift my tractor! He grinned at me, gave me a thumbs up and shouted, "Now how 'bout you park that beauty and let's go eat!"

I pulled forward about fifty yards to the shorter lanes, shut my rig down, then grabbed my shower bag from the sleeper. Since he'd treated me like a lady I decided to stuff another skirt in the bag rather than the pants I had packed earlier. He was waiting and helped me down from the cab. I noticed his backpack too.
As we walked in the door I said to him, "I'm going to get a quick shower, but I'd like to buy you dinner for helping me."

"Well Miss, no need to buy my dinner, but I sure would appreciate some dinner conversation. Maybe you could tell me how a young lady your age has such a fine machine! But you're right, let's get this road grime off first, huh?" He walked up to the counter just as the announcement came over for my shower.

I finished my shower and decided in a rare show of vanity to put on some makeup. I tied my hair back into a ponytail, then proceeded into the restaurant. I saw him sitting at the counter with coffee in front of him. As I got near, he jumped up and grabbed his mug. "Let's get a booth. We're both done for the day, so let's kick back and visit a while," he said. "All those guys at the counter want to talk about is construction delays and diesel prices."

We found a quiet booth, and soon after we were enjoying soft drinks and eating our salads. "So what's a nice girl like you doing in this mean business?" he started. So I told him to tell me his story first. I always found other truckers' stories fascinating, especially the older guys.

"Well I grew up on a farm in Nebraska, and learned to drive machinery before I was ten. I drove tractors, hay bailers, even got to drive a combine once, when the crews came through from up north. Mostly though, Dad would drive the harvester, and I'd drive the collector truck next to him, then drop the trailer and pick up another when it got full. Eventually we bought a beat up old truck and started hauling our crops so we could get better prices. Then I met my beloved Mary, and I was smitten!" My heart jumped at the mention of that name, but I had no time to reminisce as he continued.

"We got married shortly after we met, but there weren't much work. Dad wanted us to stay on the farm but we all knew it couldn't support another family. So we moved out and I found work wherever I could. I worked at manual labor, as a mechanic, and as an electrician for the local 'lectric coop, but mostly I found work driving. It seems that's what I do best. Eventually we found ourselves in Oklahoma where I drove during the week, and worked on an old International tractor I'd bought on weekends. I got it running, then made enough money with it to buy a partnership with another driver on the rig I have now." He paused, then picked up his water and drank the entire glass. Pardon me, Miss. Talking about this is gonna be kinda hard." I could see his eyes starting to glisten a bit.

"I'd picked a bad partner I guess. Phil was a good guy but he was a gambler. We were making good money but it seemed that every run, he'd lose his half before we got home. If it wasn't roulette in Reno, or the slots in Vegas, it was poker at nearly any truck stop. Eventually he got desperate, and broke into my truck safe and gambled away my share of the last run too. I was so embarrassed, I had to call Mary and have her wire enough money for us to get home. You know, in a small town, how news gets around. So when we got back, Mary and I agreed, and we bought out Phil's interest from our meager savings.

By now we had a family too, and the payments on the truck continued whether I was on the road or not. Little Kenny was the light of my life though! I guess he could hear my Peterbilt coming because every time I drove in he'd meet me at the truck with his teddy bear and jump into my arms. We'd play all the time I was home. It's funny looking back, I'd always want to play football or baseball with him but he'd usually talk me into playing checkers, or Chutes and Ladders. Once we even had a tea party with his teddy bear! He loved to fish too, and he loved to just sit and listen to me telling road stories. I'm sure I told him some real whoppers, too! But always too soon I had to leave. After buying out Phil, it seems I was hardly ever home.

One day after a three-coast run, I came home and the house was empty. No one knew where they went." Tears were running down his face then, as he said, "I never found out what had happened. And," his voice shook, "I never found them. Kenny was only six." He let out one sob, then blew his nose and wiped his eyes. I put my hand over his and looked into his tear filled eyes. Mine were full too.

"I'm sorry Miss. I'm not usually like this. By the way, what's your name? Mine's Bob."

"I guessed," I ventured before I thought to edit my thoughts.

"What? How could y.."

"Y..You look like a Bob. I'm Kimberly," I interrupted. "Please continue...that is if it's not too painful." There's just something about this man, I thought. Could it be?

"Well, there's not too much to tell, really. I sold the house in Oklahoma, and over the years just kept the old rig going. I stay on the road mostly and bank my earnings. I did buy a lot in Wyoming and had a cabin built on it. I try to spend a week there every year. It has a creek along the back property line where I can fish, but I kinda lost interest in fishing after I lost my boy. So now I just drive. Right now I'm movin' a dozer for a friend."

Sometime during our conversation our salad dishes had been picked up, and our meals delivered. His turkey burger, and my soup. He obviously knew the dangers of the poor eating habits truckers get into. We ate in silence for a while. I was about finished when the waitress came by and asked if we wanted dessert. I didn't our want dinner to end yet, so I asked if they had cherry pie. But when I asked, it came out a bit like "cheery pie". Where'd that come from? Bob shot me a glance, so I told the waitress to just bring a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Bob then ordered a bowl of the same.

"I wondered if you saw me, I stop to eat here pretty often, and their food is pretty good. But their pies are the worst!" he chuckled.

"Thanks for the warning. I like this truck stop a lot and often get a shower here, but I usually keep greens and soup in my sleeper and eat in there." I noticed Bob's eyes glaze over a bit as he looked off in the distance.

"Did I say something wrong?," I asked.

"No, it's just that my Mary used to make the best cherry pie you ever tasted. She won the bake off at the county fair with her pie one year! And it was little Kenny's favorite too! When he was just two, I remember after dinner he'd run into the living room and holler, 'Daddy! Daddy! Mommy has cheery pie!', then he'd drag me by the hand into the kitchen where the three of us would have a piece. Such good times," he smiled. My stomach tried to flip but I just smiled. I had to be sure.

"Now, my little lady Kimberly, please tell me your story. And especially about that beautiful rig!"

"Well, my story isn't too happy either, but I'm doing better. Trucker families must have similar stories, because mine is pretty similar to yours I guess. Daddy was a long-haul trucker too. Mommy and I lived on a farm in Oklahoma until I was six but I still remember when he came home. I could hear his jake brake as he slowed to pull off the highway and turn to come down our dirt road. I'd run out in the yard while he shut it down, and jump into his arms as soon as he hit the ground. He'd spend the whole time he was home playing with me. I loved him so, and so did Mom.

Sometimes he'd bring me a present. Once, he brought me a doll in blue overalls. I know now that it was just a cheap truck stop toy but it was worth everything to me. You know the kind of toy. They put overalls on them and they're a boy, or a dress, and they're a girl. I just knew that the doll he gave me was a girl though, and I called her Mollie Dolly. I carried her everywhere! Later, I begged Mommy until eventually she made a dress for her.

"Mommy was a great cook too. And when Daddy was home she went all out. I know she was lonely when he was gone but she always told me it was just tough times, and soon the truck would be paid off and Daddy wouldn't be gone so much. I know she worried about him too, I could see the look in her eyes when we watched the news and there was a story about a wreck somewhere.

This was before cell phones and cheap long distance, so Daddy didn't call home often, but in the winter he'd try to call when he was driving through an area with bad roads. I remember that worried look in Mommy's eyes though, and it gave me nightmares sometimes, like when we saw an overturned truck on the news. So, she'd let me sleep in her bed with her on those really tough nights.

"When I was about six and a half, we got a call in the middle of the night. I was terrified, and I screamed, just knowing something had happened to Daddy. It was much worse than that, as it turned out because it changed my life.

"Mommy's Aunt Frieda, who lived in Kansas, had suffered a stroke. Mommy was her only living relative, and so we had to pack the car and leave immediately so Mommy could go tend to her. Worse yet, she had no way to tell Daddy where we went, but she hoped we weren't gone long. We hadn't even told the neighbors. We stayed in Aunt Frieda's house for three weeks. During the day Mommy let me stay with a neighbor that had a girl my age, while she went to the hospital. Finally, they released her to Mommy's care.

"Mommy made arrangements to move Aunt Frieda in with us in Oklahoma. Of course she'd never be able to live on her own again, so Mommy had an estate sale and liquidated her assets and put the house up for sale. Frieda wasn't happy, I know but she finally accepted the inevitable. She was reduced to her bedroom furniture, some pictures, and a thick envelope of cash which we'd bank for her in Oklahoma.

"Mommy eventually got the old station wagon packed and ready for the trip home. I tried to help pack the car but truthfully I was probably more in the way than anything. We went to bed that night, and we were going to leave in the morning.

"Aunt Frieda was sleeping in the recliner in the parlor, because Mommy had shipped her bedroom furniture and a few pictures ahead to our house. She was a smoker, and sometime that night she must have lit her blanket on fire. Mommy had woken up to get a drink of water and smelled the smoke. She ran downstairs and grabbed Aunt Frieda and pulled her into the living room, then ran back upstairs to get me. The noise had woken me so she saw me on the stairs and she yelled that we had to get out of the house. Fortunately, she'd closed the door to the parlor so the flames weren't in the living room yet.

"I helped Mommy get Aunt Frieda outside because she still couldn't walk right, then we heard her little doggie yelping inside. Aunt Frieda was frantic and almost got away from Mommy to go get her dog, but Mommy told her she'd do it. She ran back inside, and that's the last I ever saw of her. The whole house just sort of exploded. In the end all that was left was a bit of the roof." I was crying now. "I'll never forget that awful image." It was my turn to break down, but I confess that I sobbed longer than Bob had.

"Oh my Lord, you poor little thing! Please forgive me, I had no idea the tragedy you suffered. I apologize for even asking about you. Let's talk about something else." Bob looked stricken, and I saw that he had tears running down his face. I think I was beginning to love this old man.

"No, no. it's okay. I've never told the whole story to anyone else, and I'd like to tell it if you don't mind. It's not pretty though."

"Well, if you're sure," he said kindly. "I would like to hear what happened."

I reached over and grabbed a couple napkins and smeared the rest of my mascara off. I took a drink of water, then just stared out the windows for a long time, watching the trucks coming and going. Bob just sat there looking into my face. To his credit, unlike most guys, he didn't talk. Eventually I continued.

"No...no one even knew who Daddy worked for, or where he was at. There was just no way to contact him. Aunt Frieda was sent to a nursing home after her burns were treated, but she had another stroke soon after, and after that she couldn't even talk. I was sent to live in an orphanage for about a month before being fostered out. I grew up going from place to place all over the upper Midwest."

"That had to be hard. But you seemed to turn out okay, you must have been placed in a good family eventually," he volunteered.

"Actually, the opposite is true. The sad fact of that system is there are too many kids and not enough foster parents, so the system relies on foster parents that in effect run group homes, and they live off the income instead of using the money for the kids' expenses like they should. The best case scenario for a kid there is to get ignored. There's lots of abuse in those homes, and sexual abuse too."

"Surely, no one did that to you," he said with a shocked look.

"No, a guy tried once when I was nine. I'd admitted to him I liked pretty dresses, so a few days later he dressed me up in a party dress, then started getting really touchy, and not in a nice way. I hit him with a lamp and ran away. I got caught, of course but I was marked as a runaway, and it's like a catch 22. Once you're a runaway, things happen to you that make you have to run again. I lost count of the foster homes I was in." I shook my head sadly.

"I became a really angry, moody loner. I had a lot of issues going on then besides losing my family, and I was little and acted very girly, so I got picked on. A lot, by the girls as well as the boys. About age ten one of the other angry moody loners I knew introduced me to pot. After that I was stoned a lot because it deadened the pain. When I wasn't stoned I was stealing things to sell to buy more weed. I spent a lot of time in the City library just to avoid interaction with other people.

Then about age twelve I found out my dealer could get other kinds of drugs. Prescription drugs. So I switched over. I had done lots of research in the library and knew what I wanted so after that it's what I got from him. These drugs didn't make me high. In fact they had the opposite effect. They settled me. And I stopped skipping school and started getting good grades. But the drugs were expensive so I fudged my age and got an afternoon job.

I started bussing tables in a tea shop, and then later I waitressed at different truck stops. I never had any extra though, because every week I had to give some to my foster mother." I felt my mouth settle into a grim expression but I didn't care at that point.

It was getting later, and the restaurant had closed the section we were in. I could tell the waitress wanted us to pay the bill and leave so I stood up and grabbed the check before Bob could react.

"Hey, I wanted to get that!" he exclaimed. "After all, I made you cry, I want to do something."

"No bother, let's pay this and go to the lounge," I said.

I wanted Bob to hear the rest of my story. If things happened the way I thought they might, it might lessen the blow. We made our way down the hall, and after stopping at the restrooms, we entered the deserted lounge. The TV was blaring in the corner but Bob picked up the remote and turned it off. We picked up old trucking magazines that were strewn on a couch so we could sit.

"So please continue, you must have eventually got on the right track..." Bob mused.

"Oh yes, actually those illegal prescription drugs were my savior, even though it turns out I'm lucky I didn't give myself cancer," I said. "But I'm not finished."

"The drugs I was taking did exactly what I wanted them to do. They helped my body, making the changes I wanted. But eventually my foster mother saw me in my bra and panties and I couldn't hide the changes in my body. So, being the loving Christian person she was, she freaked out and threw me out of the house, and dumped all my stuff in the yard. So I was homeless again. I ran, and got caught again. Every couple months it would happen, I'd barely have time for my school and shot records to catch up to me and I was off again!" I laughed but there was no humor in it.

"Oh my gosh! How long did this go on," he asked.

"When I was sixteen, I got caught stealing some fruit, and the officer that caught me told me I had two choices: one, he could arrest me for thievery and because of my history I'd go to the state facility for young offenders, or two, he'd personally pay the grocer for the fruit, and I could go live with a friend of his. He wouldn't elaborate on the second option but he said it would definitely be my best bet. I took a leap of faith and trusted him, and took him up on the offer. I'll be eternally grateful to him.

"It turns out his friend was an older single lady that rented rooms in her house. The deal was, I became her live-in housekeeper, and helped her cook for the other three boarders. A condition was that I had to stay in school and get good grades. She gave me an allowance and taught me how to be a real lady. And, she found me a doctor that, after reading me the riot act for over an hour, put me on regular prescriptions to deal with my problem. I stayed there for two years, and she's still my dearest friend. Everything I know about being a woman I learned from her. My real mother will always be Mommy to me, but I call her Mama Betty."

"And then?" he asked.

"Well, from the time I became a teen, I began to think more and more of my daddy. I wanted desperately to find him, or at least find out what happened to him. So I hung out and waitressed at truck stops a lot. Of course, I had no idea of what he looked like now, and it was doubtful that he still drove the truck I knew. I eventually attracted the attention of one of the mechanics. He liked to show me how to do things, and I liked to learn. He even taught me how to tune a diesel by ear. Like yours, for instance. You have an injector misfiring," I smiled with conviction.

Another trucker entered the lounge and walked over to pick up the TV remote. Then he noticed we'd stopped talking and were looking at him. "I'll just come back later," he said as he left the room. Bob turned back to me.

"How could you tell that," he asked, shocked. I just spent $150 in Reno finding out that injector has a broken spring. They didn't have the right one in stock or they'd have fixed it then. They said it wouldn't hurt the engine but until then it would run a little lean and I should take it easy."

I answered, "Coming down that grade, your exhaust didn't smell right, then as I went by I heard it."
"Well it sounds like you missed your calling, hon. Why are you on the road?"

"As I said, I guess I'm still looking for Daddy. And, I'm a loner, though lately it's more like I'm just lonely," I told him. "That's not likely to change soon though, this isn't a business where you meet a lot of guys who want to settle down."

"And the boyfriend?"

"Well Timmy and me, we got pretty close, but eventually he needed more than I could give him. I actually wanted that too because he was a really decent guy. But it just wasn't possible. I had to have some surgery to fix some stuff down here first," I said pointing down.

"Oh yes... Yes, of course," he was obviously flustered at mention of female trouble.

"Well, to finish my story, I took advantage of a career program that paid to train me as a driver. When I graduated I got paired with Maude Maddley for a year. She's the toughest driver in the US, but I learned the ropes from her!" I laughed.

"Oh gawd, you drove with Mad Maude? You're lucky to still have any skin!" he laughed heartily. "I swear, she's tough as nails. All the young drivers are afraid of her!"

"Well, she's got a soft spot for girl truckers, I suppose. Driving with her was the best experience in my life. Not only did she give the self-confidence to stand my ground when I know I'm right, she taught me things like how to check my load, and weight distribution, and tires from a practical standpoint. Most importantly, she taught me how to keep my logs, and how to keep my books. she always said that hauling hazardous loads or pulling any kind of tank wasn't worth the risks, so I don't. And I learned to never try to fudge my logs, or skimp on maintenance, because both will cause you grief eventually. I learned from her that you really can make a good living out here, but you have to watch every penny. "

"Ain't that the truth. I've seen truckers come and go, but very few make it. They'll buy a new rig, get careless and go bankrupt, then end up leasing it back to some trucking company only to become their chattel property. They end up driving for peanuts," he said, sadly shaking his head.

"That's how I bought my Eddie! I heard a guy one afternoon talking on the phone to his finance company, trying to figure out what to do, because he was four months behind on his payments and about to lose his rig. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he told the company he'd call them back. I offered him two thousand dollars cash and told him I'd take it off his hands. I never dreamed he'd take me up on it. But we called the finance company together and I offered to pay the backlog of payments if they'd transfer the loan to me. The poor trucker, Eddie was his name just wanted out by then and we all agreed. So it was a done deal. I was in the middle of a solo run I had to complete, so I had the local dealer come and get it. I told them to service it and paint it pink, and to have it ready in a week. I wanted to remind all the other truckers that I'm a girl!", I laughed.

"There's not much chance anybody's gonna make that mistake!" he laughed. "And, so?"

"I named the tractor Eddie to remind me what a great break I got, and not to get careless. And Eddie's been good to me. Because I got him on the cheap and he's almost new, I only have to take the loads I want, you know, money makers, and always with reasonable deadlines. I have a good reputation with the yards, so I get lots of load offers." I stopped then, and smiled at Bob.

"Well that's about it. I've gone from a useless druggie orphan to a working girl, to a reasonably successful businesswoman! Not bad for a girl of 24, huh?" I saw Bob get a startled look on his face.

"What?"

"Well my little Kenny would be 24 now. And your story sounds so much like what might have happened to him, if you were a boy I'd probably be ready to call you my son!" he exclaimed.

"Well, you better not! Come on, I have something to show you," I said as I jumped up suddenly and started for the door.

He follow me out to my tractor, covered in mud as it was. He stood there in the moonlight as I reached into the outside storage and brought out some glass cleaner and paper towels. I began spraying the bottom of the door, and when it was soaking wet, wiped it with a towel. Underneath all the grime, in white script it announced, "Giddy Up Go!"

"Does this mean anything to you," I asked. The look on his face was just one of complete...something.

"Well...It's a phrase from an truckers song from the 60s. I taught it to my Kenny, and he'd always holler it over and over when I drove in. I guess a lot of truckers taught their kids that," he said sadly, and looking a bit lost. I was sure now though.

"Wait just a second. I have something to give you," I said, as I unlocked the door and climbed into the seat. I reached up to a suction clip I'd put on the windshield and pulled down an old worn photo. It was a guy standing next to a shiny Peterbilt hooked to a set of doubles. He was holding a small child in overalls, who was in turn holding a doll with a blue dress by its arm. Both were grinning madly. I climbed out and handed it to him, noticing the slight shaking in my hand. "Here, I'd like you to have this," I said, gauging his reaction.

He studied the photo for a long time, then slowly looked up at me.

"It's...me and my Kenny. I used to have that same photo in my cab. I nearly wore the damn thing out, but one day the wind caught it and blew it out of the cab. Where did you get this?"

"My Mommy...Mary gave it to me when I was six", I said, uncertainly.

'Then....You...but... But Kenny was a boy." He was looking at me very strangely now.

"No...Daddy. I was never a boy," I said, barely above all the yard noise..."Giddy up go?" I said quietly in a little childlike voice.

We stood there for a good two minutes just looking into each others eyes. I could see a thousand emotions play out on his face, and I'm sure he probably could see the same on mine.

"I...I think...I need to go to bed," he said finaly, slowly turning and walking back to the motel block of the truck stop. I could see his slumped shoulders in the moonlight. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

"You're right, it's time for bed." I muttered to myself, tears again running down my face. I hadn't known what to expect. But of all the things I could have imagined, nothing could have prepared me to see him just turn and walk away. When I looked up he was almost to the building.

"And it wasn't Teddy at that damned tea party," I screamed after the retreating form. "It was Molly Dolly!"
I slowly climbed into the cab and made my way through into the sleeper. As I undressed I played back the evening in my mind. So I'd finally found him, what did I expect? He's a trucker, after all. My brain told me I should be happy just to know that he's still alive. Anything more would be just too much to expect. I put on my girliest nightgown, but it didn't help. Sleep escaped me that night but the tears flowed easily.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I looked at my watch and saw that it was 4:30AM. I decided that I needed to get away from here, so I dressed, fired up my tractor, and began to back across the lane toward my load. I saw in the mirror that Bob's rig was gone already. Figures, what a perfect end to a perfect night.

After hooking up, I pulled out onto the frontage road where it was level and double-checked to make sure that I was coupled up right and all the lights were lit, then after releasing the brakes, I rolled up onto the interstate at full throttle. When I realized I was going over 85, I came to my senses and slowed down to the speed limit. No use killing myself. After all, I was alone before last night, I can be alone now. With any luck I'll be in Indiana tonight. Maybe in the future I'll only take loads that keep me off I80, I thought bitterly.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It had been three weeks. I'd dropped my load in Ohio. After some downtime to do some driveline maintenance and front brakes, I picked up a load that took me all the way to Miami. There, I'd traded it for a forty-five foot refrigerated trailer headed for Dallas. I had just dropped that at some packing plant, and picked up a heavy load of steel bound for Arizona.

I stopped for fuel in Abilene, and was just pulling out of the fuel island when an old Peterbilt tractor suddenly pulled across my path, effectively blocking me in. Long wheelbase. Twin screws. Bob, I realized as the driver jumped out and walked to my rig.

"Kimberly, we have to talk," he shouted over all the noise as I rolled down my window. "Please? Let's pull around back so I can speak to you!"

Well there wasn't much I could do, blocked in as I was so I nodded. I followed his tractor around back and pulled into the lane next to him. I jumped to the ground and turned to face him just as he was coming around his tractor.

"You still need to fix that injector," I opened.

"Never mind that. Kimberly, please forgive me. It was just too much to take in at once. I reacted badly. It takes an old guy like me longer to process things, and you have to admit, you gave me a lot to process! How could I know?" He just looked at me pleadingly.

"You were gone when I woke up," I said acidly.

"I know," he said loudly, his voice full of guilt. "I had to get that dozer delivered to the construction site by six AM. I came right back, but you were gone. I thought I'd lost you forever, but about a week later I saw you fly by on I75 south of Lexington, Kentucky. I was about to bobtail it home. I chased you instead but lost you again somewhere near Orlando. Luckily I caught a flash of pink headed north before I got to Miami but it took till now to catch you! I've been chasing you for two weeks, and...well this old bucket of bolts is no match to yours when you put your foot in it!"

"You've chasing me in a bobtail tractor for two weeks? Are you insane? You're lucky to have any kidneys left!" I exclaimed.

"You may hate me, and I deserve it. But you need to see something. And I need to give you something," he said as he rushed back around to his tractor. It had been washed in the last few days but as old as it was, it gleamed in the afternoon sun. As I walked around the front fender he was standing next to the door. He stepped aside just as I got there.

There, painted on the door, a bit chipped and faded but still legible, it read, "Giddy Up Go!" I knew then in the bottom of my heart, that since it was still there on his door and not painted over, that he'd accepted me. He quietly gave me a piece of paper, which I saw, was a copy of the photo I'd given him so recently. On the back it was signed, "To Kimberly, Love, Daddy."

I just melted. As I stood there bawling my eyes out, he quietly told me, "I'm so sorry. I gave up hope of ever seeing you again. And all those years that I did hang on to that withering hope, I never dreamed it would be like this. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but this one about killed me. Please forgive me," he whispered. He just stood there then, tears in his eyes and such a sad expression I had to laugh.

"Giddy Up Go, Daddy," I cried softly as a ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. "Giddy Up Go!"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It's been a hectic couple years. After Daddy and I parted so I could deliver my load, we met up at the cabin in Wyoming and spent a few glorious weeks fishing and just catching up on life. We fished, played checkers, matchstick poker, and I cooked for him. We even took a few day hikes, though the altitude prevented us from going far.

When it came time for our vacation to end, I took Daddy for a drive in Eddie, my tractor. He was amazed at how quiet and smooth it was, and was impressed by its automatic transmission, which he had always considered was for sissies. He was blown away by the sleeper. It's pretty much a self contained apartment in there, with a two burner propane hotplate, refrigerator, sink, and even a shower and potty, in addition to the double bed. It even has heat and air conditioning. I explained to Daddy that it didn't have big holding tanks, so I showered at truck stops but otherwise it kept me safe and healthy on the road. I also showed him all the electronics, from the satellite radio, the pre-pass system to the GPS tracking, and navigation system, and I was surprised he knew all about the technology.

Then I made my play. I asked him to just park old Giddy Up Go, and partner up with me and Eddie. He argued that he couldn't drive a pink truck, but I pressed him, and finally he relented. But he told me I had to rename my tractor because a pink tractor named Eddie was just wrong! I asked him if he had a suggestion, and he grinned and replied that it was already painted on my door!

So these days, we still take the loads we want, he drives Giddy Up during the day, and I do the night driving. The boredom of just watching the white lines is gone. These days while one of us drives, the other visits and sightsees, or we'll listen to an audio book together. We always stop by ten pm to be safe.

He always insists on getting a bed at the truck stop, so I can have my bed. Daddy takes a lot of ribbing from the other drivers over "his" pink truck, but he just grins and tells them all he's not the owner, just an employee. Then he tells them they're just jealous 'cause he has the prettiest partner on the road! And he means it too because he insists I'm the image of my Mother.

We both know it won't last forever. Since we found each other, Daddy said his wanderlust is starting to fade, and his farming roots are starting to resurface. So he's casually looking for a patch where he can grow organics for the premium grocers. He's not in a hurry. He tells me we still have a lot of years to catch up on first.

I'd like to settle down and adopt a couple kids someday. There are so many out there like I was who just need to have someone believe in them and set some boundaries. Mama Betty did that for me, so I would like to make a tradition of it and pay it forward.

Who knows, maybe I'll find Timmy, my mechanic ex-boyfriend? We stopped a few weeks ago at his truck stop and asked about him, and they told me he'd bought his own rig and was driving now. If I found Daddy, maybe I can track him down too?

Well, time to put my boots on and begin my shift, Daddy just pulled into the rest stop. I was just redoing my ponytail so I could wear my new cowgirl hat when he hollered, "C'mon girl! Get on up here! Time to Giddy Up Go!"

-=-=-=-finis-=-=-=-

Please have a listen.

Giddy Up Go, by Red Sovine and Tommy Hill - recited by Red Sovine (Yes, I know the pictures were not taken in the USA. There are truckers all over the world, after all!)

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Thanks ever so much!