By: Barbara Spear
Money was tight, so a trip to the Cypress Gardens NCRS show was out of the question. I bemoaned my budget woes to some professional drivers I know, then gave them a puzzled look as they winked to one another. "Just don't make any plans for January," one of them cautioned. I didn't give the comment much thought, but luckily, I also didn't make any plans.
The Tuesday morning before the meet, my phone rang. It was a truck driver, calling from Springfield. "I understand you're heading for Florida," he began, "I'll be by to pick you up in a half an hour. By the way, Phil says Hi."
My friend Phil and his buddies must have arranged a ride to Florida for me. I hurriedly packed my things. Jeff arrived on schedule and as I climbed into the cab of his rig, he told me that he'd be taking me only as far as Carlisle, Pennsylvania, but that my pals had fixed me up with connections all the way to Florida.
Jeff hates Corvettes and the people who drive them. For six straight hours I had to listen to him gripe. I was relieved to hop out of his rig at the layover hotel in Carlisle. My timing was right, and all my friends were there to greet me. Johnny apologized for Jeff, but said that he was the only driver they could find who was running the right way at the right time. Dutch tossed me the keys to his room so I could shower and clean up, before we all went out for dinner and dancing at a local watering hole. It was almost midnight when Bushwacker came in to tell me that my ride to Cherryville, North Carolina was waiting outside.
Tom was a man of few words. That was fine by me since I was really tired and spent most of the 10 hour trip sleeping in the bunk bed.
In Cherryville, I tagged up with a driver, who introduced himself only as T.J.. He liked Corvettes, so he'd fixed his schedule to drop a load in Orlando on the way down, spend three days at the show, then pickup a return load in Orlando on the way back.
While attending the show, we stayed in his rig which was equipped with two bunk beds, a TV, and a great stereo that was always tuned to a country station. (I got the top bunk!) He parked it at a nearby truck stop where we could get showers and meals. We only ran into trouble one night when some joker decided to break into the rig. The guy decided he had the wrong rig, when T.J. kicked open the door and greeted him with the business-end of a 12 gauge shotgun.
I'm sure some of the Corvette folks thought a pupless rig in the Gardens parking lot was a little strange, but none knew it was my substitute for a rental car. I was just glad to be there to enjoy some great-looking Corvettes and long chats with my Corvette friends. I don't think anyone guessed my secret, because several people asked whether I needed a ride to the airport to catch my return flight!
After the show, we made a short stop in Orlando, then continued to Cherryville. There, I again switched rigs and continued back to Carlisle with a driver named Bud. My timing wasn't as good, and my friends weren't there. They had, however, gotten me a ride through to Hartford with a really nice driver who passed the time telling me stories of his cross-country adventures. I was tired, but happy, when he dropped me off in front of my house. My round trip to the show had been as tightly planned and smooth as any travel agent could arrange -- and those bunk beds are a lot more comfortable than a reclining bus or airplane seat.
For those of you who might be concerned about my safety, let me assure you that this story is just that, fiction. But I'm sure that the professional drivers I know could have made it a reality. So don't get too comfortable. The budget is still tight, and there's lots of shows I'd like to attend. Maybe someday, I will take advantage of a Class-1 lift on a bulldog's back.
Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear
