The Long Drives

   My dad was a machinist by profession, but could also have worked as an engineer, draftsman or fabricator. He could design and build nearly anything out of metal or wood. When Geneva Steel laid off a large number of their employees in the early 1980's, he was one of many in our community scrambling for work. He worked a couple of smaller jobs until landing at a company which made machinery for refining gold ore. Excavation equipment would load the machine at one end, and a series of tools would crush and wash out the undesirable material with each step, leaving either pure gold or ore needing little refining at the other end.

   These were large, complex pieces of machinery. As such, final assembly at a mine site required someone who could solve problems and get the machine running. My dad often got the assignment to take the machine to the mine and put it together.

   Dad thought it would be neat to take me with him when he could. My first trip with Dad was taking a replacement part to a mine in Manhattan, Nevada, a place that couldn't be more different than the more famous place in New York. I couldn't have been much older than 8 or 9. We drove in an old flatbed 1 ton Chevy through Ely and on to Tonopah. Driving across the Nevada desert in an old pick up gives a father and son a lot of time to talk. While I remember thinking it was boring at the time, I cherish that time now.

   Not too long later, Dad and another driver needed to drive two semi trucks hauling a machine to Silver City, New Mexico. I can remember that I loved talking on the C.B. radio to the other driver, 'Earl'. They dubbed me 'the navigator' and my job was to figure out the route, and tell Dad and Earl which turns to take. We went down through Flagstaff and Phoenix. I can still remember driving into Phoenix on an warm spring evening asking Dad what that wonderful smell was. It was Orange blossoms. After a day at the mine site setting up, we came back via Albuquerque and the Four Corners area. Despite the other driver and truck, there was still a lot of time for Dad and I to talk. When we got back and the owner of the company heard that I had been 'the navigator', he had the office staff cut me a 'payroll check' for $20 in 'payment for my services'.

   My next big adventure was to Cave Junction, Oregon. My elementary school had just switched to a year round program, and I had almost the entire month of December off from school. Dad was being sent off on a trip, and I was going with him as much to stay out of my Mom's hair as anything. Once again, Dad was driving a flat-bed semi truck with the machine loaded on it. When we got to Cave Junction, we found that the mine was about 10 miles away on the other side of a nearby mountain. We toured the site via 4 wheel drive pickups of the mine owner. The road there was so muddy that there was no way we were going to be able to drive the truck on it, so the mine owner got a bulldozer and a chain, and dragged the truck over the muddy pass. We were shuttled back and forth from our motel to the mine site daily, although a couple of days I stayed at the motel and watched the fledgling Nickelodeon network. (Double Dare anyone?) We were in Cave Junction for 5 days, and nearly missed Christmas. We got a permit and cut a Christmas tree down in Northern California on the way home. We got more than a few comments at truck stops along the way about our important cargo.


   Our next big trip was to Atlin, British Columbia. This was the mother of all trips to this point. This time Dad was driving the real semi truck, with a long triple axle trailer. This truck had a sleeper in the cab, so we stayed in the truck instead of motel rooms. There were more memorable experiences out of this trip than the others. Starting off, the truck just had problems. We ended up staying the night at a truck stop just outside of Idaho Falls. The next morning, Dad thought he'd let me sleep in while he got us going. The truck had a problem though, and he needed to get under the hood. The problem is that on a cabover truck, you have to jack the entire cab up to get to the engine, as the cab is literally on top of the engine. So with me still sleeping, Dad decides that he can jack the cab up partway without getting me out. Well, what looked like a little bit to him felt like a whole lot as I started rolling out of the sleeper and nearly fell onto the windshield. Turns out we needed a part, and the nearest one on our way was in Great Falls, Montana. We drove to Great Falls, and since the Mack dealership was closed for the evening already, we spent the night there and waited for the dealership to open the next morning. New part installed, we drove on to the Canadian border at Sweetgrass/Coutts where our next adventure occurred.
   When we got to the border, we had to go through Canadian Customs.
The inspector went over the records for the truck & machine and verified my dad's drivers license, but then wanted to see the identification he had for me. This was 1987, and Dad hadn't thought twice about bringing my birth certificate or anything. We were in the inspector's office when he was telling Dad that there had been an increase in child trafficking, and that he needed to prove I was his son. I piped up that I could provide documentation of who I was. I went out to the truck to retrieve my wallet, leaving a very confused Dad and inspector behind. I returned a few minutes later, and having just turned 12 that year, proudly produced my brand spanking new fishing license, along with my library card. The inspector laughed out loud and showing initiative that wouldn't be allowed today, agreed that I must indeed be who I said I was and welcomed us to Canada.
   The rest of Alberta's plains were pretty uneventful. I remember seeing my first full triple rainbow near Red Deer. Our next challenge came when we got to Dawson Creek, British Columbia. It turned out that British Columbia didn't allow triple axle trailers like ours. Dad had to remove 4 wheels and chain up the axle, which took an hour or so. Now we were on the Alaskan Highway. One afternoon, we were hungry having skipped lunch (because there was nowhere to stop), so we pulled into one of the small gas station/diners which dot the highway as soon as we could. (I think it was at Watson Lake) We went in and asked for menus, and the waitress apologized saying they had shut down the grill after lunch and wouldn't be turning it back on for a couple more hours. She did say that they had some beef stew, and so Dad ordered us a couple of bowls. The waitress returned shortly with two mixing bowl size bowls of stew and a half loaf of bread for each of us. We were just getting our first taste of how hearty the people in northwestern Canada were, having pancakes which overlapped the edges of dinner plates at Teslin. We were also welcomed to the area by a bush pilot who buzzed the top of the truck before doing a touch & go on the highway in front of us one morning.
   When we finally got to Atlin, we found a charming little mining town. We spent a couple of days at the mine setting up before heading back. Part of the payment for the machine was a large earthmoving scraper which was loaded on the empty trailer. We had some trouble with the truck a couple of times, but our first real challenge on the way back came when we got back to Alberta. The third axle was still chained up per B.C.'s regulations, but Alberta required the third axle. Only the scraper had been loaded in such a way that part of it blocked where the tires went for that third axle. The truck could not legally be moved until the third axle was operational, so we couldn't even go find a crane to help us reposition the scraper. Dad ended up having to use a few 'come-alongs', 'chain-binders' and lots of chains to engineer a way to move that 40,000 pound scraper forward 6 inches.
   The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. After being gone 10 days, I was very grateful to get home, but I loved spending time with Dad.

   Our last trip was back to Atlin again, one year later. We were again teamed up with Earl, taking the earthmoving scraper back along with a new machine. This time we couldn't stay in the truck (we were again in the flat bed semi, which didn't have a sleeper), so we ended up staying in motels for the most part. But one night, it was warm and we were a few hours from the nearest place with a motel, so we decided to sleep outside next to the trucks. That was the coolest thing, because we got to see the northern lights. We lay and watched them for what seemed like hours before falling asleep. I remember it being one of the most beautiful things, even more for the lack of light nearby.

   More than anything else, I look back fondly on these memories as times when I really got to know my Dad. During those long hours on the road, and without the distractions kids have nowdays (games, iPods, DVDs), Dad would tell me stories or we would talk about current issues or whatever else came up. I was able to bring a tape player and some books, but usually I just talked with Dad.

   Sometimes I wish I worked a job which would allow me to take my own sons on long trips. I hope that I can find ways to create those opportunities for my sons to be able to talk with me the same way I was able to talk with my Dad.