King of The Road
Page 22
I get to see a lot of new country, too, and I’ve driven all over the United States. I work on different equipment, with different people, in different countries. Now it looks like they’re going to send us to India, to do some extreme trucking over there. That should be an eye-opener, a bunch of guys from the north of Canada, accustomed to working in 40 degrees below zero, working in places where it hits 113 above. Everybody in the family is all excited that Daddy is going to this exotic land. But to tell you the truth, it’s not a big thing to me. I’ve never gotten all worked up over seeing different places. People are what interest me. People and ideas. All the places I want to visit are in my head. If I’m in a new place I’m happy just going to visit a junkyard. Most people like to visit beaches and mountains and exotic resorts. That’s fine; they can have their pretty scenery. Give me a junkyard anytime. I’ll take a stroll though a wrecking yard and that makes me happy. The place is real and so are the people.
I enjoy working on the show and I like the people on the crew. Mind you, they’ve got a slightly different attitude than we do. People in television are always hoping something bad will happen. If it’s a hockey game, they’re hoping a fight will break out. If it’s a car race, they’re hoping there’s going to be a big smashup. On the ice roads, the TV crew is always hoping a truck is going to spin out or fall off a mountain or something. That gets them all excited. We’re hoping for just the opposite. We’re always hoping that absolutely nothing is going to happen today. And of course if something does happen, they’re always aiming that camera at your face, hoping that you’re going to show some kind of emotion. Is Alex furious? Has this darned ice road finally pushed him to the breaking point? I try to act like I’m sedated on lithium so they won’t be concentrating on me. No matter what happens, I don’t react. “Hmm, my wheels just fell off and I’m heading for a cliff. Well, that’s interesting . . .”
The folks I meet when I’m traveling the world assume that I have made a lot of money from the TV show. Well, I guess the show has made some people wealthy, but I’m not one of them. Being the star of a reality television show doesn’t earn you a lot of money. I’ve been working hard all my life and I’ll work hard until the day I die. That’s just the way it is.
But if you ask me, “Are you rich?” I’ll say, “Yes, I’m rich.”
I’m rich in the things that matter. I have a beautiful loving wife and a great big tribe of kids and grandkids.
No matter how you slice it, I think it is fair to say I’ve come a long ways from that summer night when I was just a lonely kid sitting on the banks of the river, wondering what the heck I was going to do with my life. I’d like to take credit for making it to the big time. I’d like to say that I knew it all along—that sooner or later people would notice my handsome face and brilliant intellect—but it’s all just a chain of lucky breaks. Sure, I’m a hard worker, and yes, I think God helps you out if you ask for it, but God has more important things to do than manage my show-business career. And there are lots of good, hardworking truck drivers out there who don’t end up on eightyfoot-high billboards.
I think the show is such a big success because people are regaining their admiration for the blue-collar workers—the men and women who go out there every day and bust their asses trying to make society work. At one time, wealthy people got respect just because they were rich. We figured, they must be pretty incredible people, or how else did they earn all that money? I’ve kind of noticed that attitude has died off in the last ten years or so. The average person is not necessarily fascinated by the rich and famous. You’ve had all these stories in the news about crooked investment dealers and fat-cat bankers and corporate executives flying around in private jets and getting sweetheart severance packages while their employees get laid off and the company goes down the tubes. So the average person doesn’t necessarily respect the big-shot politician or the millionaire anymore. We’ve seen too many of these characters get caught stealing money or sneaking around with young girls or lying to the TV cameras with big smiles on their faces. The only difference between them and a skunk is the two-hundred-dollar haircut.
I remember when those terrorists flew those planes into the Twin Towers. It wasn’t a bunch of millionaires who came running to help those people trapped inside. It was the average Joe, the firefighters, the medics, the beat cops. They took one look at that building and they knew there was a good chance their jobs were going to cost them their lives that morning. Guys were calling their wives to say goodbye as they went inside. The point is, they went in anyway. They weren’t doing their jobs to get rich. They were going inside because somebody had to do it.
And later on, when the smoke cleared, it was the construction guys and the iron workers who showed up to take apart the wreckage. Nobody asked them to show up. They just grabbed their hard hats and laced on their boots and went down there to pitch in. They weren’t even getting paid. I think that’s when America remembered that its hero has always been the working man.
The working guy gets up every morning and makes this world function. He might be unplugging your sewer or fixing a power line high up on a pole or driving a farm tractor, but you’d be in a lot of trouble without him. I’m proud of being a member of the working class, and I’m glad I’ve spent most of my life behind the wheel. I like the feeling of being out on the open road, being my own boss, and getting the job done. I hope I die with my wheels spinning.