A special trucking companion

By Lowell Tieszen of Willmar, who does some part-time trucking as a retirement job

I was refueling my truck in Guymon, Okla. To my left, across the fuel island, was a well worn truck with a gray-haired driver. Probably older than me, I thought. He had that old rancher look, with work boots and well worn, slightly baggy Landman-type jeans. We were tending to our respective diesel nozzles. Just to make conversation, I said, “These pumps sure seem to be slow here.” He cracked a smile and said, “Yup, slowest ones around.”

Eventually, we topped off our rigs and went inside the truck stop. I picked up my receipt and proceeded to the restroom. When I came out, I noticed this same fella in the food section with a woman of about the same age. They were chatting it up as if they knew each other well. She was 100% cowgirl, with boots, jeans, snap-up blouse, southwest jewelry and a big silver belt buckle—a spittin’ image of Montana’s Claribelle Bonine, mother of J. C. Bonine of long ago rodeo fame.

Heading back to my truck, there she was again, just standing there outside, alone, either confused or waiting for someone. Sure enough, he came out, met up with her and the three of us walked back to our trucks together. Trying to be smart, I said something like, “Looks like you’ve been trucking for a while!” He cracked another smile.

“Over fifty years!” he said. I bit my tongue, luckily, because I nearly quipped, “With the same truck the whole time, it looks like.”

Instead, I asked, “How do you get your wife to come along with you? Mine won’t ever come with me!” She gave me a smile, but he answered.

“Well, the kids are all gone. We put them all through college. She’s got time.”

Arriving at our trucks, it was kinda cute how, before getting in, she cupped his jaw with both hands, looked him right in the eye, and said something that made them both laugh—an inside joke I didn’t hear. She then gently slapped him on the cheek and started climbing into the passenger seat of the old eighteen-wheeler. He steadied her on up, helped situate her, then stepped back down and closed her door.

Unexpectedly, just before I hopped into my truck, he stepped across the fuel island to my side. He leaned in close and said to me, “She’s got Alzheimer’s real bad. Did you see how she took off toward those other trucks?” he asked, motioning toward a row of parked trucks on the other side of the building. “I had to go get her and bring her back.”

I hadn’t noticed, but in a flash I got a more clear picture.

“I can’t leave her alone anymore, so she comes with me in the truck,” he said.

A slight pause. Then, with a subtle but proud grin he added, “We’ve been together over fifty years, you know.” 

Luminous character quietly on display in flyover country of western Oklahoma. I don’t know where this couple’s college-educated kids are, but wherever they are, they need not worry about their declining mom.

“She’s with Dad.”