Breaker, breaker 1-9: Stories from CB radio days

Somebody was telling me a joke the other day that dealt with yoga.

"What did the dyslexic cow say in yoga class? Ooooooom."

A good laugh was had.

"That reminds me of something I said on the CB radio back in my trucking days," I said.

Yes, once upon a time, about 22 years ago, I went to trucker's school in Arkansas, got my commercial driver's license and hit the road driving an 18-wheeler.

I call it "My year I saw America."

Other truckers accused me of being a spy from the company headquarters, spying on the working stiffs. I was accused of being an undercover cop, but the biggest insult I endured was I was accused of not being a trucker.

It happened at a big ol' warehouse I was regularly hauling loads from in Phoenix.

I pulled up to the gate office at the yard after a California run.

"You ain't a trucker. Your dashboard is clean and you probably brush your teeth," said the woman on the other side of the window.

"Well if I ain't a trucker, what am I?" I asked.

"You're a guy who drives a truck for a living, but you ain't a trucker," she said.

I may not have been a bona-fide trucker to some but I had a CB radio.

Trucker chatter on the CB channel 19 could be interesting, could get rude, could get political and many a time was cantankerous.

Oh yeah, there was that yoga comment I made on the CB.

I had dropped off a load in Tucson and was headed back to Phoenix when I got caught in a traffic jam on I-10 on Tucson's west side.

There were backed up cars and trucks as far as I could see.

The CB radio was packed with truckers complaining about the situation.

I was amazed because complaining did absolutely nothing.

So I keyed the mic.

"Now drivers, let us just calm down. There is nothing to be gained by complaining. There, in your driver's seat, while your truck's not moving, assume the lotus position of yoga and seek peace in the present."

I finished.

And for about 15 or so seconds the CB was silent.

Then the comments came.

Well, about the "cleanest" comment I can share with you here is one driver said, "Where're you from, driver? This ain't San Francisco, this here is Arizona."

Another time I was hauling from somewhere south on to Wichita, Kan., on I-35 when I decided to pull over for the night at a rest stop somewhere in Oklahoma.

The next day dawned fresh, the sun was coming up, meadowlarks were singing.

I decided to sing too.

I grabbed the CB mic.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way," I sang from the musical "Oklahoma!"

When I was done there was a response on the CB.

"Hey driver, you know what kind of man likes Broadway musicals, don't ya?"

"The kind of man whose momma used to sing songs from Broadway musicals," I said back.

There was a bit of silence.

"Well, I bet your momma sounded better than you, driver."

"She did, driver. She did."

And then the anonymous voice was gone.

I had other bits of fun on the CB while I drove truck.

But they're the kind of stories I can't tell in a family newspaper.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

[email protected]