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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 03/05/2018
Jammer
©2012 by Herm Sherwood-Sitts
The first time I saw him I was filling the passenger side tank of Grandpa’s 1973 Peterbilt. He came up behind me and nudged me under my arm. I turned around and there he was. He rubbed his enormous head against me, wagging his tail in a playful gesture. His fur was thick and as white as today’s fresh snow, the way most Great Pyrenees look. He licked my face and ear making me tip my head because it tickled.
“What are ya doing boy?” I said, while reaching up to pet his back.
I was topping off the tank when a big tall trucker came out of Millie’s Diner.
“C’mon Jammer!” He ordered.
The big dog gave me one last nuzzle and headed for the Freightliner. I watched as they pulled out with a load of lumber. Jammer looked out the window, gave me a little whine and a couple of barks. My heart was fluttering as he went out of sight. I had only known the dog for a few minutes and already I was in love with him.
Gramp was hauling lumber also. It was a way of life in these parts. If you weren’t hauling logs to the mill, you were hauling lumber to places unknown. It was Christmas vacation and Mom said I could go with Gramp, on a three day run to Beggars’ Valley. It was on the other side of the Continental Divide up here in British Columbia. Being a girl at the age of twelve, it was fun going with Gramp. He had great stories to tell and I’d giggle when he cussed. He was the only friend I had that was an adult. He chewed tobacco and walked with a limp, a rough looking ole cuss, chubby with a grey beard and a baseball cap. Mom would remind me that I was a young lady, not a truck driver, so don’t be cussin’ like he does. He was always squinting because he could never remember where he left his glasses. Gram said he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.
Gramp told me to go to the diner, while he parked the rig. I went in, washed my hands and found us a booth. The waitress came over and gave me a smile.
“Ya ready to order Hon, or are ya gonna wait for Gramp?" She asked.
“How did ya know he was my grandpa?” I chuckled.
“Oh I didn’t Honey, we all call him Gramp!” She giggled.
About then Gramp came in. He was taking his coat off when the waitress gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi Gramp,” she said and turned and smiled at me.
Gramps blushed a little. He looked at me, smiled and raised his eyebrows a couple of times.
“For a little hush money… I won’t tell Gram about this,” I snickered.
We all laughed and Jenny took our order.
We sat there eating our supper while watching the news on WSTB-TV. The weather man said there was a huge cold front coming through, with a winter storm advisory and possibly up to 24 inches of snow. That was common everyday news for this time of year, here in the Rockies. We had already received over six feet of snow so far this season.
Gramp pulled out his trucker wallet, which was chained to his belt. He left a two dollar tip and moseyed on up to the cash register, to settle up with Millie.
“Big storm coming Gramp… You be careful out there,” she said, while giving Gramp his change.
“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah… Them there weathermen aint ever right,” grumbled Gramp.
“Wait a second Hon,” she said to me.
She then went to the dessert counter and stuffed a few cookies into a paper sack, then handed them to me.
“Yer gonna be hungry in an hour or two. You know Gramps… he don’t stop fer nothing,” she smiled.
“Thank you Millie,” I said, giving her a big hug.
Gramp gave her a wink and we were off.
While Gramp was shifting through the gears, he handed me his log book. I opened up the book and there were his glasses. I filled in the time, mileage and expenses for him. I handed him his glasses and gave him a grin. He put them on and they were half way down his nose. He looked over the top of them at me and made me giggle. He looked like Santa Clause. Christmas was four days away.
We wandered our way through the small logging towns. It was almost dark and the Christmas lights were pretty on the snow covered shacks. Gramp’s rig was fairly new and decked out with enough lights to look like its own little Christmas town. Every time we met an oncoming rig, they would either flick their parking lights, or say ‘Hey Gramp” on the CB. Gramp had been a trucker since he was a teenager and everyone from Kamloops to Medicine Hat, knew who he was. I’ve heard his stories a hundred times and they never seem to get old to me.
We climb the long steep grade, headed for High Bridge Pass. I looked in the passenger side mirror and watched as the diesel smoke from the chrome stacks disappeared into the night. The temperature was dropping and there were a few snowflakes falling. As Gramp shifted down a gear, Dave Dudley was on the radio singing “Six Days on the Road.” The glow from the dashboard lights was soothing.
The highway finally leveled off and we were making good time. However, after an hour or so, the wind picked up and the snow got heavier. By now we were in No Man’s Land, a 94 mile stretch of hell, which went through the treacherous wilderness. It didn’t bother Gramp none, he had made this trip hundreds of times.
About twenty miles in, we came upon some flashing lights. The jake-brake rumbled as we slowed down and came to a halt. There were two big rigs stopped in the middle of the road.
Gramp got on the CB… “Hey Breaker, Breaker… What’s going on up there?”
“Is that you Gramp? ... C’mon,” said a female voice.
“Ten-Four,” replied Gramp.
“Hey Gramp… This is Fat Betty… Earl and Big Jake are trying to move this big tree outta the road …over.”
Gramp flipped the micro lever, which set the safety brakes, and handed me his big ole flashlight. We climb down outta the cab and Gramp motioned for me to follow him to the tool box, which was under the trailer. I shined the light for him. This wasn’t Gramps first rodeo; I watched as he pulled out his chainsaw. That was when something came up from behind and nudged me. I turned around and he licked my face.
“Hey Jammer!” I screeched with joy.
Jammer then went over to greet Gramp. Gramp sat down his saw and gave Jammer a big hug and patted his side. After their little greet, the huge canine led us to his master, Big Jake.
Gramp looked at me… “Shiloh… Pull the rig around and give us some more light,” he instructed.
I gave the flashlight to Earl and headed for the truck. I had driven the truck before, up and down Gramp’s driveway. I have to brace my butt against the front of the seat and pretty much stand up, in order to reach the clutch and see over the hood. I’ve gotten rather good at backing it up. I flipped the micro switch and the airbrakes did their Shaa-Chaa sound. I backed the rig up about twenty feet, and then pulled it ahead, up next to Big Jakes Freightliner. The look on Big Jake’s and Earl’s face was priceless.
Gramp spit out his chew juice, gave me a wink and started his chainsaw. The big pine was about three feet in diameter. Earl hauled the branches and Big Jake moved the large blocks of wood with ease. Jammer went around and peed on everybody’s tires.
“Yer quite the little trucker…over,” said Fat Betty, on the CB.
I picked up the mike …“Thank you Ma’am … over,” I replied.
“Hey, do you know why Big Jake named his dog Jammer? ...over,” I asked.
“It’s short for Gear Jammer, Honey… That was Big Jakes daddy’s CB handle, years ago… over,” explained Fat Betty.
I set the brakes and climbed down outta the cab. I pulled the paper sack out of my coat pocket and shared an oatmeal cookie with my new found friend, Jammer. He wore a thick leather harness like a rescue dog. He loved attention and his bigger than life personality, got him plenty. I watched as Big Jake lifted up the 120 lb. fur ball and loaded him into the Freightliner. He looked normal in Big Jakes arms. However the average man probably couldn’t do that.
The Freightliner went first, followed by Earl and Betty’s Kenworth and then us, with Gramps Peterbilt. We had us a small convoy. The visibility was terrible, so the going was slow. High Bridge Pass usually was my favorite part of the trip. This bridge is almost three miles long, two hundred feet in the air and it connects two mountains. It was snowing so hard that you couldn’t tell if you were on the bridge or on land. I don’t know how Big Jake could tell where he was going.
It was about one in the morning, when Gramps told me to crawl into the sleeper. The snow was hypnotizing me and making it hard for me to stay awake. I snuggled into my warm sleeping bag and fell into a deep sleep.
I was awakened by being slammed into the passenger side of the sleeper. The sound of busting glass and the cab being pummeled by rocks and trees as we tumbled down the mountainside was immense. At some point, I was knocked unconscious.
When I came to, it was completely dark and deathly quiet. The fumes from the diesel fuel leaking from the tanks, almost took my breath away. I hurt all over, especially my left arm and my head.
“Grandpa?” I questioned while weeping.
No answer… I curled up there in the dark and faded in and out of consciousness for some time.
Eventually I crawled to my knees and my survival instincts kicked in. I felt the wall between the sleeper and the cab and realized we must be lying on the passenger side. I felt around by my feet, pawing through the sleeping bags and pillows and found my back-pack. From my back-pack I pulled out a penlight, which I had brought for reading. I stood up and shined the light into the cab. There was a broken pine tree, about eight inches in diameter, sticking through the driver’s door. The roof of the cab was crushed down to the headrest of the seats and snow filled two/thirds of the cab. I franticly pawed through the snow searching for Gramp. The only place to put the snow was in the sleeper. After digging down about two feet, I found Gramps hand. It was blue and frozen. That’s when I lost it; I screamed and broke down balling… I sat back down in the darkness and sobbed for a long… long time.
I finally regained my composure and stood back up and assessed the situation. The semi was buried in snow, with no daylight at all. I then came to the conclusion that we had become victims of an avalanche. The possibility that I was going to die in this tomb also, was prevalent.
Having no idea how long we had been here, I worked up the courage to remove Gramps wrist watch and take a look. It was eleven o’clock pm the twenty second of Dec. We had been here approximately twenty two hours.
There wasn’t much room in the cab. I reached in and broke as many branches as I could off of the pine tree. My goal was to see if the CB was of any use. Once I got to it, I realized that if it was working, the light would be on. I pressed the mike button anyway and asked…
“Is anyone out there?”
There was no reply, no static… just complete silence. I let out a sigh and sat back down, turned off my penlight and tried to stop myself from panicking. I thought to myself, "What would Gramps do?” I thought about trying to dig myself out, through the broken windshield. However, if I filled the cab and the sleeper up with snow, then what? The oxygen in the tin can tomb was getting seriously low. I finally decided that this was the end. I crawled back into my sleeping bag, curled up into the fetal position and rocked myself to sleep.
About twelve hours later, I heard some scratching above me. I stood up and yelled… “Hey! … I’M IN HERE!”
The reply back was a whine and a couple of sharp barks. (Yeah! You guessed it! It was Jammer!)
He dug across the side of the sleeper to the driver’s door and snow and daylight filtered in around the timber, which was protruding through the metal. I took a branch that I had broken off and poked at the snow through the broken windshield. Jammer whined with excitement as we tunneled to meet each other. When we finally met, he wildly licked my face and head butted me with joy. As Jammer backed his way out, I crawled through the eight foot tunnel that he had made. The light was blinding bright and the air smelled so fresh.
After a few minutes of shielding my eyes from the glare, I finally took a look around. Apparently, after being pummeled down the mountain, we dropped off of a thirty foot cliff. The Peterbilt and trailer were completely buried. I looked up to see if I could see the highway. There was so much snow that it looked like the highway never existed.
I decided I had to look for the others. As much as I hated to, I had to crawl back into the tomb and bring what supplies that I could with me. I told Jammer to sit and stay and proceeded back into the tunnel. I crawled through the windshield, through the cab and back into the sleeper. I dressed in layers, two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater and my coat. I had extra gloves with a few snacks in my back-pack. I rolled up mine and Grandpa’s sleeping bags and shoved them through the windshield into the tunnel. After I put my back-pack up onto my shoulders, I reached down and held Gramp’s hand between my mittens. I laid my forehead on the three hands and wept…“I love you Grandpa”
I worked my way out of the tunnel, pushing the sleeping bags out in front of me. Jammer was laying with his head in the opening of the tunnel, whining for me. Once we were out of the hole, I took the string from the hood of my jacket and tied the two sleeping bags to Jammers harness. He looked like a big white pack mule. I had brought out one of Grandpa’s red flannel shirts and tied it to a broken pine limb. Maybe this would help with recovery.
“C’mon Jammer, take me to Big Jake,” I ordered.
We started backtracking the path that he had made earlier in the morning. The snow was super deep and every once in a while I would fall in about waist high. The wind would gust and spray a cold mist of snow in our faces. After about forty-five minutes we came to Jammers first tunnel.
“Big Jake… are you in there?” I yelled into the tunnel.
No answer came back.
I untied the sleeping bags and took off my backpack. I went in first and Jammer followed behind. I stopped half way through and pulled the penlight from my coat pocket. I shinned the light ahead and found out Jammer had tunneled out through the windshield of the Freightliner also. Big Jake was sitting in the Driver’s seat, with the steering wheel tight against his chest. His eyes were closed and I couldn’t see his breath. I took off my mitten and reached in to see if his skin was cold and he jumped and woke up. He scared me so bad, that I almost peed my pants.
“I thought you were dead,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m pinned in here,” exclaimed Big Jake.
I could tell he was in terrible pain. I crawled through the windshield into the cab. Jammer wanted to follow, but his master told him to stay. Jammer laid down with his head on his paws and watched us.
“I can’t feel my legs,” said Big Jake.
I looked the situation over and there was no way for me to help him. I brushed the snow off of him and found some blankets in the sleeper and tucked him in the best I could, while I told him about Gramps. I shone the light around on the floor and found his lunch pail.
“C’mon Jake ya gotta eat a little,” I told him.
“Just leave me a half of sandwich and that thermos of coffee, you’re gonna need the rest,” he suggested. “You’ll have to try to get some help. You need to go to the base of the mountain along the river. It’s too dangerous to travel the altitude that we are at. There are probably more avalanches to come. No one will know we are missing for a couple of days, they won’t send a helicopter, because it would probably set off more avalanches.” he said.
“When I get to the river, which direction should I go?” I asked.
“Follow it down stream, they will send snowmobiles from Jefferson. Travel in the day when it’s warm and hunker down at night. Take Jammer with you. He will protect you and keep you warm at night. If things go right you will be in Jefferson in two or three days” he explained.
I packed the sandwiches in my pockets, along with some dog treats for Jammer. As I started through the windshield, Jake said… “Shiloh’
I turned to see what he wanted.
“Thanks for coming back for me,” he said, holding up his fist.
I gave him a smile and some knuckles, and then followed Jammer out of the cave. When we got outside, I made a flag with one of Big Jake’s shirts also.
We worked our way down the Mountain side, both stumbling and pawing our way through the snow. Jammer cut the path and I followed. It was about noon when we made it to the river. Jammer and I took a drink of the cold mountain water and I rationed out a little bit to eat. Looking back up the Mountain I could barely make out the flags, which I had left by the buried trucks. There was no sight of Earl and Betty’s Kenworth either.
“C’mon boy… we’d better head down stream.”
The walking was a little easier now that we had gotten away from the avalanche. The snow was about thirty inches deep. Jammer would cut the trail and stop and wait for me to catch up. I would have ridden him like a pony, but he was limping too. He must have been sleeping in the sleeper of the Freightliner. That’s why we both were still alive.
Once the sun started to go down, it got bitter cold. We found some shelter in a group of Hemlocks. I packed the snow down with my feet and made us a little deer bed. This would stop the wind from hitting us directly. I removed the two sleeping bags from Jammers back and zipped them together. I left my coat and boots on and crawled into the sleeping bag. I held the open end up for Jammer and he crawled in, turned around and laid down with me. We snuggled in there with our heads covered up. Big Jake was right; Jammer did keep me warm and safe. We fell asleep listening to some distant Timberwolves howling.
We woke up to snow being thrown on our sleeping bag. I stuck my head out, only to find a red squirrel playing in the big Hemlock. He started chattering at me as if to say… “Get your lazy butt up!”
I stuck my head back in the sleeping bag and snuggled with Jammer a little bit more.
It was a bright sunny morning. The light dusting of last night’s snow sparkled like diamonds on the ground and trees. We ate a little peanut butter and jelly for breakfast, rolled up our gear and continued downstream. Every once in a while I would look up at the mountain, trying to see the highway. It was like it just disappeared.
It was about three in the afternoon when we came to a stream that connected to the main river. It was about forty feet across, with white water and huge rocks. I watched as Jammer weaved his way across and stood on the other side waiting for me. I was about half way across when I heard him ky-yie! He was thrashing around with his foot in a trap, which was chained to a tree. This made me hurry and I slipped and fell into the stream. The water was so cold that it hurt. It didn’t matter; my main concern at the time was Jammer.
When I finally got to him he had calmed down some. I tried to squeeze the side springs of the trap to release him. It was no use. I just didn’t have the muscle and strength to do the task. Each time I tried, Jammer would gently put his teeth on my hand. Not as if to bite, but as if to tell me to stop. I felt so sorry for him.
We had been there about a half hour, when Jammers hair on his back raised up. He stuck his nose in the air and made a low growl. I looked around, only to spot a mountain lion perched on the stone ledge twenty feet above us. Once he noticed we had seen him, the huge cat let out a blood curdling scream. He paced back and forth, and then leaped for us. Jammer turned quickly to confront him. I put my arms around Jammer and buried my face in his fur.
BANG! The mountain lion dropped from mid air and landed next to us, deader than a doornail. I hung onto Jammer and slowly turned around. There on the rock ledge was the silhouette of a trapper. He worked his way around, walked up next to us, laid down his rifle and took off his wicker back-pack. He had a noticeable scar below his left eye and his hair and beard was long. Clad in a fur hat and coat and his knee high, deerskin, mucks were laced with rawhide. He was a true mountain man. As he knelt down to remove the trap, Jammer gave him a growl.
The trapper whispered something in French and Jammer let him help. He squeezed both side springs. Jammer gave a whimper, as he removed his paw.
“Thank you so much,” I sighed with relief.
The trapper just gave me a nod, and then looked at my frozen clothes. He motioned for me to take off my coat and he wrapped me in his. Next my boots and he wrapped my feet and legs in two timber wolf hides, with the fur facing in. He tied rawhide laces around them to keep me warm. He picked me up and set me with my back resting against a tree. He gave Jammer a little whistle, snapped his fingers and pointed for Jammer to sit. Jammer obeyed and the trapper went about his business.
We watched as he skinned the hide off of the mountain lion. He was so experienced that it only took him a few minutes. He put the cat pelt, my coat, boots and my back-pack into his. He then walked over and reset the trap and covered it with snow, and then laid the cat carcass next to it. I presume to attract some wolves. After that he loaded the pack on his back, he slid his rifle strap over his shoulder and picked me up in his arms. He whistled to Jammer and Jammer limped along behind us.
We continued downstream for about a mile and took a left on a narrow trail through some thick woods. Every once in a while he would stop and let Jammer catch up. It was almost dark when we came upon a small log cabin with dimly lit lights, shining through the frosted windows. He entered the cabin and set me in a chair. Jammer stood in the doorway. The trapper gently spoke to him, again in French, motioning for him to come in and he closed the door.
From another room came a woman. She was wearing an old fashioned, full length dress, like something from the wagon train days. Her jet black hair was braided and reached to her waist. She and the trapper made conversation, but the only word that I understood, was the word English. She bent over and cupped my face in her hands, looked me in the eyes and gently kissed me on the forehead. She untied the raw hide from my legs. While the trapper brought in firewood for the night, she took me into the bedroom and helped me out of the wet cloths. She found me something to wear, brushed my hair and hung my clothes by the fire.
We had some venison soup and muffins for supper. Jammer laid by the fire and chewed on the bone. The trapper’s wife had cleaned and bandaged his sore paw and he seemed content.
After supper, we kind of had a game of what you call today, Pictionary. I would draw a picture and try to explain what had happened. It took a while but I think they understood. The trapper spread my sleeping bag out next to the fire. His wife gave me a hug, turned out the kerosene lamp and they disappeared into the bedroom. Jammer and I dozed off next to the crackling fire.
The next day, early in the morning, I awoke to the trapper stoking the fire. He brought in enough wood to last the day. I heard him kiss his wife good-bye and load up his back-pack. He slid his rifle up onto his shoulder and left quietly, as if not to wake us up. Jammer and I quietly got up and dressed. I left them a note saying Thank You with a big smiley face on it, grabbed Jammer and me a muffin and quietly snuck out the door.
It was now the day before Christmas. By now my mom, dad and grandma are worried sick about us. Gramp’s and I should have been home by now. I had to keep going… Big Jake’s life was depending on me.
It was noon when we met the snowmobiles. They sounded like a swarm of bees as they circled around us and shut off their engines.
“Are you Shiloh McKenzie?” Asked the Mountie.
“Yes I am,” I replied.
I then told them the story and that Big Jake needed help. He ordered one of his men to take me to Jefferson, and then he and the rest set out to rescue Big Jake.
The rookie ordered me to hop on his sled.
“What about Jammer?” I asked.
“He will have to stay… We don’t have room for him,” he scolded.
He grabbed me and forced me onto his sled. Jammer started biting him as we pulled away. Jammer did his best but he couldn’t keep up, with his sore paw and all. We got about a hundred yards and I started screaming and elbowing the officer in the ribs. I got loose and jumped off of the moving snowmobile. I picked myself up out of the fluffy snow as the rookie turned the sled around and came back for me. When he walked over to grab me, I hauled off and kicked him in the crotch as hard as I could. The rookie rolled around in the snow, groaning and hanging on to himself.
I dropped down on my knees and screamed…“I’M NOT LEAVING HIM HERE! ... HE SAVED MY LIFE!”
I used a few swear words and all of a sudden I sounded like Gramps.
The Rookie got on the radio and called his commander…“Yeah…Lieutenant”… and he proceeded to tell what had happened. I listened and you could hear the rest of the squad laughing. The commander told the rookie to go back, get a rescue sled and come back and get us.
By now Jammer was catching up to us. The rookie then staggered, while hanging on to his crotch, trying to get to his snowmobile. He knew he had better get going before Jammer got here.
We kept on trudging through the snow, Ole Jammer and me. In an hour or so we came across a plowed logging road. It seemed good to be walking on solid ground. We walked a mile or so and I could hear a big truck, shifting down for the hill behind us. I hung on to Jammer’s harness and stuck my thumb out for a ride. The Diamond Rio’s jake-brake made a rumble and the log truck came to a halt. The driver set the safety brake and climbed down outta the cab. He helped me lift Jammer up into the passenger side. The two of us had all we could do to get his big butt up there.
After completing the task, we giggled and we proceeded down the narrow truck trail.
His handle was Billy Bob and he listened with a heavy heart, as I told my story. He paused in silence and told me this…
“I was just a boy the first time I met Gramp. My dad and I were broke down out in No Man’s Land. One freezing January night, back in the winter of 65,” he sighed. "The Ole Guy pulled up in an old, beat up Mack, just a straight cab with no sleeper. He put me in his warm cab, then he and dad bled the fuel lines and got us going in the middle of a snow storm. He was a hell of a guy, yer Ole Gramp.”
Billy Bob took me to his house so I could call my parents.
“Hey Mom” I said, when she picked up the phone. She started crying before I could tell her anything. Finally she handed the phone to Dad and I explained what had happened.
When I was done Billy Bob talked to Dad. “The highway through No Man’s Land is closed. It will take a month or so, before they can open it up. I’ll bring her home the long way around Kodiak Mountain,” he explained to Dad.
Dad told him he would meet us at Indian Springs, which was about half way. “Do you need me to wire you some money?” Asked Dad.
“No Sir… it’s the least I can do… Gramp was a friend of mine too,” said Billy Bob and he hung up the phone.
About then Billy Bob’s wife Gracie, came through the door with groceries. Billy Bob introduced us and then they went into the next room to talk in private. However, I could hear their loud whispers.
“Honey… It’s Christmas Eve,” she said.
“The Girl needs to get home and it’s gonna take about two and a half days to go the long way around,” explained Billy Bob.
“You’re right… I’ll see if your mom can watch the kids and I’ll go with ya,” she said.
Gracie made arrangements for her children, drew me a bath and found me some clean clothes. While I soaked, Jammer laid next to the tub patiently, with his head between his paws. Meanwhile, Billy Bob gassed up his ole International Scout and checked the oil.
Other than having to stop for a big moose that thought he owned the road, The trip was uneventful. We became good friends and I enjoyed their company. Gracie taught third grade. She told me funny stories about her students. Billy Bob was rather quiet. However, when he had something to say, it would be something funny. Jammer stretched out on the seat with his head in my lap and slept most of the way. Being a trucker’s dog, rolling down the highway put him at ease.
We arrived at Indian Springs, in a little less than thirty hours. Billy and Gracie took turns driving. Other than a few stops to eat, we drove straight through.
When I saw Dad, I ran and jumped up into his arms. Tears ran down my cheeks and he squeezed the heck out of me. Mom stayed back home with Grandma. The loss of Gramps was pretty hard on them.
Jammer and I said our good-byes to Billy Bob and Gracie. Dad thanked them again and offered to give them some money for food and gas, but Billy Bob wouldn’t take it.
I crawled up into Dad’s Ford pickup and sat in the middle. Jammer rode shotgun and took up most of the seat.
“Holy Cow…The last time I saw Jammer he wasn’t that big,” chuckled Dad.
“You know Big Jake?” I asked, kind of surprised.
“Oh yeah … I’ve worked on his truck and his dad’s, Ole Gear Jammer,” replied Dad.
Dad is a well respected diesel mechanic and owns his own garage at the end of town. He has a nice Peterbilt tow truck. That’s how my Mom and Dad met. Gramps needed a head gasket replaced, on his 1963 Mack B61. She had a Thermodyne engine with a ten speed tranny. Gramps told me this story a hundred times, that’s why I know it by heart. Dad went to pick the Mack up with his tow truck and mom was sunbathing in a bikini on the front lawn. Gramp would then say… “The boy hasn’t been worth a damn since!” Then he’d giggle.
(Don’t tell anybody)…Dad doesn’t know I have driven Gramps truck. He’d have a fit if he knew his little girl was playing with big boys, toys. I’m not even allowed out into his shop. He’s afraid I’m gonna get dirty or something. That’s why I loved going with Gramp. He would let me do anything, probably even chew tobacco, if I wanted to! Yuck!
Mom is Grandma’s and Gramp’s only child. I think he probably wanted a son and finally decided Mom could do anything a boy could do. She’s pretty tough and shoots pool like a trucker. I wonder if Gramp taught her how to drive a tractor trailer and chew tobacco.
Dad drove with one arm and hugged me with the other almost all of the way home. Great…I’m afraid now he’s not going to let me out of his sight for the rest of my life.
“Dad… What happened to Big Jake’s dad?" I asked.
“Ya mean, Gear Jammer?” He questioned.
“Yeah …Gear Jammer!” I said.
“Well… About 1959 Gear Jammer, Big Jake and Big Jake’s mom, moved up here from Colorado. Gear Jammer, then hauled lumber for two or three years. He was like Gramp, everybody knew him from miles around. Then one day, he gets a call from his old United States Air Force Commander. Apparently some of his old squadron were captured in Vietnam. They wanted him to lead the mission to get them back. Gear Jammer felt it was his duty and went to Vietnam for a second tour. His plane was shot down somewhere in the Iron Triangle. They never found him and he was listed as missing in action. Big Jake was fifteen at the time.
“I hope Big Jake didn’t die in that damn ole Freightliner,” I said with worry.
“Yeah … Me too,” Dad said, hugging me tighter.
When we pulled into the drive, Mom and Grandma met us at the door. Hugs and tears were of abundance. I introduced Jammer to Mom and Grandma. They hugged and praised him as we let him into our home.
Grandma had gotten word that they had recovered Gramp’s body. They also had found Earl and Betty Kenworth by the use of cadaver dogs. Apparently they were above the thirty foot cliff that the Peterbilt and Freightliner had fallen off of. The Kenworth was crushed underneath twenty feet of snow, trees and boulders. The rigs were going to be left there until spring. The order of events was as follows, recover the bodies, take care of any other potential avalanches, and open the highway.
“What about Big Jake? Did they rescue him?” I asked impatiently.
“Yes Honey… He was airlifted to Kamloops Medical Center,” Mom said.
“Is he going to be ok?” I asked.
There was a short pause as everyone was looking at me. I then knew that the news wasn’t going to be good.
Mom knelt down in front of me, took a hold of both shoulders and said… “He is not going to be able to walk. Big Jake is paralyzed from the waist down.”
Tears ran down my cheeks. This meant he would never drive a rig… or walk with Jammer. Everyday things that he took for granted were about to change.
Jammer followed me to my room and I shut the door. We crawled up onto my bed, snuggled and fell asleep.
The next morning Mom, Jammer and I ate breakfast and headed for Kelowna. That was where Big Jake lived with his mom. We pulled into a long driveway nestled in the pines. When we came to the end there was a modest log cabin, with a huge garage made from rough cut lumber. Proudly displayed above the door of the garage, was a POW-MIA flag.
We walked up the steps that led to the open porch. Mom watched as I knocked on the door. After a bit, Big Jakes mom came to the door. Jammer pushed in front of me to greet her. He was so happy to see her. She cupped the sides of his huge head and kissed Jammer between the eyes. She then stood and introduced herself…
“Hi, I’m Judy Emerson… Jakes, mom. Jake told me that Jammer would be by with the shortest trucker that he’d ever seen.”
Mom gave me a funny frown.
Mrs. Emerson invited us in for coffee and a piece of apple pie. While she was pouring the coffee, she thanked me for saving her sons life.
“Well… actually Jammer is the hero here,” I explained.
After I told her the whole story, she just closed her eyes and shook her head with amazement. Meanwhile Jammer stretched out by the fire with his favorite rawhide bone.
“I was just getting ready to call a cab to take me to Kamloops Medical,” said Mrs. Emerson.
“We would be more than glad to take you,” offered Mom.
Mrs. Emerson stoked the fire, hugged Jammer and told him to be a good boy and to stay. As we walked out the door Jammer tipped his head and whined at me. To say I was heartbroken was an understatement. After all… we had been together for six days. I did my best to hide my tears, as I climbed up and sat in the center of the bench seat of Dad’s pickup. The ride was pretty quiet the rest of the way to the hospital.
When we arrived at Big Jake’s room, I took a deep breath before entering. I didn’t know what to expect. He was sitting up in his bed watching TV. He was in a hospital gown and he was covered by a blanket from the waist down. His ball cap was turned around backwards, the way he always wore it. I ran to him and gave him a big hug. He laid his cheek on my head and we just hugged in silence for a while. Mom and Mrs. Emerson stood quietly with tears running down their cheeks. They knew that Big Jake and I now had a connection like no other.
“How’s that old bone head dog of mine doing?” He asked, while he held me tight.
“He’s the most awesome dog,” I said sobbing.
I found out that Big Jake was taking his disability much better than I was. I came to realize that Jammer would help him through it. Not driving a truck was not going to be the end of his life, but a new beginning.
Gramp’s funeral was two days later. At least a hundred people told me stories like Billy Bob had. Gramp’s was such a likeable guy that there wasn’t a place to park for miles. Tractor trailers of every kind filled the town. The funeral procession started at dusk. Gramp’s, Earl’s and Betty’s caskets were put on a flatbed trailer, surrounded with the most beautiful flowers that I had ever seen. The trailer was pulled by a brand spanking new, Peterbilt (compliments of Boulder Trucking.) The procession consists of the lead Peterbilt, two limos and forty three tractor trailers. They went thirteen miles to High Bridge County Cemetery, with just their parking lights on. It was quite a sight to see. The bodies were put into a crypt until spring. There was no way to bury them this time of year. The frost was already five feet deep in the ground.
The following week I had to go back to school. Kids were cruel, they whispered when I walked by. They made cruel jokes about dead people and taunted me with snide remarks. Not that I was ever popular, but their childish behavior made me keep to myself even more. I guess what I had gone through… had made me grow up. Dealing with death up close had changed me.
By now it was spring; the sight of grass and warmer days was long overdue. Mom said she had some errands to run for Dad, in Kelowna.
“Could you drop me off at Big Jake’s?” I asked with excitement.
“Well… Give Mrs. Emerson a call and see if it is alright,” she suggested.
I made the call and Mrs. Emerson said it would be great.
When we arrived, I was reaching in the back of the truck for my back-pack. Something nudged me in the back. As he started rubbing that enormous head against me, I turned and hugged him tight. My heart melted, just like when I first met him. Big Jake came rolling down a ramp from the porch and I hugged him too. Mrs. Emerson greeted us from the porch.
“Judy, I won’t be back until around four o’clock. Is that ok?” Asked Mom.
“Sure that will be fine,” she replied.
Mom pulled out of the driveway and we headed for the cabin. Big Jake grabbed Jammers harness. Jammer got up a little speed and pulled Big Jake up the ramp. After they reached the top Big Jake let go and praised Jammer.
“Good Boy!” He said while petting him and giving him a treat.
“No more moochin’…He has to earn his keep now,” smiled Judy.
We giggled and proceeded into the house.
The house seemed different. Things had been remodeled to accommodate Big Jakes wheel chair, things that I had never thought of, like the kitchen sink and doorways.
“So what’s new with you? Trucker Girl,” said Big Jake jokingly.
I told him about the kids at school and things got kind of quiet.
“Ya know I forgot to tell you, your Trapper friend found me long before the rescue team did. He had venison soup, muffins and coffee. He had the snow cleared for the rescue team to remove me. I never got a chance to thank him,” said Big Jake.
I told him about Jammer’s paw in the trap and all. We sat quietly for a while and sipped on some ice tea.
"Let’s go to the garage, I have an idea,” he said.
When we got to the garage Big Jake entered the walk in door and proceeded to the huge garage door. He pulled the chain hand over hand and opened the door to let more sun light inside. The wheel chair didn’t stop him from being strong. He completed the task with little effort. I noticed a rig covered up with an army tarp, but that wasn’t what he wanted to show me. Leaning against the wall was a dirt bike.
“You can ride a bicycle… Right?” He asked while handing me a helmet.
“Well yeah… I can ride a bike,” I answered.
It took a little time for him to teach me how to start the motorcycle with the kick starter. I sat on the machine and revved the throttle a little.
“It’s different than a rig… Your clutch is on the left side of your handlebars and the front brake is on the right. Right foot is your back brake. Left foot is your shifter; one click down is first gear. Back up one is neutral and up again for second, third and fourth gear. Squeeze the clutch and push the shifter down with your left foot…. Good… Now let out the clutch slowly and give it a little gas just like taking off with Gramp’s Peterbilt,” instructed Big Jake.
I rode up and down the driveway and in a few minutes I was using second and third gears. I was having such a good time. Jammer and Big Jake watched intently as I mastered the dirt bike.
When Mom arrived at four, the look on her face was priceless. She sat on the steps next to Big Jake’s wheel chair and watched me for a while. I finally pulled up next to them and turned the bike off. I removed the motocross helmet, let my hair fall to my shoulders and gave her a grin.
“What do ya say… we load it in your dad’s truck and you can take it home," said Big Jake with a smile.
Mom rolled her eyes… “Your dad is going to have a fit, “she smiled.
Mom backed the truck up next to the bank by the garage and I rolled the dirt bike into the back of the truck. Big Jake found some tie-downs and showed me how to secure the bike. He gave me the motocross helmet, even though it was a little big. We said our good-byes to Judy, Big Jake and Jammer and headed for home.
When we arrived at the house, Dad wasn’t home yet. Our neighbor Ted helped me unload the dirt bike and I hid it behind the garage.
Dad made it home in time for supper, but I didn’t say anything about it then. After supper I went outside, put on my helmet and fired up the bike. I rode it around the house a couple of times before he came out. He leaned against the door casing and lit a cigarette. He watched me as Mom came up from behind him and put her arms around his waist.
“Where the heck did she get that thing?” He asked, looking out of the corner of his eye at Mom.
Mom told him about today’s events and he pulled up a lawn chair and watched. After about ten minutes I pulled up to them and shut off the dirt bike.
“Pretty cool, Huh?” I asked to Dad.
“How did you learn how to ride that thing?” He asked.
“Well… It was actually easier than learning how to back up Grandpa’s Peterbilt,” I said, letting the cat out of the bag.
They looked at each other in disbelief.
“Didn’t Grandpa teach you how to drive a rig, Mom?” I asked with sincerity.
“No!” She giggled… “He taught me how to drive a 55 Chevy pickup!”
“You… Little Miss twelve year old, have driven an eighteen wheeler?” Asked Dad, with doubt.
“Well… If ya don’t believe me… ask Grandma! She’s seen me drive that truck back and forth in her driveway a hundred times. Heck I did it all last summer and I was only eleven then,” I scolded.
Dad went in and called Grandma and she vouched for me.
“Yeah… Gramp would be sleeping in the sleeper while she drove him up and down the driveway,” giggled Gram.
A smile came across Dad’s face and he just shook his head in disbelief.
Dad’s attitude changed after that. The following summer I spent a lot of time at his shop. He didn’t only fix diesel engines for eighteen wheelers; he also worked on log skidders, bulldozers, dump trucks, etc. I had the opportunity to drive them all. It was the best summer of my life. Sometimes he would take me up on Old Buck Rut Road. It’s an old paved dead end road that is hardly ever used. Dad would let me drive his 1974 Peterbilt tow truck. She had dual stacks and a 359 cubic inch, 600 horse powered diesel. The road was long enough so I could shift up to fifth gear. She had eighteen in all and she was Dad’s pride and joy. Well… other than Mom and me, of course.
Dad had been working with Big Jake, trying to make a pickup truck that he could drive. It had hand controls for the gas and brakes. Dad installed grab bars for Big Jake to pull himself out of his wheelchair and into the truck. It was painful for me to watch. Big Jake wouldn’t let anyone help him.
“It’s something that I have to learn to do for myself," he explained to me.
I would have to go play fetch with Jammer, so Big Jake and Dad could perfect the process. I couldn’t stand to watch Big Jake put himself through the torture. It wasn’t long and Big Jake was driving. It was a good to see him gain some independence and I’m sure Jammer loved being able to go for a ride.
Big Jake and Dad became good friends and Dad offered him a job in the shop. Big Jake went to night school and learned how to tear down and assemble diesel engines. Dad had five guys that worked for him and they all treated me like family. Big Jake was no exception. I was glad that Dad had hired him. Now I could see Jammer after school every day. He would sleep next to Mom’s desk in the office (where she had food and water for him) and he became the shop mascot. Mack had a Bulldog…We had a Great Pyrenees.
It was around Thanksgiving when I told Big Jake that we needed to take a road trip. I told him why and he agreed.
“Talk to your parents and get permission… I‘d love to do it,” said Big Jake.
It took some begging, but finally Mom and Dad gave in.
We stopped at Millie’s where it all began. Thoughts of almost a year ago ran through my mind like an old motion picture. This is the very spot Jammer and I had met, the memory of him tickling my ear with his tongue made me smile. I gassed up Big Jakes GMC and went inside to pay. Millie gave me a hug and I told her what Big Jake and I were going to do. She put some cookies in a paper sack and hugged me again. This time it took her longer to let go and tears were running down her cheeks.
As we headed for High Bridge Pass, I shared my cookies with Big Jake and Jammer. It was pretty quiet, with a snow flake or two in the air. Big Jake turned on the radio and it was as if Grandpa’s ghost was with us. Dave Dudley was on the radio singing “Six Days on the Road.” I told Big Jake about it.
“We're in pretty good hands,” said Big Jake.
We both laughed and shook our heads yes. Jammer joined in with a little yip.
We crossed High Bridge Pass. Tonight it was clear, nothing like the last time. The moon reflected on the river below, which wandered back and forth between the mountains. The snow on the ground looked blue, as well as the beautiful snow covered pines.
When we arrived where the avalanche took place, Big Jake pulled over. I held his wheel chair as he lowered himself from the four wheel drive. The guys at the lumber mill had made three hardwood crosses with beautiful mortised joints. Gramps', Earl's and Betty’s names were engraved on their own respectively. Big Jake made three holes with a hard-bar and pounded each cross into the ground with a sledge hammer. Once again… this was a task that would have been hard enough for a regular man to do. Gram had sent three wreaths and I hung them on the crosses. Big Jake removed his hat and held it to his heart respectfully. Timberwolves howled in the distance as tears ran down my cheeks. Jammer leaned against me nuzzling his head under my arm to console me. After a spell, we returned to the truck and proceeded towards Beggars Valley.
It wasn’t long before we heard truckers talking on the Big Jakes CB, about the crosses. We just drove in silence… listening to the respectful things they had to say.
About eleven o’clock we arrived on the other side of No Man’s Land and found a motel.
Big Jake had already made reservations. I helped him get settled in his room. As I went to go to mine he said, “Jammer can sleep in your room…. I don’t have to tell ya how bad he snores.”
I gave him a smile and Jammer followed me to the room next door. I knew Big Jake said Jammer could sleep with me so I wouldn’t be scared or lonely. I called Mom and Dad, like I had agreed, to and let them know we were okay.
“Love you guys too Mom”… then I hung up.
Jammer and I snuggled and watched TV until early morning. Daylight finally arrived and we ate some breakfast and proceeded on. About two hours later we came to a sign that read, Jefferson 44 km. We took a right and followed the narrow mountain road. When we came to Jefferson I showed Big Jake how to get to Billy Bob’s and Gracie’s house.
When Billy answered the door, I gave him a huge Hug. They were surprised to see us. Billy went to the truck and invited Big Jake and Jammer to come inside. Billy and I helped Big Jake Up a couple of steps and into the house.
We told them of our mission… “We just wanted to come back and thank the people that helped us,” I explained.
Gram had sent a nice homemade quilt and Judy sent homemade jellies, veggies and fruits canned in pretty mason jars. They were arranged in a nice basket with a photo of Big Jake, Jammer and me.
We told them about the trapper and his wife. “If he were to come to Jefferson for supplies… Where would he go?” Asked Big Jake.
“Well”… said Billy, scratching his beard, “probably the trading post, down next to the post office.”
We said our good-byes and headed for the trading post. It was a big ole shack, where trappers and hunters sold their pelts and bought their supplies. We found the owner. He was a big burley man, wearing bright red suspenders and was speaking French to a young trapper. After he was done, I politely asked if he could speak English.
“Yes Sweetie… I can speak English. How may I help you?” He asked, in his deep baritone voice.
“Do you know a trapper that speaks French, wears a fur hat and coat and deer skin mucks?” I asked.
“Sweetie you just described about fifty trappers that I know. You’re gonna have to give me more than that,” he chuckled, while leaning on the counter.
“How about a scar under his left eye, and he traps No Man’s Land?” Added Big Jake.
“Now yer getting somewhere,” said the store owner. “You must be talking about Kodiak Jack! There only a handful of men that will attempt that ungodly terrain.”
He then pointed to a huge bear skin with the head attached, that was hanging on the wall behind us.
“The legend goes… Back in the mid fifty’s Jack and his Pa were trapping out there in No Man’s Land. A young cub had gotten caught in one of their traps and the young boy was trying to let it loose. Meanwhile the momma bear hears the commotion and comes running. Jack’s Pa only had an ole single shot rifle. Jack’s ole man fired at the huge Kodiak but it didn’t stop. The bear killed the ole man and charged the young boy. Jack, only armed with a bowie knife, managed to bury the knife in the monster’s heart as it pounced on top of him. He was found by some local Indians. They claim he was under the bear unconscious. To this day they call him White Wolf… We call him Kodiak Jack. He traded that bear hide to me, for one hundred traps. The story has attracted a lot of business to my place.
Kodiak Jack still carries his ole mans single shot. He comes here once a month for supplies” added the store owner.
I told him our story.
“Would you give him something for us? The next time you see him,” I asked.
“Sure Sweetie,” he replied.
I handed him a basket and quilt, along with a photo of Big Jake, Jammer and me. The store owner helped me write Thank You on the back in French. He assured us that Kodiak Jack would receive the gifts.
Next we found a local butcher and bought ten big steaks and two cases of beer. Our last stop was Jefferson Rescue. The guys were happy to see us and I apologized to the rookie for the kick in the groin. The rest of the crew made fun of him again and he blushed. He also made amends with Jammer. We gave them a photo for their wall of fame.
We made our way back to the motel that we stayed the night before. I called Mom and Dad and told them that our mission was a success. We left Jammer in Big Jakes room and went to a local bar and grill for supper.
After supper we shot some pool. Big Jake was pretty darn good. He knew some other truckers that were there and he introduced me as Gramp’s granddaughter. They were a great bunch and we had a good time.
The next day on our way home, we stopped at the three crosses to pay our respect once more. The crosses were surrounded with beautiful flowers that other truckers had left.
On our way home I asked Big Jake what his father was like. After a moment of awkward silence he told me the story…
“My dad was a quiet man… One of those types that made you wonder what he was thinking. He taught me how to ride a bike, a motorcycle, drive a car and eventually a rig. I’m sure he had his faults like any man, but I honestly can’t remember any. He loved me and Mom. When the military called him back, Mom pleaded for him not to go… That was fourteen years ago, almost half of my life I’ve been waiting for him.”
When he dropped me off, I made a fist and he gave me a bump with his. Jammer licked my cheek; I shut the door and watched them disappear down the street.
When I turned sixteen I took my road test on Dad’s pickup truck. Of course I passed in flying colors. I had been saving to go to college. I was living a lie, because deep down inside I wanted to be a trucker. Gramp always said that once trucking got in your blood there was no denying it.
One day during my senior year in High School, I stopped at Big Jake’s house. He was tinkering in the garage. Jammer greeted me as usual, as I entered.
“Hey! What are ya up to?” Asked Big Jake.
“Oh I don’t know,”… I said in a moapy voice.
“How’s School?” He asked.
Well… Mom and Grandma think I should go to college and become a teacher,” I said disgustedly. “But I want to be a trucker.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” he said, looking at me with a big grin.
He watched me as I moseyed around the shop. I came to the covered up rig, lifted the tarp a little and looked at Big Jake. He nodded his head yes, but the expression on his face was serious. I lifted the tarp and there sat a 1961 B61 Mack in mint condition.
“Go ahead pull the tarp off,” he instructed.
I pulled the tarp off and there she sat, black fenders with dark green hood and body. Gold leaf pin striping with GEAR JAMMER in gold lettering on the sides of the hood. Chrome grill, tanks, mud guards and visor. Thermodyne engine, dual chrome stacks, ten speeds with tandem axle. This was a beautiful machine, no wonder everyone knew who Gear Jammer was. I just stood there in awe.
“She’s been sitting there for fourteen years just the way he left it,” said Big Jake.
“Can I sit in it?” I asked with excitement.
“Sure,” chuckled Big Jake.
I climb up onto the step of the saddle tank while simultaneously reaching for the chrome grab bar attached to the cab. When I opened the door it smelt like moth balls. I slid in on the leather seat and took it all in. It was kind of primitive compared to Dad’s and Grandpa’s Peterbilt.
Jammer sat on the shop floor whining at me. Must be he thought I was going for a ride.
After I was done checking it out, I took a step ladder and covered the Mack back up.
Time marched on and soon it was graduation (Class of 79). Mom and Gram had a nice party for me and friends and relatives came from all over. The night before, I had sat down with Mom and Gram and told them that I had enrolled in a tractor trailer driving school in Ontario. They took it pretty well and just wanted me to be happy.
Six months later I had graduated from Trucker University. Mom, Dad and all of the guys from the shop came to see me get my diploma. They were surprised to see that there were four other girls graduating with me.
I rode back home with Big Jake and Jammer. That’s when Big Jake popped the question.
“Would ya like to become business partners with me?” He asked, as we pulled into his driveway.
“What do ya mean?” I questioned.
When we got to the cabin everyone was there waiting for us. Big Jake lowered himself into his wheel chair and said… “Stay here; I have a surprise for you.”
He entered the garage and opened the door. There sat the most beautiful maroon 77 Peterbilt. I walked around the rig in disbelief. On the sides of the hood…in gold leaf letters, read Gear Jammin’ Girl. I balled my eyes out in disbelief.
Judy came over and gave me a big hug. “If you’re going to haul lumber in these parts, you’re gonna need a good dog!” She said pointing to Big Jake.
Sitting on his lap in the wheel chair was a snow white, Great Pyrenees pup.
Big Jake and I worked out the details and became the proud owners of Jammer Trucking. Judy kept our books and within five years we bought two more used rigs and hired two more drivers.
I was at Millie’s one July morning. I watched a man fueling up, while a young boy hung onto his pant leg. The shy little guy had no idea that he was about to fall in love, as the enormous fur ball nudged him from behind. When the boy turned around to see who pushed him, his face lit up.
“What are ya doing boy?” He said, while reaching up to pet his big furry head.
I let them get acquainted, while I topped off the tank. I then opened the passenger side door of the cab and attached his aluminum ramp.
“C’mon, Big Jake! … Get yer big butt up here!” I ordered.
He climbed part way up the ramp and waited for some ear scratching. He was now one hundred and twenty plus pounds. He looked and acted exactly like his dad, Jammer. As we headed out of the parking lot, the boy gave us a wave. I gave him a few short blasts on the air horn and worked my way up through the gears.
I was asked to speak at a convention for professional women and all I could tell them was this… “Truck driving isn’t a man or a woman thing. It’s more like choosing a life style. My grandpa always said it can be as addictive as alcohol or tobacco. Once it’s in yer blood, it’s a hard habit to kick.”
When I was asked for my best advice about driving a truck? … All I can say is… “Find yourself a good dog!”
Jammer(Herm Sherwood-Sitts)
Jammer
©2012 by Herm Sherwood-Sitts
The first time I saw him I was filling the passenger side tank of Grandpa’s 1973 Peterbilt. He came up behind me and nudged me under my arm. I turned around and there he was. He rubbed his enormous head against me, wagging his tail in a playful gesture. His fur was thick and as white as today’s fresh snow, the way most Great Pyrenees look. He licked my face and ear making me tip my head because it tickled.
“What are ya doing boy?” I said, while reaching up to pet his back.
I was topping off the tank when a big tall trucker came out of Millie’s Diner.
“C’mon Jammer!” He ordered.
The big dog gave me one last nuzzle and headed for the Freightliner. I watched as they pulled out with a load of lumber. Jammer looked out the window, gave me a little whine and a couple of barks. My heart was fluttering as he went out of sight. I had only known the dog for a few minutes and already I was in love with him.
Gramp was hauling lumber also. It was a way of life in these parts. If you weren’t hauling logs to the mill, you were hauling lumber to places unknown. It was Christmas vacation and Mom said I could go with Gramp, on a three day run to Beggars’ Valley. It was on the other side of the Continental Divide up here in British Columbia. Being a girl at the age of twelve, it was fun going with Gramp. He had great stories to tell and I’d giggle when he cussed. He was the only friend I had that was an adult. He chewed tobacco and walked with a limp, a rough looking ole cuss, chubby with a grey beard and a baseball cap. Mom would remind me that I was a young lady, not a truck driver, so don’t be cussin’ like he does. He was always squinting because he could never remember where he left his glasses. Gram said he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.
Gramp told me to go to the diner, while he parked the rig. I went in, washed my hands and found us a booth. The waitress came over and gave me a smile.
“Ya ready to order Hon, or are ya gonna wait for Gramp?" She asked.
“How did ya know he was my grandpa?” I chuckled.
“Oh I didn’t Honey, we all call him Gramp!” She giggled.
About then Gramp came in. He was taking his coat off when the waitress gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi Gramp,” she said and turned and smiled at me.
Gramps blushed a little. He looked at me, smiled and raised his eyebrows a couple of times.
“For a little hush money… I won’t tell Gram about this,” I snickered.
We all laughed and Jenny took our order.
We sat there eating our supper while watching the news on WSTB-TV. The weather man said there was a huge cold front coming through, with a winter storm advisory and possibly up to 24 inches of snow. That was common everyday news for this time of year, here in the Rockies. We had already received over six feet of snow so far this season.
Gramp pulled out his trucker wallet, which was chained to his belt. He left a two dollar tip and moseyed on up to the cash register, to settle up with Millie.
“Big storm coming Gramp… You be careful out there,” she said, while giving Gramp his change.
“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah… Them there weathermen aint ever right,” grumbled Gramp.
“Wait a second Hon,” she said to me.
She then went to the dessert counter and stuffed a few cookies into a paper sack, then handed them to me.
“Yer gonna be hungry in an hour or two. You know Gramps… he don’t stop fer nothing,” she smiled.
“Thank you Millie,” I said, giving her a big hug.
Gramp gave her a wink and we were off.
While Gramp was shifting through the gears, he handed me his log book. I opened up the book and there were his glasses. I filled in the time, mileage and expenses for him. I handed him his glasses and gave him a grin. He put them on and they were half way down his nose. He looked over the top of them at me and made me giggle. He looked like Santa Clause. Christmas was four days away.
We wandered our way through the small logging towns. It was almost dark and the Christmas lights were pretty on the snow covered shacks. Gramp’s rig was fairly new and decked out with enough lights to look like its own little Christmas town. Every time we met an oncoming rig, they would either flick their parking lights, or say ‘Hey Gramp” on the CB. Gramp had been a trucker since he was a teenager and everyone from Kamloops to Medicine Hat, knew who he was. I’ve heard his stories a hundred times and they never seem to get old to me.
We climb the long steep grade, headed for High Bridge Pass. I looked in the passenger side mirror and watched as the diesel smoke from the chrome stacks disappeared into the night. The temperature was dropping and there were a few snowflakes falling. As Gramp shifted down a gear, Dave Dudley was on the radio singing “Six Days on the Road.” The glow from the dashboard lights was soothing.
The highway finally leveled off and we were making good time. However, after an hour or so, the wind picked up and the snow got heavier. By now we were in No Man’s Land, a 94 mile stretch of hell, which went through the treacherous wilderness. It didn’t bother Gramp none, he had made this trip hundreds of times.
About twenty miles in, we came upon some flashing lights. The jake-brake rumbled as we slowed down and came to a halt. There were two big rigs stopped in the middle of the road.
Gramp got on the CB… “Hey Breaker, Breaker… What’s going on up there?”
“Is that you Gramp? ... C’mon,” said a female voice.
“Ten-Four,” replied Gramp.
“Hey Gramp… This is Fat Betty… Earl and Big Jake are trying to move this big tree outta the road …over.”
Gramp flipped the micro lever, which set the safety brakes, and handed me his big ole flashlight. We climb down outta the cab and Gramp motioned for me to follow him to the tool box, which was under the trailer. I shined the light for him. This wasn’t Gramps first rodeo; I watched as he pulled out his chainsaw. That was when something came up from behind and nudged me. I turned around and he licked my face.
“Hey Jammer!” I screeched with joy.
Jammer then went over to greet Gramp. Gramp sat down his saw and gave Jammer a big hug and patted his side. After their little greet, the huge canine led us to his master, Big Jake.
Gramp looked at me… “Shiloh… Pull the rig around and give us some more light,” he instructed.
I gave the flashlight to Earl and headed for the truck. I had driven the truck before, up and down Gramp’s driveway. I have to brace my butt against the front of the seat and pretty much stand up, in order to reach the clutch and see over the hood. I’ve gotten rather good at backing it up. I flipped the micro switch and the airbrakes did their Shaa-Chaa sound. I backed the rig up about twenty feet, and then pulled it ahead, up next to Big Jakes Freightliner. The look on Big Jake’s and Earl’s face was priceless.
Gramp spit out his chew juice, gave me a wink and started his chainsaw. The big pine was about three feet in diameter. Earl hauled the branches and Big Jake moved the large blocks of wood with ease. Jammer went around and peed on everybody’s tires.
“Yer quite the little trucker…over,” said Fat Betty, on the CB.
I picked up the mike …“Thank you Ma’am … over,” I replied.
“Hey, do you know why Big Jake named his dog Jammer? ...over,” I asked.
“It’s short for Gear Jammer, Honey… That was Big Jakes daddy’s CB handle, years ago… over,” explained Fat Betty.
I set the brakes and climbed down outta the cab. I pulled the paper sack out of my coat pocket and shared an oatmeal cookie with my new found friend, Jammer. He wore a thick leather harness like a rescue dog. He loved attention and his bigger than life personality, got him plenty. I watched as Big Jake lifted up the 120 lb. fur ball and loaded him into the Freightliner. He looked normal in Big Jakes arms. However the average man probably couldn’t do that.
The Freightliner went first, followed by Earl and Betty’s Kenworth and then us, with Gramps Peterbilt. We had us a small convoy. The visibility was terrible, so the going was slow. High Bridge Pass usually was my favorite part of the trip. This bridge is almost three miles long, two hundred feet in the air and it connects two mountains. It was snowing so hard that you couldn’t tell if you were on the bridge or on land. I don’t know how Big Jake could tell where he was going.
It was about one in the morning, when Gramps told me to crawl into the sleeper. The snow was hypnotizing me and making it hard for me to stay awake. I snuggled into my warm sleeping bag and fell into a deep sleep.
I was awakened by being slammed into the passenger side of the sleeper. The sound of busting glass and the cab being pummeled by rocks and trees as we tumbled down the mountainside was immense. At some point, I was knocked unconscious.
When I came to, it was completely dark and deathly quiet. The fumes from the diesel fuel leaking from the tanks, almost took my breath away. I hurt all over, especially my left arm and my head.
“Grandpa?” I questioned while weeping.
No answer… I curled up there in the dark and faded in and out of consciousness for some time.
Eventually I crawled to my knees and my survival instincts kicked in. I felt the wall between the sleeper and the cab and realized we must be lying on the passenger side. I felt around by my feet, pawing through the sleeping bags and pillows and found my back-pack. From my back-pack I pulled out a penlight, which I had brought for reading. I stood up and shined the light into the cab. There was a broken pine tree, about eight inches in diameter, sticking through the driver’s door. The roof of the cab was crushed down to the headrest of the seats and snow filled two/thirds of the cab. I franticly pawed through the snow searching for Gramp. The only place to put the snow was in the sleeper. After digging down about two feet, I found Gramps hand. It was blue and frozen. That’s when I lost it; I screamed and broke down balling… I sat back down in the darkness and sobbed for a long… long time.
I finally regained my composure and stood back up and assessed the situation. The semi was buried in snow, with no daylight at all. I then came to the conclusion that we had become victims of an avalanche. The possibility that I was going to die in this tomb also, was prevalent.
Having no idea how long we had been here, I worked up the courage to remove Gramps wrist watch and take a look. It was eleven o’clock pm the twenty second of Dec. We had been here approximately twenty two hours.
There wasn’t much room in the cab. I reached in and broke as many branches as I could off of the pine tree. My goal was to see if the CB was of any use. Once I got to it, I realized that if it was working, the light would be on. I pressed the mike button anyway and asked…
“Is anyone out there?”
There was no reply, no static… just complete silence. I let out a sigh and sat back down, turned off my penlight and tried to stop myself from panicking. I thought to myself, "What would Gramps do?” I thought about trying to dig myself out, through the broken windshield. However, if I filled the cab and the sleeper up with snow, then what? The oxygen in the tin can tomb was getting seriously low. I finally decided that this was the end. I crawled back into my sleeping bag, curled up into the fetal position and rocked myself to sleep.
About twelve hours later, I heard some scratching above me. I stood up and yelled… “Hey! … I’M IN HERE!”
The reply back was a whine and a couple of sharp barks. (Yeah! You guessed it! It was Jammer!)
He dug across the side of the sleeper to the driver’s door and snow and daylight filtered in around the timber, which was protruding through the metal. I took a branch that I had broken off and poked at the snow through the broken windshield. Jammer whined with excitement as we tunneled to meet each other. When we finally met, he wildly licked my face and head butted me with joy. As Jammer backed his way out, I crawled through the eight foot tunnel that he had made. The light was blinding bright and the air smelled so fresh.
After a few minutes of shielding my eyes from the glare, I finally took a look around. Apparently, after being pummeled down the mountain, we dropped off of a thirty foot cliff. The Peterbilt and trailer were completely buried. I looked up to see if I could see the highway. There was so much snow that it looked like the highway never existed.
I decided I had to look for the others. As much as I hated to, I had to crawl back into the tomb and bring what supplies that I could with me. I told Jammer to sit and stay and proceeded back into the tunnel. I crawled through the windshield, through the cab and back into the sleeper. I dressed in layers, two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater and my coat. I had extra gloves with a few snacks in my back-pack. I rolled up mine and Grandpa’s sleeping bags and shoved them through the windshield into the tunnel. After I put my back-pack up onto my shoulders, I reached down and held Gramp’s hand between my mittens. I laid my forehead on the three hands and wept…“I love you Grandpa”
I worked my way out of the tunnel, pushing the sleeping bags out in front of me. Jammer was laying with his head in the opening of the tunnel, whining for me. Once we were out of the hole, I took the string from the hood of my jacket and tied the two sleeping bags to Jammers harness. He looked like a big white pack mule. I had brought out one of Grandpa’s red flannel shirts and tied it to a broken pine limb. Maybe this would help with recovery.
“C’mon Jammer, take me to Big Jake,” I ordered.
We started backtracking the path that he had made earlier in the morning. The snow was super deep and every once in a while I would fall in about waist high. The wind would gust and spray a cold mist of snow in our faces. After about forty-five minutes we came to Jammers first tunnel.
“Big Jake… are you in there?” I yelled into the tunnel.
No answer came back.
I untied the sleeping bags and took off my backpack. I went in first and Jammer followed behind. I stopped half way through and pulled the penlight from my coat pocket. I shinned the light ahead and found out Jammer had tunneled out through the windshield of the Freightliner also. Big Jake was sitting in the Driver’s seat, with the steering wheel tight against his chest. His eyes were closed and I couldn’t see his breath. I took off my mitten and reached in to see if his skin was cold and he jumped and woke up. He scared me so bad, that I almost peed my pants.
“I thought you were dead,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m pinned in here,” exclaimed Big Jake.
I could tell he was in terrible pain. I crawled through the windshield into the cab. Jammer wanted to follow, but his master told him to stay. Jammer laid down with his head on his paws and watched us.
“I can’t feel my legs,” said Big Jake.
I looked the situation over and there was no way for me to help him. I brushed the snow off of him and found some blankets in the sleeper and tucked him in the best I could, while I told him about Gramps. I shone the light around on the floor and found his lunch pail.
“C’mon Jake ya gotta eat a little,” I told him.
“Just leave me a half of sandwich and that thermos of coffee, you’re gonna need the rest,” he suggested. “You’ll have to try to get some help. You need to go to the base of the mountain along the river. It’s too dangerous to travel the altitude that we are at. There are probably more avalanches to come. No one will know we are missing for a couple of days, they won’t send a helicopter, because it would probably set off more avalanches.” he said.
“When I get to the river, which direction should I go?” I asked.
“Follow it down stream, they will send snowmobiles from Jefferson. Travel in the day when it’s warm and hunker down at night. Take Jammer with you. He will protect you and keep you warm at night. If things go right you will be in Jefferson in two or three days” he explained.
I packed the sandwiches in my pockets, along with some dog treats for Jammer. As I started through the windshield, Jake said… “Shiloh’
I turned to see what he wanted.
“Thanks for coming back for me,” he said, holding up his fist.
I gave him a smile and some knuckles, and then followed Jammer out of the cave. When we got outside, I made a flag with one of Big Jake’s shirts also.
We worked our way down the Mountain side, both stumbling and pawing our way through the snow. Jammer cut the path and I followed. It was about noon when we made it to the river. Jammer and I took a drink of the cold mountain water and I rationed out a little bit to eat. Looking back up the Mountain I could barely make out the flags, which I had left by the buried trucks. There was no sight of Earl and Betty’s Kenworth either.
“C’mon boy… we’d better head down stream.”
The walking was a little easier now that we had gotten away from the avalanche. The snow was about thirty inches deep. Jammer would cut the trail and stop and wait for me to catch up. I would have ridden him like a pony, but he was limping too. He must have been sleeping in the sleeper of the Freightliner. That’s why we both were still alive.
Once the sun started to go down, it got bitter cold. We found some shelter in a group of Hemlocks. I packed the snow down with my feet and made us a little deer bed. This would stop the wind from hitting us directly. I removed the two sleeping bags from Jammers back and zipped them together. I left my coat and boots on and crawled into the sleeping bag. I held the open end up for Jammer and he crawled in, turned around and laid down with me. We snuggled in there with our heads covered up. Big Jake was right; Jammer did keep me warm and safe. We fell asleep listening to some distant Timberwolves howling.
We woke up to snow being thrown on our sleeping bag. I stuck my head out, only to find a red squirrel playing in the big Hemlock. He started chattering at me as if to say… “Get your lazy butt up!”
I stuck my head back in the sleeping bag and snuggled with Jammer a little bit more.
It was a bright sunny morning. The light dusting of last night’s snow sparkled like diamonds on the ground and trees. We ate a little peanut butter and jelly for breakfast, rolled up our gear and continued downstream. Every once in a while I would look up at the mountain, trying to see the highway. It was like it just disappeared.
It was about three in the afternoon when we came to a stream that connected to the main river. It was about forty feet across, with white water and huge rocks. I watched as Jammer weaved his way across and stood on the other side waiting for me. I was about half way across when I heard him ky-yie! He was thrashing around with his foot in a trap, which was chained to a tree. This made me hurry and I slipped and fell into the stream. The water was so cold that it hurt. It didn’t matter; my main concern at the time was Jammer.
When I finally got to him he had calmed down some. I tried to squeeze the side springs of the trap to release him. It was no use. I just didn’t have the muscle and strength to do the task. Each time I tried, Jammer would gently put his teeth on my hand. Not as if to bite, but as if to tell me to stop. I felt so sorry for him.
We had been there about a half hour, when Jammers hair on his back raised up. He stuck his nose in the air and made a low growl. I looked around, only to spot a mountain lion perched on the stone ledge twenty feet above us. Once he noticed we had seen him, the huge cat let out a blood curdling scream. He paced back and forth, and then leaped for us. Jammer turned quickly to confront him. I put my arms around Jammer and buried my face in his fur.
BANG! The mountain lion dropped from mid air and landed next to us, deader than a doornail. I hung onto Jammer and slowly turned around. There on the rock ledge was the silhouette of a trapper. He worked his way around, walked up next to us, laid down his rifle and took off his wicker back-pack. He had a noticeable scar below his left eye and his hair and beard was long. Clad in a fur hat and coat and his knee high, deerskin, mucks were laced with rawhide. He was a true mountain man. As he knelt down to remove the trap, Jammer gave him a growl.
The trapper whispered something in French and Jammer let him help. He squeezed both side springs. Jammer gave a whimper, as he removed his paw.
“Thank you so much,” I sighed with relief.
The trapper just gave me a nod, and then looked at my frozen clothes. He motioned for me to take off my coat and he wrapped me in his. Next my boots and he wrapped my feet and legs in two timber wolf hides, with the fur facing in. He tied rawhide laces around them to keep me warm. He picked me up and set me with my back resting against a tree. He gave Jammer a little whistle, snapped his fingers and pointed for Jammer to sit. Jammer obeyed and the trapper went about his business.
We watched as he skinned the hide off of the mountain lion. He was so experienced that it only took him a few minutes. He put the cat pelt, my coat, boots and my back-pack into his. He then walked over and reset the trap and covered it with snow, and then laid the cat carcass next to it. I presume to attract some wolves. After that he loaded the pack on his back, he slid his rifle strap over his shoulder and picked me up in his arms. He whistled to Jammer and Jammer limped along behind us.
We continued downstream for about a mile and took a left on a narrow trail through some thick woods. Every once in a while he would stop and let Jammer catch up. It was almost dark when we came upon a small log cabin with dimly lit lights, shining through the frosted windows. He entered the cabin and set me in a chair. Jammer stood in the doorway. The trapper gently spoke to him, again in French, motioning for him to come in and he closed the door.
From another room came a woman. She was wearing an old fashioned, full length dress, like something from the wagon train days. Her jet black hair was braided and reached to her waist. She and the trapper made conversation, but the only word that I understood, was the word English. She bent over and cupped my face in her hands, looked me in the eyes and gently kissed me on the forehead. She untied the raw hide from my legs. While the trapper brought in firewood for the night, she took me into the bedroom and helped me out of the wet cloths. She found me something to wear, brushed my hair and hung my clothes by the fire.
We had some venison soup and muffins for supper. Jammer laid by the fire and chewed on the bone. The trapper’s wife had cleaned and bandaged his sore paw and he seemed content.
After supper, we kind of had a game of what you call today, Pictionary. I would draw a picture and try to explain what had happened. It took a while but I think they understood. The trapper spread my sleeping bag out next to the fire. His wife gave me a hug, turned out the kerosene lamp and they disappeared into the bedroom. Jammer and I dozed off next to the crackling fire.
The next day, early in the morning, I awoke to the trapper stoking the fire. He brought in enough wood to last the day. I heard him kiss his wife good-bye and load up his back-pack. He slid his rifle up onto his shoulder and left quietly, as if not to wake us up. Jammer and I quietly got up and dressed. I left them a note saying Thank You with a big smiley face on it, grabbed Jammer and me a muffin and quietly snuck out the door.
It was now the day before Christmas. By now my mom, dad and grandma are worried sick about us. Gramp’s and I should have been home by now. I had to keep going… Big Jake’s life was depending on me.
It was noon when we met the snowmobiles. They sounded like a swarm of bees as they circled around us and shut off their engines.
“Are you Shiloh McKenzie?” Asked the Mountie.
“Yes I am,” I replied.
I then told them the story and that Big Jake needed help. He ordered one of his men to take me to Jefferson, and then he and the rest set out to rescue Big Jake.
The rookie ordered me to hop on his sled.
“What about Jammer?” I asked.
“He will have to stay… We don’t have room for him,” he scolded.
He grabbed me and forced me onto his sled. Jammer started biting him as we pulled away. Jammer did his best but he couldn’t keep up, with his sore paw and all. We got about a hundred yards and I started screaming and elbowing the officer in the ribs. I got loose and jumped off of the moving snowmobile. I picked myself up out of the fluffy snow as the rookie turned the sled around and came back for me. When he walked over to grab me, I hauled off and kicked him in the crotch as hard as I could. The rookie rolled around in the snow, groaning and hanging on to himself.
I dropped down on my knees and screamed…“I’M NOT LEAVING HIM HERE! ... HE SAVED MY LIFE!”
I used a few swear words and all of a sudden I sounded like Gramps.
The Rookie got on the radio and called his commander…“Yeah…Lieutenant”… and he proceeded to tell what had happened. I listened and you could hear the rest of the squad laughing. The commander told the rookie to go back, get a rescue sled and come back and get us.
By now Jammer was catching up to us. The rookie then staggered, while hanging on to his crotch, trying to get to his snowmobile. He knew he had better get going before Jammer got here.
We kept on trudging through the snow, Ole Jammer and me. In an hour or so we came across a plowed logging road. It seemed good to be walking on solid ground. We walked a mile or so and I could hear a big truck, shifting down for the hill behind us. I hung on to Jammer’s harness and stuck my thumb out for a ride. The Diamond Rio’s jake-brake made a rumble and the log truck came to a halt. The driver set the safety brake and climbed down outta the cab. He helped me lift Jammer up into the passenger side. The two of us had all we could do to get his big butt up there.
After completing the task, we giggled and we proceeded down the narrow truck trail.
His handle was Billy Bob and he listened with a heavy heart, as I told my story. He paused in silence and told me this…
“I was just a boy the first time I met Gramp. My dad and I were broke down out in No Man’s Land. One freezing January night, back in the winter of 65,” he sighed. "The Ole Guy pulled up in an old, beat up Mack, just a straight cab with no sleeper. He put me in his warm cab, then he and dad bled the fuel lines and got us going in the middle of a snow storm. He was a hell of a guy, yer Ole Gramp.”
Billy Bob took me to his house so I could call my parents.
“Hey Mom” I said, when she picked up the phone. She started crying before I could tell her anything. Finally she handed the phone to Dad and I explained what had happened.
When I was done Billy Bob talked to Dad. “The highway through No Man’s Land is closed. It will take a month or so, before they can open it up. I’ll bring her home the long way around Kodiak Mountain,” he explained to Dad.
Dad told him he would meet us at Indian Springs, which was about half way. “Do you need me to wire you some money?” Asked Dad.
“No Sir… it’s the least I can do… Gramp was a friend of mine too,” said Billy Bob and he hung up the phone.
About then Billy Bob’s wife Gracie, came through the door with groceries. Billy Bob introduced us and then they went into the next room to talk in private. However, I could hear their loud whispers.
“Honey… It’s Christmas Eve,” she said.
“The Girl needs to get home and it’s gonna take about two and a half days to go the long way around,” explained Billy Bob.
“You’re right… I’ll see if your mom can watch the kids and I’ll go with ya,” she said.
Gracie made arrangements for her children, drew me a bath and found me some clean clothes. While I soaked, Jammer laid next to the tub patiently, with his head between his paws. Meanwhile, Billy Bob gassed up his ole International Scout and checked the oil.
Other than having to stop for a big moose that thought he owned the road, The trip was uneventful. We became good friends and I enjoyed their company. Gracie taught third grade. She told me funny stories about her students. Billy Bob was rather quiet. However, when he had something to say, it would be something funny. Jammer stretched out on the seat with his head in my lap and slept most of the way. Being a trucker’s dog, rolling down the highway put him at ease.
We arrived at Indian Springs, in a little less than thirty hours. Billy and Gracie took turns driving. Other than a few stops to eat, we drove straight through.
When I saw Dad, I ran and jumped up into his arms. Tears ran down my cheeks and he squeezed the heck out of me. Mom stayed back home with Grandma. The loss of Gramps was pretty hard on them.
Jammer and I said our good-byes to Billy Bob and Gracie. Dad thanked them again and offered to give them some money for food and gas, but Billy Bob wouldn’t take it.
I crawled up into Dad’s Ford pickup and sat in the middle. Jammer rode shotgun and took up most of the seat.
“Holy Cow…The last time I saw Jammer he wasn’t that big,” chuckled Dad.
“You know Big Jake?” I asked, kind of surprised.
“Oh yeah … I’ve worked on his truck and his dad’s, Ole Gear Jammer,” replied Dad.
Dad is a well respected diesel mechanic and owns his own garage at the end of town. He has a nice Peterbilt tow truck. That’s how my Mom and Dad met. Gramps needed a head gasket replaced, on his 1963 Mack B61. She had a Thermodyne engine with a ten speed tranny. Gramps told me this story a hundred times, that’s why I know it by heart. Dad went to pick the Mack up with his tow truck and mom was sunbathing in a bikini on the front lawn. Gramp would then say… “The boy hasn’t been worth a damn since!” Then he’d giggle.
(Don’t tell anybody)…Dad doesn’t know I have driven Gramps truck. He’d have a fit if he knew his little girl was playing with big boys, toys. I’m not even allowed out into his shop. He’s afraid I’m gonna get dirty or something. That’s why I loved going with Gramp. He would let me do anything, probably even chew tobacco, if I wanted to! Yuck!
Mom is Grandma’s and Gramp’s only child. I think he probably wanted a son and finally decided Mom could do anything a boy could do. She’s pretty tough and shoots pool like a trucker. I wonder if Gramp taught her how to drive a tractor trailer and chew tobacco.
Dad drove with one arm and hugged me with the other almost all of the way home. Great…I’m afraid now he’s not going to let me out of his sight for the rest of my life.
“Dad… What happened to Big Jake’s dad?" I asked.
“Ya mean, Gear Jammer?” He questioned.
“Yeah …Gear Jammer!” I said.
“Well… About 1959 Gear Jammer, Big Jake and Big Jake’s mom, moved up here from Colorado. Gear Jammer, then hauled lumber for two or three years. He was like Gramp, everybody knew him from miles around. Then one day, he gets a call from his old United States Air Force Commander. Apparently some of his old squadron were captured in Vietnam. They wanted him to lead the mission to get them back. Gear Jammer felt it was his duty and went to Vietnam for a second tour. His plane was shot down somewhere in the Iron Triangle. They never found him and he was listed as missing in action. Big Jake was fifteen at the time.
“I hope Big Jake didn’t die in that damn ole Freightliner,” I said with worry.
“Yeah … Me too,” Dad said, hugging me tighter.
When we pulled into the drive, Mom and Grandma met us at the door. Hugs and tears were of abundance. I introduced Jammer to Mom and Grandma. They hugged and praised him as we let him into our home.
Grandma had gotten word that they had recovered Gramp’s body. They also had found Earl and Betty Kenworth by the use of cadaver dogs. Apparently they were above the thirty foot cliff that the Peterbilt and Freightliner had fallen off of. The Kenworth was crushed underneath twenty feet of snow, trees and boulders. The rigs were going to be left there until spring. The order of events was as follows, recover the bodies, take care of any other potential avalanches, and open the highway.
“What about Big Jake? Did they rescue him?” I asked impatiently.
“Yes Honey… He was airlifted to Kamloops Medical Center,” Mom said.
“Is he going to be ok?” I asked.
There was a short pause as everyone was looking at me. I then knew that the news wasn’t going to be good.
Mom knelt down in front of me, took a hold of both shoulders and said… “He is not going to be able to walk. Big Jake is paralyzed from the waist down.”
Tears ran down my cheeks. This meant he would never drive a rig… or walk with Jammer. Everyday things that he took for granted were about to change.
Jammer followed me to my room and I shut the door. We crawled up onto my bed, snuggled and fell asleep.
The next morning Mom, Jammer and I ate breakfast and headed for Kelowna. That was where Big Jake lived with his mom. We pulled into a long driveway nestled in the pines. When we came to the end there was a modest log cabin, with a huge garage made from rough cut lumber. Proudly displayed above the door of the garage, was a POW-MIA flag.
We walked up the steps that led to the open porch. Mom watched as I knocked on the door. After a bit, Big Jakes mom came to the door. Jammer pushed in front of me to greet her. He was so happy to see her. She cupped the sides of his huge head and kissed Jammer between the eyes. She then stood and introduced herself…
“Hi, I’m Judy Emerson… Jakes, mom. Jake told me that Jammer would be by with the shortest trucker that he’d ever seen.”
Mom gave me a funny frown.
Mrs. Emerson invited us in for coffee and a piece of apple pie. While she was pouring the coffee, she thanked me for saving her sons life.
“Well… actually Jammer is the hero here,” I explained.
After I told her the whole story, she just closed her eyes and shook her head with amazement. Meanwhile Jammer stretched out by the fire with his favorite rawhide bone.
“I was just getting ready to call a cab to take me to Kamloops Medical,” said Mrs. Emerson.
“We would be more than glad to take you,” offered Mom.
Mrs. Emerson stoked the fire, hugged Jammer and told him to be a good boy and to stay. As we walked out the door Jammer tipped his head and whined at me. To say I was heartbroken was an understatement. After all… we had been together for six days. I did my best to hide my tears, as I climbed up and sat in the center of the bench seat of Dad’s pickup. The ride was pretty quiet the rest of the way to the hospital.
When we arrived at Big Jake’s room, I took a deep breath before entering. I didn’t know what to expect. He was sitting up in his bed watching TV. He was in a hospital gown and he was covered by a blanket from the waist down. His ball cap was turned around backwards, the way he always wore it. I ran to him and gave him a big hug. He laid his cheek on my head and we just hugged in silence for a while. Mom and Mrs. Emerson stood quietly with tears running down their cheeks. They knew that Big Jake and I now had a connection like no other.
“How’s that old bone head dog of mine doing?” He asked, while he held me tight.
“He’s the most awesome dog,” I said sobbing.
I found out that Big Jake was taking his disability much better than I was. I came to realize that Jammer would help him through it. Not driving a truck was not going to be the end of his life, but a new beginning.
Gramp’s funeral was two days later. At least a hundred people told me stories like Billy Bob had. Gramp’s was such a likeable guy that there wasn’t a place to park for miles. Tractor trailers of every kind filled the town. The funeral procession started at dusk. Gramp’s, Earl’s and Betty’s caskets were put on a flatbed trailer, surrounded with the most beautiful flowers that I had ever seen. The trailer was pulled by a brand spanking new, Peterbilt (compliments of Boulder Trucking.) The procession consists of the lead Peterbilt, two limos and forty three tractor trailers. They went thirteen miles to High Bridge County Cemetery, with just their parking lights on. It was quite a sight to see. The bodies were put into a crypt until spring. There was no way to bury them this time of year. The frost was already five feet deep in the ground.
The following week I had to go back to school. Kids were cruel, they whispered when I walked by. They made cruel jokes about dead people and taunted me with snide remarks. Not that I was ever popular, but their childish behavior made me keep to myself even more. I guess what I had gone through… had made me grow up. Dealing with death up close had changed me.
By now it was spring; the sight of grass and warmer days was long overdue. Mom said she had some errands to run for Dad, in Kelowna.
“Could you drop me off at Big Jake’s?” I asked with excitement.
“Well… Give Mrs. Emerson a call and see if it is alright,” she suggested.
I made the call and Mrs. Emerson said it would be great.
When we arrived, I was reaching in the back of the truck for my back-pack. Something nudged me in the back. As he started rubbing that enormous head against me, I turned and hugged him tight. My heart melted, just like when I first met him. Big Jake came rolling down a ramp from the porch and I hugged him too. Mrs. Emerson greeted us from the porch.
“Judy, I won’t be back until around four o’clock. Is that ok?” Asked Mom.
“Sure that will be fine,” she replied.
Mom pulled out of the driveway and we headed for the cabin. Big Jake grabbed Jammers harness. Jammer got up a little speed and pulled Big Jake up the ramp. After they reached the top Big Jake let go and praised Jammer.
“Good Boy!” He said while petting him and giving him a treat.
“No more moochin’…He has to earn his keep now,” smiled Judy.
We giggled and proceeded into the house.
The house seemed different. Things had been remodeled to accommodate Big Jakes wheel chair, things that I had never thought of, like the kitchen sink and doorways.
“So what’s new with you? Trucker Girl,” said Big Jake jokingly.
I told him about the kids at school and things got kind of quiet.
“Ya know I forgot to tell you, your Trapper friend found me long before the rescue team did. He had venison soup, muffins and coffee. He had the snow cleared for the rescue team to remove me. I never got a chance to thank him,” said Big Jake.
I told him about Jammer’s paw in the trap and all. We sat quietly for a while and sipped on some ice tea.
"Let’s go to the garage, I have an idea,” he said.
When we got to the garage Big Jake entered the walk in door and proceeded to the huge garage door. He pulled the chain hand over hand and opened the door to let more sun light inside. The wheel chair didn’t stop him from being strong. He completed the task with little effort. I noticed a rig covered up with an army tarp, but that wasn’t what he wanted to show me. Leaning against the wall was a dirt bike.
“You can ride a bicycle… Right?” He asked while handing me a helmet.
“Well yeah… I can ride a bike,” I answered.
It took a little time for him to teach me how to start the motorcycle with the kick starter. I sat on the machine and revved the throttle a little.
“It’s different than a rig… Your clutch is on the left side of your handlebars and the front brake is on the right. Right foot is your back brake. Left foot is your shifter; one click down is first gear. Back up one is neutral and up again for second, third and fourth gear. Squeeze the clutch and push the shifter down with your left foot…. Good… Now let out the clutch slowly and give it a little gas just like taking off with Gramp’s Peterbilt,” instructed Big Jake.
I rode up and down the driveway and in a few minutes I was using second and third gears. I was having such a good time. Jammer and Big Jake watched intently as I mastered the dirt bike.
When Mom arrived at four, the look on her face was priceless. She sat on the steps next to Big Jake’s wheel chair and watched me for a while. I finally pulled up next to them and turned the bike off. I removed the motocross helmet, let my hair fall to my shoulders and gave her a grin.
“What do ya say… we load it in your dad’s truck and you can take it home," said Big Jake with a smile.
Mom rolled her eyes… “Your dad is going to have a fit, “she smiled.
Mom backed the truck up next to the bank by the garage and I rolled the dirt bike into the back of the truck. Big Jake found some tie-downs and showed me how to secure the bike. He gave me the motocross helmet, even though it was a little big. We said our good-byes to Judy, Big Jake and Jammer and headed for home.
When we arrived at the house, Dad wasn’t home yet. Our neighbor Ted helped me unload the dirt bike and I hid it behind the garage.
Dad made it home in time for supper, but I didn’t say anything about it then. After supper I went outside, put on my helmet and fired up the bike. I rode it around the house a couple of times before he came out. He leaned against the door casing and lit a cigarette. He watched me as Mom came up from behind him and put her arms around his waist.
“Where the heck did she get that thing?” He asked, looking out of the corner of his eye at Mom.
Mom told him about today’s events and he pulled up a lawn chair and watched. After about ten minutes I pulled up to them and shut off the dirt bike.
“Pretty cool, Huh?” I asked to Dad.
“How did you learn how to ride that thing?” He asked.
“Well… It was actually easier than learning how to back up Grandpa’s Peterbilt,” I said, letting the cat out of the bag.
They looked at each other in disbelief.
“Didn’t Grandpa teach you how to drive a rig, Mom?” I asked with sincerity.
“No!” She giggled… “He taught me how to drive a 55 Chevy pickup!”
“You… Little Miss twelve year old, have driven an eighteen wheeler?” Asked Dad, with doubt.
“Well… If ya don’t believe me… ask Grandma! She’s seen me drive that truck back and forth in her driveway a hundred times. Heck I did it all last summer and I was only eleven then,” I scolded.
Dad went in and called Grandma and she vouched for me.
“Yeah… Gramp would be sleeping in the sleeper while she drove him up and down the driveway,” giggled Gram.
A smile came across Dad’s face and he just shook his head in disbelief.
Dad’s attitude changed after that. The following summer I spent a lot of time at his shop. He didn’t only fix diesel engines for eighteen wheelers; he also worked on log skidders, bulldozers, dump trucks, etc. I had the opportunity to drive them all. It was the best summer of my life. Sometimes he would take me up on Old Buck Rut Road. It’s an old paved dead end road that is hardly ever used. Dad would let me drive his 1974 Peterbilt tow truck. She had dual stacks and a 359 cubic inch, 600 horse powered diesel. The road was long enough so I could shift up to fifth gear. She had eighteen in all and she was Dad’s pride and joy. Well… other than Mom and me, of course.
Dad had been working with Big Jake, trying to make a pickup truck that he could drive. It had hand controls for the gas and brakes. Dad installed grab bars for Big Jake to pull himself out of his wheelchair and into the truck. It was painful for me to watch. Big Jake wouldn’t let anyone help him.
“It’s something that I have to learn to do for myself," he explained to me.
I would have to go play fetch with Jammer, so Big Jake and Dad could perfect the process. I couldn’t stand to watch Big Jake put himself through the torture. It wasn’t long and Big Jake was driving. It was a good to see him gain some independence and I’m sure Jammer loved being able to go for a ride.
Big Jake and Dad became good friends and Dad offered him a job in the shop. Big Jake went to night school and learned how to tear down and assemble diesel engines. Dad had five guys that worked for him and they all treated me like family. Big Jake was no exception. I was glad that Dad had hired him. Now I could see Jammer after school every day. He would sleep next to Mom’s desk in the office (where she had food and water for him) and he became the shop mascot. Mack had a Bulldog…We had a Great Pyrenees.
It was around Thanksgiving when I told Big Jake that we needed to take a road trip. I told him why and he agreed.
“Talk to your parents and get permission… I‘d love to do it,” said Big Jake.
It took some begging, but finally Mom and Dad gave in.
We stopped at Millie’s where it all began. Thoughts of almost a year ago ran through my mind like an old motion picture. This is the very spot Jammer and I had met, the memory of him tickling my ear with his tongue made me smile. I gassed up Big Jakes GMC and went inside to pay. Millie gave me a hug and I told her what Big Jake and I were going to do. She put some cookies in a paper sack and hugged me again. This time it took her longer to let go and tears were running down her cheeks.
As we headed for High Bridge Pass, I shared my cookies with Big Jake and Jammer. It was pretty quiet, with a snow flake or two in the air. Big Jake turned on the radio and it was as if Grandpa’s ghost was with us. Dave Dudley was on the radio singing “Six Days on the Road.” I told Big Jake about it.
“We're in pretty good hands,” said Big Jake.
We both laughed and shook our heads yes. Jammer joined in with a little yip.
We crossed High Bridge Pass. Tonight it was clear, nothing like the last time. The moon reflected on the river below, which wandered back and forth between the mountains. The snow on the ground looked blue, as well as the beautiful snow covered pines.
When we arrived where the avalanche took place, Big Jake pulled over. I held his wheel chair as he lowered himself from the four wheel drive. The guys at the lumber mill had made three hardwood crosses with beautiful mortised joints. Gramps', Earl's and Betty’s names were engraved on their own respectively. Big Jake made three holes with a hard-bar and pounded each cross into the ground with a sledge hammer. Once again… this was a task that would have been hard enough for a regular man to do. Gram had sent three wreaths and I hung them on the crosses. Big Jake removed his hat and held it to his heart respectfully. Timberwolves howled in the distance as tears ran down my cheeks. Jammer leaned against me nuzzling his head under my arm to console me. After a spell, we returned to the truck and proceeded towards Beggars Valley.
It wasn’t long before we heard truckers talking on the Big Jakes CB, about the crosses. We just drove in silence… listening to the respectful things they had to say.
About eleven o’clock we arrived on the other side of No Man’s Land and found a motel.
Big Jake had already made reservations. I helped him get settled in his room. As I went to go to mine he said, “Jammer can sleep in your room…. I don’t have to tell ya how bad he snores.”
I gave him a smile and Jammer followed me to the room next door. I knew Big Jake said Jammer could sleep with me so I wouldn’t be scared or lonely. I called Mom and Dad, like I had agreed, to and let them know we were okay.
“Love you guys too Mom”… then I hung up.
Jammer and I snuggled and watched TV until early morning. Daylight finally arrived and we ate some breakfast and proceeded on. About two hours later we came to a sign that read, Jefferson 44 km. We took a right and followed the narrow mountain road. When we came to Jefferson I showed Big Jake how to get to Billy Bob’s and Gracie’s house.
When Billy answered the door, I gave him a huge Hug. They were surprised to see us. Billy went to the truck and invited Big Jake and Jammer to come inside. Billy and I helped Big Jake Up a couple of steps and into the house.
We told them of our mission… “We just wanted to come back and thank the people that helped us,” I explained.
Gram had sent a nice homemade quilt and Judy sent homemade jellies, veggies and fruits canned in pretty mason jars. They were arranged in a nice basket with a photo of Big Jake, Jammer and me.
We told them about the trapper and his wife. “If he were to come to Jefferson for supplies… Where would he go?” Asked Big Jake.
“Well”… said Billy, scratching his beard, “probably the trading post, down next to the post office.”
We said our good-byes and headed for the trading post. It was a big ole shack, where trappers and hunters sold their pelts and bought their supplies. We found the owner. He was a big burley man, wearing bright red suspenders and was speaking French to a young trapper. After he was done, I politely asked if he could speak English.
“Yes Sweetie… I can speak English. How may I help you?” He asked, in his deep baritone voice.
“Do you know a trapper that speaks French, wears a fur hat and coat and deer skin mucks?” I asked.
“Sweetie you just described about fifty trappers that I know. You’re gonna have to give me more than that,” he chuckled, while leaning on the counter.
“How about a scar under his left eye, and he traps No Man’s Land?” Added Big Jake.
“Now yer getting somewhere,” said the store owner. “You must be talking about Kodiak Jack! There only a handful of men that will attempt that ungodly terrain.”
He then pointed to a huge bear skin with the head attached, that was hanging on the wall behind us.
“The legend goes… Back in the mid fifty’s Jack and his Pa were trapping out there in No Man’s Land. A young cub had gotten caught in one of their traps and the young boy was trying to let it loose. Meanwhile the momma bear hears the commotion and comes running. Jack’s Pa only had an ole single shot rifle. Jack’s ole man fired at the huge Kodiak but it didn’t stop. The bear killed the ole man and charged the young boy. Jack, only armed with a bowie knife, managed to bury the knife in the monster’s heart as it pounced on top of him. He was found by some local Indians. They claim he was under the bear unconscious. To this day they call him White Wolf… We call him Kodiak Jack. He traded that bear hide to me, for one hundred traps. The story has attracted a lot of business to my place.
Kodiak Jack still carries his ole mans single shot. He comes here once a month for supplies” added the store owner.
I told him our story.
“Would you give him something for us? The next time you see him,” I asked.
“Sure Sweetie,” he replied.
I handed him a basket and quilt, along with a photo of Big Jake, Jammer and me. The store owner helped me write Thank You on the back in French. He assured us that Kodiak Jack would receive the gifts.
Next we found a local butcher and bought ten big steaks and two cases of beer. Our last stop was Jefferson Rescue. The guys were happy to see us and I apologized to the rookie for the kick in the groin. The rest of the crew made fun of him again and he blushed. He also made amends with Jammer. We gave them a photo for their wall of fame.
We made our way back to the motel that we stayed the night before. I called Mom and Dad and told them that our mission was a success. We left Jammer in Big Jakes room and went to a local bar and grill for supper.
After supper we shot some pool. Big Jake was pretty darn good. He knew some other truckers that were there and he introduced me as Gramp’s granddaughter. They were a great bunch and we had a good time.
The next day on our way home, we stopped at the three crosses to pay our respect once more. The crosses were surrounded with beautiful flowers that other truckers had left.
On our way home I asked Big Jake what his father was like. After a moment of awkward silence he told me the story…
“My dad was a quiet man… One of those types that made you wonder what he was thinking. He taught me how to ride a bike, a motorcycle, drive a car and eventually a rig. I’m sure he had his faults like any man, but I honestly can’t remember any. He loved me and Mom. When the military called him back, Mom pleaded for him not to go… That was fourteen years ago, almost half of my life I’ve been waiting for him.”
When he dropped me off, I made a fist and he gave me a bump with his. Jammer licked my cheek; I shut the door and watched them disappear down the street.
When I turned sixteen I took my road test on Dad’s pickup truck. Of course I passed in flying colors. I had been saving to go to college. I was living a lie, because deep down inside I wanted to be a trucker. Gramp always said that once trucking got in your blood there was no denying it.
One day during my senior year in High School, I stopped at Big Jake’s house. He was tinkering in the garage. Jammer greeted me as usual, as I entered.
“Hey! What are ya up to?” Asked Big Jake.
“Oh I don’t know,”… I said in a moapy voice.
“How’s School?” He asked.
Well… Mom and Grandma think I should go to college and become a teacher,” I said disgustedly. “But I want to be a trucker.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” he said, looking at me with a big grin.
He watched me as I moseyed around the shop. I came to the covered up rig, lifted the tarp a little and looked at Big Jake. He nodded his head yes, but the expression on his face was serious. I lifted the tarp and there sat a 1961 B61 Mack in mint condition.
“Go ahead pull the tarp off,” he instructed.
I pulled the tarp off and there she sat, black fenders with dark green hood and body. Gold leaf pin striping with GEAR JAMMER in gold lettering on the sides of the hood. Chrome grill, tanks, mud guards and visor. Thermodyne engine, dual chrome stacks, ten speeds with tandem axle. This was a beautiful machine, no wonder everyone knew who Gear Jammer was. I just stood there in awe.
“She’s been sitting there for fourteen years just the way he left it,” said Big Jake.
“Can I sit in it?” I asked with excitement.
“Sure,” chuckled Big Jake.
I climb up onto the step of the saddle tank while simultaneously reaching for the chrome grab bar attached to the cab. When I opened the door it smelt like moth balls. I slid in on the leather seat and took it all in. It was kind of primitive compared to Dad’s and Grandpa’s Peterbilt.
Jammer sat on the shop floor whining at me. Must be he thought I was going for a ride.
After I was done checking it out, I took a step ladder and covered the Mack back up.
Time marched on and soon it was graduation (Class of 79). Mom and Gram had a nice party for me and friends and relatives came from all over. The night before, I had sat down with Mom and Gram and told them that I had enrolled in a tractor trailer driving school in Ontario. They took it pretty well and just wanted me to be happy.
Six months later I had graduated from Trucker University. Mom, Dad and all of the guys from the shop came to see me get my diploma. They were surprised to see that there were four other girls graduating with me.
I rode back home with Big Jake and Jammer. That’s when Big Jake popped the question.
“Would ya like to become business partners with me?” He asked, as we pulled into his driveway.
“What do ya mean?” I questioned.
When we got to the cabin everyone was there waiting for us. Big Jake lowered himself into his wheel chair and said… “Stay here; I have a surprise for you.”
He entered the garage and opened the door. There sat the most beautiful maroon 77 Peterbilt. I walked around the rig in disbelief. On the sides of the hood…in gold leaf letters, read Gear Jammin’ Girl. I balled my eyes out in disbelief.
Judy came over and gave me a big hug. “If you’re going to haul lumber in these parts, you’re gonna need a good dog!” She said pointing to Big Jake.
Sitting on his lap in the wheel chair was a snow white, Great Pyrenees pup.
Big Jake and I worked out the details and became the proud owners of Jammer Trucking. Judy kept our books and within five years we bought two more used rigs and hired two more drivers.
I was at Millie’s one July morning. I watched a man fueling up, while a young boy hung onto his pant leg. The shy little guy had no idea that he was about to fall in love, as the enormous fur ball nudged him from behind. When the boy turned around to see who pushed him, his face lit up.
“What are ya doing boy?” He said, while reaching up to pet his big furry head.
I let them get acquainted, while I topped off the tank. I then opened the passenger side door of the cab and attached his aluminum ramp.
“C’mon, Big Jake! … Get yer big butt up here!” I ordered.
He climbed part way up the ramp and waited for some ear scratching. He was now one hundred and twenty plus pounds. He looked and acted exactly like his dad, Jammer. As we headed out of the parking lot, the boy gave us a wave. I gave him a few short blasts on the air horn and worked my way up through the gears.
I was asked to speak at a convention for professional women and all I could tell them was this… “Truck driving isn’t a man or a woman thing. It’s more like choosing a life style. My grandpa always said it can be as addictive as alcohol or tobacco. Once it’s in yer blood, it’s a hard habit to kick.”
When I was asked for my best advice about driving a truck? … All I can say is… “Find yourself a good dog!”
Rosemary Barker
05/10/2021Herm, This is the first story of yours that I have read. I can sincerely tell you that it will not be the last one. Not by a long shot! I really enjoyed this story.
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