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TRUCKING FOR AMERICA


Since the beginning of November I've had to listen to this dickhole GPS dictate directions to me almost constantly. "In three tenths of a mile, turn right at the next exit." Visions of spontaneous violence and destruction come to me in waves from my new home in the backseat of this truck as I barrel down the highway with Alex Debogorski, that guy from History Channel's outrageously successful show, Ice Road Truckers. Myself and my buddy, Loren McGinnis, have been hired to shoot a documentary of Alex's trip across the country to promote his new book, King of the Road.

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We are 32 days into a 52 day, nonstop road trip across 28 states of almighty America. I'm traveling sometimes in and sometimes alongside the world's largest fifth wheel big rig--93 feet long, complete with showers, shitters, five beds, stove, fridge, couches, and two 12-foot LED screens on the outside that generally play football or seizure inducing slides that flash "Awesome." Colloquially known as the "Red Giant," it's a $750K firetruck red monstrosity that is burning some serious rubber down the highways of the USA. It is a sight to behold, especially because it has a twelve foot high Alex Debogorski flanked by the words "King of the Road" on both sides.

We started in New York, where we stayed up for about three days straight out of sheer excitement, partying and trying to figure out the logistics of getting a 93 foot bohemoth motherfucker of a truck through Times Square. Since then we've burned through Ohio, Iowa, Wyoming, Nebraska, Utah, Nevada, California, Arizona, New Mexico, and are currently making our way across Texas before heading off to Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, and a bunch of other places that I've lost track of now.


Alex Debogorski taking a time out in the desert just outside of Arizona. Locals were blasting off handguns right behind us.

If we've learned one thing so far on this trip, besides the fact that underwear can be re-used for at least a week before the bacon strips become a problem, it's that trucking ain't for pussies. Being tethered to this truck means we have become truckers too, which I've realized is a very unforgiving profession. You drive until your eyeballs start to bleed, and just as you're about to fall asleep at the wheel and smear an entire Disneyland-bound family into the guard rail, you roll into one of America's main truck stop franchises--TA, Flying J, Pilot, or the shittiest of them all, Love's. You try to find your usual parking place (a trucker shot another trucker dead over a parking spot dispute recently) but will probably fail. Your last meal was Taco Bell (at the very healthiest) 12 hours ago, so you go into the shithole Love's for their $8.99 buffet dinner where even the salad is covered in cream or chocolate pudding and has marshmallows or some shit in it. You eat a pile of weird meat, starch, grease, grits, gravy, biscuits, orange pop, watch a C-action movie starring Christopher Lambert and hit the sack. Up at 4am, have a trucker shower (none), a huge breakfast with everything meat, hammer a gigantic coffee, hack a couple Marlboro's, wolf down some mini-pink donuts, take a shit alongside every other grunting trucker and hit the road. Repeat.

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After doing a TV spot for KTLA, Alex headed to Denny's for yet another "Grandslam" breakfast.

This is a strangely uplifting brotherhood though. These men are addicted to the road and they stand by the freedom it affords them. Some have traveled and seen all of America through a chipped windshield. Most have done it for their whole lives and will die trucking. Many eat, sleep, and breathe trucking, and it becomes almost a religion for them. But you can see the wear and tear on their faces, these men (and a few women) are tired as fuck and look very unhealthy. They absent mindedly wander through parking lots to or from their trucks, sort of not knowing what to do with themselves outside of their cabs. They eat alone, yet side by side in beige cafeterias. They joke on the CB at night to keep each other awake, pound Redbull by the gallon, love their country, arm themselves to the teeth, and go with God. Their marriages fail because they are married to the road. Some travel with their ladies to avoid that impending doom. Almost all of them don't see their kids as much as they'd like to. They need a home cooked meal, maybe a hug, a few kind words, and a bit more respect. These maniacs make this country turn, ultimately. All that nice shit you've got in your house--the food, the booze, the pink one-piece crotchless leotard I ordered myself last month--some nameless trucker out there drove himself that much closer to the grave to get it to us. They are seriously taking one for the team.


The Red Giant barrels through the plains of Wyoming. This was shot from the edge of someone's ranch. We half expected to get attacked by a mountain lion or shot in the face for trespassing.

We're a long way from our Canadian homestead of Yellowknife, where it's currently -31 and shitty, so I don't miss it yet, but I might soon, depending on how far down this asphalt lined rabbit hole we go. As the three of us barrel down this highway from truck stop to truck stop over the next month in search of fame, fortune, laughs, and a bit of weirdness, there will be stories from truckdom involving toothless women, renegade redneck trucker stores, a driver named Mad Dog, guns, God, getting fat, speed, "lot lizards," and the lonely freedom that the road giveth and taketh away. And all of this as we try to keep our sanity at least in 1st gear. Over and out.

JAY BULCKAERT
Check out www.collective9.com for videos from the road.