The Long Record

The first time I climbed into that pumpkin-colored cab-over, I remember thinking: This truck is bigger than my doubts. Somehow, so was I.

For three years, I drove an 18-wheeler over-the-road for Schneider National. My CB handle, “Witchy Woman,” echoed across the United States. Those bright orange trucks earned us the nickname “pumpkin drivers” among the other drivers—and yeah, we owned it.

I started at truck driving school in Denver, Colorado. There, I mastered double-clutch. I learned to calculate miles and time. I also learned to handle big rigs on ice without losing control. I performed thorough pre-trip inspections. Hired straight out of school, I headed to Green Bay, Wisconsin, for advanced training.

The highlight – and honestly, the funniest part-was the skid-pad. It involved intentionally sending an 18-wheeler flatbed into a skid. Then, we learned how to steer out of it safely. I was nervous as heck; but, I chose to do it anyway. Wrestling an 80,000-pound beast builds real confidence. After that, fear had less room in the cab.

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Next stop was Des Moines, Iowa, where I picked up my assigned truck– and my co-driver. That lady was a real trip. A little older than me, she brought nonstop adventure. Two women rolling boldly through a male-dominated world—it wasn’t always easy, but it was unforgettable.

She had absolutely no filter. One afternoon, I drove through a small town filled with construction workers. She rolled down her window and hollered, “Oh baby, you have a nice bod!” I nearly came out of my seat yelling for her to get her head back inside. Embarrassing? Completely. But that was her.

CB radios were our lifeline. We traded weather and road reports. We warned each other about “bears”. We filled the lonely miles with simple conversation when fatigue crept in. Out there, even small human connections mattered.

The life was hard on both body and mind—constant pressure from driving, dropping and hooking loads, trip-planning, and tight deadlines. We’d run hard for three weeks straight, then grabbed four days at home to recover before doing it all again.

Looking back on it now, I see that truck carried more than freight.

Somewhere between the gears, the deadlines, the dark highways, and the rising sun, I outgrew the version of myself who wondered if she was strong enough.

And once you learn you can handle an 80,000-pound rig on black ice…

your doubts don’t scare you quite as much anymore.