In my family, ice road trucking is huge. Every time we go out on the ice, it is like a teen who just got his license going 100 on the highway. This takes place on the cold, hard, thick, merciless ice. My father taught me the art of ice road trucking. We now practice this activity many times a year, making long trips through Alaska and Canada. One time, my father and I were on the ice, making the usual trip from Yellowknife to Diavik, both in Canada. Bob was in the back of the cab, making coffee, an essential tool to the common ice road trucker. We were on a two-lane road, which had only been tracked over maybe one or two times, so it was fresh ice. This means it is dangerous, considering trucks individual weights have a possible differential of enough weight where one truck could pass a section of ice with ease, where as another might break the ice. Breaking the ice is the absolute worst nightmare of an ice road trucker.
I was driving around twenty miles per hour. We were coming up to the uncharted territory. I slowed down a bit, and all of the sudden the cab started shaking. I started getting nervous. I checked my back mirrors, and sure as rain on a cloudy day, Bud’s truck came up behind me. My dad had a long time running feud with Bud. He always would try to beat us, or take bigger loads. I wasn’t about to give him one more point. As soon as Bud got an inch past my cab, I started accelerating. These trucks are no hummers, more like jet airplanes. I blasted the smithereens out of that turbo engine, and hit the nitrous. After the first bend, known to fellow truckers as the first checkpoint, I was just 3 truck lengths behind. I ripped down the mask and turned on all of the gauges. I started inhaling Helium, Argon, Neon, Krypton, Xenon, and Radon.I gave the pedal to the floor.
We ended up winning the race, and Bob Elmore got me a big ol’ cup of Canadian roast coffee. That, to me, was a true bonding moment.
