Page 22. MAINE COASTAL NEWS May 2011 A LOBSTER TRUCK DRIVER'S RECOLLECTIONS Continued from Page 21.
Boston to let them know I might be late. I also called for a repair truck. I went back to our truck and right away the repairman came. He found our problem. The points had gotten loose and worked together so they had no gap. He reset the points, she fired right up, and I was on my way. See, that was before we had CB radios, and certainly well before we had cellular telephones. One trip to Boston I was waiting to unload and I was looking at a small lobster truck from Deer Isle parked near Hines and Smart on Atlantic Avenue. She had been an ice cream truck. She had a diesel engine, and the sides of her were covered with what looked like her lube oil. He left for home before I did. I headed home, and swung off the interstate to go in through Brunswick. Before I got into Brunswick I saw the Deer Isle truck off on the side, disabled. The driver wasn’t there, so I don’t know the details. * * * * *
On one of our trucks I’d installed a very loud electrically powered air whistle. One day I was headed home and I was tired and in a hurry as I was late leaving Boston. In Black’s Woods, on that winding twisty up hill down dale road with the beautiful scenery between Franklin and Cherryfield I got behind a pokey driver. I think they were the type who put their brakes on going down hills... I’d run up be- hind them and try to encourage them to speed up, to no avail. Finally, I hit that air whistle and the pokey car ahead of me about lurched off the road! It pulled over safely and I was able to get by and resume a good speed for home. * * * * *
Long hours of driving with little or no sleep can get to you. The two periods in the day that drowsiness would bother me would be after driving through the night and just
about at ûrst light. The other would be when I’d be bound for home in the afternoon around 2 o’clock and the sun would be shin- ing in my open window. * * * * *
How could I have grown up on Beals Island and not like racing? Our Chevrolet and Ford trucks had governors on the engines, so they’d cut out at about 72 miles/hour. So you could throw her in the corner, so to speak, and that would be about your top speed. To have a little extra fun I enjoyed doing some racing, even if the top speed was set. The other guys probably had governors, too. One time I pulled out of a turnpike toll gate alongside of a Greyhound bus. We were both northerly bound. Our truck went off and left him and I didn’t see him again that day. One night I was southerly bound on the Maine Turnpike and I came across an 18wheeler loaded with pota- toes. On level going we’d run just about neck and neck, but on upgrades I could pull away from him. We were in company for a number of miles. One trip I’d cleaned out a pound, meaning I had taken on what was left of a pound full of lobsters that had been sold. So, I had a few crates aboard and was bound for Boston. East of Moody’s Diner on Route 1 there are some sizable hills, which you notice if you’re driving a truck. Just before I got to those hills I saw a truck from South Addison ahead of me, loaded. I knew the driver and that his truck was an International. On the hills she’d slow down, as expected, while my truck with a light load was doing much better on the hills. I’d run right up behind him as he was slowed down. When we got to Moody’s we both pulled into the parking area on the right and I pulled up beside him on his right. He looked over and asked me how many I had on, and I told him 144. He thought that was pretty good that my truck could pull up those hills
so much better than his. Of course, I told him the truth, that I only had on a few crates. Maritime Packers was a lobster company from Nova Scotia. We called them Maripackers. They had trucks about the size of ours, but it was rumored that they had the big Chevy 409 engines in them. One night I was south bound on the express route on the North Shore of Massachusetts, and lo and behold, I fell in with a Maripacker, also headed for Boston. We raced for quite a while, and neither could gain the advantage. When we came to the split where you go through Revere or across the Mystic River Bridge (now called Tobin Bridge) he went toward Revere and the tunnel and I went to the right to cross the Mystic Bridge. I went into Boston my usual way and got off the Central Artery and went down onto Atlantic avenue and up to Hook’s at the corner of Northern and Atlantic. Just as I got to Hook’s the Maripacker was just backing in. That race was very nearly a tie!
* * * * *
The weather report for Boston for one trip I was making called for very hot tempera- tures there. So, when I iced up at the ice house I took on an extra two tons, or so, of ice. Usually we’d stop at Ben’s Mobil in Brunswick and fuel up. The seat tank would last to Campo and back through Cherryfield and I’d have to switch to the saddle tank about the time I’d be entering Black’s Woods. However, on this night I was con- cerned that the truck would be over weight when I went on the scales in Kittery, because of the extra weight of ice. So, as I was driving along I was doing the math in my head, figuring the weight of a gallon of gasoline, computing weight of the fuel left in the saddle tank, and what the truck would gross out at if I filled up at Ben’s as I usually did. My
arithmetic indicated that she’d be overweight if I took on fuel. Then I had to figure how far I could go on my diminishing saddle tank, and could I get to the state line and into Ports- mouth, NH, without running out of gas. The math said I could make it. Therefore, I passed Ben’s and went on to the Maine Turnpike and let her go for Kittery, and, the scales. I had over an hour to go to get to Kittery. I drove onto the scales, and the officer there checked things out and weighed the truck. He looked up at me and said, “You’re within 100 pounds of your gross weight.” Very relieved, I then went over to Portsmouth and fueled up. * * * * *
It was good to have company on the trips, so sometimes I’d take a fellow along. They could also help me handle crates and load and unload. My cousins Willis and Robert Beal enjoyed going, as did Leland “Bucky” Faulkingham. Some of the others who went with me were Obed Peabody, “Bud” Moore, Uncle Erroll Woodward, Uncle Leon Simmons, and occasionally Dad. We had good trips. Sometimes if I had time I’d take my “crew” sightseeing up around Bos- ton Common, by the Public Gardens, up by the State House, down past Park Street Church and down Tremont Street, and maybe through Chinatown. That went well, particu- larly in a big truck during considerable traffic. * * * * *
I once encountered a Massachusetts State Trooper. I’d been delayed getting un- loaded, therefore was late starting for home, a six hour trip. By that time I may have been up 24 or more hours since leaving home. I got out of Boston and had the gas pedal on the floor as I was northerly bound on 95. I saw a Mass State Cruiser in my rearview mirror and
Continued on Page 24. SATURN in the Ice: Will Winter Ever End?
A couple of views of SATURN sitting in the ice at Kustom Steel in Brewer, right across the river from Hollywood Slots. The ice has broken, but it is still too cold to work on the exterior. As soon as it warms up work will begin on finishing the pilothouse, stack and stackhouse and boat deck. Will also finish inside bulwarks and topsides and try to get as much of her bottom done. However, the main focus this summer will be in the engine room. First job is to clean the bilge - ANY VOLUNTEERS!
SATURN is a 117-foot railroad tug built as the BERN for the Reading Railroad in 1907. She is one of the last railroad tugs in existence and is being saved for future generations to enjoy. For further information : (207) 223-8846 or to join the Friends of SATURN, send a check for $25 or more to P.O. Box 710, Winterport, ME 04496.
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