He found us himself, stopped us right in the middle of the street. In those days, clients still ran after cars themselves, and not vice versa. Let's go, he says, guys to Surgut? We need to drag the cucumbers and apples there. I don't remember how much he charged us at that time, but judging by the fact that we agreed on the move, it was enough.
I don’t remember how much he charged us at that time, but judging by the fact that we
agreed on the move, it was enough.
We filled the arrow with him for loading, took a deposit and, satisfied, went to prepare on a trip to Surgut.
My partner, though young, was already married and, as a good family man should, had a mistress on the side. He left for his wife's flight today, and the money burned his thigh and he left me to prepare the car, and he rushed to his sweetheart. By that time, I had already gained strength and growth, but I had not yet developed masculine charm in myself, and therefore I did not have a permanent girlfriend, but interrupted where and how I had to.
I drove KAMAZ for loading and went home to sleep off and rest before the road. In the morning, the car was loaded, but there was still no partner for the dispatch. We are waiting for him for an hour, two ... he is gone. Then there were no cell phones yet, and we had no choice but to drive through the whole city under prohibitory signs on a loaded KAMAZ behind it, risking on the way to get on the grandmother when we met with traffic cops.
Also, the customers - the Uzbeks wanted to save on the ticket to Surgut and insisted that we take one passenger, in addition to what is allowed by the rules, like, we ourselves will bred for him on the way. We come to her house, I collapse, he sleeps, no, he tumbled with her all night and how much he drank, now he doesn't even know himself.
And at that moment I didn’t have a license, they had just been stolen from me, and then I didn’t have time to retake it for new ones, but went black, sometimes buying temporary coupons from the traffic cops.
Well, I let him wake him up with folk methods (with cold water on his head), he woke up - I see him like a Turkish saber.
Mlaya, I have to go, I have no license - it is blue, and at the exit there is a traffic police post and what will be stopped, there is no doubt. I refreshed it a little in a cold shower, he ate as much as he could so that he would not smell of fumes. The owners of the cargo, already there, went to shit during this time, waiting for me and my partner in the car, not knowing what had happened. He took a bottle of sunflower oil with him from a friend, as you know, according to popular belief, oil envelops the stomach with a film and the fume is supposedly not so much audible, because only he could go through the post.
How I felt sorry for him ...
Here he is already sausage not childishly from a hangover, and he still shoves this oil into himself, overpowering vomiting spasms. It would be appropriate to note here that sunflower oil used to be not at all as refined and pleasant as it is now, people of my age and older remember this for sure.
Here we are approaching the post. Stop. The traffic cop almost stumbling to catch the falling cap from his head, runs such a joyful bastard, the loaded truck is immediately visible and he is already all in anticipation of how much dough he’s going to get from us now.
Well, of course, they find our extra passenger, and drag their partner to the checkpoint.
Either from fear, or from a hangover flavored sunflower oil already green.
Neither alive, not dead, cursing to himself everything in the world, including the traffic policeman-Kazakh, goes after him, trying not to breathe at all, so as not to overthrow the cop with fumes. I don’t know what they were doing there for so long, but somewhere in a little over an hour they came out and a clear relief was read on the face of their partner.
We went with grief in half. Having left for the post farther, the partner climbed into the bedroom
branch, and I got behind the wheel. In front of the Kazakh customs office in Bashmachny, our passenger suddenly remembered that not all documents were in order to go through customs and generally admitted, bastard, that our truck, it turns out, was half loaded with apples, and only the backside was filled with cucumbers, for which the documents were more or less in order. Now, after many years (this was in 1994), I am amazed at how naught we were then, without fear and blah blame, well, just like the ancient knights who fought with windmills.
We did not bother to present that passenger for a long time, but after throwing a little price for the risk, we wrote without long reasoning to go through the fields to bypass the customs (!!!)
So that I subscribe to this again! Uuuuuuu !!!
Spring - the fields were still not dry, the field roads, respectively, were washed out, we drove up to half of the bypass road almost without incident, but then on the road we met a KAMAZ with a trailer loaded with coal, which, just like we were looking for "easy" ways ... He stood in a huge puddle formed on the road and got stuck on a hike at the very least. We stopped, approached the driver, he said that his partner had taken to the collective farm for
a Kirovite already an hour ago and, in theory, should soon be with help.
It was beginning to get dark and after two and a half hours of waiting we ran out of patience, we wanted to try to go around it on the side of the road in the field.
Gee, and, of course, they stood up as another "monument" to the Soviet off-road next to him, but now it was much easier to wait for the Kirovets, for there was no other real way out. When a resident of Kirov arrived, he first tried to pull out a dump truck with coal, but he sat tight and drove the Kirov resident considered that we were more promising clients, and having pulled us out, he left that dude to spend the night in the field, and dragged us on a rope, because the remaining the road was wet since spring, and every now and then we fell through, without directly leaving the grader, and at the same time he showed us the way, in the dark it was no longer so good
it is clear where the right direction is.
After a couple of hours of stubborn struggle against the road, we, with God's help, drove around this damned customs. As soon as I got behind the wheel, I suddenly heard a sharp and frequent knock in the engine. They stopped, pulled up the cabin, and, walking around, determined by unscrewing the nozzle that the valve ring had crumbled.
There is nothing to do, I, as the youngest and smartest on the tongue (with a note of pride), catch a ride and go to some nearby collective farm for twenty kilometers.
Lucky, right at the edge of the farm ran into a guy who had the cylinder head we needed at home and could see with the naked eye a strong desire to drink that evening. He took me back on his motorcycle along with the head, remaining until the end of the repair, in the hope that we still could get something from the stocks of the collective farm Mashdvor.
We finished after midnight and moved on.
To be continued...
This cafe, located at a fork in the road ten kilometers from the city, has always been a favorite resting place for truck drivers. Here you could have a tasty meal and relax before continuing on your way. There were always several cars parked in the large area behind the cafe. Some left, others came - the eternal cycle of life. Today, four brilliant handsome men, covered with brand new heating elements, stood on the site, and the drivers themselves sat at a table in a small cafe hall and talked after a hearty meal. Paths-roads brought them together more than once, so the conversation was heart-to-heart, like old friends, despite the different age and place of residence.
Sergei Grigorievich, you are silent today, you have not eaten almost anything. Did something happen to you? - asked the young curly-haired driver, referring to the gray-haired neighbor.
You know, guys, I've been driving for more than twenty years, but yesterday some kind of devilry happened to me, which I don’t know, ”the interlocutor answered in a hoarse voice.
Yesterday morning I was driving along the highway, the weather is good, the beauty is around. I looked - a woman was standing, raising her hand, voting. She is middle-aged, wearing a blue kerchief on her head, and a large bag in her hands. Where, I think, such, it seems that there are no settlements nearby. My principle is not to take passengers, but then I felt sorry for her, a woman after all. I slowed down, stopped. I opened the door and wait for him to sit down. He waited a little - no one, looked out - no one. I got out of the cab, walked around from behind - there was no woman. Sweat broke through me, bent down, looked under the wheels - there is no woman, no bag, no one! I climbed into the cockpit, drove on, but my soul was restless, the world around was darkened. So I drove ten kilometers more, I look and can't believe my eyes - the same woman in a blue headscarf is standing in front, again waving her hand. It was then that fear got me through. I didn’t stop, so I drowned it in… There will be an appetite after such devilry!
Those sitting at the table were silent, thinking about their own.
In our work, Grigorievich, everything happens, maybe you are tired, or maybe there is a warning, there are a lot of such stories, not everyone tells, ”one of the drivers broke the silence. - I myself did not have to see, but I heard from my father, do you want me to tell you?
First story.
There is a mountain pass between the city of Almaty and Zharkent - Altynemel. Continuous ascents and descents, the road is difficult and dangerous. There is one descent there, leaving sharply to the left. Cars crashed there! So, at night, if you go down, you can see the light below, as if someone lit a fire. Neither rain nor fog cares for him - a fire is visible. Many stopped, looked, but did not find anything. The old people said that a truck crashed here many years ago. The driver remained alive, he burned a fire all night long so as not to freeze, the nights are cold in the mountains. Since then, people have started to fire and see it as a warning. This fire saved many lives. And since then the descent has been called the Driver's fire.
Those sitting at the table perked up, each remembered something, once heard from someone, and then put aside in a distant corner of memory.
I have heard from acquaintances that there are all sorts of warnings, - said Vasily Yakovlevich, a middle-aged man in a shabby leather jacket. - We have a driver working in the base, so after one incident he began to go to church.
The second story.
A truck loaded with fruit was driving from Uzbekistan. Behind the wheel - an experienced chauffeur, who has been turning the steering wheel for many years, not a single accident behind his shoulders. The track is new, smooth as a mirror. Neither ahead nor behind - no one. The driver found his favorite wave, turned on the music, the road is all the more fun. And at one moment, as he was shocked, he looked in the mirror, and there - an animal's muzzle grins, his eyes are filled with blood, but so close! The seventh feeling seemed to whisper: "Cross yourself!" He and let's read Our Father and be baptized. He stopped, took a breath, and again looked in the mirror with apprehension - the road was winding like a ribbon, everything around was calm. I drove on slowly, turned off the music. And fifteen kilometers further along the highway, just at the intersection of roads, there was a big accident - a car with gas exploded. Piles of scorched charred metal were scattered along the road, people died. He would have gone faster - he would have got into the thick of it, and so - God took him away.
And you, why are you silent, Mikhail, ”one of the sitting people turned to the young curly-haired boy.
Yes, I listen to you and think, maybe it was true then everything was, but we did not believe. I forgot about that story long ago, but now it is spinning on my tongue, bursting with memories and emotions.
And you tell us, you see, it will become easier.
Third story.
I didn’t work anywhere four years ago, but I often went with my brother, the same driver. He's on the flight, and I'm with him. Pashka was also with us on that flight, my friend asked for it. We drove out even after dark, chatted all the way, and as the sun rose, worn out Pashka and me, it began to drift to sleep. I hear, my brother Valerka, pushing me in the side: "Look, what a beauty!" I raise my head and see - a girl is standing on the side of the road, waving her arms. She is as thin as a reed, tall, and a long sundress. Valerka stopped and said: "Come on, Pashka, move, we'll give a lift to the girl."
Pashka opens the door, gives her his hand, and then suddenly pushed her away with force, slammed the door and as he yelled: "Valerka, swamp!"
My brother on the gas, and go! We ran like that for about twenty minutes. Valerka then stopped the car and asked: "What happened, Pasha?" And there is no face on that.
“I give the girl my hand, she lifts the sundress to put her foot on the step, and her leg is huge, shaggy, and instead of a shoe - a horse's hoof.”
At first we wanted to laugh at him, we thought, he seemed awake. Only we see that he is not laughing: he looks frightened, himself whiter than snow, shrinks all over.
Never mind. We came back, I got a job, my brother soon got married, and after that I rarely saw Pashka. I know that he began to drink a lot, because of drunkenness and got into a bad story.
“Here are the passions! Goosebumps already! " - everyone cried out.
See how scared he was! The human soul is darkness. Someone, maybe, would soon forget, but your friend's life turned out like this, ”Sergei Grigorievich perked up. - I also heard one story as a child, as if any machine has a soul.
The fourth story.
It was exactly after the war. Uncle Vanya worked on the same collective farm - everyone called him that. In years already, the whole war he went on his lorry, carried flour on a frozen lake to Leningrad, he was not afraid of ice holes or shells. He was joking that the car itself was taking him out of trouble. And after the war, he began to carry grain from the fields. Surprisingly, I heard that his car had never been under repair for a long time. How many military roads have passed, how much grain has been taken from the fields, but has not lost her strength. Uncle Vanya talked to her, it happened, as with a person. He will open the hood, he will use the key himself and say sweet words to her. And it works, because the machine! And in the spring, Uncle Vanya died - his heart seized, and old wounds have recently made themselves felt. They handed the car over to a young boy. I don’t know what his name was. So, he was returning one evening from the elevator. And take the car and stall right next to the village cemetery. What only the boy did not do, does not start, infection! While fiddling, it got dark, and then: "Brother, can you find a smoke?" Looks, an elderly man stands, in military boots, a gray jacket, stands and smiles. Well, the guy, of course, took out the makhorka, twisted it, talked, and then the elderly man said: “You, brother, do not rush, talk to her, she, as a person, hears everything, understands everything.” And he himself strokes the car on the hood and whispers: "Well, dear, the man is tired, and you are fiddling about ..." The boy got behind the wheel and started up! He looked around, there was no one, as if there had never been. He almost forgot about that incident, if he had not come across an old photograph on which the collective farm leaders were. In one of the men he recognized the one he had met in the evening near the cemetery. Well, of course, he began to ask what and how. It was then that he was told that it was Uncle Vanya, only he died in the spring. This guy is a fine fellow, he did not talk a lot, he realized himself that his car had stopped for nothing near the cemetery, apparently, he wanted to pay tribute to his former owner. See how it happens in life! So much for a soul, a piece of iron, but there is a soul for it too.
The drivers sat for a little longer, kept silent, thinking about the difficulties and joys of their work, then went out into the street, smoked and dispersed, each in his own direction, after all, things are not done by themselves. Fate brought them together in the same cafe only three months later. All gathered, except for the elderly driver - Sergei Grigorievich. We told each other the news, about the family, about work, and other carriers joined them. A cheerful company gathered, noisy.
We heard that Sergei Grigorievich died - a heart attack, - said one of the drivers. - It's a pity, he was a good man!
It was then that I remembered their conversation about the unusual and mystical that happens on the roads. They also remembered what happened to Sergei Grigorievich. Maybe it's a sign, maybe Bone herself came, or maybe a person's life path ended, as it should be according to God's laws.
Everyone fell silent, took off their hats as a sign of grief and respect for their comrade. Everyone has their own way of life, their kilometers away along the highway. Let these kilometers be light and even. Happy journey to you guys!
What is the most important thing in the work of a truck driver? Knowledge of traffic rules and the ability to keep the steering wheel in your hands for days? Nothing like this! The main thing is to be ready for any surprises and be able to use them to your advantage. Somehow, in the middle of the 90s, fate brought us to Omsk. We are me, my partner Kolka and our "Kamaz Ivanich", as we called it from time to time. In Omsk, they fooled us: they brought the cargo, threw it to a warehouse in the industrial zone, the owner got into the car, clicked: "Follow me to the company - get a calculation!" As soon as we drove off three kilometers, he gassed - and fell through the ground! They poked around, pushed around - they could not find it.
We wrote a sign "Empty", as expected, stood near some market, we sat, gnawing seeds, humming with our tummies. Kolka dialed free newspapers, took the last trifle, and called dispatchers on the phone.
We roll for ourselves swiftly, but neatly - all the same we carry live cargo in the back, well, the owner said the term - in two days, no more, deliver. We drove off a little from Omsk - a traffic cop on the road! Kolyan came out with a whole bunch of papers to him: costly for the cargo, as it should be (we wrote it out for ourselves), a good list (we did it ourselves), documents for the car (they gave it to us in the traffic police), and a certificate from a veterinarian - this is he gave us the gypsies just in case. Well, the traffic cop did not have any questions about the documents for the car, neither did the costly and good-looking list, but he suddenly got to the bottom of the veterinary certificate: the seal is not so round, and the handwriting is not legible, and the name of the veterinarian is equine, just like Chekhov's - Ovs. We break it this way and that way - no, he stubbornly rested like a ram: “I’m throwing out your arrest car, and we will inspect everything specifically - what kind of stallions and where are you taking them!”.
Here Kolyan somehow so cunningly twisted himself and says in such a decent basque: Comrade inspector! Let's go to the body.
And here at one moment a certain man appears. Gypsy. And the saying goes, guys, so and so - you need to transport 2 stallions to Moscow. In some places near Omsk there is a stud farm, and so he bought it for himself. Well, of course: a gypsy without a horse is like a bird without wings! And for us - even a devil of a bald one already load, since we have been sitting on the same seeds for two days. He sat down in our cab, drove off somewhere out of town, to some village. On the last solarium actually. In the afternoon we woke up, went to look - what they had prepared for us there.
And there, however, two horses, dark and snow-white! Wonderful! Although, maybe these were stallions ... And the gypsies are here with them. Kolka went to bargain at the cost, and so far I helped to get these stallions into the back. They gave us some hay, I'll show you the trough as it is! Admire! What you see at the moment - no one has ever seen before you!
Yes, what is there to admire, then - is on your own traffic cop. - Horse thieves hired you, and you are happy! You are entitled to a criminal article for this!
These, by the way, are not ordinary horses! Nikolai Petrovich suddenly got upset. - Have you, comrade inspector, watched the movie about the Victory Parade in the cinema at least once? There Marshal Budyonny at Marshal Zhukov's parade on what does he perceive? On a stallion! Budyonny has a snow-white stallion, and Zhukov has a dark one! Remember?
“Well, I remind you of something like that,” you can see how the balls behind the rollers began to move in the inspector’s head.
So there you go! Although you cannot speak, you are a municipal person. I'll tell you! This is the snow-white horse of Budyonny! And the dark one is Zhukova. Then how did it happen: after the Victory Day parade, these horses lived in a special equestrian unit, near Moscow. And later, when the persecutions began against Zhukov and Budyonny, the cult of Stalin's personality, they were sent here, to Siberia, by reliable people! So that no one can deal with them under a hot hand! But the data on these stallions in the Museum of the Armed Forces, which stands on Red Square, have been kept all these years. And now we decided that we need to bring these horses back to Moscow! Well, it is clear that the horses themselves did not survive, but these are their direct descendants! And now, when our next Victory Day will be celebrated on May 9, the parade will be received on these stallions! So that everything goes according to tradition! Only Comrade Captain, - Nikolai Petrovich lowered his voice. - You can't tell anyone about it! You see what time it is at the moment! For these stallions, any collector will pay a million bucks, in spite of it! Therefore, we are taking them incognito! Think for yourself - well, why drag any ordinary mares from Siberia to Moscow for the sake of two? Would we get our car dirty because of this?
I don't know what the traffic cop thought about, he just gave all the documents and waved his hand - they say, move. Surely, I decided - why mess with the idiots?
Orange paradise
We drive further, and only to the next traffic police post we drive up - another traffic cop waving at us with a baton. We slow down, and he - right off the bat: "Are you the guys who are taking Budyonny's horse to the parade to Moscow?" While I was thinking about what to answer him, Kolka - well, Nikolai Petrovich in other words - asks him on a run-in: "And by what right do you use classified information?" The sergeant, apparently, did not expect such a thing, as he was frequenting somehow out of place: “No, well, the guys and I decided - maybe you need hay? We have a field nearby, so we have collected a little from the stack - for your horses! Would you like some hay? " Two more traffic cops run out of the bushes, drag such a decent armful in their hands - apparently, as much as they could from the haystack, they took out as much.
As soon as we reach the next post, the traffic cop is waving his baton again! “Drivers,” he yells. - We have stored apples here for your stallions! - and drags a whole box of apples! We waved the handle to the traffic cop - and then to Moscow! The sun is warming, the music is playing, the stallions and I are gnawing apples - beauty!
And the traffic police have their own communication! We drive up to the next traffic police post - they offer us apples again! But Nikolai Petrovich can’t look at them anymore - we knew how to do the half of the box! “No, it says, that's enough! In a different way, stallions will develop diathesis! " Here the 2nd traffic cop comes up and looks at the same pitifully: "Can I have bananas?" In general, we also stocked up with bananas. At the next post, the same story, only there the violator was carrying oranges. And, apparently, very much violated - we already put two boxes in the cockpit: one box for a stallion!
"Medicine" against rickets
In general, it's a beauty - we're going like in paradise: bananas, apples, oranges ... But here's a snake-nature: after all this joyful garden, I wanted meat! He told Kolyan about this - he whinnies: "Now we will arrange everything!"
We are already driving behind Chelyabinsk here and there, passing the Ural Mountains, where there is a traffic police post, and behind it there are trade counters. And it smells of different goodies! The traffic cops were apparently told about us, they saw the car, right off to us: "Show us, please, Zhukov's horse and Budyonny's stallion!" And Kolyan met them halfway: “Hello, comrades! Tell me - do you have fat? " - "What fat?" - "Yes, we had to give us fish oil with us: stallions need a liter a day, so that their rickets does not develop." - “We don’t have fish oil - sorry, we weren’t prepared! Maybe you can change what you can? ". Well, here Kolyan took a pensive pose, and began to reason: “Fish oil - it is difficult to change.
Only if the fat is some kind of low-cholesterol! In other words, the lard should be lean! As in a kebab, for example. I think that, as an exception, the stallions can now be given two shashliks together with 1 liter of fish oil! " The elder one poked right here: “Sidorov! Two stallions need four kebabs! And two more - for those who see them off! Come on, blow to the kebab maker Abai, tell him - kebabs for the post, for honored people! Let the excellent ones choose - and lard so that there is a little! " In general, we left with the meat!
The next day, we again drove like masters! Apples or hay - they wanted to shove a whole haystack into the back, barely fought back. They brought us the freshest sawdust. Well, and what violators do not carry: we have kiwi, and pineapples, and filled up with sugar, and at some post with the words: "This is for you to take care of the stallions!" a pair of jeans were thrown into the cockpit and T-shirts with the words "I hate cops!" - an unshaven face is drawn there.
"From the lads!"
The last adventure has already happened 100 km before Moscow: an SUV is catching up on the highway, and starts blinking with lanterns, like a garland on a New Year tree, pushed us to the side of the road. They slowed down. Three healthy rednecks emerge from the SUV: "Are you taking stallions for Budyonny and Marshal Zhukov to the Victory Parade?" Well, Kolyan so timidly says from the cockpit: "We!" - "Show me!" The men looked, clinked their tongues, treated them to sugar. “Keep,” they say, “from the lads! - and shove a cardboard bag into Kolya. - Say in the museum - so that everything is spent on stallions, to the last penny! Therefore, such beauty must be preserved! " I don’t remember how much money was there, but Kolyan says that we immediately paid for all our losses in Omsk.
And here the Moscow region has already begun. The gypsy warned us that he would meet two days before entering the Moscow Ring Road. We are approaching - it is standing. He looked into the back, into the cockpit - as if by chance. I don't know what I thought about, we have food there - enough for two squadrons: sugar, kiwi, bananas with oranges, even a bottle of whiskey - it's like Nikolai Petrovich at some traffic police post explained that hay without whiskey is not food for a stallion ... The stallions were taken out, the gypsy paid off with us ...
They remembered this trip for a long time - until the sugar ran out. And later I read that that Budyonny was not at that Victory Parade - there Rokossovsky and Zhukov commanded. But we will not tell anyone about this, let everyone think that the horse Mikhal Semyonich Budyonny lives here and there in the Museum of the Armed Forces in Moscow! And if it needs to be transported back to Siberia - we are always ready!
Misha Shcheglov, "Gruzovoz" magazine
https://vk.com/ivanov1963
ANDREY IVANOV (AVI)
"SIBERIAN RANGE" Story.
Dedicated to my deceased childhood friend ILYA SERGEEV.
I had a friend ten years ago. The name was Igor. Why "was", at the end of the story you yourself will understand.
We met him in the convoy of plant one. We drove together. He's there at KamAZ in the garage, and I'm in a smaller car.
Well, you know, the drivers have Friday - holy day. Relax your nerves, talk about everything. In short, one such driver's Friday and became friends.
We sat with the men after work, drank, grunted sausage with a green onion. As usual, no one listens to anyone, everyone is about his own, painful strives to insert. Shouting to each other, the usual Friday gatherings.
The people are solid, they understand that Friday is not eternal, followed by a hangover Saturday, and on Sunday you need to lie down dry. Therefore, everyone strives to completely break away on Friday after a week of work.
I also tried to screw something of my own into the general conversation, but there were drivers who were more loud and more experienced than me. I see it is useless, and I just sit and roll.
I look, I'm not the only one. There is also a short-spoken man. It turns out that he spoke little, not because he had nothing to say. He just stuttered heavily from a shell shock. But he drank and ate no less.
In the Army, he got into a hot spot and rescued a platoon of his soldiers from under fire, because he served as an ensign. There he had a concussion with a complication in speech. Then he was discharged from the army due to his incompetence and Igor went on to drive.
I quickly got tired of the drunken bazaars of my colleagues, I suggest Igor, they say, let's continue away from the crowd. And we were sitting in someone's personal garage, not far from the plant. And I wanted to go to nature, just out of need ...
We said goodbye to the team until Monday, took a little at a local store, and a snack, and what to drink it with. We went to the woods near the railway.
We sat down on a snag, and there Igorokha told me his story. About that hot spot, about stuttering, about our cherished dream, and in general we sat like that normally. I don’t remember how we got home.
In short, on Monday the doctor will go to the garage - and we are in perfect order. And no pressure and no smell.
Igor had a dream - to become a truck driver. In the country, as always, unemployment, cooperators, LLCs, CJSCs, factories either do not pay or go bankrupt, and all that kind of crap. You can only be a trucker by acquaintance, not otherwise ...
Soon Igor left the factory garage, where some salary delays began. Well, I dumped somewhere else from there. But they did not stop making friends. On Fridays we met on neutral territory, sat for a beer and did not disdain too much. He's unmarried, and that's what I am. The third guy almost immediately nailed to us. Also a chauffeur. Laughing, cheerful. But the eyes are sad. All thin, frail. Then I found out that he also served in the landing, like Igor.
In the summer we went out into the countryside to see Igor at his dacha. We were carrying bags of food and fuel. Igor is such a "bull" in appearance. The neck is short, waddling. He is very fond of eating. But I and Romka ate little. And they got drunk faster ...
The dacha is unfinished, but with a roof. There is a Russian stove, three beds, damp but clean linen in the closet, an old "MOSCOW" refrigerator, a round table. The air is piney, refreshing, but in winter you can't get there. The entire road is covered with snow from the train station itself. But in the summer we often gathered there, three inseparable companions-drivers and froze for a while.
Especially during the long holidays it was good there. Although the bathhouse there collapsed and it is far to go to the water pump for water. But this is tolerable, in general, trifles. The main thing is peace and quiet. In the evenings, they sang songs with a guitar, ate boiled potatoes with sprat in tomato sauce. Such a Russian paradise. True, without women. Decent madams are in short supply.
We used to go out on the porch in the evening - beauty ... You can even wear shorts ... If there are no neighbors ...
But that dream did not pass for Igor. I found some businessman with an old "wagon", like a twenty-ton KrAZ car with a booth. And he began to sort it out, to repair it for himself. And the merchant for this promised to send him on a long-range trip to Yakutia with the goods. And on the winter road and on the summer road.
Once Igor calls and says:
- Listen, I'll go to Mirny (Yakutia) in a week. There is no partner. How are you?
- Well, how? - I answer. - If you call, I'm with you.
By the way, I will add that at that time I was not living alone but with a lady. She may have loved me, I don't know. But economic, responsive, she liked me very much.
In short, we have lived for two years already.
Thinking how to tell her something?
- This flight is not for one day. I'll have to quit my job. And it is unlikely that this news will be greeted with joy.
And I so wanted to see the long-range, the romance of the chauffeur's, Siberia, the taiga and new people. And I never drove that far in a truck. Igor promised half-and-half earnings.
In the evening, a lady came from work, I tell her directly, as it is ...
- Igor is going to carry the cargo to Yakutia, he calls me a partner. It's hard for him alone, six thousand kilometers and without protection. I'll make some money at the same time.
In short, the common-law wife is against, like:
- You go so far, there is no experience, there are robberies and cold on the roads. You will disappear there with this Igor. Always pulling you not towards the house. This is not even a job, but a stupid undertaking and empty.
But what can you do? I wanted to go on a flight and I can't refuse a friend. A week later I packed up and drove off.
I must say right away that KrAZ is a mining dump truck. Not at all adapted for long-haul flights. A refrigerator booth was simply welded to it. And stuffed with food to the eyeballs. The car is powerful, but not fast. The noise in the cab is worse than in the tractor. There is nowhere to sleep. Igor is on the seats, I'm on the floor. From the noise, my head is not my own. And we crawl with an overload. But we have no right not to deliver.
In the rain, and in the mud, on clay and sand, on rubble. We creak from region to region, but not whine.
Think -
- When Igor will let me steer. After all, for the second day we spar almost without stopping. We brew a little tea, we squelch tea in liters, we save money. The tape recorder is broken. There is no radio in the wilderness. Only the roar of the engine.
- Igor, you're tired, let me steer. - I suggest.
- No. It's too dangerous here, You have no such experience. The overload is large. The roads are crooked, slippery, we can easily roll over. You will go back.
And the truth is, I look, on the sides of the road the "wagon" is lying upside down, then the side truck has been knocked down ... Okay, let's go, I'm silent ...
We got to the ferry in Ust-Kut, to sail along the Lena for several days. The rain is pouring down. But the cockpit is nice, warm and quiet. Drops on the roof knock knock. The wind near the river pier carries debris. Various muck flies. Torn, wet cellophane bags, empty cigarette packs, scraps of newspapers, toilet paper, cans of beer cans play football with themselves. Beauty and surrealism in the spirit of the Strugatskys.
We stand, waiting for the weather and the queue for the ferry. We are good. Then we will be taken along the river.
We stocked up with vodka, we walk and sleep ... Now we can. Recreation...
Finally we got on the ferry. Fun, there are a lot of cars. The drivers are all different, from all over the country ... Music is screaming from the cars, someone is watching a movie from the video. And the beauties of the Siberian river are indescribable when they sailed ... I listened to the tales of experienced truckers there ... At least write a novel ...
We rafted down the Lena, probably for five days. These places are beautiful in calm and thunderstorms.
I cannot describe nature. It is necessary to see it. Now sheer cliffs, now hills, now dangerous, stormy rifts, now secret, hidden shoals. The cubs on the shore played once, I saw it myself.
... By the way, in those places a wonderful Soviet film "UGRYUM-RIVER" was filmed, Sinilga was there - even on the shore there is a monument to her. In general, the places are strange, reserved, uncrowded, wild.
The ferry is also interesting.
There are many Yakuts, both scientists and quite dense people. The drivers all got to know each other, became friends. One my friend walks like a gloomy cloud. Is silent or snarls ...
I always go to the shore when we dock in local villages, I watch people, animals, houses, households. So everything is unusual, peculiar. For example, I have never seen in our villages so many purebred huskies, large, fluffy, probably sled.
I also noticed that all the villagers were preparing for the approach of the ferry as if it were a holiday. It is important that the local nationalities wore beads, and the men were wearing shiny boots ...
Igor mostly did not go to the piers. Usually slept in the cockpit.
True, then one kind driver sheltered me for the time of the rafting, he was driving alone and he had two sleeping bags in SUPERMAZ.
Another attraction. There is an island in the middle of the Lena River. A small island, with sandy shoals, quiet backwaters, without rocks, overgrown with sparse vegetation, with the exception of a few tall ship pines.
So that's it. The locals told that on that small island an old forest man had made a nest for himself. Grandfather Fyodor, I think. And, if the weather is good, that ancient hermit can go to the coast of the island and wave to passing ships or ferries.
Experienced truckers also said that in the spring there was a terrible incident on the ferry. With a drink or lack of sleep, the driver got behind the wheel of a heavy loaded "truck". He started the car and drove to the railing. He jumped over the fence rail and dumped into Lena. And so he went to the bottom. Then, of course, they dragged the drowned man out to send home and bury him. Lena doesn't like jokes.
Here's a little help from Wikipedia:
"Le; na (Yakut.; L ;; ne, bur. Z; lhe) - a river in Russia. Lena is the largest Siberian river. By world standards, it is the tenth longest river in the world. River length, from source to mouth, 4 400 km It flows into the Laptev Sea of the Arctic Ocean.
Lena is the largest of the Russian rivers, whose basin lies entirely within Russia. It is also the largest river in the world, completely flowing in the permafrost region. "
As a result, we moored to the destination berth. I don't remember the name. Either Yakutsk, or Lensk, or some other pier there. We got off the ferry. And then the fun began ...
The entire route from the pier to Mirny is broken up by heavy trucks, fuel tankers, "wagons" and tractors. Roll over "nefig" to do. And we have an overload of several tons of fucking sausage and the rest of the perishable junk.
Several times I had to get out of the KrAZ cab and watch Igor cautiously "crawl" along the slope in his car. Track every meter of movement.
Then we were even afraid to speak. Only by gestures they made each other understand where to turn or stop altogether.
As a result, we delivered those cheeses and sausages to the land of diamond miners, the city of Mirny. Unloaded in warehouses. Sleep off the kid. And we must go back to our homelands, look for the load. And what from there, from Yakutia to lead that? Not fox furs with red caviar and not diamond ore in the grocery booth. Somehow they found some scrap metal, six tons. If only empty such a tractor is not driven back.
My friend Igorokha received all the money in both directions from a businessman who flew in by plane. And gives me:
“Andryukha, you didn’t drive, you didn’t drive, and I’ll drive it back empty and I’ll quickly drive it back myself.” He doesn’t hint, but directly says that we will not divide the money for the flight. Like I just traveled with pleasure on KrAZ.
Then it immediately became clear to me why he was so gloomy and gloomy on the ferry. Reluctance to share, why does he need an extra passenger now.
I didn’t answer. I just took my thermos with tea and went to the fellow traveler who sheltered me on the rafting .. He is from Abakan, as much as he can. And from Krasnoyarsk I will somehow get there by hitchhiking. There are still many good people in Russia, especially among ordinary hard workers.
But I would not be able to ride next to a redneck for a week.
So our friendship with Igohokha ended. I never met him again. And I don’t want to ...
Yes, let him meet smaller ones on his roads than he himself. Good luck to him and an easy Path!
I didn't earn money, but I've seen so much living beauty, different people, nature. And few, probably, who personally stood on the edge of the huge diamond kimberlite pipe "MIR". This is where the breath of fear and delight captures. And I stood there !!!
AVI 2016 https://vk.com/ivanov1963
The story of a young trucker ...
It happened to him during the next flight. He went there alone, as his partner, unfortunately, fell ill. And here our hero goes, it's a dark night outside - at least gouge out his eye. Looks, a girl is standing by the side of the road, she is voting.
He did not like to take random fellow travelers, but this time he decided to deviate from his rules and find out if he needed help. He stopped and only then saw the young lady's “uniform”: a skirt “a la wide belt”, fishnet tights, an open T-shirt - in general, everything is as it should ... No doubt about it, prostitute. The only thing that surprised the guy at that moment was the strangely chosen "location". There is a forest on both sides of the road.
I will not say “this is such a good friend of mine, he cannot lie”. I myself do not quite believe in this story, but nevertheless I decided to write about it.
I immediately apologize for the non-literary nature. I do not want to embellish, it is written as above, from memory. I didn't add anything from myself.
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Sergey was returning from a flight to Yekaterinburg. I entered the city from the side of the Turunovsky cemetery, the largest in our city. It was between 2 and 3 am.
Approaching the main gate of the cemetery, he saw an inverted nine. I stopped and thought to help people. When I approached, I saw a trail of blood, such as when a body is being dragged, directed to the gates of the cemetery.
A mystical story that has become one of the legends of truckers.
It was getting dark, the fog was falling. Tired truck driver Andrey yawned and wanted to talk to someone. The second day on the road and not a word from the mouth. Suddenly, on the side of the road, he noticed a man in overalls and a tank helmet. The driver stopped and opened the door in a friendly manner
- Brother, can you share the diesel fuel? - asked the tanker
- And what, from the unit all the ensign stole? - Andrey asked jokingly
- We are not laughing now, brother. Help out better than your comrades. The enemy is near.
- Hehe, what is the enemy? Do you have teachings? Well, okay, he served himself I know that it is necessary to help out each other.
The driver, smiling, took out two canisters and handed them to the tanker.
My father is a trucker. As far back as I can remember, he was always on the road, so my mother and I saw him, God forbid, once a month. But on the other hand, he brings something unusual from each flight, and sometimes he tells different stories. Anything happens on the road, especially when you go far and alone: they can attack (after all, truckers pick up fellow travelers - who knows what kind of person you picked up), and unexpected breakdowns happen, and sometimes oddities happen. For example, about a couple of months ago, my father arrived from another flight much later than he should have (he went somewhere in the wilderness, three hundred kilometers from Ulyanovsk, where we live), but this strange one arrived, silent.
