In these modern times can some one define “tramping”
When I did general work years ago,tramping was out Sunday /Monday and got back Friday /Saturday with only a possible night home in between,
Tipping and loading with what ever or where ever you could get providing the price was right.
Sounds about right.
what makes you think its defined differently nowadays?
]In these modern times can some one define “tramping”
Living like a tramp ■■?
lolipop:
In these modern times can some one define “tramping”
When I did general work years ago,tramping was out Sunday /Monday and got back Friday /Saturday with only a possible night home in between,
Tipping and loading with what ever or where ever you could get providing the price was right.
I wasn’t old to drive then but I remember going with my dad as a kid when he had to phone around for return loads and sort the loads and rates with the traffic office back at base
He’d have a book with contacts in he even managed to get regular traffic from some good sources especially if the traffic office hadn’t sorted anything out whilst sitting outside a phone box with the instructions of “give us a ring back in half an hour”
lolipop:
In these modern times can some one define “tramping”
When I did general work years ago,tramping was out Sunday /Monday and got back Friday /Saturday with only a possible night home in between,
Tipping and loading with what ever or where ever you could get providing the price was right.
I used to go away on a Sunday night get back finnish friday lunchtime or the other leave early tuesday morning ( 4am-7am) back late mor-early afternoon sat no night at home in-between
lolipop:
In these modern times can some one define “tramping”Tipping and loading with what ever or where ever you could get providing the price was right.
To me yes that is the correct description, taken from the maritime meaning of a Tramp ship.
en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tramp_trade
It’s generally used now just to mean nighting out, usually all wk but if the route & loads are fixed it’s not really the right terminology for that, but sort of understood.
I must admit to wondering why it’s called tramping nowadays. All loads laid on for you and you know what you’re doing all week ain’t tramping is it. As said, finding return or onward loads or your tm getting them for you. Hanging about round a phone box waiting for the phone to ring or having to have the change to ring in. Get out and get under when you ran out of vroom 
Find digs or kip in cab. Park on yer sheets if you’re empty. The good ol’ days… not so bad really.
Nowadays it should be called “abuse”. Sleeping in a tin box for 9/11 hours for less than 23 quid with no facilities and crap parking.
midlifetrucker:
Nowadays it should be called “abuse”. Sleeping in a tin box for 9/11 hours for less than 23 quid with no facilities and crap parking.
This may or may not apply to you mate, but I find that people who describe it as you do either (a) do not do nights out or (b) do them but are pretty rubbish at it by virtue of the fact that they lack the nous to realise that parking in services, laybys or such like will result in a “crap” night out. A little bit of forward planning and thought can result in an enjoyable experience such as cinema visits, nice restaurants, good company, or whatever your heart desires.
You get out what you put in.
I do if required but I’m buggered if I’m staying out all week not seeing my family or doing what I want for that amount. I’m too long in the tooth. For a young unattached person it’s okay if you like that sort of thing. For a family man its a recipe for disaster unless your partner is very special. You are security guard for a expensive bit of kit plus load for lets say 25 quid for lets say an 11 stop. So take a meal out of that at a tenner including perhaps a beer. That’s 15 quid for 11 hours a tadge over 1 pound an hour and you can’t get hammered or cuddle your kids or just relax with friends.
I have never turned a night down in my life if it’s required but in my view it’s poor. Should be a reduced hourly rate as well at night. No one’s going to pay it as they need more admin and management and planners.
I can see where you are coming from with that mate, and you do raise some valid points re family life. It’s just that I’ve always done it so I suppose it’s become second nature to me and as such seems perfectly normal. Bonuses for me are that if I so desire I can get far more sleep than I would at home, plus I wake up in the office so no pita commuting, and if I fancy a night on the town I can easily opt for that too.
Do what makes you happy is my motto.
Agreed. And sometimes I go home after a long day and then have an early start and sensibly should stay in the lorry. Whatever floats your boat and I have no prob with that. We are all different.
The trials and tribulations of a tramping trucker, But it was ok to wash in the sink Like a baby!!
Having endured a gruelling hot and sweaty and quite terrifying week abroad traveling from Warrington to Lockeren (Belgium) then onward to Dulmen (Germany) through the infamously buttock clenching dangerous Mont valley to Mersch (Luxembourg) and finally the homeward bound 2 day drive back into Blighty I was desperate to find a place to park up and to wash. My body odour was starting to make my eyes water with such power that not even the can of trusty Lynx at my side could mask, let alone entice, a throng of semi naked beauties to my bunk.
It would be important to point out at this stage, finding suitable places to shower when driving a 44ton 25m long articulated vehicle is not as simple as it sounds. Parking up in town is simply not an option unless you enjoy the burning, agonizing sting of pain as you are battened across the knee caps by the local constabulary, followed up the even greater pain of a 2000 Euro fine to release the vehicle from the impound.
So as it happened I had had to make do with baby wipe baths throughout the week, except for the -20 degree cold shower I managed to blag whilst delivering goods to the British military base, Dulmen, on the Wednesday. Following this exceptionally short encounter with water that felt as though it had been cooled especially for me by liquid nitrogen, my journey took me through the notoriously dangerous Mont Valley.
Any cleaning that I may have accomplished whilst in Germany, became instantly obsolete whilst taking this particular route, in blizzard conditions at the dead of night.
Its Alpine-esque winding road going through an elevation of thousands of feet, with sheer cliff edges descending into oblivion without even a hint of a safety barrier, had me in a continuous beading cold sweat. With my T-shirt resembling a sponge and underpants looking like they belonged to an incontinence suffering pensioner, after consuming twelve pints of cider, body odour was quite instantly back with a vengeance.
It is said animals can smell fear, well the pack of wild Luxembourgian wolves chasing my slow moving, meandering truck, drooling at the mouth for a piece of scared ■■■■■■■■ English meat would be testament to that.
With my collection complete in Luxembourg the employees from the tyre factory gratefully waved me off, only removing the scarfs covering their mouths and noses once I was out of line of sight.
To their relief I had consciously decided not to use their cafeteria facilities for self preservation and had instead cooked my lunch (1can of big soup, 1tin corned beef and a packet of instant rice) on my camping cooker in the car park. The pungent clouded smell of body odour and fear apparently dissipated sometime the following week.
Once through the Chunnel I headed north to Toddington services. Having used the facilities here on numerous occasions before and been pleasantly surprised by them, my stinking days were nearly at an end.
Entering the shop I ignored the pointing, retching and gagging of other customers and duly bought 3 separate shower tickets. 30mins of shower time and 2 bottles of shower gel would surely be enough, I thought. Ripping off my stinking clothes I put my shower card in the meter and was pleased to see 3x 10min on the readout.
Jumping into the near scalding water I basked in the glory of starting to feel slightly human again. Then, turning of the shower so as not to waste any of my precious time, I squeezed liberally huge dollops of shower gel into my hand. Massaging the gel into every pore of my body, a huge sense of relief and joy spread across me as the lather grew and grew until I resembled a slightly off white sud encrusted Michelin man.
Blinded by the soap, I precariously reached out for the shower button, stumbling until I found it. Pressing the button I waited for the few seconds it took to start up again delighted at how good I suddenly felt. After approximately ten seconds with no sign of flowing water I pressed the button again but to no avail.
Again and again I hit the button getting increasingly agitated by the situation. Finally realising there was most definitely a problem I scraped the soap from my eyes and gingerly opened them. The burning sensation that engulfed my eyes was only surpassed at the horror of seeing the digital timer blank.
Seething with anger I called out to the attendant that there was a problem with the shower and would he sort it out. I was met with silence. Calling out over and over again, the deafening sound of an empty attendants booth was all I could hear. With one final moronically agitated, frustrated and stupendously angry scream of “FUUUUUUUCK” I stepped from the shower cubicle. In blind fury I wrapped my towel around my waist and exited the shower room into the service station toilets
Here I was met with coach loads of tourists of all ages staring dumbfounded at this soap sudded naked man standing before them. Unperturbed I half slipped half walked over to the sinks where I duly started to wash the soap from my body.
Any objective or sarcastic comments were instantly met with an eyes burning through your soul stare. Quickly all vocal parties left the room followed just as quickly by any remaining patrons.
Half sitting in the sink with my towel resting upon my lap I continued to wash away the soap from areas that would suffer the most from the soap burn if not washed away properly. It was then that the service station manager, flanked by two security guards entered the toilets and headed towards my perch.
Without giving them so much as a second glance I continued to clean myself in an overly dramatic, hugely ■■■■■■ off manner. Trying to contain my fury at my present circumstances I completely ignored that fact that these three individuals were now stood directly in front of me.
As soon as the manager opened his mouth to protest “what the ■■■■ do you think your doing?” my anger exploded in an eruption of such magnitude all three visibly took about five steps back. Jumping down from the wash basin I launched into a tirade of abusive and threatening rants at how utterly ■■■■ the facilities, management and attendants were.
When the manager raised his hands to attempt to calm the situation my anger went into overdrive. I wanted blood and his seemed like as good as anyone. The security guards, seeing I was finally losing the plot with sanity, moved together towards me. With one final look and warning that they would be eating through straws for the next six months if the came any closer they backed off.
Realising suddenly my precarious predicament should the police be called I strode past the three into the shower room.
I then stuck my feet into my open boots and pulled a T-shirt over my head. Grabbing my wash bag and clothes I marched defiantly through the service station still with my towel around my waist.
Passing the crowd of spectators congregated in a five deep line I made my way to my truck seething with anger and embarrassment.
Whilst walking through the automatic doors I caught the sound of clapping and cheers at what could only be a once in a life time show…
The Tramper
It may come as no surprise that being a “Tramper”, (a truck driver who lives in his truck), may not be one of the most hygienic of jobs out there. Working 15hr sweaty shifts, getting covered in grime from the couplings and trailer, the inaccessibility of washing facilities and the male inability to pack enough underwear for the journey/ week ahead all go to making the driver look as though he has been dragged backwards through a sewer. This even after only a couple of days, and smelling somewhat similar to a Romanian gypsy who has never ventured into the world of soap or deodorant. It is with this in mind that at any given opportunity the “Tramper” will seek out a wash-room like a torpedo hunting the General Belgrano. Unfortunately, however, businesses that the trucker may visit are reluctant to supply wash and showering facilities.
Now available in paperback
You get more sleep sometimes , but other times your that stressed out it take hours to wind down , get I bunk and so many things are going round in your head , just can’t sleep.
It would be nice to just do 12 hrs and relax , but today got in depot with 2 mins to spare on 15 hrs ( card out on pumps) , 5/10 mins over on 10 hr drive , 2x10 drives gone in 1st two days of week, 2 x15 hr days gone , 1 x15 hr day left for 3 days , th isn’t going to end well 
midlifetrucker:
Now available in paperback
I thought that exactly, just scrolled through after paragraph 1.
And I’m a Tramper. Life’s what you make it. I actually enjoy it.
I’ve even committed the most heinous of sins in that I’ve had the Wife drop me at my truck on a Sunday evening so that I could get a proper kip in the truck in a quiet spot in the yard and gain an extra hour and a half in bed because of an early Monday morning start, and wait for it… Not get paid for it! 
I always slept well in the truck and enjoyed doing so, it was never a chore, but being sent home on an RDR and knowing you have to be back in the yard at 3 a.m. now that used to get right on my thruppeny bits, in fact I left one (otherwise good) employer for that very reason.
Horses for courses I suppose.
Reef:
I’ve even committed the most heinous of sins in that I’ve had the Wife drop me at my truck on a Sunday evening so that I could get a proper kip in the truck in a quiet spot in the yard and gain an extra hour and a half in bed because of an early Monday morning start, and wait for it… Not get paid for it!I always slept well in the truck and enjoyed doing so, it was never a chore, but being sent home on an RDR and knowing you have to be back in the yard at 3 a.m. now that used to get right on my thruppeny bits, in fact I left one (otherwise good) employer for that very reason.
Horses for courses I suppose.
+1