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Idle Pastime:
In Off Hours, Truckers Pick Up Stitching
With Less to Haul, Drivers Try New Hobbies;
Quilting in the Cab
By JENNIFER LEVITZ
WALCOTT, Iowa—Semi driver Dave White happily
sequestered himself in his rig at a truck stop on a rural
stretch of Interstate 80, waiting to pick up his next haul:
45,000 pounds of Spam. He used to loathe the downtime
in his job.
Then, he bought a sewing machine. Since last year, when
the economy left drivers with fewer hauls, Mr. White, a 6-
foot-2, 240-pound ex-Air Force mechanic with a bushy
mustache, has hunkered down inside his truck in his
many off hours, making quilts from patterns with names
like "Meet Me In Paris." When he's not sewing, he's
daydreaming about it, he said as he ran a square of
yellow cotton with little violets through his machine. "Oh,
there's many a time you're just going down the road at O-
dark-thirty in the morning and you just start thinking
about a particular pattern."
Some truckers are finding themselves with more spare
time on the road. Loads of goods delivered by truckers
fell 15% in 2009, to 170 million loads, the largest drop in
modern history, said Bob Costello, chief economist for
the American Trucking Associations. That came on top of
a slow downswing in hauls because of what the industry
laments as "miniaturization" of goods: It takes less space
to move flat-screen TVs and iPods than their clunkier
predecessors.
With declining freight, truckers who drive hundreds of
miles to make a delivery may not immediately have a load
lined up for the return trip. So they bide time at truck
stops, where they can shower, dine and sleep in their
rigs. A couple of years ago, a driver might drop off a load
and pick up a new one in two hours; now the wait can be
two days, said Mr. Costello.
Though evidence is anecdotal, industry groups and
trucking-company owners say the increase in spare time
has spawned more hobbies. "We've got guys who are
into opera, photography, skydiving," said Norita Taylor,
spokeswoman for the Owner-Operator Independent
Drivers' Association, a truckers' group.
Mr. White's employer, Iowa-based Don Hummer Trucking
Corp., last year started a loosely organized "sewing
club," and encourages drivers who are nimble with a
needle to show off their handiwork at headquarters. "We
want them to pass the time to make themselves happy,
rather than get frustrated waiting," said Dena Boelter,
Hummer's human-resources manager, an avid sewer
who calls the hobby a great stress reliever that can be
done almost anywhere.
Kevin Abraham-Banks, a 37-year-old trucker with a
shaved head and dragon tattoos, passes time at truck
stops with his cocoa and knitting.
Mr. Banks, who lives in Sioux Falls, S.D., and hauls
romaine lettuce between California and the Midwest,
learned to knit last year after load-volumes slowed.
Creating something tangible beats sitting around the
truck stop "talking about who has a bigger radio," he
said. He's finished a scarf and socks, and is working on a
sweater for his wife.
"The fact that you can take strands of thread and
basically make something out of it, that's awesome I
think," he said. "It's pretty cool stuff, man."
Still, trucking can be a macho world that doesn't feel
conducive to knitting or sewing. Some 95% of truckers
are men, said the ATA. At the Iowa-80 Truck Stop, whose
signs bill it as the "World's Largest Truckstop," a top
request at the theater is for "Smokey and the Bandit" and
the on-site dentist, Thomas Roemer, often sees drivers
only after they've tried to yank their teeth out themselves.
Crafting with fabric and yarn is "nothing I would do—my
mom does that," said Mark Sanchez, 47, a long-haul
trucker.
Thomas McConnaughy, a married grandfather from
Hemet, Calif., hauls cereal, reads his Bible, plays Sudoku,
and talks trout fishing at truck stops. He doesn't let on to
other drivers that he keeps 15 coils of yarn in his cab and
makes what he describes as "really cute slippers."
"In the truck stops, it's usually a bunch of guys watching
football," he said. "If I sat down with my knitting, I think
there would be some funny remarks."
Mr. White, the quilter, who is 53, came to his new passion
last summer after feeling he was wasting time "waiting on
freight."
He drove 2,600 miles a week on average in 2009, versus
3,200 in 2008, even though he spent the same amount of
time—about three weeks at a stretch—on the road
He struggled to find a hobby, having burned out on
reading. He tried carting along a remote-controlled
helicopter, but it kept falling on him from a shelf in the
truck. His wife, Dee, an accountant at their home in
Colorado Springs, Colo., is a quilter and suggested he try
it. By August, they had outfitted his truck's sleeper cabin
with a $179 sewing machine, supplies, and a starter's
pattern. "Boy, let me tell you, I created a monster," she
said.
Since then, Mr. White has made seven quilt tops, which
are finished with a filling and backing between trips. He
spends three hours a day on his hobby, sitting on his
bed, with his sewing machine next to his mini-fridge.
Flowered "project boxes" sit next to neat stacks of blue
jeans and baseball caps. Quilting, he said, "gives you a
little bit of ownership. You've actually accomplished
something with your time off."
He pulled over once to visit the National Quilt Museum in
Paducah, Ky., and if time allows, visits fabric stores in
towns he rolls through.
In his truck, he showed a quilt with illustrations of fruit,
and emphasized the importance of strategically placing
quilt blocks so that "you don't get three lemons in a row
or two plums in a row."
His blue eyes widened behind his glasses as he moved
to the topic of thread. "There is a variegated thread that
goes purple to white then back to purple," he said. "Oh!
Just beautiful."
In Off Hours, Truckers Pick Up Stitching
With Less to Haul, Drivers Try New Hobbies;
Quilting in the Cab
By JENNIFER LEVITZ
WALCOTT, Iowa—Semi driver Dave White happily
sequestered himself in his rig at a truck stop on a rural
stretch of Interstate 80, waiting to pick up his next haul:
45,000 pounds of Spam. He used to loathe the downtime
in his job.
Then, he bought a sewing machine. Since last year, when
the economy left drivers with fewer hauls, Mr. White, a 6-
foot-2, 240-pound ex-Air Force mechanic with a bushy
mustache, has hunkered down inside his truck in his
many off hours, making quilts from patterns with names
like "Meet Me In Paris." When he's not sewing, he's
daydreaming about it, he said as he ran a square of
yellow cotton with little violets through his machine. "Oh,
there's many a time you're just going down the road at O-
dark-thirty in the morning and you just start thinking
about a particular pattern."
Some truckers are finding themselves with more spare
time on the road. Loads of goods delivered by truckers
fell 15% in 2009, to 170 million loads, the largest drop in
modern history, said Bob Costello, chief economist for
the American Trucking Associations. That came on top of
a slow downswing in hauls because of what the industry
laments as "miniaturization" of goods: It takes less space
to move flat-screen TVs and iPods than their clunkier
predecessors.
With declining freight, truckers who drive hundreds of
miles to make a delivery may not immediately have a load
lined up for the return trip. So they bide time at truck
stops, where they can shower, dine and sleep in their
rigs. A couple of years ago, a driver might drop off a load
and pick up a new one in two hours; now the wait can be
two days, said Mr. Costello.
Though evidence is anecdotal, industry groups and
trucking-company owners say the increase in spare time
has spawned more hobbies. "We've got guys who are
into opera, photography, skydiving," said Norita Taylor,
spokeswoman for the Owner-Operator Independent
Drivers' Association, a truckers' group.
Mr. White's employer, Iowa-based Don Hummer Trucking
Corp., last year started a loosely organized "sewing
club," and encourages drivers who are nimble with a
needle to show off their handiwork at headquarters. "We
want them to pass the time to make themselves happy,
rather than get frustrated waiting," said Dena Boelter,
Hummer's human-resources manager, an avid sewer
who calls the hobby a great stress reliever that can be
done almost anywhere.
Kevin Abraham-Banks, a 37-year-old trucker with a
shaved head and dragon tattoos, passes time at truck
stops with his cocoa and knitting.
Mr. Banks, who lives in Sioux Falls, S.D., and hauls
romaine lettuce between California and the Midwest,
learned to knit last year after load-volumes slowed.
Creating something tangible beats sitting around the
truck stop "talking about who has a bigger radio," he
said. He's finished a scarf and socks, and is working on a
sweater for his wife.
"The fact that you can take strands of thread and
basically make something out of it, that's awesome I
think," he said. "It's pretty cool stuff, man."
Still, trucking can be a macho world that doesn't feel
conducive to knitting or sewing. Some 95% of truckers
are men, said the ATA. At the Iowa-80 Truck Stop, whose
signs bill it as the "World's Largest Truckstop," a top
request at the theater is for "Smokey and the Bandit" and
the on-site dentist, Thomas Roemer, often sees drivers
only after they've tried to yank their teeth out themselves.
Crafting with fabric and yarn is "nothing I would do—my
mom does that," said Mark Sanchez, 47, a long-haul
trucker.
Thomas McConnaughy, a married grandfather from
Hemet, Calif., hauls cereal, reads his Bible, plays Sudoku,
and talks trout fishing at truck stops. He doesn't let on to
other drivers that he keeps 15 coils of yarn in his cab and
makes what he describes as "really cute slippers."
"In the truck stops, it's usually a bunch of guys watching
football," he said. "If I sat down with my knitting, I think
there would be some funny remarks."
Mr. White, the quilter, who is 53, came to his new passion
last summer after feeling he was wasting time "waiting on
freight."
He drove 2,600 miles a week on average in 2009, versus
3,200 in 2008, even though he spent the same amount of
time—about three weeks at a stretch—on the road
He struggled to find a hobby, having burned out on
reading. He tried carting along a remote-controlled
helicopter, but it kept falling on him from a shelf in the
truck. His wife, Dee, an accountant at their home in
Colorado Springs, Colo., is a quilter and suggested he try
it. By August, they had outfitted his truck's sleeper cabin
with a $179 sewing machine, supplies, and a starter's
pattern. "Boy, let me tell you, I created a monster," she
said.
Since then, Mr. White has made seven quilt tops, which
are finished with a filling and backing between trips. He
spends three hours a day on his hobby, sitting on his
bed, with his sewing machine next to his mini-fridge.
Flowered "project boxes" sit next to neat stacks of blue
jeans and baseball caps. Quilting, he said, "gives you a
little bit of ownership. You've actually accomplished
something with your time off."
He pulled over once to visit the National Quilt Museum in
Paducah, Ky., and if time allows, visits fabric stores in
towns he rolls through.
In his truck, he showed a quilt with illustrations of fruit,
and emphasized the importance of strategically placing
quilt blocks so that "you don't get three lemons in a row
or two plums in a row."
His blue eyes widened behind his glasses as he moved
to the topic of thread. "There is a variegated thread that
goes purple to white then back to purple," he said. "Oh!
Just beautiful."
| Quilting History |