And on the eighth day God looked down and said I need somebody who can back 70 feet of steel into a hole with six inches on either side, in the dark, in the rain, on the first try. So God made a trucker. God said I need somebody who can feel a tire going soft through the floorboard at 65. Who can hear a bearing before it fails. Who knows what a load sounds like when it's riding right and what it sounds like when it isn't, and will pull over at 3am on a shoulder to go check, because he'd rather lose an hour than lose the freight. So God made a trucker. I need somebody who can look at a mountain grade and a loaded trailer and know exactly what gear he needs before he gets there. Who can run 600 miles through weather that closed the road behind him and pull in on time without making it a story. So God made a trucker. I need somebody with the arms to crank a landing gear that hasn't moved in a year, and the patience to talk a rookie back into a dock without ever letting on that he watched the whole thing. Somebody who'll pull over for a truck that isn't his problem, from a company that isn't his, and give up an hour of his own clock to get a stranger rolling again. So God made a trucker. I spent twelve years on the other end of the phone. I never once moved a load. Not one. Every single thing I ever built, every customer I ever kept, came down to whether a man I'd never met was as good at his job as he said he was. They almost always were. So God made a trucker. Thank one this week.