Stories about a trucker. Stories and tales from truckers “There is no way out: I got it - I gave it away. No one opposed this - it’s better to give the money and go quietly. ”

Stories, tales, anecdotes from the life of truckers!

In terms of the number and severity of tales and stories, only fishermen can compare with truckers. These stories help to better understand the exciting and difficult work of the driver. heavy vehicle into whose hands you entrust your precious goods. But we are convinced that a little humor and good laughter, even in the most serious business, will never hurt, and we decided to bring these stories to your attention.

(All stories and anecdotes are told, present or past, by truck drivers.)

1. When dealing with road bandits, a trucker needs nerves of steel and army endurance. They can easily, for example, demand money, allegedly for parking, if you just stopped for a bite to eat. Small crooks usually trade here, which can be put in their place. As a rule, "big fish" is not sprayed on eateries - the scale is not the same. But the main thing is to correctly assess the situation, otherwise you can make trouble.
*So, history. There are many different eateries on the Kyiv-Chop highway. Oleg decided to stop and eat. As soon as he stopped, a car drives up, from which a guy gets out. He asked for parking fees. Oleg had a large amount of money with him, and the radio broke down the second day. “I looked in the mirror: there is Tavria, I looked at this boy and realized that it was a pawn. I told him that I have a wad of money. Do you want me to give you everything? But remember: I'll get to the first telephone and call. To whom to write a donation on your wheelbarrow, you will be informed. And this money... I'll be back in five days, and you'll be waiting for me at the entrance. You slow down and say: “Here, Oleg Alexandrovich, you forgot. But you will give back twice as much! ”, - a trucker shares his experience of subduing a racketeer.

2. * Anecdote about a trucker changing a wheel in winter:
- Mom told me: "go to the gynecologists. And the money will be and the hands will be warm ..."

3. Somehow a traffic cop stops at the Smolensk driver's post on an American, busily comes up like that, taps his foot on the bandwagon and says:
- It stands for mirrors, however, it is oversized !!
And that one to him:
- Your cap protrudes behind your ears, you yourself are oversized !!!

4. City center, traffic jams, ubiquitous drivers fixed-route taxis taxiing out cutting each other and other cars, among which was the car of the emergency service "GAZ" -booth-heater.
Due to the fact that he was cut off, the driver was forced to stop abruptly and a brand new one drove into his back in the middle of the hood, the headrests were still in cellophane, a Beamer-5, which was driven by a "figure" of 18-20 years old, who decided to fraernuts before girls...

After that, he was still a little tipsy, as it turned out, got out of the car and began to bend his fingers in front of the GAZon carrier, from the series - "you will answer for everything, prepare a place in the cemetery if you don’t make the car brand new ...", well, etc. . and so on. And suddenly a ferocious roar is heard from the booth, the doors are thrown wide open, while the windshield is beating, and five drunk men with crowbars and shouting: "Damn, asshole, you turned the bottle over for us ...": )

5. This story was told by my friend: It was a couple of years ago. So I'm returning from a long trip (day driving) to my hometown. Well estessno look tired - horror. Well, as usual at the post, at the entrance to the city, a traffic cop slows me down. Documents, back and forth, let's go to the post. Apparently he saw a drunk in me. At the post, apparently due to poor funding, there was no tube to determine the presence of alcohol vapors. And this gallant traffic cop does this with one skillful movement of a bag from a sheet of paper (like an old woman who sells seeds) and tells me to take 3 deep breaths into this bag. Well, it is necessary so it is necessary - I do it. After that, he carefully sniffs it and, smelling nothing, asks me a question (???): "Did you serve in the army?" I answer: "No." He: "Why?" I (jokingly of course): "Yes, I have TB!" You should have seen his face. He came to his senses only after I repeated to him five times that I was joking. I tried not to go through this post anymore.

6. Good day, dear readers. This story was told to me by my uncle, he has a friend, a long-time uncle Sanya, a prankster who can still die with laughter. together they drove a large KAMAZ truck. They drove with some kind of cargo to the city of the hero of Irkutsk, and upon arrival at the place and having unloaded, it was already home, but they decided to spend the night at one of the truck stops, where they met old acquaintances. As you know, our people drove cheerful, we decided to celebrate the meeting. In one of the trucks they built a table and benches from improvised material, took a snack from someone who had something, but also vodka, of course. in search of something liquid, he found a jar of squash caviar on the table. At that moment, the idea crept into his head to play his comrades. l the contents in a neat pile, smeared some caviar on a napkin and put it next to it (what everyone seemed to understand). look at the very corner, the men say. Well, the reaction of the uncles was still that WHAT THE FUCK ... WHAT S .... DID THAT ??? under the indignant cries of colleagues, Uncle Sanya goes to the heap, bends down, dips his finger there and licks his lips relish B ... I WILL BE ONE OF MY OWN. you imagine, and even from a hangover, to see such a thing ... well, of course, under the malicious obscenity of his comrades with mantles, he confessed everything.

And at the end of the video

What is the most important thing in the work of a truck driver? Knowledge of the rules of the movement and the ability to keep the steering wheel out of your hands for days? Nothing like this! The main thing is to be prepared for any surprises and be able to use them to your advantage. Somehow, in the middle of the 90s, fate brought us to Omsk. Us - this is me, my partner Kolka and our "Kamaz Ivanovich", as we called him from time to time. In Omsk, they fooled us: they brought the cargo, dumped it at a certain warehouse in the industrial zone, the owner got into the car, clicked: “Follow me to the company - get paid!”. As soon as we drove off about three kilometers, he fell through the gases - and how he fell through the ground! They poked around, pushed around - they could not find it.

They wrote a sign "Empty", as expected, stood near some market, we sit, we gnaw seeds, we growl at each other with our tummies. Kolka picked up free newspapers, took the last change, and called the dispatchers on the phone.

We roll for ourselves rapidly, but neatly - after all, we are carrying a live load in the back, well, the owner mentioned the deadline - in two days, no more, to 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: the cost of the cargo, as expected (we wrote this out for ourselves), the waybill (we also did it ourselves), documents for the car (this was given to us by the traffic police), and a certificate from a veterinarian - this gave us a gypsy just in case. Well, the traffic cop didn’t have any questions about the documents for the car, neither did he have questions about the cost and waybill, but he suddenly got to the bottom of something about the veterinary certificate: the seal is not so round, and the handwriting is not legible, and the veterinarian’s last name is horse, just like Chekhov - Ovsov. We break it this way and that way - no, it rested like a ram: "I'm arresting your car, and we will inspect everything specifically - what kind of stallions and where are you taking them!"

Here Kolyan somehow so slyly dodged and says such a decent bass: Comrade inspector! Let's go to the body.

And here at one moment a man appears. Gypsy. And they say, guys, so and so - you need to transport 2 stallions to Moscow. There is a stud farm somewhere near Omsk, and so he bought it for himself. Well, of course: a gypsy without a horse is like a bird without wings! And for us - at least the hell of a bald man is already loaded, since we have been sitting on the same seeds for two days. He sat down with us in the cab, drove somewhere outside the city, to some village. On the last solarium actually. We woke up in the afternoon, went to look - what kind of cargo they had prepared for us there.

And there, really, two horses, dark and snow-white! Beautiful! Although, maybe they were stallions ... And the gypsies are here with them. Kolka left to haggle over the cost, while I helped to get these stallions into the body. They gave us hay with them, I'll show you everything as it is! Admire! What you currently see - no one has ever seen before you!

Yes, what is there to admire here, - the traffic cop stands on his own. – Horse thieves hired you, and you are happy! Article to you for it the criminal is put!

These are no ordinary horses! - Nikolai Petrovich suddenly flustered. - Have you ever seen a movie about the Victory Parade in the cinema, Comrade Inspector? 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 here it is! Although it is impossible to speak, but 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 it happened: after the Victory Parade, these horses lived in a special equestrian unit, near Moscow. And later, when the persecution of Zhukov and Budyonny began, Stalin's cult of personality, they were sent here, to Siberia, by reliable people! So that under a hot hand no one dealt with them! But the data on these stallions in the Museum of the Armed Forces, which stands on Reddish Square, have been stored 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 we celebrate the next Victory Day on May 9, the parade will be held on these stallions! So that everything goes according to tradition! Only Comrade Captain,” Nikolai Petrovich lowered his voice. "You can't tell anyone about this!" You can see what time it is at the moment! For these stallions, any collector will pay a million bucks, regardless! Therefore, we carry them incognito! Think for yourself - why, for the sake of 2 ordinary mares, to drag from Siberia all the way to Moscow? Would we mess up our car because of this?

I don’t know what the traffic cop thought there, he just gave all the documents and waved his hand - they say, move. Surely, he decided - why mess with the feeble-minded?

orange paradise

We drive further, and only we drive up to the next traffic police post - another traffic cop waves his baton at us. We slow down, and he - right off the bat: "Are you the same guys who are taking Budyonny's horse to the parade in Moscow?" While I was thinking about what to answer him, Kolka - well, Nikolai Petrovich in other words - asks him so casually: “And by what right do you use classified information?” The sergeant, apparently, did not expect this, as he often somehow out of place: “No, well, the guys and I decided - maybe you need hay? We have a field nearby, so we collected a little from a haystack - for your horses! Would you like some hay?" Two more traffic cops run out of the bushes, dragging 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 - again the traffic cop waves his baton! “Drivers,” he yells. “We have stocked apples for your stallions here!” - and drags a whole box of apples! We waved to the traffic cop with a pen - and further, to Moscow! The sun is warm, the music is playing, the stallions and I are nibbling apples - beauty!

And the traffic police have their own connection! We drive up to the next traffic police post - there they offer us apples again! But Nikolai Petrovich can no longer look at them—we've gone through half a box with him! “No, it’s already enough! Otherwise, stallions will develop diathesis! Here the 2nd traffic cop comes up and looks at us plaintively: “Can I have bananas?” In general, we also stocked up on bananas. At the next post, the same story, only there the violator was carrying oranges. And, apparently, he violated it very much - they put two boxes in the cabin for us: one box per stallion!

"Cure" for rickets

In general, beauty - we are going like in paradise: bananas, apples, oranges ... But here is a snake-nature: after all this joyful garden, I wanted meat! I told Kolyan about this - he neighs: “Now we’ll arrange everything!”.

We are already going somewhere beyond Chelyabinsk, we are passing the Ural Mountains. There is a traffic police post, and behind it - trade stalls stretch. And it smells delicious! Apparently, the traffic cops were told about us, they saw the car, immediately to us: “Show us, please, Zhukov’s horse and Budyonny’s stallion!” And Kolyan met them: “Hello, comrades! Tell me - do you have fat? - "What fat?" “Yes, we should have been given fish oil with us: stallions need a liter a day so that they do not develop rickets.” - “We don’t have fish oil - sorry, we weren’t prepared! Maybe change what you can? Well, Kolyan took a thoughtful pose here, and began to reason: “Fish oil is hard to replace.

Only if the fat is some kind of low-cholesterol! In other words, fat should be lean! Like barbecue, for example. I think that, as an exception, stallions can now be given two kebabs together with 1 liter of fish oil! The elder here yelled: “Sidorov! Four kebabs are needed for two stallions! And two more for the guides! Come on, go to Abai the kebab maker, tell him - kebabs for the post, for honored people! Let him choose the excellent ones - and let there be a little fat! In general, we left with meat!

The next day, we again rode like masters! We were bombarded with apples or hay - they wanted to stuff a whole stack into the back, they barely fought back. They brought us the freshest sawdust. Well, and violators of what they just don’t carry: we got 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!” they threw a pair of jeans into the cockpit and T-shirts with the words "I hate cops!" - an unshaven mug is drawn there.

"From the brothers!"

The last adventure has already happened 100 km from Moscow: an SUV catches up on the highway, and starts blinking its lights, like a garland on a Christmas tree, crushed us to the side of the road. Braked. Three healthy rednecks come out of the SUV: “Are you carrying stallions for Budyonny and Marshal Zhukov to the Victory Parade?” Well, Kolyan so timidly from the cab says: “We!” - “Show me!”. The men looked, clicked their tongues, and treated them to refined sugar. “Hold,” they say, “from the lads! - and they shoved a cardboard bag to Kolyan. - Tell the museum - so that everything is spent on stallions, to the last penny! Therefore, how such beauty must be preserved! I don’t remember how much money there was, but Kolyan says that we immediately paid for all our losses in Omsk.
And here the suburbs have already begun. The gypsy warned us that he would meet us two days before entering the Moscow Ring Road. We drive up - it's worth it. I looked into the body, into the cab - seemingly by chance. I don’t know what I thought, 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 gypsies paid off with us ...

For a long time they remembered this trip - until the sugar ran out. And later I read that there was no Budyonny Victory Parade at that time - Rokossovsky and Zhukov commanded there. But we won’t tell anyone about this, let everyone think that somewhere in the Museum of the Armed Forces in Moscow, the horse Mikhal Semenych Budyonny lives! And if it needs to be transported back to Siberia, we are always ready!

Misha Shcheglov, magazine "Gruzovoz"

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 now our hero is riding, it’s a dark night in the yard - even gouge out his eye. Looks, on a roadside there is a girl, votes.
He did not like to take random fellow travelers, but this time he decided to deviate from his rules and find out if help was needed. in general, everything is as it should be ... There is no doubt, a prostitute. The only thing that surprised the guy at that moment was the strangely chosen “place of deployment”. There is forest on both sides of the road.

I will not say “this is my such a good friend, he cannot lie.” I myself do not quite believe in this story, but still decided to write about it.
I apologize in advance for the lack of literature. I do not want to embellish, written as above, from memory. I didn't add anything of my own.
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Sergei was returning from a flight to Yekaterinburg. I drove into the city from the side of the Turunovsky cemetery, the largest one in our city. It was between 2 and 3 am.
Approaching the main gate of the cemetery, he saw an inverted nine. Stopped, thought to help people. When I approached, I saw a trail of blood, such as when a body is being dragged, directed towards 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 Andrei 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 friendly opened the door
- Brother, can you share the diesel fuel? asked the tanker
- And what, did you steal all the ensign from the unit? Andrey asked jokingly
“We’re not laughing now, brother. Help out better comrades. The enemy is near.
“Heh heh, what kind of enemy? Do you have teachings? Well, okay, I myself served, I myself know that it is necessary to help each other out.
The driver, smiling, took out two canisters and handed them to the tanker.

My father is a truck driver. For as long 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 drive far and alone: ​​they can attack (after all, truckers pick up fellow travelers - who knows what kind of person you picked up), and there are unexpected breakdowns, and sometimes strange things happen. For example, about a couple of months ago, my father arrived from the next flight much later than he was supposed to (he went somewhere in the wilderness, three hundred kilometers from Ulyanovsk, where we live), but such a strange one arrived, silent.

Gennady Nikolaevich is one of those people whom you will never call simply by their first name, unless you ate a pound of salt together and drove those countless thousands of kilometers that he traveled in his life. Gennady Nikolaevich is one of those who are called drivers. These are people of the same profession. They have seen absolutely everything on the roads and can tell you something. They smoke a lot and drink coffee by the liter. Once with a cup of coffee, our acquaintance began.

His face was lined with wrinkles, and his sharp gaze remained exactly the same as in photographs that are many years old. A firm handshake. He only drinks espresso.

“Once upon a time, my friend told me: get in, let's go on a flight. Well, we went"- recalls Gennady Nikolaevich.

He knows how to ride, probably on everything that starts. And he can fix anything that won't start. At the age of 18, Gennady Nikolaevich received a driver's license, worked in a taxi company, worked in many places, until he became a truck driver. The empire collapsed around, new states and border posts arose, and he traveled around the atlas of the USSR highways. The 90s passed, the 2000s flashed past the cab windows. A profession that has become a part of life.

“We turn on the TV, they say there is a war in Tajikistan. And we need to take a Coca-Cola mini-factory there ... "

- Sometime in the 90s, Igor, my partner, called. He says let's go to Tajikistan. We weren't supposed to go on that flight, but it happened. The truck had left two weeks before, she was arrested on the border with Russia (then she was still there) - something was wrong with the documents. During this time, two drivers in Smolensk squandered almost all the money that they were given for the flight. They tell me I need help. Well, not a question. We sat on the tractor, the 29th MAZ, went for this truck.

We found it at a car impound somewhere near Katyn: the “head” separately, the trailer separately. While we were hitching up the truck, the locals told us what the drivers had done here - the whole of Smolensk was buzzing. By the way, we saw one carrier. The other didn't show up. Of all the money they had left 800 dollars. Igor and I scratched our pockets, counted fifteen thousand more. And with this money they went on a trip. Imagine, all the way to Kulyab, which is on the border with Afghanistan. How much does one fuel cost? Okay, you need to go. They brought a Coca-Cola mini-factory to some of their princes: the whole truck, 14 meters long, was packed with equipment.

We passed Chelyabinsk, through the transition Petukhovo - Petropavlovsk entered Kazakhstan. August hot. Lake Balkhash lies on the left as a huge emerald. I look: the camel is coming. Stopped. A girl is sitting by the road, she has a Polaroid. I say: "Take a picture, please." And she told me: "Three tenge." Paid what to do.

We reach Shu - a city in Kazakhstan. The road is straight. I see from the atlas that there is no other way. And the sign "brick" hangs. How is this possible? Nearby is a man dressed in civilian clothes.

- Listen, how to get there?

Baksheesh, - answers. - Pay.

Pay for what? Look at the atlas: where will I go?

Now you won’t leave here at all, - and he takes out a bundle of grass. - A brigade will come and find it in your truck. And that's all.

“We turn on the TV and find out: there is a war in Tajikistan. How to be - the goods need to be delivered "

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On the border, Uzbeks in combat gear. They tell me: “Where are you going, there is a war!” And where to go? We left, stood in the customs zone. Tajiks come from that side. They have gold chains as thick as my finger.

-I am Nurullo, commander of the poor, one says. - The owner wants to talk to you.

We come to them in some change house. And the elder starts yelling at me. I answer him:

- Listen, I'm now turning around in the neutral zone and going back. Then you will carry this factory even on donkeys, even on KamAZ trucks to your Kulyab.

OK. They calmed down, gave us an escort, guaranteed safety. We drove through Dushanbe. On the outskirts of the city, they met an infantry fighting vehicle with the Russian flag - peacekeepers. They tell us: Where are you going, Belarusians, there is a war here”. And where were we to go?

On the way, I fell asleep. I wake up because we are standing. I looked around: people with machine guns, a tank in the middle of the road. Our Nurullo talked to them about something in the local language, they moved away somewhere. And we were missed. The next morning we drove into Kulyab. Only there our guide told us what had happened.

- Do you know how much two of your lives are worth? I paid 20 thousand dollars to let you through.

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In Kulyab we were greeted like a prince. I learned to eat plov. Do you think they eat it with their hands? No. You tear off a piece of thin cake and use it to take pilaf. Finally, Nurullo told us that he wanted to give something as a gift. He went somewhere and brought an AKM. It is not customary to refuse them, but I somehow convinced him that such a gift would not be useful to us in Belarus. Then he unfastened the horn and gave us two cartridges as a keepsake. Having left Kulyab, we stopped, and I threw them out of harm's way. As it turned out, he did the right thing.

At the border, they searched the entire truck, they almost forced the wheels to sideboard, they tore off the trim in the cab - they were looking for drugs. Finally released.

On the way back, 23 tons of melons were loaded in Uzbekistan. We stopped at a field near the Syr Darya River. While the locals were loading the melon, Igor, a partner, took a fishing rod from the cabin and went fishing. He asks the locals: do you have fish? And they do not know anything, they shrug their shoulders. Well, he fooled a grasshopper with half a bag of potatoes. We sit, fry: a normal trucker has a stove, a frying pan - everything is there. Local workers come

- Where did you get the fish?

There's a river over there, see? That's where she lives.

In short, they fed these Uzbeks with fish.

How they got home, I don't know. No money. Melon for breakfast, melon for lunch, melon for dinner. On the way we met our guys, they were carrying onions. They gave them melons, they gave us onions, but what's the point.

The temperature is +45 Celsius, haze over the road - the air is boiling. Suddenly I see in front of the car - a wide pit, maybe a meter deep. I shout: "Igor, gas!" How did we get over it? MAZ has three axles and the trailer has the same number ...

At night we stopped in the steppe to sleep. No one around, steppe and steppe. Just fell asleep - a knock on the door, traffic cop. Where did he come from, in the steppe? What and how, he asked for documents. They gave him something to lag behind: either money, or he took a melon - I don’t remember.

So they returned. Near Moscow already, I remember, the inspector slows down. I stopped in a puddle on purpose - he can’t come up. I open the door and literally shout: “Well, what do you all need ?!”

- What are you yelling at?

Yes tired! I’m going from Kulyab itself, they’ve stripped like sticky like that, I don’t have any strength!

Where are you going from now? I fought in Afghanistan, it's on the border! How you just got carried away. Drive, Belarusian, have a good road.

Gennady Nikolaevich looks at the trucks approaching to refuel. The cars are different now, he says, but the drivers are not the same anymore, there are almost no old truckers left.

“Young people have not seen this. We drank in those years to the fullest. And now many will not stop on the road to help, they do not know what sympathy, mutual assistance is. The boys justify themselves: "We have time." Maybe there is some truth in this. But they spoiled the concept of mutual assistance and chauffeur fraternity.

I remember, I drove the Volga - it broke rear axle. Okay, we hooked up to another truck, let's go. And the hitch burst, and I rolled backwards from a steep climb. At first I thought: I need to jump. Then I looked - no one. Decided to fight. Moved out exactly, and then "stuck" the car in the snow on the side of the road. I sit on my haunches, I smoke near the cabin. Shakes everything.

Everyone who passed by stopped. How can you help here? But at least something: they carried lard, bread, canned food, cigarettes.

And how did we pay for the roads, how did they give these business cards ... Do you know? Well listen...

How they paid for roads and how they gave business cards

- The time was like this: legalized banditry. And the gangs were squeamish. The old guard, who still remained on the track, they all remember it.

Voronezh, city center. From two sides I am squeezed by cars. I stop, they say: you have to pay for the fare - 50 dollars.
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“There is no way out: I got it - I gave it away. No one opposed this - it’s better to give the money and go quietly. ”

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They give a business card, throw it on the glass - and that's it, then the path is free, we drove without fear. And this was everywhere in Russia.

In Kazakhstan, they tried to stop some brothers on the cherry "nine". We began to wag the trailer so that the driver would not bypass us. I say to Igor: "Launch it under the trailer, wait until it drives up, and you yourself - to the side". Then they fell behind, they realized that we, too, could do something.

Traffic cops stopped in Tolyatti - you also have to pay. I hand him the money, but he does not take it, he says: throw it in the grass. I gave up and went. I look in the mirror: he picked it up, carefully put it in his pocket.

Magnitogorsk. The green "seven" followed us. Somehow they left her, we stop near the traffic police post. I say: “What are you doing here? We were being chased!"
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- So these are drug addicts, there are enough of them.

So you made me happy that drug addicts already felt better!

Well, he left, well done.
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In Belarus, fortunately, this was not the case. And the Russians always said: “You are doing well. I wanted to sleep - I stopped and sleep, no one will touch you ". Although on the Brest highway, I heard that German paint was stolen from a truck. The guy at the gas station spent the night under the cameras and didn’t even hear anything. The next morning to go, and the car became much easier. It was said that the gas station workers were at the same time with the criminals.

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Gennady Nikolaevich was born in Severomorsk. He served in the Navy, many of those principles he kept throughout his life.
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"A sailor either does or doesn't," he once said.

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He may not have made a lot of money, but he kept friends everywhere he went.
“I didn’t become a rich man because I didn’t have such a goal. But I have what I want to have. I traveled by myself: first I worked for a company, then for myself. And to make money, you had to hire drivers. But I myself am one of the drivers, I don’t want to be made a fool of me ”- says Gennady Nikolaevich.

Meanwhile, in other times there was money. Carrying cargo was a prestigious profession, and some drivers paid in foreign currency for Tanya Ovsienko's song "Trucker" to be rewound in a restaurant and put on again.

Diplomatic cargo

- We were chartered by the Ukrainian embassy - to carry some household appliances from Minsk to Kyiv. They gave a document on yellow diplomatic paper: "All services to assist in the promotion of the car ..." An escort from the embassy went with us - a girl Svetlana.

Near some village at the traffic police post we were stopped. I showed the document, and some civilian demands insurance. They brought me to the post, I tell the traffic cops:

- Have you seen the paper? Now you will be in trouble.

I look, traffic cops from the post slowly dispersed. And the "civilian" went wrong: " I don’t care, I need insurance.” Svetlana came with a folder and showed him some papers. I don’t know what was in them, but this “civilian” was pressed into a chair. I left there, I think they will sort it out themselves. At the exit, traffic cops are rubbing, asking: “Well, what is there?” - “Ay, guys,” I say, “now I don’t know. If you want, come see for yourself".

We fly to Kyiv at night. Well, the Dnieper, Motherland with a shield. The only time I have been there. We unloaded somewhere not far from Khreshchatyk, got the calculation and returned. And in Chernigov I stopped near the traffic cop to ask the way:

- Five hryvnias, - He speaks.

- Hold on.

Look: at that turn you turn left, drive two hundred meters and you are there...

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Gennady Nikolaevich traveled in many cars, he still remembers each of them.

Recently found out where my Volvo goes. They saw her in Nesvizh, can you imagine? They say, inspected, no worse than I had. They just pull too much on it - they will ruin the car.

And it all started with the old IFA. Instruments did not work in it, there was no arrow on the speedometer. Somehow I accelerated on M2, near the Mound of Glory, the traffic police stopped. Inspector says:

- Where are you in such a hurry?

How much did I drive?

92 km / h, - the device shows.

Wow, she's still running! Commander, you understand, the instruments in the cockpit do not work, the speedometer is without an arrow ...

He let's laugh, let go, in general ...

"Mishkin's Kiss"

- Four years in a row I had a New Year's gift: on the eve of the holiday, the rear axle broke on the flight. I remember, on December 24, in Sosny, we were loaded with Mishkin's Kiss sweets - such a soufflé in chocolate. To go to Moscow, accompanying us. We reach the Ugra [a river in the Smolensk region. - Approx. Onliner.by] - my bridge is torn. Well, what to do, there is time. I tell this escort: go to Moscow to look for a car. We will reload, the sweets will have time to deliver. He went. He returns with some sort of "shorty" truck. In short, they overloaded what fit, but more than 60 boxes did not fit. They left, and I stopped the Gomel guys, picked me up - and went home.

Brought to Gomel, unhooked somewhere in the center. I stopped the grader that was cleaning the street, I told the driver: "Do you want to be a millionaire?"(Then we still had millions of banknotes.) In short, he dragged me to the parking lot near the highway to Minsk, and I took the train to the capital, for spare parts. He returned, repaired the car, drove off. In the trailer, this "Kiss" - you can't imagine worse. There is no money and no gasoline - the light bulb is about to light up. I stopped in some village, asked for diesel fuel from a tractor driver. The one in any. OK.

I am standing near the road with a canister - a “Slovak” [road train with Slovak numbers] is coming towards me. I waved my hand without much hope - it stops. It turns out such a strong man with a beard.

- Good afternoon, I say, do you understand Russian?

Of course.

Look, there's no solar at all. And money is pennies. Sell ​​as much as you can.

Is there a canister?

But how.

And he has a handsome DAF. Tanks of 800 liters. He poured me a canister, did not take the money. We talked, his name is Pavel. He lit a cigarette, and I have nothing in the cockpit. What to do: asked for a cigarette. So he brought me a pack of Camel from the cab. This is for those times!

- Pavel, I don't know how to thank you!

Do not need anything. Stuff happens on the road.

Do you drink coffee?

Of course.

Then here's your coffee!

I grabbed as many of these boxes with the “Kiss” as I could - I took so many. I had nothing more to thank him for.

P.S

Gennady Nikolaevich recently had to sell his truck. Times have changed.

“I somehow endured the first wave of the crisis, but there was no point in enduring the second. So did many of my old trucker friends. With two trucks, it was impossible to earn. They began to offer such money for transportation that there was no point in going. And without meaning, it’s no longer work.”, - our interlocutor notes.

Rules have changed, drivers have changed. The market was occupied by other people.

“Entrepreneurs from Komarovka decided to engage in cargo transportation- Gennady Nikolaevich said gloomily. - They want to drive new cars no further than Moscow and return home to their young wife tomorrow.”.

He doesn't complain about anything. Works, as before, as a driver. Only now on other machines and in another area.

“It is a pity that there are fewer and fewer enthusiasts of the old generation, those who love this profession, as we loved it. It's the same way of life. Understand, this is a thrill from work - it is higher than money. I can't explain it better to you - you have to experience it. Write like this: the profession is interesting, the profession is good - but well, go to the bathhouse ”, - concludes Gennady Nikolaevich.

There is a certain category of people for whom the road is the main meaning of their life. Danil Zazybin's father was a truck driver. From childhood, the boy dreamed of being like him, and also traveling along the roads of Russia and the whole world. He was fascinated by clear dividing lines, a brilliant asphalt surface, a series of cities and villages flashing behind the glass of a car. Danil's dream came true, and in 1999 he became an international transport driver.

Danil Zazybin has an irregular working day: it can start at 5 or 2 pm. The start of the shift depends on how late the previous flight ended. It often happens that you have to work at night and rest during the day.

The truck cab is equipped with a tachograph - a special device with which the transport inspectorate monitors compliance with the working regime and rest of drivers. Truckers have the right to work no more than 9 hours a day. After that, they must rest.

According to Danil, European inspectors monitor compliance with labor standards very strictly. If violations are detected, they can be fined several thousand euros. On the territory of Russia there is no such strict control yet. The system began to develop only this year, but not all cars are equipped with the necessary equipment.

Danil drives a white German-made DAF truck tractor. The weight of the machine exceeds 17 tons, and its length is 17 meters. Despite the huge dimensions of the truck, the driver says that it is quite easy to drive. She just needs to get used to it.

Danil Zazybin does not have time for long conversations. The trucker needs to hit the road, because tonight he plans to cross Belarus. In the daytime, when the air warms up by more than 25 degrees, the movement of heavy vehicles is prohibited on the roads of this country. Moreover, few people will enjoy a long parking lot on hot asphalt.

Truckers from Russia - jacks of all trades

Slowly turning the steering wheel, Danil Zazybin says that in the old days, truckers often had to fix various problems with their car themselves. Europeans considered Russian truckers to be jacks of all trades. They could not only replace wheels or brake pads, but also perform serious engine repairs. But today's equipment modern cars does not “dispose” to self-troubleshooting: in case of any serious breakdown, you have to contact the service.

A walkie-talkie is installed in Danil's car, from which male voices are heard. Other drivers enthusiastically "wash the bones" of someone's mother-in-law.

Danil explains that all trucks are equipped with walkie-talkies tuned to one wave. They help drivers in case of unforeseen situations. With the help of a walkie-talkie, truckers can discuss traffic situation or just talk about any topic that interests them. It is worth asking a question into the radio, and the conversation starts by itself.

Comfort and convenience of modern trucks

Modern trucks differ in many ways from their predecessors. Today they, by right, can be called houses on wheels. The cab is so high that it allows the driver to stand upright. Here, behind the driver's seat, there is a comfortable bed with a blanket, mattress and pillow. And if you remove it, you can see a camp kitchen with a refrigerator and stove.

It is worth saying that the cab of the car Danil Zazybin drives is not decorated with various small items that are so often found in heavy truck torpedoes. The driver believes that they interfere with a normal view, so only the icon is installed in his car.

The lunch break is suitable, which usually lasts 45 minutes. If you choose between going to a cafe and eating in a car, then most truckers will stop at the second option. Time is enough to cook something worthwhile. Some drivers snack on sandwiches, while others prefer a full meal.
Smiling, Danil says that once he even fried pancakes for himself. And some drivers, in general, can cook jam. During long stops, truckers always cook their own food, and they do it quite well. And if you are tired of everyday dishes, then other drivers will never refuse a new, healthy recipe.

If you go to a cafe every day, then no money will be enough for this. Truckers involved in international transportation try to eat in public places no farther than Poland. For example, a very modest breakfast in Germany costs at least 500 rubles. That is why it is much more profitable for drivers to cook their own meals.

Everyday life of truckers - parking difficulties

A white truck with Russian license plates stops to replenish fuel supplies. It takes a lot of time to fill a full tank, because it holds 1.5 tons. Despite the not too high quality of Russian diesel fuel, truckers try to refuel at home, because fuel prices in Russia are 2 times lower. While the tank is being filled, Danil talks about the purpose of a small platform on which several heavy trucks are parked. It turns out that most of these parking lots are far from free, but it’s unlikely that you can relax on them normally.

According to the trucker, there are few quality parking lots in any country in the world. This forces drivers to stop at several places. Nevertheless, if we compare Russia and other countries, then, for example, in Germany you can take a shower and wash soiled clothes. On Russian territory, you are unlikely to find such a parking lot. Having stopped at a chosen place, some drivers prefer to spend time alone, while others discuss the news in the company with colleagues.

Polite Truckers

Having refueled, Danil continues on his way. With favorable road conditions a truck can travel at a speed of 90 km/h. it maximum limiter set for heavy trucks. If the trucker is not delayed by traffic jams or repairs on the roads, then in a day he can drive almost 700 km.

My interlocutor notes with surprise that hitchhikers have stopped standing on the roadside recently. In previous years, neither the summer heat nor the winter cold stopped them.

Danil does not have a partner, but this does not mean that he is bored on the way. A man can admire the surrounding landscapes and communicate by radio with other truck drivers. Musical rhythms do not stop in the car: basically, 80s disco or Spanish music sounds from the radio. Behind the truck are two cars. Danil sees that the road ahead is empty and flashes a turn signal, informing the drivers that the way for overtaking is clear. Truck drivers are famous for their politeness.

As you know, truckers are mostly professional drivers. But, despite this, car accidents are not uncommon on the road. Heavy trucks do not have good maneuverability, so it is quite difficult for them to get out of a skid. When hit on a wet roadside, a 20-ton "hulk" can roll over or fly into the oncoming lane. AT winter time truckers experience other difficulties: it is difficult for their cars to drive up an icy hill or break out of a snowy “mess”. To facilitate the solution of such problems, Danil Zazybin chose mechanical box gears.

Dedicated to truckers: Love for the road

What is the main quality that distinguishes truck drivers? Our interlocutor believes that this is patience. Day after day is not necessary: ​​sometimes the shift goes very smoothly, and sometimes the driver has to spend a lot of his nerves. Probably every truck driver has thought about quitting his job. But after sitting at home and calming down a little, he again begins to pull on the road. The road becomes a way of life. Real truckers cannot imagine their existence without movement. Love for the road, practically, develops into dependence.

Driving life is not easy. A trucker makes about two trips per month, each of which lasts at least 12 days. Naturally, the family sees the driver for no more than a week.

Danil looks at photos of his wife and child and says that his family is used to his lifestyle. The man says he has always been a truck driver. In order to somehow compensate for his constant absence from home, he tries to devote as much time as possible to his family. Together they make a lot of walks, Danila's wife even went on a flight with him a couple of times. She says she is satisfied.

The nuances of international long-distance transport: border control

The work day is coming to an end. You can prepare for dinner and rest. Tomorrow Danila is waiting to cross the border with Germany. There are many stories about long stops of trucks at the borders. For example, entry from Poland to Belarus can take at least a week.

Daniel recalls his own negative experience when crossing the border with Finland. He got to a detailed inspection of the entire cargo, which lasted more than a week. It was 30-degree frost outside, the cars lined up in a huge queue and moved without ceasing. Therefore, day after day, Danil was in constant tension and practically did not sleep.

Despite the difficulties of the profession of a truck driver, Danil considers her his "road" love. It allows you to see a lot of new things and meet interesting people. The life of a trucker goes in circles: while on a flight, he strives to find himself at home as soon as possible, and after waiting for a rest, he again wants to feel the “taste” of road romance.

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