As I mentioned in the previous chapter, Mike and I became best friends instantly upon meeting. Mike was a free spirit—not the kind of man who could be harnessed or boxed in.
During my first year at Conway, I was still living in Indianapolis and was trapped in a difficult relationship. I had no financial resources to escape, and I felt stuck.
Mike had just built himself a house in Plainfield, close to the new Conway terminal. One day, he came by and picked me up in Indy so we could run some errands. During our casual conversation, I opened up and told him I really needed to move and get out of my situation.
He looked at me seriously and said, “Then let’s get you out of there. You can come live with me. We’ll split the expenses.” And he meant it.
Of course, I accepted his offer. I owned a Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic, and Mike was so intrigued by it that he built a custom one from the ground up in his garage. Once it was finished, we rode all the time. For two years, I lived with Mike, and then I eventually bought a mobile home in Mooresville, Indiana, and moved there.
Mike was tragically killed on his Harley on March 13, 2004.
For the next three years, his friends—those of us who worked with him—organized memorial rides to his graveside to pay our respects. It’s been 21 years since he left us, and I still miss him every single day.
Friends like that are truly once-in-a-lifetime. As for me? I’ve been blessed twice. The story of my second friendship will be revealed in my next book.
“`
My Trucker Life 