Every road has a beginning, and every road has an end. After 47 years behind the wheel, my journey has finally reached its final stretch. This chapter isn’t just about stepping away from trucking — it’s about saying goodbye to a part of myself that will never return. In many ways, when the journey ended… part of me died too.
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This chapter will be extremely hard to communicate about. It’s really hard to walk away from something you have loved for 47 years, just cold turkey. But here is how my final year played out.
Although I was in chronic pain, my true passion was my business. During the last 12 months, with God’s help and guidance, I was able to continue my business regardless of the pain and discomfort I was experiencing — until I no longer could.
It started about a year ago with slow, progressing lower back pain which gradually crept into my left hip and leg joint. Then, after the pain intensified in my hip, it moved through my thigh and down to my ankle. The only way to alleviate the pain was to either shift my weight off my hip or climb out of the truck and stand for a few minutes. Imagine that happening every single day.
Once my left leg was consumed by chronic pain, the numbness and loss of muscle control began to set in. When I stopped for the night at the rest area in Georgetown, Kentucky, I had to get out of the truck and walk. I walked about a mile every day just to relieve the pain in my hip, knee, and lower leg.
I was able to manage it this way until May 19th of this year. After arriving at the rest area in Georgetown, I climbed out of the truck to do my required post-trip vehicle inspection. When I finished that and took my walk, I went to climb back into the truck — but my left leg went completely dead. My right leg wasn’t prepared to handle my full weight, and it slipped off the top step, sending me crashing to the ground.
I don’t know how I managed to get up, but I did. I caught my breath and tried again to climb back up into the truck. I went to bed hoping that by morning I’d be better. When I woke up on May 20th, I was stiff and sore, but as the day wore on, I loosened up enough to keep going. Still, my body was screaming louder every day.
Over the next several weeks, the pain intensified to the point that finally, all my senses agreed: it was time to get professionally evaluated.
That day was June 19th, 2025. I drove straight home and made an appointment with Dr. Ryan Dill at Ortho Indy Greenwood. X-rays were done, and the diagnosis was grim. Following insurance protocol, I had to complete 30 days of physical therapy. I poured myself into it, still clinging to the hope of getting back in my truck — the only thing I ever wanted to do.
During that month, I had two setbacks where the sciatica became so severe I could barely walk. But I kept pushing, refusing to give up.
That is, until a few days before my MRI. My wife and I attended a celebration of life service for her cousin. We stood talking to family for about 20 minutes, and in that time, my legs went completely numb. I couldn’t feel them at all. That was the wake-up call. My heart, mind, and soul all agreed: it was over.
I told the therapy center my situation, and they agreed the therapy was doing little good. They released me. I completed the MRI on August 11th and had my consultation on August 14th. My doctor placed me on full restrictions from driving a commercial vehicle.
The only comfort I hold onto is knowing that, with God’s will, my wife will not have to push me in a wheelchair anytime soon — my greatest fear.
And so, with tears in my eyes and sorrow in my heart, I write these words: Goodbye to the road I loved.
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