As mammoth travel plazas sprawl across the pavement next to superhighways bustling with traffic, there’s something to be said for the truck stop that still clings to the skirts of a two-lane highway, alone in the centre of four or five empty acres of dirt. These are the places where, as a young gearjammer, you could stop, share a few tales, break a little bread, and celebrate the ties that bind us together as professional drivers.

For me, that place was the White Stallion Truck Stop, on Hwy. 69 in Mactier, Ont., not far south of Parry Sound. I discovered it in 1981 when I was hauling fuel oil into mines. I dreaded the trip north on that road, especially during winter, but a stop at the Stallion was a tonic for body and soul.

Every night, the staff served up enough chow to feed a small town. There was always a stack of quarters along the rails of the pool table and the music was a little too loud. And there was always enough room on the lot for one more truck.

Say what you want about the CB or the trade magazines, if you kept your ears open and your mouth shut, an hour at the Stallion brought you up to speed on everything going on from Moncton to Medicine Hat. Old professors passed out wisdom to greenhorns. They patiently answered all my questions about chaining tires, driving on frozen lakes, staying alive in the winter, pulling trains, running out of fuel, and just about everything else this career won’t ever let me forget. They also told tales about coming down the Montreal River Hill backwards with a set of A-trains in the freezing rain, dodging the swamp donkeys all the way down. What’s a bit of boasting among the boys?

Places like the Stallion are a vanishing breed. It went belly-up, although new owners planned to reopen it this summer under a new name. I wish them luck: it’s not easy to run a business that requires acres of high-priced real estate-which generates less revenue than a pot of coffee. Cost-cutting efforts like cardlock fuel outlets and sandwich coolers, combined with tighter schedules and the proliferation of team operations, have made customers a scarce commodity. As for the White Stallion, most fleets would have their drivers circle around to the south of the Great Lakes, taking their chances with the U.S. DOT instead of the potholes on Hwy. 69.

If the demand existed, more truck stop operators would be able to upgrade their facilities. Sure, I’d love to see a Canada-wide chain of truckstops that will honor repair warranties, 24 hours a day. Heck, I’d be happy to see a tire-repair operation that didn’t whack me with a service charge just for coming out to a truck stop. Could a low-fat or vegetarian menu be far behind?

Truck stop operators make their money selling fuel, food, and those myriad accessories that keep our wheels turning. If we aren’t buying, they won’t survive. I’m not just waxing nostalgic here. We all need a place to recuperate from the stress of the job. In the mile-and-a-half-a-minute world of trucking, everybody’s in such a damn hurry to get there that we forget that getting there can be half the fun. If road rage is a symptom of the stress, a game of pool and a bowl of hot chili just might be the cure.