If there’s anyone who represents the heart of America’s highways and the soul of trucking, it’s Joey Holiday. Joey and Vicky are to the trucking industry what Ozzie and Sharon are to rock and roll.
“Vicky! Vi—cki! What number is that song on my playlist? You know the one?” He howls for his wife, who is always close by.
“Number 31!” she yells, feigning aggravation. “Do I have to come up there and find it for you?”
Not long ago, Shell Rotella held its SuperRigs competition right down the interstate from our OOIDA headquarters. We had the opportunity to spend some time out there, looking at the chrome and roasting on the pavement. The heat index was like 105.
During the hottest part of the day, there was Joey Holiday, on his traveling stage, one boot blue and one boot red, belting out his songs. When the Land Line crew arrived, he spotted us and sang a special song just for OOIDA (he and Vicky are members). It was called “Slowhio” and of course was about what a pain the butt the split speed limit was. Joey pointed out in his ad libbing that, as of July 1, he would not be able to sing this song any more thanks to OOIDA.
You can see some video of Joey singing “Slowhio” to our Land Line posse here. LL Staff Writer Dave Tanner shot the video in Oak Grove last month. Aside from being a reporter and photographer, Dave’s a musician, too. And a Joey fan.
Back to the point. The crowd around Joey’s stage was sparse. There was nobody stompin’ it up and doing the wave. It was too hot for that. In fact, it was too blasted hot to even stand out there for long. Most spectators were seeking tent cover. Truckers crouched in the shade of their trucks.
Joey paid no attention to this and performed like he was giving it up to a stadium crowd. He never missed a beat, never muffed a lyric. As always, his songs were his personal serenade to truck drivers. It’s really no step for a stepper like Joey. I’ve seen the guy do this in the freezing cold, too. And in some places where your normal musician-for-hire might not be found.
A couple of years ago during the Louisville truck show, our Land Line crew left the Kentucky Expo Center and drove over to by Poppa John’s Stadium. We’d been invited to a pig roast, a luau.
It was about 10:30 p.m., cold, dark and pelting down rain. We followed the directions and turned our rental van down some unlit streets lined with abandoned warehouses, chain link fence and rail cars.
Mark Reddig was certain we had taken a wrong turn. Ahead we saw what we figured had to be a hobo jungle or, as Bill Hudgins speculated, a camp for escaped convicts.
Then Jami Jones spotted some trucks lined up and more flickering lights. We cautiously drove up, doors locked. As we parked and got out, we hoped we were in the right place. A shadowy specter – who later turned out to be OOIDA member Eddie “Texas Son” Conrad – waved us in.
Then we heard music and caught a glimpse of Hawaiian print. There was Joey, set up under a makeshift tent, belting it out.