
Bubba Patenaude was thirteen years old when he figured out what he wanted to do with his life.
His uncle drove a truck, and one day he took Bubba out on a run. A whole afternoon sitting up high in a cab, watching the road from a place most people never get to sit. By the time he got home, Bubba had made up his mind. He was going to drive a truck, and he was still six years away from being allowed to. “I got my license when I was 19, and I’ve been driving since,” he says.
Forty-two years later, he is still at it. Twenty of those years have been spent at Van Kam, running linehaul out of Surrey. “It’s the longest place I’ve ever worked at,” he says. “That’s half of my working career. The longest place I worked before here was seven years.”
Bubba’s week is built around Prince George. Three runs up and back, which puts him on the road six days out of seven. Through the summer, he is pulling LCVs (long combination vehicles) over the Coquihalla, and when the weather turns, he takes the Canyon instead. Two very different drives with two very different things to watch for, and he has been reading both for years.
It is a demanding schedule, and he does not dress it up. Long hours, early starts, mountain passes in weather that does not always cooperate. But when the conversation turns to slowing down, he shuts it down fast. “If it weren’t fun anymore, I’d retire right now. It’s still fun. I like doing it. It’s not really a job if you like what you’re doing,” he says.
Twenty years is long enough to have plenty of reasons for staying. Bubba does not reach for the obvious ones. What kept him here was the people. “I like the people here. Everybody here is accessible.” That last word is the one he leans on. Nobody at Van Kam is out of reach, whether they are in an office or on a forklift, and a guy who has spent four decades in this industry knows exactly how rare that is.
He sees the same thing in how the company handles the job itself. “Safety is the number one thing here. The equipment is always updated, and they look after their drivers.” Coming from someone who has spent half his working life on BC mountain passes, that is not a small thing to say.

Forty-two years is long enough to watch an entire industry reshape itself. Bubba has seen it happen from the driver’s seat. “There’s a lot more traffic on the road,” he says. “The equipment is getting more streamlined and technologically advanced.” The trucks got smarter, and the highways got busier, and he adapted to both because that is what the job asks.
What hasn’t changed is what keeps him in the seat. “The camaraderie is still there. It’s still fun,” he says.
Ask Bubba what he loves about the job, and he does not talk about freight at all. He talks about the view. “I like being up that high, and the ability to see everything. The sunsets, the sunrises.” It is the same thing that hooked him at thirteen, sitting in his uncle’s cab overlooking a world nobody else on the road could see from that angle.

Get him onto the Cariboo, and he stops sounding like a man describing his commute. “If you get up into the Cariboo where there’s nothing obstructing your view, every two minutes it’s changing. The sky will be purple, the clouds will be darker purple and orange. It’s fantastic.” Then he admits the odd part of loving something like that in a job you do alone. “I’m by myself. I got no one to share that with. But I love it.”
When Bubba is home, a guitar is usually involved. He wants to be clear about what kind of player he is. “I’m not a lead player. I’m a campfire player.” His family gave him a title for it, and he has made peace with it. “They call me the king of the first verse. I know the first verse of almost every song. After that, you’re on your own.”
He and his wife hike whenever he is off the road, which he treats less like a hobby and more like part of the job. “This job’s pretty demanding. If I don’t get out and move around, I wouldn’t be as healthy as I am.”
Two decades in, Bubba is one of the guys newer drivers come to. He wishes more of them would. “Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Some young guys think it’s a dumb question, or they’re embarrassed to ask. Ask it, because it’s the only way you’re going to find out. I’m in exactly the same boat. It’s a complete learning process. You learn something new every day.”
He has seen what happens when someone stays quiet instead. “If you don’t ask, and something bad happens, that’s worse. Just ask. I don’t mind answering.” He puts it another way, too. “The dumb questions I’m good at answering. It’s the smart ones that get me.”

Bubba is not counting down to anything. When the conversation turned to how it all ends, he did not need long to answer. “I’d retire here. I like it here.”
Congratulations on twenty years, Bubba. Keep the first verse coming.
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