HOW THE CB BUG BIT ME

Radio communication has always fascinated me. Since my first transistor radio, which I received as a ten-year-old,, I fell passionately in love with the hobby.

When my mom caved into my begging and bought me a pair of walkie-talkies, being able to transmit my voice to a receiver felt like walking on air. I loved it but I found that getting family members to talk with me on the radio was difficult.

When the CB craze hit in the seventies, I knew I had to have one. I went down to the nearest Radio Shack and purchased a Navaho TRC-30A twenty-three-channel transceiver. Then I applied for my licence with the Department of Transport.

As with any new hobby, the downside of it often becomes apparent after spending money on it. I got into hot water with my landlord for putting up an antenna on the roof without his permission. He did relent but only after giving me a lecture about how inconsiderate I was in not asking him first.

Within a few weeks of going on the air, I had made a few friends. They invited me to "coffee breaks," unofficial meetings of CBers at restaurants. I fondly remember meeting my new friends and putting faces to the voices I had formerly only heard.

Then I discovered the phenomena called by the slang term "skip." Radio signals in the CB band sometimes are reflected back to earth several thousand miles from the transmitter. Attracting the attention of other CBers was difficult because of the thousands of people all talking at once on each channel. Even so, I had a few successes through the years which I was an avid CBer.

When I passed my amateur radio exam and was awarded my licence, I gave up CB radio. Even so, I still have a few transceivers as mementos of those golden times in my radio hobby.

I wrote about my involvement with CB and amateur radio in all three of my memoirs. My CB years are featured in my latest book called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Visit Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Virtual Bookworm Publishers for details of this wondrous testimony of God's providential care.

THE LAST COFFEE BREAK.

Remember CB radio? Back in the late seventies, it was all the rage. I was caught up in it as well. Though some people were rude jerks on the air, I met many excellent CBers and formed strong friendships with them. I remember very clearly the last coffee break that The Channel Five Crowd, as we referred to ourselves, met for the last time. Auntie Diane, as we called her, organized it at a certain restaurant for an afternoon in October. Over burgers and many cups of coffee, the six of us talked for several hours. Afterward, we posed for pictures by the Edmonton Colosseum, as it was called then. We eventually parted, not realizing it was the last time we'd meet together. My friends and I continued to be active on the radio but something changed that day. One by one, my CB buddies disappeared. I eventually gave up the CB and studied for my amateur radio licence. Though my new ham operator friends and I met for coffee occasionally, the informal warmth of The Channel Five Crowd was missing. I wrote about my love of radio in Deliverance from Jericho and When a Man Loves a Rabbit. Both books are available from this page.