How’d a bloke from rural Australia end up as a viral social media sensation in the United States, amassing over 600,000 followers and millions upon millions of likes. ROADBOSS travelled to Massachusetts, battling the near-negative 20-degree Celsius temperatures, to find out
A few years back, I bought my wife a fancy new Dyson hair dryer. It was all the rage. All her friends had one. I got it in purple, and no doubt her social media algorithm had told her she needed it.
According to James Dyson, the brilliant British billionaire behind the company whose other inventions include the bagless vacuum cleaner and a fan without blades (dark magic?), the hair dryer could do much more than just dry hair. It could straighten, curl, cool, crimp and even defrost ice from frozen Peterbilt drum brakes.
That last part isn’t in the brochure. But perhaps it should be. Because I’ve seen it happen! Battling the near-negative 20-degree Celsius temperatures of Massachusetts, and a foot of snow, the hairdryer-wielding Aussie by the name of Dean Croke was blasting hot air directly onto the frozen, stiff drum brakes of his 2003 Peterbilt 379.
I’ve had to speak in the Queen’s English as people can’t understand my accent.
Dean has been in the US for nearly 30 years. His Aussie accent never falters, though, despite his new passport – but why is he here? A man from rural Australia, in the top corner of the United States, some 40 degrees difference from his hometown of Crookwell near Goulburn.
By the looks of the snow, I’ve got plenty of time to find out – and judge me how you wish, but I wasn’t questioning his sanity or offering to help him out … I just desperately wanted to go for a ride in the Peterbilt, or as you may know it as … The Grumpy Pete.
Welcome to America
“I’ve had to speak in the Queen’s English as people can’t understand my accent,” Dean tells me as he orders a coffee without the familiar sounds of home.
We’re harbourside in the quaint fishing town of Gloucester, MA, about an hour north of Boston. It’s the oldest seaport in North America, dating back to 1623. Hiding in the cozy arms of Mom’s Kitchen – an authentic diner, it’s blue and white tiles, nautical themed paintings and boat oars line the walls.
The 60-something-year-old Aussie Dean Croke has become a viral sensation, amassing over 600,000 followers and millions upon millions of likes across social media. Images: Thomas Wielecki
A proud fishing community known for its seafood, Gloucester is currently mourning. Seven souls were lost just a few nights earlier, one of the worst maritime accidents in recent times. Coupled with 26 inches of snow since January, Gloucester is chilled to the bone.
A sombre Nicole Tucker, the owner’s daughter, takes our order, while a local man drinks a pint of milk in the quiet corner. Eggs fry and sizzle over conversation.
“Until recently, my accent was an asset. Now I have to tread carefully,” Dean admits, commenting on the divided state of his adopted country. “You feel different now – anyone who speaks differently is treated differently.”
At Mom’s Kitchen, however, we are welcomed. My percolated coffee warms through my body, helping me to forget the freezing conditions that await me outside. They recently had 27 inches of snow, the most in the state – mountains of ploughed snow litter the tiny town’s streets.
Until recently, my accent was an asset. Now I have to tread carefully. You feel different now – anyone who speaks differently is treated differently.
When I departed Australia to meet Dean, the temperature was nudging 35 degrees. Some 40-degree difference has me scratching my head as to why Dean, his wife Visnja, and his two boys Ethan and Harry have stayed this long.
Firstly, who is Dean? If you don’t know him by his name, you may know him from his alter ego – The Grumpy Pete. A pseudonym which really is the name his son titled his “Blacked-Out Peterbilt” and its social media channel.
What started out as photos of the mean-looking black Peterbilt quickly turned into a voice of authority, a proud expression of all things trucking and a symbol of life behind the wheel. The 60-something-year-old Aussie is a viral sensation, amassing over 600,000 followers and millions upon millions of likes across social media. He is an influencer by accident.
His content is simple and mainly consists of videos and images of trucks criss-crossing the nation – a service as such, Dean believes. “I try to promote the companies and truckers that make this country tick,” he tells me.
Gloucester, Massachusetts is a quaint fishing town about an hour north of Boston. It’s the oldest seaport in North America, dating back to 1623. Images: Thomas Wielecki
Dean even gets requests – drivers from across the country asking if he will be at said city, at said time on said highway, to capture his truck coming through.
It’s just dawned on me … Dean is a bloody truck spotter!
He’s also a world-leading freight analyst for DAT – the largest freight matching platform in North America, and has his own weekly podcast on top of his multiple weekly radio appearances, where he discusses market trends and economic data through his work with DAT.
Before that, he had successful stints in the transport insurance game, was the vice president of Seeing Machines, the former GM of the Australian Trucking Association, and was ultimately headhunted to the States by a Harvard University professor after a conference at which he was presenting findings from a study on road accidents in Australia and their association with sleep.
I try to promote the companies and truckers that make this country tick.
“I presented my findings at this conference in Perth, and a Harvard professor was speaking after me by chance. And he said, would you come to America and run my consulting business for me? That was in 1999. The rest is history. So, we moved to America,” he recalls.
An abridged version of his successful career, I know – but think of Dean as the Swiss Army Knife of Trucking.
The son to a truckie and potato farming parents, all the turns and adventures that have come with Dean’s life started in a paddock in rural NSW.
“We grew up in trucks, we were like anyone who grew up on a farm in Australia,” he says.
What started out as photos of the mean-looking black Peterbilt quickly turned into a voice of authority, a proud expression of all things trucking and a symbol of life behind the wheel. Images: Thomas Wielecki
“You were working,” Dean explains when asked about his early memories with trucks. “You know, as soon as you could sit in the seat, you were working. So, there I was, a young boy sitting in the ACCO C1800, with the automatic throttle on, steering the truck around a hay field.
“It wasn’t snakes and spiders that my parents were worried about,” Dean jokes. “It was the vehicle’s keys,” he says with a wry smile and a story about how he’d put the family car through the garage wall.
Dean produces an old photo, circa early 1970’s, his Dad’s old Merc 1418 loaded with bags of wool and a little boy on top revealed to be Dean. You can sense the photos significance to Dean; it oozes comfort and warmth – far greater nourishment than the American coffee in our mugs.
“So, by the time I was nine, I was driving on the road in that 1418,” he says. Typical country kid antics I say to myself. “When Dad and I would come back from taking fat lambs to Sydney, we’d get back to Goulburn at 2:00am in the morning, he’d go to sleep, and I’d drive from Goulburn back to Crookwell,” Dean adds.
If you don’t know him by his name, you may know him from his alter ego – The Grumpy Pete … a viral sensation, amassing over 600,000 followers and millions upon millions of likes across social media.
My mouth must have gaped as Dean was quick to reassure me there wasn’t much to it. “A German-made Mercedes-Benz 1418 had power steering and a five-speed synchromesh gearbox,” he says. “Every other truck didn’t have power steering and had a crash box.
“I learnt to reverse at Homebush Abattoirs or Homebush Sale Yards at night. The drivers would go and have coffee, and I would back everyone’s truck in. So, the 1418 was dead easy to drive, even for a nine-year-old. I did that for years and years.”
Evidence that society has changed for the worse (my seven-year-old nephew recently cried in an animated film about bunny rabbits).
Looking at him now, across the table, he certainly doesn’t look like a truck driver. He’s too well dressed, too well spoken, but underneath that almost school teacher-like appearance is a diesel-head with millions of kilometres under his belt. While short-lived and used more as a circuit breaker when he tired of corporate life, Dean spent close to 15 years driving professionally, including for companies like Bon McCarthur, Kalari and FH Transport, to name a few.
Dean’s content is simple and mainly consists of videos and images of trucks criss-crossing the nation – a service as such, Dean believes. Images: Thomas Wielecki
Perhaps now it’s time for a drive?
G’day Pete
Precious sun breaks through the clouds, the temperature still negative five and the snow mounds are high. Dean hopes his local woodpecker retreats to a neighbour’s property.
The Grumpy Pete grumbles and stirs to life. It’s the first time in months this one-of-a-kind truck has been started; the Dyson had done its trick. His grin is ear-to-ear – like a parent too proud of their kid’s achievements. It’s a striking vision: a jet-black 2003 Peterbilt 379 with enormous, straight-through eight-inch stainless pipes amidst the crisp white snow that completely covers Dean’s new hometown of Manchester-by-the-Sea.
It’s not a town made for Peterbilts, Dean admits. Its tight winding streets and New England colonial architecture date back hundreds of years.
As soon as you could sit in the seat, you were working. So, there I was, a young boy sitting in the ACCO C1800, with the automatic throttle on, steering the truck around a hay field.
We roar onto Highway 128, its pre-emissions-control C15 Caterpillar huffing and puffing the cold air.
Inside, it’s quiet and reserved. Dean spent over three months and a few quid with Chrome Mafia stripping the truck back to bare metal to create a custom and redesigned cabin with heavy-duty insulation.
He winds down the window with a smirk and says, “wanna hear the engine brake?”
WW2 veterans must quiver … it cracks and pops like heavy machine gun fire – the juvenile man in both of us receives a jolt of macho, and I’m sure we look out the windows simultaneously to see if we caught the attention of people who undoubtedly wave their pinkie finger. We don’t mind though, we’re happy.
Like a proud parent: Dean Croke in front of his jet-black Peterbilt 379 and its enormous straight-through eight-inch stainless pipes. Images: Thomas Wielecki
“Loud engine brakes save lives,” he says.
It’s been a hibernation of three months for The Grumpy Pete. However, he tries to start it up every few days.
Sun reflects off the blue and red shifter balls as we track towards New Hampshire for lunch at one of Dean’s favourite truck stops for some content.
Here Dean will film and photograph dozens of trucks rolling in and out of the truck stop, destined to be immortalised forever through Grumpy Pete’s social media page.
It wasn’t snakes and spiders that my parents were worried about. It was the vehicle’s keys.
They know who he is, drivers park up and make their way over to say g’day – passersby message and call to notify him that the Grumpy Pete had been spotted on the road.
The twin stick modification is unnecessary but cool – he moves like a man stirring two pots of soup, my photographer Wielecki observes. It feels like your standard Sunday drive, riding low like a sports car, except with 600 horsepower vibrating through your loins.
We discuss politics and life, about how his truck was heavily inspired by his uncle’s 359 Peterbilt that sits in a museum in Lithgow, the differences between Aussie and American trucking, and his favourite rigs of all time.
He loves his “traditional American iron” but does miss the iconic Australian-built R model Macks and W Model Kenworths. His favourite, though, is his Dad’s 1418 Merc – the money maker.
Dean with an old photo, circa early 1970’s, of his Dad’s old Mercedes-Benz 1418 loaded with bags of wool and a little boy on top revealed to be Dean. Images: Thomas Wielecki
I notice Dean waves at a trucker coming in the opposite direction, a habit he can’t shake from Australia.
Dean rolls Pete past the heinous American cars that pack the interstate; the Pete wants to be pushed. It’s most comfortable sitting at 1,500rpm and 70mph. It’s doing it easily – the miniature Grumpy Dwarf hood ornament is almost sneering at the passing traffic.
I almost wish Dean was an owner-operator who drove year-round, because I’d happily spend the next week on the road aboard the Pete. There’s a simplicity, a serenity to a well-sorted classic truck like this one. No bells or whistles, just the road ahead and an engine brake to keep you entertained – I reckon Dean’s got life covered.
I guess in a long-winded, roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that the purple Dyson hair dryer was worth the price, especially come winter. But it’s my 30th birthday coming up in a few months, and I hope my algorithm is telling my wife I need a Peterbilt!
Wanna hear the engine brake? Loud engine brakes save lives!
