My name is Tito Ramirez. I am 55 years old and have spent my entire life behind the wheel of a truck. My journey has taken me hundreds of kilometres, thousands of nights spent at service stations, and decades of looking at the world through a windscreen covered in dust and squashed insects. I am 1.95 metres tall and weigh 130 kilograms, and I often become the object of puzzled looks when I stop my truck at a small petrol station. Sometimes I think that people only see my figure, my leather jacket and my long beard, but don’t notice who I really am.
My life is one of solitude. Eighteen hours a day, I listen to the noise of tyres and the hissing of the radio, watching the white lines of the road merge into one. I’m used to it. I’m used to most people trying to walk past me. I am big and intimidating, and no one wants to approach me. I myself am used to being alone. That was until the day I realised that sometimes the person who looks like a threat can be the only one willing to help.
Once, while driving back at night on the A-3 motorway in Spain, I noticed a car parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights barely flashing. It was the middle of the night, and it was pitch black all around. The fields stretched to the horizon, and there was not a single car on the road. I braked and looked in the mirrors. Outside, a woman stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering from the cold.
I got out of the cab and approached her cautiously, slowly. She backed away in fear, but I stopped a few metres away, raising my hands so she could see that I posed no threat.
‘Señora,’ I said calmly, ‘I’m here to help. What happened?’
She looked at me with terror in her eyes, but seeing my still posture and kind gaze, she calmed down a little. She quickly explained that her car had broken down and her phone was dead. She had been on the motorway for several hours, but no one had stopped.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, trying to figure out how to help.
Her voice trembled as she said,
‘Madrid. My son… he’s having emergency surgery. I have to be there, please…’
I didn’t hesitate. My schedule and all my commitments seemed unimportant now.
‘Get in,’ I said, opening the door. ‘I’ll take you.’
She looked at my big truck with doubt, but I convinced her that it was the safest choice. She got in, and I set course for Madrid, deviating from my route. I drove fast but carefully so as not to take any risks. On the road, I didn’t care that I was late or that I was deviating from the plan. The main thing was to get this woman to the hospital.
When we arrived, she grabbed my hand, tears streaming down her face.
‘Thank you for noticing me. I thought I would be left alone. No one stopped to help.’
I remained silent, but my heart was full. I knew I had made the right choice, and at some point I realised that in a world full of loneliness, help is needed most of all. And those who seem threatening can become saviours.
A few months passed, and during one of my breaks, when I was refuelling at a service station in Valencia, a young man approached me. He was very agitated, shaking and covered in bruises.
‘Are you Tito Ramirez?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ I replied, looking up.
He had noticed the sticker on my truck that said ‘Code Angel.’ He told me he needed to get to Barcelona, but he had no money and no idea where to go. I could feel his anxiety spreading to me.
‘I’m not going to Barcelona,’ I said, but I called my partner Laura, who was heading in that direction. I fed the guy and told him that Laura would be in Barcelona soon and she would give him a lift.
A few days later, when the guy called me to thank me, I found out that he had found a safe place to stay with his aunt and was now studying to be a social worker. He said he wanted to help those who had been forgotten, just as we had helped him.
Since then, our Angel Code has only expanded. Now there are more than 4,000 truckers. We help those who find themselves in trouble on the road. We stop if we see a broken-down car or someone who needs help. It’s not just an agreement, it’s our mission.
Last year, we helped more than 1,200 people. We started cars, gave fuel, helped women fleeing violence, and took them to safe places. We saved lives. A driver with a heart attack, a kidnapped girl whom I noticed by her pleading gaze in the mirror.
Life has changed. I am no longer alone, and I am proud of what I do. We are all Angels of the Road. And even though we wear plaid shirts and smell like diesel, we know we can help those in need.
I’m Tito Ramirez. I’m a truck driver. But I also know that the road doesn’t have to be lonely. As long as we’re on the road, help is always available.
