by Tom Molnar

Several drivers are gathered in the driver's room waiting for a dispatch, so Duke once again has a captive audience. He likes it this way.

"Yeah..... Knights of the Road. That's what we are," Duke says. "If I break down out there, I know I can count on a fellow driver to stop and help me out. Maybe not the first one to come along, but it's only a matter of minutes before someone asks if I need help."

Duke leans back and grabs a Black Russian from his shirt pocket and places it in his mouth. He one-handedly opens a book of matches, stops mid-action, and sits back up in his chair. He pushes the brim of his cowboy hat up with his other hand, cocks his head slightly to one side, and continues his story.

"Most people with any intelligence revere us - and they should. If some four wheeler has a wreck, it's not the cops who are the first on the scene. No sir. It's us! We're the ones who call the cops! We're the ones who call the paramedics!"

Duke scans the room to see if he's having the expected response.

One driver, who is sitting at the far end of the room with his back to Duke simply says, "Sure Duke."

"Damsels in distress with flat tires or empty gas tanks can always count on us to stop and help," Duke adds.

As Duke finally scratches the match and begins lighting his cigarette, he continues.

"Especially if she's a looker."

Impressed with this last add-on, Duke laughs heartily.

"Yessir, if some fugitive from the fat farm is broke down out there, I'm just liable to be looking the wrong way as I go by." Again, Duke cuts loose with ribald laughter.

"Duke, you're so full of it I'm surprised those baby blues of yours haven't turned brown over the years," says a low voice from the back of the room.

The driver with his back to Duke can contain himself no longer. He's been working at B.S. Trucking with Duke for years, and has heard it all, over and over.

"I've seen you in action, Dukey boy. Frankly, if I'm broke down somewhere, you're the last one I want to come along. Cuz you ain't gonna stop! You're always lookin' the wrong way! Hell, a CF driver will stop before you do."

Rick turns around and faces Duke. "Go on Duke. Tell me I'm lying. Go on...."

Duke draws deeply on his Black Russian and blows the cloud of smoke in Rick's direction. His eyes scan the room without moving his head.

"Yer full of it," Duke remarks. "You guys can all count on me and you know it."

Snickers and snorts can be heard from all around the room.

"I'm goin' to the can," says Ralph as he gets up out of his chair. "I gotta take a Duke, er, dump."

*****

"Duke," the dispatcher announces. "Here's your papers."

Duke grabs his dispatch papers and heads out to hook up.

*****

An hour later Duke is eastbound, grooving to a Barry Manilow tape, singing along and stomping his foot. Yessir, life is good for Duke tonight. Good coffee, good music, and a good dispatch for a change, headed east. He sees some four-ways blinking in the distance.

Wonder what that is.....

As he gets closer he sees it's JB Hunt on the shoulder. Duke moves to the left lane.

The CB crackles with a voice: "Hey eastbound, ya got it on?"

This idiot is almost parked in the moving lane. Look at that. His wheels are on the fog line.

One of Duke's favorite tunes comes on and he breaks into song.

"Happy people pass my way", he bellows, believing he's harmonizing perfectly with old Barry.

*****

About 3am Duke sees some skid marks on the pavement leading off to the right, over the shoulder and continuing out into the dirt. He follows the trail with his eyes and sees tail lights out there. Sure enough it's a pick up truck with its front end buried in a bunch of sage brush. There's a kid standing next to it waving in Duke's direction.

Look at this moron. Musta fallen asleep at the wheel. Damn, he's lucky to be alive.

Duke grabs the mike for his CB and announces:

"Hey eastbounders, we got a four wheeler off in the desert on the right. He's well off the road though, so you don't have to worry."

*****

Just before daybreak, as Duke is lighting another Black Russian, he catches something out of the corner of his left eye. He turns to look. Straight off to his left a car has left the pavement and is headed into the wide median, dust flying everywhere. The car flips over, lands on its roof and continues to slide to a stop.

Jesus! Look at that!

Thinking and acting quickly, Duke grabs the mike and yells, "Hey westbounders, you got a four wheeler that just flipped over in the median about the 153. Somebody better stop and check on them. I'll bet someone is hurt in that one!"

Man, why couldn't that have happened 10 seconds later. I wouldn't have even known about it.

"How come you ain't stoppin', driver?" someone asks on the CB. "What's wrong with you?"

Duke takes the mike in his hand, stopping to think. "Uhh, I was already too far past it. I saw it as I glanced in my mirror."

"Sure,", comes the simple reply.

*****

As Duke is passing into the city limits signaling the end of his trip, he grabs one last Black Russian so he can be seen pulling in the yard with a smoke hanging out of his mouth. Suddenly, the car in front of him has a blow out in the right rear tire. A puff of dust, a couple chunks of rubber, and the car veers towards the shoulder. He can see the driver is experiencing some difficulty controlling the car as it slows from 65 mph to a stop. Duke moves to the left lane and looks down at the car as he passes. It's a middle aged lady with a baby in a car seat in the back. She's alone with the baby, and now with a flat tire alongside the freeway.

Duke looks at his watch, looks at the car, and back to the road.

Tough break, he thinks as he spots his exit about a mile and a half ahead.