by Tom Molnar

From the outside, the big red Century class Freightliner looks like every other C.R. England truck going down the road. Bright shiny red tractor, white trailer with red stripe, and the nifty England ‘coat of arms’. The doors on the back of the England reefer are brightly polished, highly reflective metal. The kind you can comb your hair in if you stand back there.

Inside the cab, however, class is being conducted. Fresh out of truck driving school, Eric Spence is taking his first trip as a student driver. His trainer is long time England veteran Rusty Gordon, who has been training for five years. He gets extra pay for this. They are out in the desert somewhere on a gorgeous clear night. No moon - just zillions of stars and the open road. Eric is at the wheel and doing fine. He’s had some shifting problems while exiting the city but now that he is ‘in the big hole’, everything is great.

Another truck overtakes them and Eric reaches down and flashes his headlights the moment the other truck goes by. The other truck flashes its marker lights and pulls back in.

"Eric", Rusty says. "Do you really know what this light flashing is all about?"

"Uh, what do you mean?", Eric asks.

"Well, for instance," Rusty begins. "The real importance of all this is recognized when the weather is bad. You know, snow or fog, or even rain. When conditions are bad and you can’t see anything in your rear view, you’re at the mercy of other drivers to let you know when it’s safe to pull back into the right lane. Your mirrors are likely to be full of water and the spray is so thick you can’t see anything definite. You’re depending on your fellow drivers to help you out in these circumstances."

Rusty pulls the front of his bright white cowboy hat down just a bit for effect, turns to Eric and says…

"Ya know son, this driving stuff is more than just pointing your cab down the road and stabbing the pedal. There’s a lot of finesse to acquire if you want to do this right. After a while you can watch other trucks go down the road and know who has it and who doesn’t. You want to have it!"

Young Eric gets a big grin on his face as he says…

"Yeah, I want the finesse…."

"So here’s the quick rundown on light flashing - from the professional standpoint. When a truck passes you, you decide when he’s into your ‘comfort zone’ and then you flash your headlights indicating you’re ready for him to pull back in."

"Uh, what’s the ‘comfort zone’?", Eric inquires.

"That’s the point where you feel that if this guy loses an air line and his brakes lock up, you might be able to save yourself. Or if he just keeps going and runs off the road or in some other way looses control, you think you might be able to keep from getting sucked into the mix. You might laugh but this stuff happens, and it happens every day."

Eric ‘clicks’ a couple Pez candies into his mouth from his tractor trailer dispenser and thinks this one through.

"That’s what those long skid marks are, leading to the shoulder huh. Those skid marks in the middle of nowhere, for no reason?" He puts the Pez dispenser back into his shirt pocket.

"Yep," Rusty says.

Eric’s tongue slurps as the Pez candies cause his mouth to moisten. He snatches a quick glance in Rusty’s direction. Rusty is opening a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. He unwraps two sticks and folds them into his mouth. He starts to toss the wrappers out the window, catches himself, and drops them into a plastic bag they have hanging on the heater controls. Rusty recently saw God in the form of a highway patrolman who pulled him over after tossing a banana peel out the window. He got a lengthy lecture on littering and was informed of the $2000 maximum penalty for tossing anything, anything at all, out of the window along the highway. Rusty is now a believer.

"And don’t you NEVER toss anything out the window!", Rusty says as he stabs the dash with his index finger. "The man is everywhere and if he’s bored, you’re dead!" He gives Eric a serious look. The look of someone who ‘knows’ what he’s talking about.

* * * * *

Duke is groovin’…… The stereo is turned up and one of his favorite Barry Manilow tapes is filling the cab with familiar tunes. A thin cylinder of smoke is drifting up from the end of one of his big buck Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes as it hangs from the corner of his mouth. There’s a few ashes on his pants where they’ve fallen before Duke had a chance to ‘flick’ them off. Duke doesn’t even notice. Barry’s singing and Duke is in heaven - trucker heaven.

"This one’s for you, wherever you are", Duke belts out. He’s sure that if he and Barry had met years ago they’d be singing duet now.

Duke checks the speedometer. It shows 78. Speed limit is 75. No problem. Cops always give you a few. His cruise control is set and he’s sitting sort of sideways in the seat, facing the right corner of the cab. He’s leaning on the door and his right leg is crossed over his left, just like he does in his easy chair at home. The steering is being handled by his left hand and when he’s not smoking, he’s drinking coffee out of his official B.S. Trucking coffee mug. Duke loves his coffee, and his loves his Black Russians. It’s tough to do both at the same time - but he manages somehow, sometimes.

"Cuz this one’s for you, this one’s for you". Duke sings the line between his closed lips whose first job is to keep the cigarette from dropping into his lap.

There seems to be no one else on the road so Duke has his brights on to illuminate the road on this black star studded night. He’s on the freeway somewhere out in the desert. The oncoming lane is almost a block over on his left and Duke feels no need to dim his lights when someone is going the other way, even though most of the trucks flash their brights at him.. Hell, they’re way over there…..

As he tops a rise he can see another truck up in front of him, maybe a mile or less. He tosses his butt out the vent window and it hits the pavement in a shower of sparks. He reaches for his B.S. mug and takes a swig of coffee. He plays the game most truckers play when they start to approach another truck. "How far away can I recognize the company name"? So far, he’s too far away.

* * * * *

Eric turns his head to protect his eyes. A truck has just topped the rise behind him and the bright lights in the mirror are right in his eyes. The lights even bother Rusty as he looks over in Eric’s direction.

"Don’t you just hate morons like that?", Rusty comments. "Ya know, this truckin’ stuff has gone to hell in the past 20-30 years. No one cares anymore. No one wants to be a professional. It takes too much effort to do it right, so they just do it any old way. You want to bet he doesn’t even dim them when he passes you?"

"Naw, he’ll dim them, Rusty. Just watch."

Eric clicks the switch that blinks his marker lights about ten times. Nothing. He blinks them a bunch more times. Still nothing.

"Uh, you might be right after all", Eric says.

* * * * *

Duke is catching the truck in front of him, but he still can’t make out the company name. He does notice the blinking trailer lights.

"Look at that", he mumbles out loud. "The guy has a bad light cord or something."

* * * * *

Eric can’t keep from looking in the mirror and then getting blinded by this guy coming up from behind. Something about the light.

Rusty looks over at Eric’s mirror and gets another dose of bright light.

"Just another moron non-professional wannabe", he says. "You’ll find over the coming years, the road is full of ‘em, and gettin’ fuller…."

* * * * *

As Duke comes up on the truck in front of him, he’s blinded by the reflection of his lights on the other truck’s back door. The chrome-like finish reflects his own headlights right back in his face.

"Damn! No wonder", Duke says out loud. "It’s one of them gaudy England trucks with their damned shiny hineys."

He glides over into the left lane and prepares to overtake the offending reflection. Lucky thing Duke has almost ten miles per hour on them. Before he catches up to the England truck he puts his right turn signal on in preparation for coming back into the right lane once he’s passed them.

* * * * *

Eric now has to raise his hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding bright lights of the passing truck.

"Jeeeee-sus!", he says. "Look at this crap!"

Rusty calmly sits back in his seat and pulls his cowboy had down over his eyes.

"Yep", he says. "Just another professional."

Finally the truck passes them and their cab is once again dark. Only the other truck doesn’t wait for Eric to blink his headlights. The driver has his turn signal on already as he’s passing, and he cuts back in front of Eric, just barely missing Eric’s left front fender. A shower of sparks erupts as the passing driver tosses a burning cigarette out the window. Eric instinctively looks at the name on the back of the trailer as it passes. B.S. Trucking. As the truck pulls away from them, the right signal is still on as if the driver is planning to turn right into the sagebrush and salt marsh. And it stays on as the truck grows smaller.

Eric looks over at Rusty.

"Finesse?"

Rusty turns to Eric.

"Finesse..."