Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (i can read with my eyes shut txt) 📕

obstacles to overcome: How did one learn to drive one of these things? How did one pay for lessons? How did one get hired by a freight company as a raw beginner? There was a lot he didn’t know.

Accustomed in the military to falling asleep quickly, Hugh did just that. James’ gentle snoring faded into nothingness in Hugh’s consciousness as his mind checked out for the day. Nothing could have kept him awake.

Morning came quickly enough; the dawning day threw bright crimson sunshine through the windshield and side windows. Hugh pivoted on his butt on the sleeping bag, hung his legs over the edge of the bunk for a moment, then hopped off. He landed softly on knees bent to absorb the jump in order to not wake James.

James was not in his bunk, however. Glancing out the window, Hugh saw him approach the truck with a fast-food tray loaded with coffees, orange juices, hash browns and some kind of egg, sausage and biscuit sandwiches.

“Up and at ’em. Daylight’s awastin’,” James said when he saw Hugh peering out at him from the window. “I can't sleep once the sun is up and shining in the truck. If I have to sleep in because of night driving I close the curtains to keep it dark inside. In all the excitement last night I forgot to do that.”

Driver and rider chowed down, and Hugh had to admit it hit the spot.

“Hey, old man, how do you feel this morning?” Hugh asked between bites. James’ bruises were turning multiple shades of dark, and the cut over his eye looked nasty, but came just short of needing stitches. Hugh figured that James couldn’t be feeling very chipper.

“Well, youngun,” James said, “It’s been awhile since I’ve had to take punishment like that. I’m sore as hell, but I’ve had much worse, and I’ll get over it.”

After breakfast James exited the truck to do his pre-trip inspection. Coming back in, he told Hugh that it was very important to do the pre-trip. And, if the truck was parked anywhere near other people, it’s especially important to check that some joker hadn’t pulled the kingpin release lever during the night.

“Believe it or not,” James said, “there are yahoos who will pull that stunt, and you end up driving away, leaving your trailer dropped onto the pavement and your airlines and electrical pigtail ruined. Not good.”

James cranked up the engine, saying he had one more thing to do before they could get back onto the highway. He pulled the truck around, and into an empty spot on the fuel island. He got out, told Hugh to join him, and then showed Hugh how to use the satellite pump to fill the tank on the right side of the tractor after James had started the main pump to fuel the driver’s-side tank.

The high-volume diesel pumps got the fueling over quickly. James paid, then exited the travel plaza and pointed his truck north again on the freeway.

Once James had finished running through the seemingly endless number of gears, Hugh asked, “Where are we heading today?”

“We? You got a mouse in your pocket?” James responded.

“Hey, old man, you’re stuck with me. You need me to keep you from getting beat up.”

“Really? Well, since you asked, young man, we’re heading for Portland to drop this load. And then we’ll be picking up another one, probably for delivery in Salt Lake City.”

“Cool. That’s mighty fine with me.”

“You’re pretty confident you’re going with me.” James said—a statement, not a question.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

James remained silent, and Hugh picked up no clues from his demeanor as to what James was thinking.

Finally, James spoke. “What do you think? You want to learn to drive one of these things?”

Surprised by the sudden turn of events, Hugh answered, “Actually, I have been thinking about it. A lot. But, I had no idea of how to go about it.”

“It’s simple, really. In this state, to get a Class A commercial license the department of motor vehicles requires you to pass a written test to get your learner’s permit.”

“OK.”

“Then, you attend a truck driving school to learn to drive a big-rig truck.”

“How much does that cost?”

“It could range from a thousand up to several thousand dollars.”

So much for that. He hadn’t saved anything from his Marine years—profligate living during leave times having used up his meager pay.

“Or, you drive as a student with a trainer who teaches you all the skills you need.”

Hugh hoped he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. This could be turning into something good. “Then what?”

“Then you take a driving test at a DMV office. But, you need a truck to do that. They won’t provide you with one.”

“What exactly are you getting at, James?”

“Well, to spell it out, are you interested in training with me to get your Class A license?” James responded.

“Heck yeah,” Hugh replied. “That would be a kick.”

“Hey, martial arts guy, nights like last night at the truck stop are very few and far between. Once you’ve ridden, and driven, for awhile, you might see things in a different light.”

“What is it going to cost for you to be my trainer?” Hugh asked.

“I won’t charge a cent. All I ask is that you pay your own freight, living expense-wise, do most of the driving once you’re up to speed, and hang in there even when it seems too discouraging to go on. And, trust me, you will get discouraged.”

Chapter Three

Present day

Hugh rolled out of his bunk before dawn in Victorville, California, on the day that he was destined to pick up the young, female hitchhiker.

There was no need to comb his sandy-colored hair, as he kept it cropped short—not as short as his Marine high-and-tight days, but manageably short. He