Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Ordinary Daily Life (8)
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4 AM.
The alarm hadn't even gone off yet, but my eyes snapped open.
It was the day of my first long-haul delivery with the new truck.
The world outside the window was still pitch black, but my mind was already racing down the highway.
I changed clothes and stepped outside, just in time to see Dorothy emerging from her trailer. She held up the coffee in her hand and gave me a soft smile.
"Good morning."
"You're up early, Dorothy. Heading out at dawn again today?"
"Nah, just this afternoon."
With that, Dorothy walked over and handed me the coffee. Steam was still rising gently from it, fresh off the brew.
"Heard from Sam you're doing your first long-haul today. Figured I'd make you a cup at least."
"Oh, thanks. Must be tough getting up this early on your day off."
"No big deal, just killing two birds with one stone... I get up at this hour for work anyway."
Her heart was as warm and comforting as the coffee.
She downplayed it, but how tired must she have been, waking up at dawn on a rest day?
Dorothy was the type who showed her care in these quiet ways.
"How many days to California?"
"Round trip, about five or six. Taking groceries down, then loading up something else on the way back."
"Almost a week. Drive safe out there. Oh, and say bye to Nancy too?"
"She's not still sleeping? Don't wanna wake her."
Dorothy smiled gently.
"She's already up. Heard you're heading far and insisted on seeing you off, so she's been wide awake since dawn."
Sure enough, when I went to Dorothy's trailer, Nancy was sitting on the couch. She was rubbing her sleepy eyes nonstop but fighting hard not to doze off.
"Hey, little one, what are you doing up so early?"
"...You're going far today?"
"Yeah, off to California for work. It'll be five nights before I'm back."
Nancy's eyes went wide at my words.
"Califor-what? Where's that? Is it far?"
"Super far from here. Gotta drive the truck nonstop for days to get there."
"...Can I come too?"
Nancy asked timidly, peeking up at me.
I couldn't help but chuckle at her uncharacteristically whiny tone.
"Too far this time. Next time it's somewhere close, we'll go together."
I stroked her hair soothingly as I said it.
"Really?"
"Promise. We'll go camping again like last time."
Nancy stuck out her pinky.
I hooked mine with hers to seal the deal.
"Be good for Sam and your mom. I'll bring you a souvenir on the way back."
I said goodbye to Nancy and headed outside.
The dawn air was pretty chilly, but my mood was invigorated instead.
In the parking lot, the usual white beat-up old truck was gone, replaced by my shiny new one waiting for me.
The deep blue body gleamed subtly under the streetlights, highlighting its sleek metal finish.
No matter how many times I looked at it, the design was sleek and pristine.
"Alright, let's do this, buddy."
I patted the truck and climbed in, firing up the engine.
It purred to life smoothly, with a steady hum.
Nothing like the old clunker—quiet and comfortable beyond compare.
I turned on the nav and punched in the destination.
Los Angeles, California. About 1,500 miles.
Max 11 hours driving per day, so it'd take at least two days by rough math.
The electronic logging device on the dash lit up smoothly.
The old truck had no auto system, so I'd logged everything by hand. Now it tracked drive time, breaks, mileage—all in real time automatically.
"Here we go."
I pulled the truck out onto the dark dawn highway.
The headlights cut through the long stretch of Texas road ahead.
Click-
I flipped on the radio, and country music filled the cab.
I tapped the steering wheel to the beat as I merged onto I-10.
Long-haul trucking required thorough planning, unlike short runs.
Local short hauls were usually priced assuming round trips.
Distances so short, hard to pick up return loads, so they charged upfront for both ways.
But long-haul changed everything.
The distances were massively longer, and deadheading back empty was a huge loss.
That's where backhauls came in—grabbing return cargo.
Yesterday, I'd booked a return load from LA to Houston on the load board. Big supermarket chain groceries, solid freight rate.
Today's outbound was groceries too. Some refrigerated, but with a reefer trailer, no issue.
'Sam and Mike were right—grocery hauls pay real nice.'
Far off, the sun was starting to rise.
The sight of it pushing back the darkness over Texas plains never got old.
Golden rays you only catch at this hour, against the still bluish dawn sky.
The grasslands swayed gently in the breeze, wind turbines spinning lazily in the distance.
I soaked in the peaceful scene, watching herds grazing leisurely.
'This is Texas. That laid-back vibe, crisp dawn air...'
The sun climbed higher, shifting the plains' colors.
Tall grasses caught the light, rippling in waves of gold, lime, and brown.
A gust, and they all leaned one way like ocean waves.
"Beautiful."
The words slipped out on their own.
Right then, the Eagles' "Take It Easy" came on the radio.
Perfect timing.
I sipped the coffee Dorothy gave me and loosened my grip on the wheel.
Tuned the CB to channel 19. Truckers' chatter came right in.
[Good morning I-10, Sandman here. Headed Houston to El Paso.]
[Road King here. Westbound too, to New Mexico.]
I grabbed the mic.
"Winch here, just rolled out. Destination LA."
[Winch? New voice?]
"First time westbound."
[Congrats! Good day for a first run. California's clear skies.]
A familiar voice chimed in.
[Winch? Ha, hitting the west now? Big Tom here.]
"Haha, who else? Tom! Seeing you everywhere."
[Tell me about it! Damn, LA? I'm Phoenix-bound.]
Big Tom from the Salt Lake City run last time.
Thrilled to hear him, I checked the nav quick.
"Passing Fort Stockton? Coffee at the truck stop there?"
[You're on. Catch ya soon! Drive safe.]
7 AM, Fort Stockton truck stop.
Pulled into Love's Travel Stop, a big chain.
Dozens of rigs already lined the lot.
Fueled up first, then the driver at the next pump spoke up.
Big Black guy, Marine tattoo on his forearm stood out.
"Cascadia? What year? Killer rig."
"2020 model."
"Jealous. Mine's a 2010 Freightliner Cascadia."
He whistled, eyeing my truck.
Yeah, the shine alone put his to shame.
"Sleeper cab looks roomy. New ones are the best."
"76-inch high roof—practically a studio apartment."
"Wow, mine's just a bed and done."
I chuckled and shrugged at that.
Not long ago, I'd been squeezing into a single bed in an old rig myself.
"Just upgraded recently. Drove a 25-year-old beater before that."
"No kidding? Congrats, man. Nice score."
Quick intros. Marcus, 18-year vet.
Fueled up, headed to meet Tom at the diner.
Chat was fun; Marcus tagged along.
"Mind company? Eating solo's boring."
"Of course not."
Tom was already there, waving big from our table.
His hand was as massive as his nickname.
"Jake Winch! LA? What's the occasion? Finally got a new truck?"
"Haha, yep. Old one broke bad—couldn't go anymore."
"Damn... Sorry to hear. Sam must've hated losing her."
"Sam seemed thrilled I upgraded. Always worried about me."
Tom shook Marcus's hand too after catching up.
"Big Tom. Nice to meet ya. Know Jake?"
"Call me Marcus. Met him pumping gas—fellow Cascadia owners, hit it off."
Waitress came for orders.
"What can I get ya, sugar?"
Sweet Southern charm.
"Trucker special, eggs over easy."
"Same here. Coffee refills nonstop."
"Me too."
While waiting, Marcus grinned.
"Heard you guys on CB earlier. Sandman and Road King are regulars."
"Haha, seen 'em a few times. Fun bunch."
Tom and Marcus swapped stories on CB staples when Marcus lowered his voice.
"Speaking of, heard about that serial killer mess?"
"Yeah, sounds bad. Seven victims?"
Couldn't fathom why they hadn't caught the guy after weeks.
Officer Johnson's desperate face soured my mood.
"Eight now. Another body at dawn yesterday."
"Shit. We gotta do something? Cops are striking out."
"Right? FBI knows jack about roads."
Still strict cop checks and searches everywhere.
They vented frustration.
I remembered Johnson asking for help and jumped in.
"Know a cop who's decent for law. His dad was a trucker. Wants our help."
"What kind?"
"Intel gathering. Be our eyes and ears on the road. Report suspicious stuff at truck stops especially."
Marcus lit up, pulling his phone.
"Perfect—we got a WhatsApp group for truckers. Join?"
"Sounds good."
"Let's make our own network."
Scanned the QR: "Highway Watch." Over 200 members.
"Nationwide truckers. Share info, help each other."
Scrolled messages—like CB for cop spots and tips.
"Post sightings here. Everyone'll pitch in."
We nodded.
Shared Johnson's request and our talk.
Replies poured in: truckers ready to help.
Food arrived.
Three eggs, four bacon strips, two sausages, hash browns, toast, pancakes.
Classic trucker breakfast.
"Perfect portions. Holds me till lunch."
Marcus munched bacon.
"Hey, you do any martial arts?"
"Nah. Not every Asian's Bruce Lee."
"Haha, fair. But with things crazy, get something for protection."
I nodded.
True.
"Got a metal pry bar."
"Better than nothing. Maybe grab a gun when you can. Hope you never need it..."
Marcus shook his head.
Smart—long hauls now, better safe.
'Talk to Sam about it.'
Best to get advice from a vet like him.
He'd know a good gun shop for sure.