Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Truckers (1)
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10 a.m., I crossed the New Mexico state line.
A sign reading ‘Welcome to New Mexico, Land of Enchantment’ came into view.
True to its nickname of the Land of Magic, the landscape began to shift before my eyes.
I had left behind the endless plains of Texas and entered a dry desert region.
Red rock mountains loomed in the distance, and the color of the earth changed too. Instead of Texas’s golden grasslands, red soil and gravel stretched out ahead.
Voices from other truckers crackled over the CB radio.
[Hey folks, cops are out at the 50-mile marker up ahead. Watch your speed.]
[Got it. Thanks.]
I picked up the mic.
“This is Winch, heading west on 10. Road conditions good?”
[All clear, buddy. Straight shot. Drive safe.]
“Thanks.”
The CB radio was a lifeline, sharing real-time info on road conditions, cops, and weather.
Without it, long-haul driving would’ve been even lonelier.
As noon approached, hunger started to set in.
The nav showed a truck stop called El Camino just 30 miles ahead—perfect timing.
Pulling in, I saw several rigs already parked.
The diner sign boasted ‘Authentic New Mexico Cuisine.’
New Mexico food, huh... Let’s give it a try.
Inside, the air was thick with the spicy aroma unique to Mexican fare—chili, cilantro, cumin, exotic and mouthwatering.
A middle-aged woman at the counter greeted me with a bright smile.
“Welcome! What can I get you?”
The menu was full of unfamiliar names: Green Chile Stew, Carne Adovada, Sopapillas...
“Any recommendations?”
“Today’s Green Chile Stew is fantastic. My husband makes the green chiles himself. Pork and potatoes in it—real tasty.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take that.”
“Sopapillas too? Fried bread with honey—it’s heaven.”
“You bet.”
Soon the food arrived. Steam rose from the pale green chile stew.
One spoonful, and the fresh, zesty kick of green chile blended perfectly with mild heat and tender pork.
“Whoa, this is seriously good.”
The owner beamed proudly.
“Right? New Mexico food’s different from regular Mexican. Green chile’s the star.”
The sopapillas were crispy fried dough, divine when dunked in honey—sweet and nutty.
Discovering new eats like this was one of the perks of trucking.
“That hit the spot. I’ll be back.”
“Drive safe! God bless!”
Belly full, I hit the road again.
New Mexico’s afternoon scenery was spectacular.
Red sandstone cliffs rose on both sides of the highway, eroded into bizarre rock formations like sculptures.
Some towered like spires, others mushroom-shaped with wide tops and narrow bases. Distant cliffs resembled massive fortresses.
The sky was an impossibly deep blue, cloudless.
Drier than Texas, the sunlight felt more intense.
‘Blazing’ is the word for it.
Amazing how landscapes differ state to state in one country: Texas plains, New Mexico deserts and mountains, soon Arizona and California...
[Welcome to Arizona, The Grand Canyon State]
4 p.m., and I finally crossed into Arizona.
The new truck made driving fatigue-free—heck, it was even fun.
Arizona felt harsher: endless desert, saguaro cacti popping up everywhere.
“Whoa, feels like I stepped into a Western movie.”
Giant saguaros stood like they were raising arms, some over 30 feet tall with multiple branches.
Red desert, cacti, cloudless blue sky—peak Wild West.
Gawking at the desert views was a treat.
Deserts aren’t just barren; all sorts of plants thrived—huge saguaros, small cacti, yucca trees, thorny bushes.
Occasionally, dry riverbeds appeared, now just rocks and gravel, but flash floods would turn them into raging rivers.
How long had I driven?
Sunset painted the sky deep orange, the desert glowing like fire.
Cacti silhouettes cast long shadows against it.
I pulled over to watch distant mountains turn purple.
“Ha...”
It was overwhelming, majestic, beautiful.
I stared, breathless, like I’d forgotten to breathe.
Phone pics couldn’t capture it.
“Nancy would’ve loved this. Dorothy and Sam too...”
The sun dipped, sky shifting from orange to pink, purple, deep navy.
Desert darkened fast once it vanished.
Time to roll.
Clunk—
How far did I go?
As the sun fully set west, the electronic log device beeped.
Running low on hours for the day.
Used to track it manually before, but now the system handled it—nice.
I steered toward the nearest truck stop.
[Desert Oasis Truck Stop]
Parked, then straight to the showers.
Post-haul showers were the best—hot water washed away the weariness.
Shoulders ached from all-day driving, but I felt good. Proud, even.
Showered, then to the diner.
As I picked dinner, an older driver at the next table spoke up.
“Young fella, where you from?”
“Austin. Headed to LA.”
“Long way. Drive safe.”
“Haha, thanks.”
“Long-haul’s a marathon. No rush—safety first. That’s how you get there fastest.”
“Got it.”
He’d driven over 30 years, crisscrossing America, he boasted proudly.
Reminded me of Sam—made me smile.
“When I started, no fancy gear like now. Just a map, running roads. Got lost, broke down plenty.”
“Wow, impressive.”
“Haha, good times though. More freedom back then. Rules weren’t so tight.”
We chatted over dinner.
Strangers, but the trucker bond made it feel familiar.
That camaraderie was part of the fun.
After, back to the cab.
Normally I’d rent a tent site, but sleeping comfy in my own rig...
Lounging on the bed—way better than the trailer—I texted Dorothy.
[Me: Made it to Arizona safe. LA tomorrow. Nancy good?]
Quick reply.
[Dorothy: Good job. Nancy’s asleep. Loved your pics. :D]
Talking about Sam and Nancy brought a grin.
Outside, Arizona’s night sky blazed with stars—a faint Milky Way too, invisible in cities.
Up at 5 a.m., hit the road.
Sunrise brought the ‘Welcome to California’ sign.
[Welcome to California]
Finally, California!
Heart raced—this was my first time.
First stop: agricultural inspection station.
They checked cargo and papers before waving me through.
California’s landscape shifted again—no barren Arizona desert here.
Palm trees lined the highway, irrigated farms behind them.
Green fields against red desert—striking contrast.
West on I-10, past Palm Springs, San Jacinto Mountains loomed, snow-capped peaks against blue sky.
Haha... snow up top, palms below.
Around 11 a.m., urban sprawl began.
Traffic thickened—cars zipping, more trucks.
LA outskirts: massive jam.
Yeah, this is LA.
Nav glowed red—two accidents.
Highway felt like a parking lot.
Trucks crawled.
LA skyline hazy in smog, more chaotic than imagined.
An hour of turtle pace might’ve irked, but I was calm—maybe from the road trip vibe.
2 p.m., logistics center.
Unloading took an hour, then signed papers, got proof of delivery.
“From Austin, right? Nice work.”
“Smooth ride. Glad we made it.”
Chest swelled.
1,500 miles, delivery complete.
Parked nearby—free till morning.
Map showed a flea market a few blocks away.
Worth a look for goodies?
Needed a gift for Nancy anyway.
New truck loan, plus aunt and Sam’s medical debt—had to hunt antiques on hauls.
Melrose Flea Market was huge—hundreds of booths, all kinds of stuff.
An hour in, a small wooden box at an antique stall caught my eye.
With permission, I picked it up—intricate carvings, hefty weight.
Hmm, something off about this...
Owner busy, so I focused.
Vision blurred—a scene flashed.
Tried to zoom in—faded.
I hefted the box again—solid heft. If those coins were inside...
“How much?”
The old owner approached.
“Hmm, thirty bucks.”
“Know what’s inside?”
“Locked tight. Key’s gone. Probably junk—don’t get hopes up, haha...”
Tempted. Thirty wasn’t much.
“I’ll take it.”
Grabbed a vintage radio and old pendant elsewhere, plus a new teddy bear for Nancy.
Out to a nearby café for coffee.
LA’s afternoon sun was warm, people strolling leisurely.
LA’s LA, alright.
Nothing like Texas simplicity—fast, flashy, crowded.
Fashion too: sunglasses, trendy clothes vs. Texas jeans and cowboy boots.
Evening, back to truck, stowed items carefully—box wrapped in a blanket.
Dinner: cook myself, not pay LA prices.
Market run for steak and veggies, fired up the rear burner.
Sizzle—
Salted, peppered steak hit the hot pan, juices flowing.
“Mmm, smells amazing already.”
Aroma hit hard—starving now.
I’m decent at steak; even rough sear was perfect.
Solo dinner in the cab—simple, but charming.
6 a.m., loaded return cargo from another warehouse—mostly organic veggies for Texas upscale chains.
“Alright, heading home.”
Loaded up, outbound.
Escaping LA took an hour in gridlock.
East on I-10.
Same route back, but fresh views—different light changed mountains and rocks.
Left glitzy LA chaos, Arizona’s epic sunset and cacti silhouettes again.
Through New Mexico to El Paso, overnighted.
Next morning, early to Houston.
Familiar Texas sights warmed the heart.
“Home, sweet home.”
Whistling to myself.
Landscapes once ordinary now felt novel after travels.
Yeah, I loved Texas.
Dropped cargo in Houston, en route home, hunger hit at a big central Texas stop.
Parking for diner, spotted a familiar face: black cop, late 30s.
“Daniel?”
Houston PD’s Daniel Johnson—saw me, grinned, extended hand.
“Haha, Jake! Long time.”
“You good? What brings you here? Far from Houston.”
Daniel gave a wry smile.
“Work, as usual. Join me? Got something to talk about.”
“Sure.”