A/N - Hello all! I'm guessing from those who have read quite a few of my stories has noticed one or two themes shared throughout many of them. Nearly all of them are set in my homeland of Australia, and in addition to that, I might also add references to culture or history.
A few stories also have a minor influence from songs I listened to while growing up, whether the lyrics are about places in Australia, the jobs that are the backbone of our nation, or about the events, whether minor or major, that resulted in songwriters putting together anthems that are still sung by people at karaoke today.
Don't take anything regarding the industry as fact, though I'm aware the legislation regarding the industry has significantly changed in the past twenty years. It's no longer run by cowboys, as they used to say. Thanks to technology, everything is now monitored and data is logged.
One other little note: This is the 100
th
story I've uploaded to Literotica! Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read, vote, comment or sends feedback regarding any of my stories.
Usual caveats. All editing and reviewing done the author. Spelling is usually spot on. Definitely the occasional typo. Grammar can be ropey at times but it's been a long time since I sat in a classroom. All mistakes owned up to by the author. Please remember I'm an amateur.
Comments and feedback appreciated as always.
*****
It's the rhythm of the highway
As he rolls on down
And city lights as they fade from sight
Drives the man behind the driving wheels
And chasing southern lights
In the distant sky
And open plains with the mountains high
Drives the man behind the driving wheels
- 'Driving Wheels', Jimmy Barnes
*****
"Here's the paperwork, Mark. Remember, south-west of Melbourne."
"I know, boss. Straight down the Hume as always. Been doing this long enough now."
Wayne chuckled as always. "Just reminding you in case you get any funny ideas, or you get a case of amnesia along the way. Never know, could find yourself lost in those back streets, arriving at the depot with a half-empty trailer..."
"The hell am I going to do with half a trailer of this shit?"
"You'd be surprised what can go missing on a run, Mark."
"Yeah, yeah. Like I'm going to bother with that."
He told me to piss off as usual, good naturedly with both of us chuckling, as I'd been working with him for over a decade now. Walking to my big rig, I gazed over it and sighed with delight. I'd spent years ferrying goods between Sydney and Melbourne, and various other provincial towns and cities around the eastern states, along roads such as the Hume Highway, the early years before they'd turned it into a proper dual carriageway. Eight hundred kilometres without barely having to touch the brakes, driving along the motorways of Sydney from where I would collect my trailer, before joining the Hume, non-stop all the way until the New South Wales / Victorian border, and continuing to the outskirts of Melbourne.
In the past few years, though, I'd been taking on journeys going further afield. Sometimes after arriving in Melbourne, I'd drive across to Adelaide. More than once, I'd done Adelaide then all the over to Perth, even from there up to the likes of Broome. Hell of a journey. From Perth, it was usually back to Adelaide, sometimes up north towards Alice Springs. I hadn't gone as far north as Darwin just yet, but if they offered it to me, I'd go. Not like I've got anyone waiting at home for me.
Owning my own truck gave me some freedom, at least. I was employed by one organisation with the freedom to take other work on an ad-hoc basis. Owned my own house in Goulburn, but I rented that out most of the time. I was technically a 'live-in' landlord, but I rarely showed my face there unless I wanted to take a break from driving. But although there were now all sorts of rules and regulations around driving, mostly in regard to how many hours I could operate, I still drove most days of the week. Nothing better than me, my truck, the open road, endless blue sky, the radio playing rock tunes, the roar of the engine...
Approaching forty years old and having driven the highways of Australia for nearly twenty of them, I was now a known face in certain places, particularly the truck stops that are dotted along the main highways linking each capital city. I didn't always travel alone. For the first ten years, I had a faithful dog, Bluey, that kept me company until he got sick and I had to put him down. That broke my heart and I didn't want to find another one four-legged companion. I started to pick up the occasional hitchhiker or backpacker. At least it meant I could talk to people, as although I had the trusty CB radio, truck driving can be a rather isolating and lonely experience. Never carried anyone for longer than one trip, usually wanting to get from the truck stop to the next largest town.
I was also married for the first decade or so of my career, but the lengthy absences put a strain on the relationship, despite the fact we talked every morning and night. I never stumbled in on her with another man, but I eventually received word from neighbours that she was entertaining more than one male guest during my absences. On the next time I was home, I confronted her about it. She cried, stating she was lonely, that I was never there. She was right. It didn't make her cheating correct, but I could almost understand, as I was away from home more often than not. It would put the strain on any marriage.
The divorce was inevitable. I kept the house as it belonged to my parents and me. She moved out and lived with a girlfriend. We didn't keep in touch afterwards. We didn't have kids, and despite the amicable divorce, she'd still done the dirty on me. Apart from the occasional conversation, she'd never told me how she was really feeling. I wouldn't have chosen the job over my wife had she talked to me about it, though I wasn't sure what I'd do if I gave it up.
Goulburn was home to the New South Wales Police Force training centre. Maybe I could have done that?
Nah, could never be a copper. Most Australians get their backs up against any sort of authority. Guess it comes from our convict past. And to truck drivers, coppers are our worst enemy, in addition to inspection stations, and dickheads behind the wheel who can't drive their fucking car.
The Hume Highway now passed by so many towns I'd used to drive through, the sort that used to live and thrive on the traffic that once passed through. My hometown of Goulburn was one such town, where the old dual carriageway used to end before they extended it, and it used to be nearly all single carriageway to the border. Traffic could sometimes back up for kilometre after kilometre during the busy periods. Then there were towns like Yass, Gundagai, Tarcutta, Holbrook, and many others that the Hume now bypasses. The towns still survive, but many people driving Sydney to Melbourne would rather stop at the rest areas along the highway rather than peel off the highway and take in a provincial country town for an hour or so.
