| It's hard to be original when you're
| |
| | night, just outside Kettering on the
|
| writing a road novel. One invariably
| |
| | A427? Mick and I have been going there
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| thinks of truck drivers, country music,
| |
| | every Sunday since March."
|
| seedy motels, men drinking behind the
| |
| | "I think you'll find we've missed one
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| wheel and the heady freedom of the great
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| | Sunday," said the man beside her, who
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| open highway.
| |
| | must have been Mick. "Truckfest,
|
| And my novel, the story of a truck driver
| |
| | Peterborough. Are you going potty,
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| who raises his daughter behind the wheel,
| |
| | Carole?'
|
| doesn't disappoint. It has speed freaks,
| |
| | "Oh crikey. How could I forget that?"
|
| god freaks, gun toters, cops and stalkers
| |
| | From the way the others chuckled, I
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| and lovely hitch-hikers and lonely,
| |
| | gathered that Truckfest, Peterborough,
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| whiskey-swigging guitarists.
| |
| | had been quite an affair.
|
| There are some variations on the classic
| |
| | Nigel turned one of his eyes on me. "I
|
| road theme: my truck driver is Irish, his
| |
| | suppose this is all very overwhelming for
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| daughter is English, the truck is a
| |
| | you. Feel free to ask if you have any
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| British lorry and their open highway is
| |
| | questions."
|
| in England, a country that you can cross
| |
| | "I do have a few," I said. "but more
|
| in a day.
| |
| | about -- the life of the lorry driver."
|
| Research has always been one of my
| |
| | Nigel Renfrew turned both of his eyes on
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| favorite parts of any work, and The
| |
| | me, the best he could. "The life?"
|
| Rhythm of the Road was no exception. As
| |
| | "Don't get me wrong -- I'm interested in
|
| part of it takes place in California, I
| |
| | the lorry itself, but it's more -- the
|
| kicked off easily with the American
| |
| | lifestyle, and the way the lorry feels --
|
| truckers. I hung out at truck stops
| |
| | I mean, has anyone here actually driven a
|
| between San Diego and Bakersfield, but I
| |
| | lorry?"
|
| got most of what I needed by sitting on a
| |
| | Nobody had.
|
| bar stool at the Country Girl Saloon at
| |
| | "It's funny," said the man near the door;
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| the Giant Truck Stop at Castaic, holding
| |
| | "You don't sound hugely American."
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| court with an amicable array of beefy,
| |
| | As if to prove that I was, I produced my
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| baseball-capped truckers telling me their
| |
| | photos of American trucks.
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| tales of "lot lizards and murdercycles
| |
| | "You can pass them round so everyone can
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| and bears in the air" before taking me
| |
| | see them," I said.
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| outside to behold their magnificent rigs:
| |
| | Slowly, as if they didn't really want to,
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| Macks and Peterbilts and Freightliners
| |
| | they did.
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| that preened like lions in the Valencia
| |
| | "That's a bit over the top, isn't it?"
|
| twilight. Yet unlike these 10-4 truckers
| |
| | said Mick, handling a photo of my
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| who seemed virtually gagging for a
| |
| | favorite; a red and silver Freightliner
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| strange woman to interrogate them, the
| |
| | with chrome finishings. "Loves itself,
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| English lorry drivers ran a tighter shop.
| |
| | that one does."
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| English truck stops, by and large, were
| |
| | "A truck like that doesn't have to be
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| dingy, dark and worried places, steeped
| |
| | modest," I snapped.
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| in fried food, a fug of Benson and
| |
| | Trevor's dad was studying one of my
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| Hedges, and huddles of shifty-looking
| |
| | Macks, his brow furrowed. "I know that
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| middle-aged men reading The Sun and
| |
| | you yanks are all very big and flash and
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| wolfing down their fry-ups to beat the
| |
| | everything," he said, "and I know you
|
| rush hour in Birmingham.
| |
| | think we're just a bunch of cabovers and
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| I needed a way in. I didn't think I could
| |
| | all that -- but there's something about
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| find it among the lorry drivers
| |
| | the good old English lorry -- do you know
|
| themselves, so I found the next best
| |
| | what I mean?" He stopped to scratch his
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| thing: a fan club called
| |
| | ear, then let his hand rest on his son's
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| LorryLookers.com, the "Lorry-loving
| |
| | shoulder. They both looked at me the same
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| People," who, as luck would have it, were
| |
| | way, as if wanting some kind of
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| due for their monthly meeting in the
| |
| | reassurance.
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| annex of the Best Ways Hotel, an hour
| |
| | "Sure. I like them equally," I lied. "But
|
| north of London. Thus armed with my
| |
| | you must admit -- I'm not a wild patriot
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| thickening Truck Portfolio and a new CB
| |
| | or anything, but in the same way as
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| antenna attached to my tiny Nissan Micra,
| |
| | there's some great British jazz, there's
|
| (through which I could only get static) I
| |
| | still only one Charlie Parker, do you see
|
| hit the highway on my lonesome, excited
| |
| | what I'm saying?"
|
| at last to be living the American dream,
| |
| | By the way they looked at me, they didn't
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| albeit on the M1 bound for Watford.
| |
| | look as though they did.
|
| The function room was down a long
| |
| | "I mean -- look at this one," I held up a
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| corridor behind the cleaner's quarters.
| |
| | photo of a black Peterbilt. It's
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| It was small with one narrow rectangular
| |
| | beautiful, sure, but it's not just that
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| window, over which the shade was drawn.
| |
| | -- it's dripping with testosterone; look
|
| The lorrylookers, a morass of beige and
| |
| | at its nose, it's so -- bold -- so rude,
|
| navy, were packed into six neat rows and
| |
| | almost -- it'll take on anything -- any
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| facing a small screen, upon which was
| |
| | desert or mountain -- two thousand miles
|
| projected a chart of lorry registration
| |
| | of highway in one day . . ."
|
| numbers. They met my entrance with a
| |
| | Nigel Renfrew cleared his throat. "As
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| collectively worried expression. One of
| |
| | long as we're having a little break, I'd
|
| them peered behind me, as if searching
| |
| | like to show you all something --" he
|
| for the cosmetic or cooking convention I
| |
| | fiddled with the projector, and a new
|
| had surely come for instead. As my eyes
| |
| | image flashed upon the screen: a website
|
| settled into the half-darkness, I took in
| |
| | titled THIS TO THAT.
|
| their windbreakers, blue and brown
| |
| | "Has anyone here heard of 'THIS TO THAT?"
|
| trousers, sweaters with checked or
| |
| | We all shook our heads.
|
| ziz-zag patterns. There was a smell about
| |
| | "Right. Name me two substances, anything
|
| them. It wasn't a bad smell -- not sweat
| |
| | --"
|
| or BO -- but something damp and airless,
| |
| | "Ceramic," someone said.
|
| like laundry that hasn't dried properly
| |
| | "Metal," said Trev's dad.
|
| or simply men unaccustomed to women.
| |
| | John Martin typed in "ceramic" and
|
| The man at the projector nodded at me.
| |
| | "metal." He pressed his mouse on the
|
| "You're the girl who emailed me, aren't
| |
| | words, LET'S GLUE! A third substance
|
| you? I'm Nigel."
| |
| | flashed up on the screen.
|
| Nigel Renfrew, my coordinator, was a nice
| |
| | "See, lads and ladies! It tells you here.
|
| enough looking man but for the slightly
| |
| | If you want to glue metal to china, what
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| walled eyes, which enabled him to have
| |
| | you need is Epoxy Putty."
|
| one eye on me without taking the other
| |
| | The snigger started to my left and spread
|
| off the screen. "Right, you lot -- this
| |
| | across the room, a low tidal wave of
|
| is Albyn, she's American and she's
| |
| | mirth.
|
| writing a book about lorries."
| |
| | "Tell it to the wife, John."
|
| I thought to say that my book wasn't
| |
| | "That's a bit of a 'get a life' one,
|
| exclusively about lorries, but my being
| |
| | isn't it?"
|
| here seemed complicated enough, so I sat
| |
| | In the end, were extremely helpful. It
|
| in the only spare seat in the fourth row,
| |
| | was through them that I met Debs, the
|
| vainly searching the room for another
| |
| | line-dancing lorry driver from
|
| female.
| |
| | Felixstowe, and Jill, a strapping lady
|
| Three orange lorries flashed upon the
| |
| | driver with whom I drove from
|
| screen.
| |
| | Lincolnshire to Purfleet in a red Scania,
|
| "As you can see," resumed Nigel Renfrew,
| |
| | the words DOES MY BUM LOOK BIG IN THIS
|
| "Stan Hamilton has just brought out his
| |
| | embossed on the back. I also met Donald,
|
| new fleet of DAF Super Space Cabs in
| |
| | a wizened and retired driver -- all hard
|
| Thurrock."
| |
| | rrr's and Suffolk accent -- for steak and
|
| "I spotted one of them Space Cabs Nigel,"
| |
| | kidney pie at a transport caff in Bury-St
|
| said a stout, ginger-haired man, who sat
| |
| | Edmonds. Several times, Donald would
|
| beside his teenage, ginger-haired son,
| |
| | begin a dirty joke, something of the
|
| both wearing sweatshirts. "We both did,
| |
| | chambermaid and spanking variety, which
|
| didn't we Trev?"
| |
| | he refused to finish, due, he said, to my
|
| The boy referred to his notepad. "Five
| |
| | "slight build and ladylike ways" (first
|
| miles west of Leatherhead on the A246,
| |
| | I've heard of it) though he did finally
|
| Fetcham exit. At six-forty-five am, last
| |
| | confess, while driving me through the
|
| Tuesday. A Y511 UCF."
| |
| | backwaters of Suffolk, that he had
|
| "I don't think that's possible,"
| |
| | temporarily lost his license due to
|
| corrected Nigel Renfrew. "These beauties
| |
| | "mental health issues." Through Donald's
|
| were only on the road last Thursday."
| |
| | help, I got a signal on my CB too, though
|
| "An idea for you, young Trevor," piped a
| |
| | that was a disappointment; most of the
|
| voice from the back, "Could you have seen
| |
| | drivers had graduated to mobile phones.
|
| instead a DAF Space Cab from Dan Martin's
| |
| | And in the end, I finally made it to
|
| livery, Woking? It's similar, but
| |
| | Truckfest, Peterborough.
|
| Martin's is plated at 50 tonnes for
| |
| | Several months ago, my rear view mirror
|
| Special Types Operation."
| |
| | fell out of its casing. I didn't want to
|
| "She has a point, Trev," said Trev's dad.
| |
| | take it to a mechanic, who would charge
|
| At the word "she," I turned around to
| |
| | me £100 just for being stupid enough to
|
| look at the speaker, a pudding-like
| |
| | take it to him. I went instead to Google,
|
| figure in grey trousers and a green
| |
| | brought up THIS TO THAT. I typed in
|
| anorak, longish hair to the neck, and
| |
| | 'metal' + 'glass,' followed by LET'S
|
| milk bottle glasses. I could see that she
| |
| | GLUE! The result came up, along with some
|
| might be a woman, just about.
| |
| | helpful hints:
|
| Two green lorries flashed on screen,
| |
| | For the strongest, fastest, and most
|
| their backs splayed out and their noses
| |
| | invisible bond we recommend: Locktite
|
| touching, as though about to kiss.
| |
| | Impruv. Whenever you are gluing metal
|
| "See the new Scanias?" sang out Nigel. "A
| |
| | it's a good idea to clean it first with
|
| rare bird in 8X4 form. Gearbox retarder
| |
| | steel wool or sandpaper. (Rust never
|
| and all."
| |
| | sleeps.) Maybe you are gluing a rear view
|
| "I saw the very one, Nigel," said the
| |
| | mirror?
|
| person who might have been a woman. "Reg.
| |
| | It's amazing, the things people know.
|
| JLZ 9876 at eight-fifty, last Sunday
| |
| |
|
