Ahead of the massive trucks hauling huge trailers stacked with enormous mining machinery, are pilot utilities with flashing lights atop reflective black and yellow road signs that read OVERSIZE.
I’m sitting in the Roadhouse having a second coffee waiting out the tropical downpour whilst thumbing through the latest copy of “Big Rigs” the truckers newspaper. I could say I only read it for the articles, but the truth is I’m drawn to the glossy pics; the sleek lines, all that chrome and curves.
I think about Australian poet A D Hope’s poem The Brides, where he draws a comparison between new brides and new cars.
“A miracle of design, the full set of gadgets, knobs that answer to the touch, a honey of a clutch, a place for his cigarette.”
The leviathans of the road growl into the parking bay, their diesel exhaust a whales spout. The OVERSIZE people order the Big Breakfast, shimmering in reflective clothing.
Big Rigs has a centre spread that gets me excited. A pro cycling,share the road story.
Us cyclists stand out at the truck stop, captive to the random questions of passing nomads.
“Aren’t you scared of the trucks?”
“No, I stopped being scared of monsters a long time ago.”
The Big Rigs are the apex predator of the road, however, we aren’t the prey. They’re professional drivers running to a schedule.
Flicking further through Big Rigs, I come to the classified section. Seductive advertisements for pre loved Rigs lovingly cared for or long haul interstate employment opportunities for those with the desire.
I can see the attraction.
Breaker,1/9 this here’s the rubber duck,you got a copy on me pig pen,looks like we got ourselves a convoy.
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