Chapter 17 - Page 245 - Trouble In Chicago

Many drivers get paid by the mile, and try to drive too many miles. It's a hard life, but driving is all they know how to do. Many drivers get trapped, driving down the road, day after day. They see their families only once or twice a month."

   "But Papa," Shanha said, "if it's so hard, why do people live like that?"

   Jim replied, "For many drivers, driving is a way to get away from their problems. To others, it's a way to solve their problems. Most drivers don't know what else they can do, so they keep driving."

   Shanha yawned. The hum of the diesel engine was soothing. After a few minutes, she laid back down in the bunk and fell asleep.

   Jim veered off Interstate 20 and onto Interstate 635. As they passed a car on Rhasha's side of the truck, two young white boys in the back seat looked up at Rhasha, sitting high up in the truck. They smiled and waved vigorously. Rhasha smiled and waved back. "Jim," she said, "there are good things about truck driving, aren't there?"

   Jim realized he had painted a gloomy picture of truck drivers. "Yes, truck driving can be an honorable profession. It mostly depends on the individual driver."

   Just past the Oklahoma state line, Jim saw a sign: Weigh Station 1 mile. He pulled onto the scales and waited until he received the signal to go. When he left the scale house, he didn't stop the truck again until they arrived at a truck stop in Big Cabin, Oklahoma, where they ate at the truck stop restaurant. Rhasha was surprised by how much the countryside of Oklahoma reminded her of Africa.

   Jim was making good time, but had to slow down after he crossed the Missouri state line. It was well after dark when they arrived at Cuba, Missouri. He had driven over nine and a half hours. He pulled into the truck stop and found a parking place.