Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Dx: Stuck Truck

There's a sign at the railroad crossing that looks like this:

Of course, that sign should have been of some importance to the driver of a certain big, orange-colored, tractor-trailer moving van.

And I wondered why the driver thought that trying to negotiate the tracks in the middle of the road was going to be any easier than staying in his own lane. There's nothing like inconveniencing all the other drivers on the road instead of just half of them when you make a stupid choice and get stuck, just like in the picture on the sign.

I got to thinking, however, that maybe it wasn't the driver's fault. After all, the car I've been driving has run out of gasoline a couple a few several seven times; and not one time was it my fault. Then the whole picture came into focus. A guy wearing a red baseball hat jumped out of the passenger side of the cab, obviously the navigator. He surveyed the predicament into which he had gotten the driver.

As if he hadn't done enough already, he waved to the driver to back up, apparently hoping that the trailer would become unstuck. It worked. The trailer moved down the incline -- right at the white VW Beetle with a black "The Who" sticker on the rear bumper that I was driving.

The navigator with the red cap signaled me to back up. I noticed the grill of an carcareadontisauran SUV in my rear view mirror, which was a problem. I checked my gas gauge at that point. Why? I don't know. It's what I do. Half tank, in case you're wondering. The SUV grill receded in my mirror a little. I backed up.

The moving van cab backed over the tracks, the navigator directing the driver with his opening and closing left hand and pushing me back with his open right hand. He halted the driver and motioned to me to go around the orange rig. I pointed to the cars that flowed in the opposite direction over the tracks and down the grade.

The navigator quickly stuck his hand out to stop me. Whew! That was a close one!

I pointed to the sign to my right. His eyebrows scrunched down under the baseball cap, and he came toward me. He looked at the sign. He turned to me, smiling, and motioned for me to open my window. He leaned down and said, "He thought we could make it."

Posted by Bill at April 6, 2004 11:48 PM