The reason is that Joe hadn’t acquired the stolen license plate yet, nor informed the husband and attorney it was a go.
Joe pulled ahead as planned, changed into the same lane as the truck and drove ahead far enough to give the gals a chance to do the same thing from the lane on the other side of the truck.
Joe was impressed. It actually worked. They had successfully closed the gap to less than a car length, causing the truck to do a hard brake to keep from rear-ending the gals’ car. If the mother had tapped her brakes, the truck certainly would not have been able to avoid rear-ending her. Joe looked in his rear views and could see the trucker gesturing his anger.
“Perfect,” Joe said on the phone, ignoring the trucker’s single-finger salute. “We’ll practice one more time tomorrow, and go for it the day after. You gals go home. You did great.”
Chapter Eleven
Hugh and Jenny had plenty of time on the road before their next overnight at a Twin Falls truck stop.
He told Jenny what route they would be on.
Hugh figured at least a nine-hour drive if he chose the easy route that had Interstate and major highways the whole way, about five hundred fifty miles.
Right now they were on I-90/395 after leaving the truck stop outside of Spokane, Washington. After a series of highway changes, they would end up on Interstate 84 through Boise, and on to Twin Falls.
He told Jenny he could take an alternate route going south from Spokane that could get them to Twin Falls in a fewer number of miles. But the highways went through less-trucker-friendly terrain, so the time on the road would have been greater. Plus, more strain on the truck and trailer.
“How do you know which route to take?” Jenny asked.
“It’s actually easy. It’s in the pre-load information I get from dispatch. It’s figured out ahead of time by the load planner.”
“But you said you could take an alternate route.”
“Yeah, I could. I’m an owner-operator, so the load planner’s suggestion is just that, a suggestion. Company drivers have no choice but to stay within the proscribed route. Their timing to pickups and deliveries is determined by the top speed of their trucks for the most part, but also traffic conditions, so it is critical they stay on route.”
“Top speed? Don’t all trucks go the speed limit?”
“No, most company trucks’ top speeds are governed by a speed-limiter that regulates their top speed. Sometimes as low as sixty miles per hour. That’s why you see trucks getting involved in what are called elephant races.”
“OK. I’ll bite. Elephant races?”
“You’ve seen it, I’m sure. And probably done some major cussing about it. That’s when one truck going sixty miles per hour is trying to pass another truck doing fifty-nine-and-a-half miles per hour. It goes on for miles creating something called a rolling blockade. Traffic can back up for miles while the drivers sort out who will get ahead.”
“Whoo boy, yes. Highway 99 north out of Bakersfield, which I used to drive a lot, must be elephant-race country. I know exactly what you mean. I’ve always wondered why truckers do that.”
“It’s usually a problem of speed-limiters. Truckers get paid by the mile. To get more miles, they need to keep getting loads. The faster they can deliver a load, the quicker they can get the next load. Speed-limiters slow them down. So they try to pass other trucks every chance they get. See what I’m getting at?”
“I think so. They want to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible, and they can’t stand getting behind a slower truck that eats up their time on the road.”
Jenny thought about it for a minute.
“Then why have these speed-limiters?” she asked.
“That’s a good question. Major carriers, like the one I drive for, calculate and keep track of their drivers’ use of fuel to the hundredths of a gallon per mile. Every gallon of diesel saved is several dollars more profit. They simply don’t want their drivers going seventy-five miles per hour and sucking up all that extra diesel to do it. So they place limiters on their trucks to keep drivers at a better fuel-efficient speed.”
“But not you?”
“No. Since I own my truck and pay for my own fuel it’s up to me whether I decide to lose a little bit more in miles per gallon to get somewhere faster or to pass a truck I really want to pass.”
“We’ve been on the road for a couple of hours now. Do you need a restroom break?” Hugh asked. He was thinking, morning coffees and all. “We can pull into the truck stop coming up at Kennewick.”
“You know what? I don’t want to start that business of you having to stop, park at a truck stop, and spend a lot of time off the road every few hours because you’ve got a girl on board. How about if I go ahead and get used to using my new jug?”
“Sounds good to me. There are plenty of places to pull over here. We’ll stop, take care of business, and be right back on the road again.”
Hugh found a wide shoulder to pull off the highway outside of Pasco, a little town north of Kennewick.
Before leaving the truck stop Jenny had transferred the milk from her newly purchased jug of milk to an empty water jug, washed out the milk jug, and primed it with a little bit of Clorox to control odors.
Hugh got his jug, already cleaned and primed like Jenny’s, and closed the curtain dividing the driver’s area of the cab from the sleeper berth area. He took the driver’s side, and gave
