Ahhh, springtime, that season when a young man’s heart turns toward love…or some such nonsense. I’m either too old for that or just feeling curmudgeonly as I write this. Either way this could get interesting.
I had a pretty nice drive in Arkansas last week. My last two stops on Friday were north of Little Rock, or is it Small Stone? I guess they’re the same thing only different.
That meant I got off the Interstate and into pure country for a change. This old farm boy always gets a lift when that happens, especially in the spring.
The thing about Arkansas roads in that area is that if you drive straight for more than half a mile you’re either in someone’s field or woodlot. Either way is considered bad luck for a professional truck driver.
So I didn’t make great time but I had a great time doing it. The dogwoods are having a fantastic year, as are many flowering trees…which leads to something else in the air.
I finished my driving day on Thursday in Heber Springs. No, that’s not a misprint. Heber is a spring…or multiple springs, apparently, especially in the spring.
I parked alongside the business I had to deliver to first thing Friday morning about six o’clock in the evening. The temperature was around 70 degrees with a slight breeze.
A few puffy white clouds floated by. I lowered both windows and let the ambiance of the moment carry my stress away.
I sat in the passenger seat and propped my feet up on the dashboard. The sun was streaming its beam through the driver’s side of the rig.
Funny thing about sunbeams. They reveal strange things in uncomfortable ways occasionally…especially when a city slicker is attempting to relax.
Some particles of some substance was invading my private space. I tried my best to ignore it but it ignored me more. It just kept coming.
Flowering trees are nice to look at but a bit challenging to breath in. I did raise my windows up before I went to sleep but I had to wipe pollen off my gauges so I knew how fast I was driving on those snake-like roads.
On one turn in town my trailer brushed against some tree branches creating a greenish yellow cloud for those following too close. I guess somebody should have explained about bad luck and truck drivers to those lost souls. They were lost for a few seconds anyway.
Between curves, hills and a loaded dump truck in front of me it took over an hour and a half to travel 45 miles to my last stop…but it was gorgeous scenery along the way.
All I know for sure is that if love looks like pollen then I should be finding my life partner any day now.
Apparently that’s what’s in the air this time of year according to tradition.
But not if you remember that little thing about bad luck and truck drivers.
I guess I’ll just keep on truckin’, good buddy.
I’ll see you later. Wade
