Chapter 10

Bodacious

It was one of those lazy, Saturday winter mornings where the rhythms of the tires humming across the pavement and the purring of the motor brought some sort of order to the havoc and chaos of the previous week. The sun was out and the intense sunlight had its effect, leaving a permanent squint to the eyes. Where the sun light caught broken glass or abandoned shiny objects, bright, unexpected explosions of reflected light littered the landscape. Winter seemed a stranger to this place and I tried to forego all thoughts of how good it would have felt to sleep in amongst the strangers of warmth and sunshine. Others with 9 to 5 lives, 5 days a week could. Those of us caught in a 24/7 existence could never.

We were approaching noon and for once we were ahead of schedule. At this moment in time, nothing was going wrong. There were no tires going flat, no alternators failing to charge electrical systems and no frantic Qualcomm messages from dispatch. The scales were closed. CHP (Californian Highway Patrol) was occupied with the temptations of doughnuts, flirtatious waitresses and the last of the Saturday morning cartoons. Life was surprisingly simple and good.

Just outside of Barstow, California, headed east on I 40, our destination was Topeka, Kansas. The infinity of the Mojave desert stretched out beyond the windows of the cab and beyond the long hood of the Kenworth. Vast. Desolate. The highway disappeared into the horizon, two parallel lines of interstate highway defining vanishing points and perspective. So much deserted space and nothing to occupy it. The barren rocks and the naked, jagged, mountains seemed unable to compete with all that emptiness, in spite of the sparse vegetation scattered across the desert floor. The small amount of freeway traffic that was present to break the monotonous expanse, vanished. It created the illusion that we were alone and that we had the highway to ourselves.

Dallas slept. He was recovering from a hard night’s work and I found myself alone with my thoughts. It was one of those seductive moments where the temptation to think profound, reasoned, opinions was overwhelming. The words flowed, the ideas made complete sense and, as the mile markers flew by, I felt that I that I could write the next chapter of the worlds' history, solve her problems and explain away all her remaining troubles. I was feeling brilliant. Which for me is a very dangerous thing to be feeling. It is a good thing that such moods are rare.

In retrospect, my profound moments almost always appear embarrassingly silly, juvenile, and simplistic. I am thankful that these temporary, insane thoughts are forever trapped by the moment and then left to scatter like the movements of transitory logistics dispatchers. Grateful am I, that once again I am saved by perpetual movement and that I have not the time to put to paper all this profound revelation. Crazy thinking that would only have to be explained later. If one is to be a fool, it is best to do it in private. Like in the middle of the desert on a seductively warm winter day surrounded by nobody one knows and nothing of consequence. The desert loves to absorb the profound thoughts of fools.

My thoughts turned sideways as two chicken haulers eclipsed my mirrors, 'blew my doors off' and gave me the unsettling impression that I was standing still. The wind created by their momentum rocked the truck as they rolled by, 'hammer down'. Putting all that profoundness on the back shelf, I cranked up the CB and let the two truckers know that they had 'missed me' and that they were clear to return to the slow lane. The lead truck was operated by a hand who introduced himself as "Outlaw Maverick" or maybe it was "Maverick Outlaw." He drove a big, blue KW 'large car' with a studio sleeper. The truck pulled a 53 foot reefer van complete with a big, rubber chicken hanging out the back doors of his trailer. He 'came back' over the radio with a deep, assured voice and a simple " 'ppreciate it High Mountain." Class. Total smooth class.

Following him was a second truck, also a 'large car'. Like the first truck, the second truck was also built for speed and comfort with fuel mileage nowhere to be found in the specs. Chicken haulers as a breed aren't known for 'lolly gaggin'. These two truckers were no exception to the rule.

The typical Chicken Haulers' west bound freight usually consists of chickens loaded out of the southern states bound for points West and East.. A chicken haulers' load is usually late before its loaded and their backhaul of produce bound for the east coast produce markets is even later. Outlaw truckers are a dying breed but, if they are still to be found, chances are they will be found cartin' meat, produce or livestock. Spending 24/7 in that truck, ricocheting back and forth from coast to coast, their 'ride' is always a smooth, sweet, machine scene. Rare is the chicken haulers truck that is not lit up like a Christmas Tree with chicken lights, and running balls to the walls, hammer down.

Always on the look out for 'bears', DOT inspections and other misfortunes with their name on them, they are equipped with high powered 'Rambo Radios', scanners, and a lingo that dares definition. The shippers and the receivers who make the schedules and who make them damn near impossible to make, don't care what it takes to get those chickens west or that lettuce east. They just expect it to be there at their dock in good condition. Yesterday. Its up to the drivers to get the job done any way they can. After all, Martha Stewart doesn't buy wilted brown lettuce to haul home in her sports utility vehicle. Hers is always 'just picked' fresh.

As the second truck cleared my hood, I noticed that on the back ICC bumper of the trailer it said: 'http:www//cluck cluck chicken truck.com' .. Interesting.

Repeating standard operating procedure, I told the second truck that they had the slow lane if they wanted it. A woman’s voice came back over the CB radio. It was a scratchy, husky voice that had just a hint of lot lizard to it. Way too sexy to be anything but trouble.

"Why thank you, High Mountain. Blink blink. Flash flash and all that other trucker trash." Her voice came back over the radio as lively as the truck under her makin all those miles. "What’s your handle back there High Mountain?", she asked. The two trucks were already pulling ahead and leaving me a dirt speck in their mirrors.

I decided to go with my name rather than having to explain my handle, 'Northern Exposure', to a lady that I had just met. No need in stirring up all that hate and discontent that lies in wait on channel 19 'Sesame Street' on the radio.

"Tim", I responded quietly.

"Just Tim?" she came back immediately.

"Yep...Just Tim", I answered.

"Well you got Bodacious up here and Maverick on my front door already introduced himself . That sure is a nice ride you got there 'Tim' ". She stressed my name and giggled. "C'mon lets go...or are you one of those castrated 'large cars'?" She giggled again.

Damn. What’s with her, I wondered? Bodacious sure had her share of testosterone. Not even two miles into the conversation and she was already talking trash and challenging my masculinity. I decided whether it was worth fuming over. I could go a lot faster....

"So are you coming or what?" She was insistent. Several other drivers keyed up and took the opportunity to take advantage of the sexual innuendo that she'd just left wide open, none of which is worth repeating here.

"Bodacious, Why don't you just leave that boy alone? He wasn't doin' you no harm. You jest let him drive that truck his way and don't pay him no more mind." It was the Maverick and I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or condescending or both.

"Chicken!" was Bodacious’ only response.

Maybe. But I would rather be a "chicken" than CHP roadkill. The 'Bears' had had enough 'customers' already that morning. I kept the KW rolling at just over the double nickel and watched as the two truckin' chicken haulers became smaller and smaller on the horizon.

The state of California has a 'hard on' for truckers and like many states, legislators realize that commercial drivers are an excellent tool for balancing state and local budgets. Tickets can easily climb into the four digit range and both the cops and the courts know that its almost impossible for an out of state commercial driver to get back into their jurisdiction to fight an already losing battle. The speed limits are purposefully set at artificially low limits for trucks while the four wheelers blow by at speeds nearing an excess of 100 mph. Usually, totally ignored by the cops. Meanwhile the trucks are cut back to 55mph and the split limits create more than just ticket headaches.

Every highway safety study indicates that split speed limits are a rolling safety hazard as kamakazi, small craft four wheelers run under the rear ends of the slower moving trucks. To compensate such a lopsided collision, the feds mandate stronger rear trailer bumpers and endless reflective tape. Still the speed differences continue to cause endless crash and burn scenarios. Some poor soccer mom complete with cell phone, messy make up and four screaming kids stuffed into a Geo, plows under the back of a truck unaware of how slow the rig is moving until it is too late to avoid the ambulance rides.

Meanwhile, back on the interstates, the schedules keep getting tighter as more and more companies switch to just in time deliveries to reduce their inventory costs. The only one left to take up the slack in this equation is the trucker, in spite of congested traffic conditions, weather, and whatever else may come along to prevent them from averaging their required 56 mph average over the 3,000 mile length of the trip.

Bodacious could call me 'chicken' all she wanted. True, it was an insult to be called a 'chicken' by a "chicken hauler" but I decided to stay put and just ease my way out of the Golden State. I had no intention of having some late afternoon clandestine meeting on the shoulder of the highway with California’s version of Triple A with a gun. CHP would have to save their fancy disco lights for some other victim.

I continued to listen to them on the CB as somewhere ahead of me Bodacious and Maverick rolled 'hammer down' across the desert. Bodacious was not one to keep silent for long. Soon engaged in a lively roundtable discussion with several other lady drivers, Bodacious was an advocate of the dangers of high priced shopping malls. Already, she'd referred to the pretty, perfect women working behind the cosmetics counters of most major department stores as "...those undertaker like, white coated, bimbo bitches secretly employed by the morgues to make us look like we are already dead. They stand there behind the Clinique counter in those white doctors coats with their Vanna White smiles makin' us believe that they can perform miracles and that we will look like them when they are done bankruptin' us and they have our faces covered under two inches of makeup!"

"Will that be cash or charge today?, they ask us after our 'free' makeover which has turned those itsy little bity lines into the Grand Canyon, Wash Out, Fire Sale and I for one can look just as bad or good or whatever for a lot less at Wal-Mart!" Finding her pulpit, Bodacious saw the radio as her preaching tool to reach the unsaved 'Shopping Mall Ladies’ who still might be listening.

"I am not too good to shop at Wal-Mart. I do not need to put my man in the poor house to be looking fine. Some of these women...if it don't come from Dillards or Macys or worse Nordstroms...Well, they won't have nothing to do with it..."exclaimed Bodacious. "Not me, I look just as sweet and I only shop at Wal-Mart."

Another woman named 'Precious Cargo’ echoed the same sentiments. "Yeah and Wal-Mart lets Big Trucks park in their lots. The radio came alive as everyone agreed that Wal-Mart was next to Hot Dogs, Apple Pie and Chevrolet as among the best things life had to offer.

By this time, I assumed that Bodacious and Maverick had traveled out of my radio's range. But, much to my surprise I caught up with them and the scrawled 'cluck cluck chicken truck.com' lettering on the latter truck’s back bumper. I pulled up with them and passed both Maverick and Bodacious on the first good pull east of Barstow. Obviously they were geared for running flatlands. The hills made mince meat out of their progress.

Bodacious acknowledged me by saying, "Look at that Maverick. It's Tim. He just passed us like we..."

"...were standing still". It was Maverick finishing her sentence for her. His radio was more powerful than hers and he walked all over her. I was beginning to wonder if anyone could shut her up. The Maverick could.

"You got it High Mountain. You can bring her back. You missed us...that slow lane is yours if you want it. Don't pay no mind to Bodacious back there. Her mouth is bigger than her motor. Kinda sad isn't it? She ain't fast enough to keep up with her own silly talkin lips." said Maverick. With that statement, there was little doubt that the Maverick had taken my side.

I laughed and eased the truck back into the slow lane while Bodacious retook the airwaves. She cussed me.

"Maverick you be nice. You know I've got more weight on this trailer than you've got in your wagon. Besides you guys are suppose to let us ladies go first. Ladies First!" She was talking real sexy now. Then her tone changed into a teasing and taunting one. She was talking to me now, "You just wait Tim. When I get to the top of this hill..."

"He will be halfway through Arizona..." Maverick finished yet another sentence, a chuckle in his voice.

Another driver, probably somewhere ahead of us, informed Bodacious that Maverick had walked on her again. Telling her that she' d been ridiculed again, for awhile the airways were silent. At the bottom of the hill, she went flying by both Maverick and me.

I sure as hell know I got a dirty look. I'm sure the Maverick did as well.

"Like I said, ladies first." She stressed each word slowly. Bodacious couldn't be kept silent for long. Maverick pulled out and went around me, hot on her trail. As he went by, I looked over into his cab and he smiled at me, shrugging. Bodacious was obviously one woman to be reckoned with. She had an ego comparable to any other driver that was male with more balls than sense.

I realized that all hope for more profound thoughts about open space, unresolved souls and Nobel Peace Prizes was a lost cause. Divine inspiration would have to wait for another day when again I traveled alone through the desert. My 'world changing philosophizing' flew out the window and instead the cab filled with the enlightened dynamics of the Wal-Mart verses Malls debate which was already decided in favor of Wal-Mart. I decided it was time to play.

Forget intellectual grandstanding.

"Bodacious?" I keyed up.

""Yes? Who is that calling for me? Is that you Tim?" She asked nervously.

"Bodacious, you're mine on the next hill," I said calmly and put the plastic CB mic back into its holder where it swung crazily.

"No. Nooooo..." she wailed. "Tim you will not catch me. I told you, 'Ladies First!' and besides, Maverick won't let you catch me. He will block that hammer lane and I will..."

"I will do no such thing. I told you Bodacious to just leave him be. You started this shit and now it looks like I'm gonna get to watch you embarrass yourself. Not that I haven't seen that happen before." Maverick, I decided, was one cool dude.

I watched as a mile or so ahead of me, Bodacious and Maverick started up the next mountain. Soon Maverick pulled back out into the hammer lane and effortlessly leap frogged over Bodacious. I could imagine the big smile on his face when he did it.

"Yer on 'yer own Bodacious," Maverick said as the quickly fading truck slunk into his mirrors.

"That wasn't nice Maverick. I'll remember that," whined Bodacious.

"Uh huh…" Maverick wasn't phased by her threat.

"Oh Bodacious...Yoo hooo...", I called in a rally bad southern drawl.

"What!" She snapped. I didn't say anything for a minute.

"What do you want? Tim?" She was sort of whining again. Lots of moods this one had. Quick to change. She reminded me of a good Kansas summer day. One minute its sunny and the next minute its raining, the wind is howling, and the sky is falling all over itself, like some falling down drunk with lightning and thunder and all hell breaking loose.

"Bodacious, I want you to look in your mirrors..." I paused and watched her truck. Suddenly there was a whole lot of black smoke coming out of Bodacious' exhaust stacks. She was really floundering on the hill.

"Shit", she cussed, "I just missed a gear." A moan escaped her. A long drawn out sensation that was low and husky. Her raspy utterance could easily be mistaken for a more erotic mood and associated with a hot southern night spent on a darkened back porch instead of the agonizing result of a transmission misstep.

I didn't let her slip up go unnoticed. "Now Bodacious I did not say 'forget how to drive' while you are looking in those mirrors..I don't want you to give up..I like my prey to be running...running as hard as it can be..now are you looking in those mirrors? Do you see that pretty, classy, red Kenworth? Can you see that nice ride just minding his own business? The large car just getting down the road doing a legal 55 not stirring up any shit?" I was starting to have a lot of fun as other drivers keyed up that they could see that red truck. They also informed her that I was gaining on the now notorious Bodacious.

She moaned again. A bit more desperate her voice was hanging on the brink of the radio and her raspiness melted into the static.

I was right next to her now. Looking over at her, I couldn't help but notice that she was not looking over at me. She was biting her lip, fidgiting and making a great effort of studying her right mirrors. I couldn't let her just ignore me. Especially after all I'd done to catch up to her.

"Look, I've even slowed way down just so I can see how pretty this desert looks at...ahem...22 whole miles an hour...wow the speed is just...killing me." I put the mic back and looked back over at her. We were running neck and neck and now she was literally chewing her bottom lip to keep from bustin' up. Instead she choose to be a lady.

She flipped me off.

Checking my mirrors, I could see that traffic was starting to stack up behind the both of us. "Well look at that Bodacious…we are impeding traffic. I would not want to keep all these good folks from getting to Laughlin. Or Lake Havasu. Or the Grand Canyon. Or Albuquerque!" I looked back over at her one final time and that was 'all she wrote.' Her composure was history and Bodacious threw her head back, snickering and pounding her palms down on the steering wheel.

"Bodacious, now I want you to look straight forward out your windshield. Look right through all those bugs plastered there. Are you looking, Bodacious?" There was no response but I knew that she was. I 'gouged on it' and all those previously held back 525 horses roared to life. Within seconds, I was back up to 55 mph and the hill became a series of blurred sage images. Bodacious quickly disappeared, nothing more than a speck in my mirrors.

Then I realized that she didn't blink her lights or gave me the ok over the radio to come back into the slow lane. Nope she wasn't talking to me. No flashing lights. No sweet sounding raspy sexy voice saying "Its ok High Mountain, you're clear for the slow lane". Instead there was only silence from the big mouthed Bodacious. I decided that my feelings were hurt.

At the top of the hill, I caught the Maverick and passed him. I grabbed the mic again. Maverick had just hit his lights to let me know that I could come back into the slow lane. "Thank you Maverick. Would you believe that Bodacious back there is so mad at me that she won't even be a professional truck driver and give me 'the all's clear signal'?"

"Isn't that a shame? I'll have to talk to her about that. I'm sure she'll be hitting the top of that last hill we just came over pretty soon. I think she most definitely should apologize to you. What do you think?" the Maverick asked.

"10-4, you got that right," I responded.

"Listen you two. There's one more hill between here and Needles. I don't care if I wake up my better half, I am going to beat you both up that hill and it will be ‘Ladies First’ all the way into Arizona. And I ain't apologizin'. No way. You will just have to swallow all that pride and admit that Bodacious done whooped your ass." It was no more than a few seconds after she'd finished her declaration of independence when she passed both of us charging down the hill, her back doors reflecting into the shimmering hammer lane.

"West bound? Westbound? Westbound! Talk to me! Where did you leave all the bears? Are there any speed cops ya left behind ya that I should know about? How does it look into Needles?" Her voice both seductive and frantic at the same time.

Maverick once again moved 'em out and passed me. "Tim, I got to keep her in my sights. Lord knows that if her old man wakes up and she’s pulled over on the side of the highway by CHP, getting some sort of high dollar ticket, I'll be in just as much trouble as she is. His last words to me before he climbed into the bunk was 'Maverick, you keep an eye on her. You know how she is!' "

"I understand Maverick. I'll see you both on the next hill." I watched as he took off after Bodacious and soon they were both almost impossible to make out of the other traffic. It was early dusk, the sun having set about ten minutes past. Westbound drivers were keeping Bodacious abreast of the police and other eastbound drivers were making bets as to whether I'd catch Bodacious on the next hill. Although it was a long hill and a good grade at that, she'd put a lot of space between the two of us. I was starting to get a little concerned. I hoped that I would catch her. For my pride’s sake.

I also hoped Dallas wouldn't wake up. Potentially I could be in as much trouble as Bodacious, if he were to wake up and learn of my duel with Bodacious. I could just hear him. "Tim, what are you doing? Why?" I would tell him all about Bodacious and her terrible taunting and making up this ‘Ladies First’ nonsense and how I was doing this for men everywhere. My reasons would all sound very logical to me but I know that I would still be in trouble. Deep trouble.

"Tim, you still back there?" It was Bodacious. Back in the lead position she was taunting me again with that low 'designing ladies' drawl.

"Yes Bodacious, I'm still back here," I replied.

"Ladies First!" she answered. Each syllable dangled and lingered in the air waves.

"Enjoy it while you can Bodacious. Enjoy it while you can." I was not going to speed. I was not going to cheat. I was going to humiliate her fair and square. 55 mph never seemed so slow.

I finally hit the bottom of the hill. People were really getting into this race of idiots. Other drivers were keeping track of Bodacious, Maverick and me. Every once in a while she would announce her ridiculous 'ladies first' over the radio. I figured she was half way up the hill. I figured she was only doing about 25 mph based on her performance on the last few pulls. I figured I had a lot of ground to cover. I figured I was toast.

I finally caught sight of her 3/4 of the way up the hill. Maverick was already in front of her and she was struggling. I had yet to drop a gear and the truck pulled like there was no tomorrow. Feeling a bit more confident, I grabbed the radio.

"Bodacious?" I asked.

"I am not talking to you," she responded. "Not until you say 'ladies first' "

"Bodacious?" I called again in a sing-song voice. I was quickly gaining on her. I wondered if she knew that the truck rapidly approaching her back door in the darkness was mine. She had to. Who else could it be?

"I told you, I am not talking to you Tim." She was stern.

"Oh come on now Bodacious. I know that you want to talk to me. It’s just that you are afraid. It’s almost the same reason as why you won't look in you mirrors right now. It's 'cause you are scared. You know that you started this. You know that the truck barreling down on you in those mirrors is mine. And you know that deep down inside that proud chicken hauler heart of yours, you want to congratulate me for smoking you on this last hill. I know that you do. Because, you know that I did it fair and square. The Maverick will vouch for that." I paused as I imagined the smoke billowing from her ears. I caught up with her and passed her. The wind and momentum from my truck rocked hers. I went past her at full speed and she appeared to be standing still. Again she refused to flash the lights. Too damn proud for her own good. I flashed mine anyway. A 'thank you' that no doubt would be like salt on the wound.

I passed Maverick again. He got on the radio and said "Well done Tim. You can bring that High Mountain truck over anytime you want to."

I keyed up, "Thanks Maverick I appreciate it. Hey Bodacious, you still got your radio on?"

"No!" she replied angrily.

"Ok. Well, since you don't have your radio on, then I won't rub it in that I just passed you. Again. And I won't ask you to explain to me what you meant by this 'Ladies First' B. S." I was laughing now. I crested the hill and started down the other side. Bodacious and Maverick still had a good mile of pulling to do. The lights of Needles and Laughlin lit up the valley floor beneath me and they twinkled against the last light left in the twilight sky. I celebrated the narrow margin by which I had walked up the hill, beating Bodacious.

"Tim?" It was Bodacious.

"Yes darling? What can I do for you?" I asked.

"I came up with your new CB handle. From now on I'm going to call you 'Terrible Tim' cause that’s what you are. Terrible." She announced this with the same determination with which she'd earlier announced her devotion to Wal-Mart.

"And do you know what else, Terrible Tim?" she asked.

"No ma’am I don't. But I'm sure you are fixin' to tell me," I said.

"Well, 'Terrible Tim' ", she emphasized the name, "I think I should warn you that when I get into Arizona and those higher speed limits I am gonna cream you on those hills. I'll get a good run on them and by the time we hit Flagstaff you will be a memory. Remember, it's ladies first, Terrible Tim." She purred.

"Unless you're in California. Then its Tim first" The Maverick interjected.

"Shut up Maverick! It's Terrible Tim" she corrected.

"Actually I already have a handle, Bodacious. But, I appreciate the thought. Oh and unfortunately by the time you manage to hit Arizona, well, I'll be in New Mexico. But I'm sure if you're really nice and apologize to Maverick for all your hateful conduct today, he will let you run the front door in front of him. Then you can say 'ladies first' all you want. By the way, are you to the top of the hill yet?" Then I laughed really loud over the radio.

I put the mic back down and turned the squelch down on the radio so that I could continue to hear them in spite of the distance between us. Eventually she did crest the hill and caught up with Maverick. He told her that she couldn't pass him until she apologized and she responded that she would when hell freezes over and that all men were alike. Then she returned her attention to me. She began to ask all the west bound traffic if they'd seen a red Kenworth running up ahead of her. Lots of drivers had, but they gave her reports that varied as to my location. The responses that she got ranged from Albuquerque to Amarillo. The closest was a sighting near the Arizona line. I just knew that the Maverick was beside himself in tears as Bodacious cried, "There is no way that boy can be in Arizona already. No way. If he is then he really is terrible. Terrible for not telling us how he done it."

The truth was I was only a few miles ahead of them. I eventually crossed into Arizona and cleared the Port of Entry as quickly as I could. Somehow making it in and out of that scale before they caught up. Once back out on the freeway, I took full advantage of Arizona's 75 mph speed limit. I had a plan. It was sneaky. Dirty. Totally beneath me. But, it would teach Bodacious a lesson. I prayed Dallas would not wake up.

I pulled into the first rest area in Arizona. Completely cutting the lights, I eased the truck in between two other trucks. Well hidden, I turned up the CB radio and waited. I could hear Bodacious and Maverick. "Where is that little bastard?" she asked Maverick. The last driver she'd talked to reported seeing me in Kingman. Twenty miles away. Bodacious took the news poorly.

"C'mon Maverick. We have to catch that Terrible Tim. He's not going to get away from me!" She was determined.

A beaten down Maverick responded to her with, "It's your world Bodacious. Whatever you say."

As I sat in the rest area and quietly waited, Dallas woke up. Pulling forward the curtain separating the cab from the sleeper, he saw me hunched over the steering wheel, looking into the mirrors, watching the passing traffic, and giggling. "What are you doing, Tim?" he asked in bewildered amazement. Startled, I jumped.

"Nothing" I answered hoping that he would believe it and go back to sleep.

He wasn't buying it. "Don't 'nothing' me. If anyone knows when you are up to something, it's me and I can tell that right now that you are definitely up to something. Now start talking!" He wasn't mad but time was definitely running out before we entered that territory. I didn't have time to explain it at that very second.

"Shhhh. You'll see." I told him.

Bodacious and Maverick passed the rest area a minute later. She was running her mouth on the radio still asking the westbound truckers if they'd seen an eastbound red Kenworth. This time they responded that they hadn't. Unsettled at the news, neither she nor Maverick, who ironically was running behind her, ladies first, saw me in the rest area. After they passed by the rest area, I turned the lights back on, released the brakes and started grabbing gears.

After I eased back out into traffic, quiet as a mouse, I tried explaining the significance to Dallas of how it came to be that a thirty two year old, grown man was hiding from a woman named Bodacious and a man named Maverick in a rest area. He was skeptical of the story, especially the part about me minding my own business and not starting any of it. But as he listened to me trying to explain the who, what, where, when, and why of it all, Bodacious retained her dominance of the radio. After listening to her for a few stirring seconds, Dallas came around. "Only you would set off some nutcase like a chicken hauler named Bodacious and her side kick Maverick. I want no part of it," he said dryly, climbing back into the sleeper.

It took me almost ten minutes to catch them. We were nearing the southern outskirts of Kingman. I pulled up alongside Maverick and hit the interior cab lights so that he could quickly see that it was me. I put my finger up to my mouth in the internationally understood signal for "Shhhhh". He turned his cab light on and gave me the thumbs up. I pulled ahead and jumped into the 'rockin chair', riding between he and Bodacious. It was time to make my move.

"Bodacious?" I called innocently over the CB.

"Tim!" She responded instantly. Her voice carried this hushed quality that sounded like I had frightened her or took her breath away. It was difficult to imagine Bodacious as breathless but I was enjoying trying.

I knew my voice was crystal clear over her radio. I knew that she would know that I was close. "Where are you Terrible Tim? I know that’s you."

"Lets just say I'm close." I was taunting her.

"How close is close?" she asked.

"Very close." It was my turn to whisper. To taunt. To entice. I hoped her old man didn't wake up.

We were at the bottom of the hill that separated Kingman and the junction of US 93 and Interstate 40 from us. It was a short but very steep hill. I pulled out into the hammer lane and came up alongside Bodacious. We both started up the hill.

I turned on the cab light again so that she could see me. "Close enough to look right at you and see that you still can't climb hills no matter how big a run you got on them. Close enough to see the look of shock in your eyes. Close enough to have heard that you just missed another gear. And close enough to see that once again there ain't no lady going first up these hills. Just polite little old me in this big old red High Mountain Truck once again embarrassin' you, Miss Bodacious." I turned the light off.

"Nooooooooo." She was too stunned and surprised to say anything else for a minute. She had had no idea that I'd been next to her nor did she have a clue how I'd gone from being way ahead of her, to chasing her and now, once again, ahead of her. As I again pulled away from her on the hill, the frustration that came through the radio was impossible to disguise. "Tim. You are terrible. You tricked me. I will get you, I swear I will."

Leaving her behind, my final words to Bodacious were well meant. "Bodacious, it’s been real fun running with you and Maverick. I got to get to work now and 'get after it.' If you ever get a "true large car" let me know and maybe you can run with me some other time. If you can keep up. I hope I didn't humiliate you too bad. If I did I'm real sorry. Really."

She responded as I knew that she would, saying all kinds of hateful stuff. I lost her voice when I dropped over yet another hill. Rolling into Kingman I took the last exit and pulled into the Flying J for fuel. I hoped that she wouldn't.

A few minutes later I again heard her talking to Maverick and the westbound drivers coming into Kingman. She was asking them if they'd seen a red eastbound Kenworth somewhere up ahead on her front door. Let her think that I was in front of her. She'd promised me that she would catch me and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that she would give it her best shot. She was going to rub this 'ladies first' stuff into our Wal-Mart impaired brains if it killed her.

Ironically, Dallas and I made sure that she finally got her wish. As we parked the truck to grab some dinner and a shower, we knew that for the rest of the night she would be trucking, hammer down, chasing us. The Maverick riding quietly behind, on her back door, keeping her out of trouble. Bodacious would still be asking all the westbound drivers if they'd seen a red Kenworth running hard in front of her. She would still be looking for the bears. Her voice would be keeping the other drivers entertained and I'm sure that in the back of her mind, she would be planning her next Wal-Mart fix. And, unknown to the notorious Bodacious, a hundred miles or so behind her, we would be chasing her. Following her quietly through the Arizona and New Mexico moonlight. Ladies First.