The road descended to Portland, then from I84 to I80 to I76 to I70 to I270. Immediately, I left Portland and passed the old F100, very slow in black, without a registration mark. The cold truck I thought was not necessary to him. For about an hour, I realized that the lorry that was behind me was a pair of strange long. After returning to clear roads, he disappeared far behind me.
The first night, I stopped somewhere in Idaho. I have a cheap local motel, and I am the only one there. Wake up the next morning and park in a place far from me where the F100 opens.
Hurry up. I always travel to the southeast. Every time I stop to refuel, whether I’m on vacation or slowing down for traffic, the old Ford reappears in my rearview mirror. It’s strange.
As we approach the end of Nebraska, I stop to buy gas, I decided to drive another tank, and I quit that day. Retake the road, and Mr. lorry shakes me again. About 30 minutes later, I realize that I’m too tired to get to the end of the tank and that I decided to stop at the nearby town on the Iowa border, seeing the lorry roll on the road. I guess he has more resistance than me.
Wake up the next day you know what’s coming that damn lorry is back in the hotel parking lot. At that moment, I realized that I was driving a rabbit to his turtle and we accidentally made the same trip from east to west. He now had that strange feeling of light in his stomach as if something was not right. Did I ask the agent when I hand over the keys to the lorry? When do I arrive? She says she did not work last night and was not sure (and she probably thought I was crazy about what I could be).
Anyway, at this point, I think it’s a coincidence, and it must be a different truck. I mean, many F100s have been made, and there will surely be a couple in a country that is a black running without a board. When I leave, I see a lorry going the parking lot towards the highway. It could not have been like before the guy did not turn the keys, so he probably lived in the area.
Go back on the road. No lorry Run to the end of the tank and go to gas and snacks. Go back to and join two cars in front of the black F100. What is hell?
At that moment, I decide fucking, marathon, the rest of the way. It’s less than 20 hours, so it should not be so bad, and I do not want to stay in the second damn motel with the strange ghost truck chasing me.
The boss continues with a truck that appears behind me each time I pause, I run out of fuel or slow down in traffic. It’s dark when I divide the I70 / 270, and the old lights are furious on the horizon. I know he is. I wonder if he will follow me and be parked in the street next to my house the next morning when I get up. Unfortunately, the truck goes to 70, and I never see him again.
Looking back, it was probably an eyebrow or a coincidence. It always seems odd, because it’s not like many F100s were working in intercontinental traffic in 2008. I also realized that I do not have never seen the driver. It’s not that there was no driver, but in my recollection, I see only one gloomy thing: a man driving an old truck that trampled me over 3000 km. “