Four years ago, after a Christmassy North Carolina weekend, we started home in the rain. Within miles, it turned to snow, and as the snow thickened, I urged my husband to turn back. He refused. A work crisis demanded he be present Monday morning.
My anxiety increased each time we passed sideways cars in the median. Truckers either slung blinding snow across our windshield or struggled up hills causing surrounding cars to respond haphazardly.
However, one trucker forged a reliable path. After observing his steadiness, my husband decided to follow his tracks. We passed when the trucker passed. We didn’t when he didn’t. When I asked if we were going to take an exit, my husband said, “It depends on what the trucker does.”
We lost view of the truck due to merging traffic near Richmond, Virginia. “Maybe the driver noticed a green Subaru following him and will hang back,” I suggested. My husband didn’t think so. I won.
Eventually, we exited and left our guide of over 100 miles. The next morning, I called Armellini and expressed our gratitude for the driver of truck 5716.
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