Excerpt from Fred Afflerbach's novel, Roll On, published in 2011 by Academy Chicago Publishers.
We weaved through the South Dakota Black Hills inside a thirty-four ton tractor-trailer with an eight-track emitting Duke Ellington standards. We rode up and down with the tempo, pulling, pulling the grade; then at the top, working the stick shift in unison with the jazz piano . . ., he grabs the right gear, one out of thirteen, without using the clutch, and you feel and hear the engine purr as the rpms drop. . . . One night the gallant trucker slept in the half-empty trailer and surrendered to us his bunk. That's how we discovered his nighttime reading--poetry. He keeps an anthology of Whitman, Dickinson, and Frost, wrapped in brown paper, tucked into the corner of his sleeper.
. . . Before this trip, we believed truckers drove in long convoys town-to-town with their buddies, leering down from their cabs at women with low tops and high skirts. We thought they all had chrome silhouettes of naked ladies on their mud flaps. Before this trip, when we thought of truckers, we thought of potholes and potbellies.
Instead, we found a Renaissance man, someone who can shepherd a tractor-trailer rig across the continent, but also enjoys poetry and jazz. Now that's the spirit of the rugged American individual.