Tree TrunkThe aardvark nosed right and rolled sedately down the off-ramp like the lady she was, with me hoping the county-mountie in the blue wrapper who’d been tailgating my ass for the last ten miles stuck to his own business on the big road. He did. With a sigh of relief, I drew my black Peterbuilt to a halt in the parking lot outside Tia Maria’s Restaurant at Chesty Westey’s Truck Stop on the Continental Divide just off I-40 in western New Mexico.
My driving was legal, my licenses and insurance current, and I’d stuck to the slow lane since climbing Nine Mile Hill up out of Albuquerque on the long grind to the Continental Divide. I just wasn’t in the mood to be hassled over an imaginary infraction so some bored cop could inspect my logbook.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m as legit as rig jock
