run run run running along the road upward and onward and the wind hitting sidewards always sidewards the truck shaking its head dazed. the road runs along, the long road runs and runs. see the road run. run road run, the wind pushing you into bends, cars dropping off at intervals, the whole thing a big worm of death, but the road runs!
but then, it’s only newcastle. no need to get carried away. it’s not like those real runs across the island that run until the bit where the earth melts and the sky seeps in. in the middle of the desert cars can rust into dream and in a second go up in flames. sydney to newcastle is like tripping on one point along the coast and landing your body’s length away. trip ping and landing. but the death is there along the way. someone mentioned it to me when we were at the festival. and i felt it on the drive acutely, with my arms braced on the wheel of the truck. petrol ran through my arms, fattened them and greased them. i felt the whole weight of the truck under them. the wheel the same width as my shoulders. when we crossed the bridge the other cars ran towards me like a snare roll, and us so large and weak. the truck was one big death machine and in my hands. i was petrified.
we could feel ourselves becoming more manly by the second. we passed places that can only be vomited out. tuggerah. berowra. the mooney mooney fuckin bridge. everything and everyone seemed to be just gaggin’ for something or other. we gave the finger to predicted north shore cocks in their silver 4wds. we lifted things and we beeped when we reversed. i finally understood what all those chauvanistic wankers were talking about. oh god we were men! men’s men, but not the kind that like other men, we were men-who-love-their-men-but-not-in-that-way.
we left no taboo undiscussed.
a: do you think that a 3 tonne truck means, 3 tonnes gross, or 3 tonnes tare? (we had become men who used terms like gross and tare now. we were that manly.) because i noticed on the back of the truck a sign saying maximum load, 500 kg.
j: shit, i dunno. but 500kg doesn’t sound much, does it, for a 3 tonne truck.
a: mmm.
j: well, i suppose these sorts of trucks are more designed for carrying big, bulky things as opposed to heavy things. i mean, we’ve only got four wheels (we actually had six) and if you look at one of those big fuckers – kachugger kachugger kachugger – they’ve got what, 16 or something.
a: yeah well, i suppose, you could probably fill this truck up with boxes of eggs or something.
j: i dunno man, eggs aren’t necessarily that light
a: maybe
j: and of course, you’ve got different weights of eggs. like, there are 600 gram dozens and 800 gram dozens…
a: mmmmmm (at this point, the two men do manly, thoughtful sums of how many 600 gram eggs would weigh 500 kilos. nearly a thousand. which doesn’t seem a great deal of eggs to these men. we who could eat twenty eggs each in a sitting)
