Running late at night through small rural towns I often have the feeling that I am the only one awake in the whole world. Things appear different from high in the cab of a truck. The trees along the road make a tunnel through which your headlights illuminate a semi-circle of green. The limbs across the road are so close that at times I can reach out and touch them. Mailboxes seem to rise up from the ground as my lights pick them up. The dashlights glow softly in the dark and the dials are constantly keeping me informed that all is well with "my horse." The easy snick-snick of the stick as I change gears and the sound of the tires singing in the cool night air, all combine to make my truck seem like a living thing that is keeping me safe and protected in its shell. Oncoming trucks blink their lights in a friendly hello as we pass in the night, or maybe flash them to warn me about the local cop in the next town who may be still awake trying to make another fine before he turns in. Another truck overtaking me comes around and I see the same soft glowing lights in his cab as he lifts his hand from the wheel to wave. I signal him in and he fades off into the darkness leaving me alone with my thoughts again. There is a soft glow in the East and then the rising sun comes up on a new world for I am four hundred miles from last night. These are the hours that compensate for the rest of it and for me they are the best part of trucking. Although the hours are long and hard and the amount of money earned is often less after expenses than in other skilled trades, most truckers will not trade places with anyone.