Malahat Drive

 

"Can you come in this afternoon to help out?" It was the dispatcher at the courier service where I had applied to be a driver.  I jumped at the chance to get my foot in the door because it would put me on the call list.  When I got there, the dispatcher told me that I would not be driving that afternoon but would be accompanying another driver on a delivery to a town a couple of hours north. The truck was already loaded, and I had not been told what mysterious cargo we had on board.  The dispatcher could have sent one of the other drivers along as a swamper, but it was only an hour until quitting time.  We would have to wait at the delivery location until we were unloaded and some items to be returned were on board.   
I was introduced to Alec, the driver I would accompany, and shook hands with him.  When he said, "Welcome to the wavy train, bud," I wasn't sure exactly what he meant.  He was wearing saggy cargo shorts, scuffed running shoes, a company polo shirt with oily marks on the front from meals eaten while driving, and a sweat-stained baseball cap worn backwards. I doubted we would have anything to talk about during the trip, but sitting there in silence for a couple of hours each way would be awkward.  As soon as our 5-ton cube van was out of sight of the warehouse, he asked, "Any objectives if I light up?"  I assumed he was talking about smoking a cigarette, though he could have been talking about turning on the headlights or dropping LSD.  I guessed he meant smoking, though I assumed smoking in company vehicles was forbidden, but what could I tell him?  I was the new guy. He rolled down his window, and I did the same.  From the corner of my eye, I saw him maneuver a cigarette out of his packet, fish a lighter out of the deep pocket of his cargo shorts, and with its click, the sweet skunky smell of cannabis drifted through the cab.  "Wanna get lit, pilgrim?" he asked.
"No thanks," I said.  Though I was acquainted with cannabis, I wasn't sure smoking while driving was the best idea.  "You go ahead."  I wanted to let him know I wasn't wild about the idea, but as a newbie, it was not my place to criticize him. 
As always, the traffic was barely moving on the highway out of the city. He puffed away in peace as we stopped and started like we were shuffling forward in a queue at a restaurant that an influencer had praised.
"What's your autobiography?" Alec asked as he blew a billowing cloud out his window.
"There's not much to tell," I said.  "I moved here a couple of years ago from a place in the interior where I was born."
    "Like, what's your occupulipation, bud?" he asked.
"I used to work in a hotel," I said.  
"The hospital industry," he said.
"Hospitality," I said.  "Hospitals are different things."
"Ooh.  My bad," he said.  "I didn't know you people were so touching."
"What people?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"You ineffectuals.  People with a stink under their noses."
"That's not me," I said.  "I'm just a regular guy."
"You sound pretty educamated to me," he said.
The traffic thinned out as we got past the last of the suburbs, and we were soon on the Malahat proper where the highway was squeezed between blasted rock cliffs and a salt-water inlet.  The road followed the contours of the precipitous rock faces, but Alec drove through the curves as if we were on a straight highway.  The cube van leaned this way and that, barely holding its traction as we cut the corners.   I hoped that whatever we had in the back of the truck was well secured because if it came loose, its weight would pitch us either into the rocks or into the ocean.  As we climbed up an unexpected straight stretch with a passing lane, the truck slowed under its load, and Alec butted out his joint in the ashtray.  I doubted it would stay there, as his boss wouldn't be happy if another driver came to him with the evidence.  When the smoke from the ashtray stopped, Alec picked up the roach between his thumb and index finger and squeezed it to make sure it was out before throwing it out the window.  Though it could start a fire in the roadside weeds, most of them at that time of year were still green. 
We climbed higher as the road twisted and curved, until we were high above the inlet with views across to a set of islands. 
"You get a great paranormal from up here," Alec said.  "All the way over to the mainline."
I wished he'd pay more attention to the road instead of pointing out the view, as he hung to the middle of the four-lane road, making it dangerous for anyone trying to pass us.  When he cut the last major curve on the Malahat at Split Rock, I could see the drivers in the opposite direction cringing and moving over to the curb lane.  After that, we were mercifully over the Malahat and on a long downslope, where passing was forbidden.  After muttering about "the fuzz" and checking his mirrors for perhaps the first time, he pulled out into the oncoming passing lane to overtake a transport truck that was taking the long hill slowly by gearing down to save his brakes.  "I don't plan to eat that guy's emulsions all the way to the bottom," he said, though I had noticed when I glanced up at the truck as we passed, that the driver was a woman.
With the Malahat behind us, we were onto a regular four-lane highway.  Alec relaxed enough in my company to tell me that he had at least three girlfriends in various cities, all of whom had at least one of his children.  He was driving well over the speed limit, but cursed every time someone tried to pass him, so he would speed up until they dropped back.  Having fought this battle for an hour, he pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of the next large town to buy another package of cigarettes, as he only had one left in the package where he had stored his joint.  He lit the last cigarette while standing beside the gas pumps, threw the package toward the slot for used paper towels but missed.  As he climbed back into the cab of the truck, the lit cigarette hung from his bottom lip as he maneuvered us onto the city bypass.  The traffic was heavier on this section, and he didn't say much except to swear at the other drivers.  "You get your license from a box of Corn Dogs?" and "Did Helen Stellar teach you to drive?"  I was grateful for his concentration. 
Arriving at our destination, I discovered that our delivery address was a bank.  It was closed for the evening, but Alec knocked on the window to tell one of the technicians working inside that we had arrived.  Through the locked door, the technician shouted that he would call a forklift to take the cargo from our tailgate to the bank entrance.  We had to park the truck some distance away so there would be enough room for a forklift to work behind us.  I could see now why I had been brought along as a swamper.  Once one of the heavy crates was on a pallet jack, it still needed four strong arms to muscle it to the tailgate for unloading.  We sat beside the crate while Alec lit his next cigarette because whatever we had moved couldn't be left unattended.  "I'd like to see some idiot try to run away with this thing," Alec said. "He'd rupture his appendicles."  Once the forklift driver took the first crate away, he brought back a smaller box, but Alec told him to leave it on the pavement until he had unloaded the other three crates we had onboard.  This made sense, as the returns would clutter up the box of the truck so we wouldn't have room to get the new ones off.  "Shit for brains," Alec said when the forklift had left with the second crate.  "It was probably one of those technical flunkies' idea.  They wouldn't know a plan if it was painted purple."
Alec smoked half his package of cigarettes between loading and unloading, and having strapped down our return load, we were able to leave while it was still daylight on that early summer evening.  Considering the way he drove on the way up, I was happy we were on our way home, though I suspected he would be in even more of a hurry to return to the city.  
My suspicions were confirmed when he drove well over the speed limit, passing everything in sight, and blowing through any amber traffic lights in our way.  I checked my seatbelt several times but tried to relax and engage him in conversation to distract him from his headlong trajectory.  I wanted to get home as well, but in one piece, not crushed under the weight of our truck up against a rock wall.
"You scared?" he asked, probably noting my attempt at deep breathing and my grip on the armrest.  "You should see me when I get my motor turned up."
I silently wished he had another joint in his cigarette package, but he had thrown that out long ago.  The cannabis might lighten his foot on the accelerator even though he would still cross the centre lines. It was a relief when we slowed down to the speed limit so he could pull into a gas station.
"I need some chocolate," he said.  "Them scientists say it's full of antitoxins.  Might stop me from getting so drunk later.  I need a sugar rush anyway."
It was doubtful he needed a rush of any sort as his natural state seemed to involve chasing adrenaline.  I hoped he'd limit himself to one bar of chocolate.  While in the gas station store, I bought a chocolate bar myself, and while I was doing that, Alec stood behind me and said, "Why don't you buy one of those lotteries?"  I never bought lottery tickets, believing I had a better chance of being struck by lightning.  "I'll pay for it," he said.  "No play no win, and if you win you'll give me half.  Share and share lightly as they say."
 While the clerk was explaining to me what the different types of tickets were and how many numbers I could choose, Alec wandered up and down the short aisles checking out the merchandise.  True to his word, he paid for the ticket when I was done.  When we were back in the cab of the truck, he lifted his polo shirt and pulled a large flat box out of the waistband of his shorts.
"Always wanted one of these beggars," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
He looked at me like I had teleported in from a past century.  "It's a four-channel dashcam," he said.  "If that airhead in there had eyes, he might have seen I had a square-headed baby in the furnace.  Serves them right for leaving it on the shelf."  
Instead of inspecting the theft he was so proud of, my eyes were on the gas station window and the faint image of the clerk, who didn't appear to make any moves to the front door or the telephone.  
"This thing is going to organize anyone that gets half a mile from me," he said.
The dashcam sat on the seat between us as he went through the gears to get up to his desired speed.  I didn't want to touch the shrink-wrapped box and get my fingerprints all over it.  As Alec put the gas pedal to the floor, the truck vibrated as we approached the big hill at the start of the Malahat.  Our momentum only took us halfway before our weight slowed us down and Alec had to change gears.  He gave a big sigh when this happened, like he had been defeated by the forces of nature he was so desperate to control.  
"Goddam piece of crap," he said, and every time a car passed us, he banged the heel of his hand on the steering wheel like it was a personal defeat.  Once we were over the summit and he again pointed out the view, he took advantage of the downhill slope to increase his speed, paying no attention to the curves, and braking only if we were about to climb up the back of a slower car.  "Goddam Sunday drives," he said when he passed each one in a spot where passing wasn't allowed.  To me, these were foolish moves, not only because they were dangerous, but because the doors of our truck and the sides of the cargo box were emblazoned with the orange logo of our company.  Somebody was bound to call the office and to complain about us.  I wasn't driving, but I still might get in trouble for not being able to control my colleague. 
We were nearing the end of the Malahat, still leaning to the side as we sped around the rocky bends, when there was a sound of a siren behind us. "Goddam Mounties," he said, and sped up.
"They might not be after us," I said, "Maybe they're just trying to get by."
He laughed.  "You're so navytee, bud," he said.  "It's me they want."
"Maybe you should slow down and find out.  If you let them by, they might not nab you for speeding."
We left the Malahat proper and were approaching the outskirts of the city where we started, when we came to a traffic light with cars stopped at a red signal.  Surely the police would catch up to us there. 
"That damn gas station guy probably squeezed on me," Alec said, "but I'm not surfendering my feckin' dashcam. "
The traffic light turned green, and by then the police car was beside us and about to overtake.  "Maybe you should pull over and let them pass," I said.
"Pass my ass," he said, and instead of slowing down, he moved to the paved shoulder.  
"They're going by us," I said as the police car shot through the intersection ahead of the line of cars. "They've gone on ahead." 
"That's what they want us to think."  He spat out the words like an angry man bracing himself for an assault. 
"They're gone.  They're gone!" I said.
Suddenly we swerved sharply to exit the main highway onto a side road, and our cube van struggled to keep all four wheels on the ground.  Alec tried to correct it and get us straight on the road, but he overcorrected.  We went over slowly, though we were still hurtling forward, and as we did, I heard Alec say, "Jesus, Joseph, and Madonna."  With a thud and squealing screech that was like the agonizing death throes of a huge wounded animal, we were on our side, sliding down the road.  Held in place by my seatbelt, I watched with detachment as the pebbled asphalt sped past my shattered window.  Alec was laughing.  As the scraping sound lessened and our trajectory slowed, I heard the police siren again.  We had barely stopped moving when Alec stepped on my hip to boost himself out of his window.  Somehow in the speed and tumble of pens, clipboards, radios, and ball caps, Alec had snatched up his stolen dashcam and jumped onto the road.  Through the sideways windshield, he waved at me as if we were parting like old friends, then sprinted down the road, a policeman running after him on foot.  As I hung sideways from my seatbelt, I wondered if the accident would be the end of my driving career before I even started.  He'd probably be fired, and a regular van driver would move up the ladder to take his place.  Maybe I had a chance for a job, though I was sure to start as a witness in court.