Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Blog

He's not downshifting.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

I went out for a run this evening. I was looking forward to a run down the gravel road; I haven't been home for about a month, and while I've really enjoyed my runs in Bismarck, the gravel road is nice. I had on my leggings (no shorts, for it is cooler up here than it is down in Bismarck), and my super-huge KFGO T-shirt that Jack Sunday gave me this summer when I visited him at the KFGO studio in Fargo.

I started off at a brisk but steady pace. I knew I could keep this up for a mile or so, easily. I got to the point of the road where water on each side has required the road to be built up over the years, meaning that there is room for one vehicle and that's it. The shoulder of the road is too soft and you have to stay away from the edge or you'll end up in the water. It was then that I heard the sound of a grain truck behind me.

This is harvest time and today was a big day for it: dry, still, the air heavy and thick with grain dust.

I turned and looked over my shoulder, seeing a grain truck turning out of the yard, fresh from dumping a load of grain in a bin. I picked up my speed just a little bit, since there wasn't going to be room for both of us on this part of the road. I was aiming for an approach at the top of the hill where I could step off of the road and allow the truck to pass.

I assumed it was my dad or brother or someone from our crew, and figured they'd slow down and give me a chance to get past the narrow part of the road.

Then I heard the truck get louder.

He's not downshifting, I thought, but picking up speed. Dang.

I picked up speed, too, up-shifting to high gear up the hill.

The truck grew louder and gained.

Crap! I started running harder, and then dashed across the road to the approach, bent over and gasping for breath.

Panting for breath, I looked up as the truck passed. There waved a neighbor, huge smile on his face, chuckling at my predicament. I had to laugh, too. It had to have been quite a sight, me sprinting up the hill to beat out a grain truck.

It kind of reminded me of a movie I'd seen, one of Spielberg's early films in which a maniacal truck driver terrorizes a guy in a car. The whole movie is, essentially, the truck pursuing the guy in the car.

Needless to say, the rest of the run was much milder, and my steady speed was shot. I'd used up all my reserve. But, it was a good night for running. Minus all the bugs I ended up swallowing, of course. No wind, lots of bugs. That's how it goes on these still, late summer nights.