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  • The one and only time I ever drove a truck, a real 18-wheeler, was when I lived abroad. For some unjustifiable reason this seemed like a sane thing to do, though I had no experience whatsoever in this sort of thing. I first took the truck on a closed course, which was a good idea since braking completely eluded me at the start. After I found my legs, so to speak, I was ready to venture on actual roads, but only the side streets and only those with low traffic. I loved the feeling of sitting high above the ground, bouncing on my seat and grinding the unwieldy gear shift, though my legs had to reach very far to even touch the foot pedals. And since the language of this country was still foreign to me, I simply ignored all the incomprehensible traffic signs. But the magic of pulling such a heavy weight was thrilling. A pure rush of excitement; in equal parts danger, power and strength.
    But why did I even attempt any of this? Quite simple, really. I was taken on a truck-driving date. Is there anyone who wouldn't find steering an 18-wheeler in a foreign country romantic?
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