I had my young grandson Errol with me yelling out instructions: “Put your foot down!” “Give me the wheel, Poppy!” “Watch out for that bike!”
But I didn’t care — I was going for it.
I was King of the Road as I thundered past Red Rooster, growling to a halt at the Shepparton Showgrounds traffic lights, my seat throbbing with the power of 500 horses underneath me.
I’d never driven a big rig before and I must admit, the experience was quite exhilarating. Waiting at lights you can see over the roofs of cars around you, and it was wonderful to look down on the short fat shopping SUVs and tough-guy utes.
I felt like yelling at them to get out of my way — I’m pulling an urgent delivery of toilet paper here as an Omicron lockdown bears down on us. But I didn’t.
With great power comes great responsibility, and big rig drivers are not politicians — they remain accountable for every turn of the wheel.
I was amazed at the narrowness of the traffic lanes. How is this 90-tonne rig, wide enough to sleep in, fit in the same space as a Toyota Yaris?
Einstein said massive objects caused a distortion in space-time, and here was the proof.
As we rumbled past Shepparton’s refurbished Maude St Mall, Errol grew more vocal in the passenger seat and demanded the wheel. I told him to wait until the Wyndham St lights approached and then we’d swap.
When his chance came, the little Lindsay went bananas. He bounced up and down in the seat, eyes like shiny bullets fixed dead ahead, pulling at the wheel and yelling, “Awesome!”
His seven-year-old legs couldn’t reach the floor, but it didn’t matter. Bendigo, Mildura, Port Augusta, the Nullarbor, Eucla, Perth and possibly Broome — here we come.
However, when we rumbled through Mooroopna and turned sharply left down Toolamba Rd to Murchison, his face dropped.
“Hey Poppy — this truck drives itself,” he said, letting go of the wheel.
I told him not to be ridiculous, they haven’t invented driver-less trucks yet. But he insisted, and as I took the wheel back — I realised he was right.
The whole driving experience was filmed, and we were in a pre-determined virtual reality where nothing we did ever mattered and the big truck pulling the toilet-paper hopes of millions would trundle on regardless.
It was a lesson for both of us. The road ahead is a lot more exciting when you decide the journey.
The rest of our visit to the Museum of Vehicle Evolution was just as educational, particularly the Harley, just like Poppy had, and the clanking Furphy forge with glowing coals.
But those are other stories.
John Lewis is a journalist at The News.
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