The truck passed by going roughly 120, after my merge onto the highway. Just last week, there’d been a tank going the opposite way, driving itself, a tank, on the road.
On the truck was a bunch of green, and black text. A jeep and an armoured vehicle were strapped to the flatbed. It was just before three, and it’s almost an hour drive home. It was easy to hang behind the truck and keep an eye on it, for kicks. Could someone get in trouble for following a military truck to see where it went? Maybe. It wasn’t impossible. Driving a somewhat creepy van certainly wouldn’t help my case.
The truck merged into the passing lane to avoid slow cars, which seemed to imply that someone paying attention was driving the truck. The truck seemed to switch lanes when I did. Or maybe I just switched when it did. Halfway through the drive a cop SUV passed by with its lights on. Waiting under a bridge, there was another police car. Another truck passed on the opposite side, with a drab green cab—a quick glimpse of the same black Canadian flag that was on the first truck.
Where was it going?
The first truck continued on, at a steady pace, a very-easy-to-follow pace. It was headed in the direction of the nearest military base, CFB, Canadian Forces Base. Which made sense. Where had it come from in the city? The barracks, most likely, but who knows?
The jeep’s tires (the one strapped to the flatbed) were dirty. That jeep might be in another country someday. By the time my exit came, the fun from following the army truck had worn off, and the rain was stopping. I turned off the wipers and drove over a bridge under construction, watching the army equipment be pulled away.
The inside of the van felt too quiet, so I flipped between channels on the radio, looking for something to listen to.