Val Thevictorian and the Mystery of the Big Honkin' Truck

Another mystery to solve. Because The Unexplained so often intrudes on Val's everyday life.

Today we tackle the Mystery of the Big Honkin' Truck. Thankfully, it did not ram into the front of my home and obliterate my internet connection. No, we're talking about a literal Big Honkin' Truck.

The Pony and I were on our way to town. The reason does not matter, though it might rhyme with poorty-poor pounce buy-it broke. Just at the city limits, a large semi truck crested the hill. That does not mean it was half a truck. As my mom would say, "It was a tractor trailer truck." The driver honked his semi truck horn. Those things ain't dainty. No new-born kitten mewling there. More like a gosh-darn foghorn. I was a bit surprised. I was on my side of the road. Completely. The lines were just painted last week. It's easy to stay on your half. Trucker was on his half, too. It was not a matter of him being behind the wheel of an out-of-control eleventy-ton rolling missile. I looked in my side mirror after he passed. His brake lights were on. So much for the no brakes scenario.

My thoughts jumped to other reasons a driver might honk. There was no livestock on the roadway. Not even a dead armadillo. The latest one is in the middle of town now, across from the funeral home, just before you get to the license office where they made me look like a roasted-pumpkin-headed Sta Puft Marshmallow woman, which is just before the curve that takes you to the dead-mouse-smelling post office.

I did not see Trucker waving. Not that I have close trucker friends who regularly drive the blacktop county roads of Missouri. Don't go jumping to conclusions. He was not a personal friend, nor business associate. I did not have a sign on T-Hoe prompting, "Honk if you love Diet Coke." Perhaps there was a police cruiser speed-trapping just over the crest of that hill, mere feet inside the city limits. I made sure to drop from 45 to 30 as I passed the sign. No police.

"Maybe we have a cat on top of our car!" Several times I've made it to the end of our driveway, only to have our orange tabby scamper down the windshield, over the hood and off the bumper into the grass. The Pony's answer was to pound the car ceiling with both palms. While I was rolling at 30 mph.

"No. No cats."

There were no wrecks. No pulled-over scofflaws receiving their just dessert tickets. The traffic signals were working. No overturned hogs or dishwashing liquid or beer flowing down the thoroughfare. No cars or humans dangling from the overpass. No UFOs hovering over the metropolis. I was at a loss.

After accomplishing our town mission, The Pony and I headed for home. We came up that blind hill at the edge of the city limits, just like Trucker. AND I KNEW THE REASON FOR THE HONKIN' OF THE BIG TRUCK.

You can't see over the hill crest. It's kind of like you're launching yourself into space. As soon as you go over the roller-coaster summit of no return, a street branches off both sides of the road. Trucker was honkin' to warn any pulling-out vehicles that he was about to pulverize them. Though how it would have helped them I don't know. Unless they were still contemplating pulling out onto the main road.

I'm a freakin' genius when big honkin' trucks are the mystery.