his way to help anyone. Izzy had known Dave her whole life and he always had time for her. He talked to her, not down at her. She used to mix with his two girls, Daisy and Bridgette, until they went on to uni. Now Daisy was training to be a nurse and Bridgette was out teaching at some remote school.
‘Sure am. Neville Lane has just had a breakdown with his truck and it won’t be fixed till tomorrow. I’m like a dog with a cracker up its arse trying to keep up with the extra work. What pisses me off is that I’ve a truck sitting at home that could be doing something,’ he said, his face contorted with stress.
Izzy brought her hand up to her chin and rubbed it. ‘Well, I have my truck licence. If you’re desperate, I could drive for you today if it’d help. I have plenty of experience.’
Hope flashed across Dave’s face. ‘For real?’
Izzy shrugged. ‘Why not? Dad won’t even know I’m gone. It’d be great to be doing something besides sitting on my arse all day.’
‘That sure would help me out of a jam. It’s only Neville who will have loads for you. You remember the blue Dodge I’ve got?’
Izzy smiled and nodded. Sometimes Dave brought the truck out on weekends to make extra storage space, so they could keep harvesting.
‘You think you could handle it?’
‘Yep. No problems.’ She struggled to contain her excitement. Not many people would get excited about having to drive an old truck in this heat, she guessed.
‘Great! I’ll drop you off and get you sorted out before I take this lot into the bin.’ They both nodded in agreement before Dave climbed onto the semitrailer to check the level.
Later that morning the old blue Dodge spewed out black smoke as Izzy clunked it into an idle. After waving his finger and giving her a couple of tips, Dave headed off in his truck to unload. Izzy left Dave’s yard and headed south towards Neville’s place. The truck rocked along the flat road. It took a few minutes of grating a couple of gears before she got the hang of the difficult gearbox. But soon she relaxed, stuck her elbow out the window and watched the golden crops spread out in the paddocks either side of her, all the way to the horizon, in between a smattering of mallee trees and towering gums. Every now and then, she passed a bare dry paddock that had been left out of the crop-rotation plan and sheep would be visible, usually gathered together under the only bit of scrub bush or gum tree they could find.
Nev was working in his top paddock and, as per Dave’s directions, Izzy turned off the gravel road and headed into the bottom corner of the paddock. She bounced in her seat, dust exploding around her as the truck bobbed along the rough plough marks.
With the truck lined up under the field bin, Izzy got out and cranked up the auger. It didn’t take long to fill up the trailer, all sixteen tonnes. Goose, Neville’s son, had pulled up in their green JD header and unloaded his boxful into the semitrailer as well. Goose was about twenty-eight and well-rounded. Plenty of beer had helped fill out his middle and his neck was solid like a rugby player’s. He was heading down the right track to look just like Neville. But what they lacked in the looks department they made up for in character, as never could two funnier blokes be found.
Izzy shut down the tractor and gave Goose a wave, before climbing back into the cab and sliding it into gear. She was tempted to pick up the two-way and say g’day but she couldn’t remember their channel number. The truck lurched slowly over the ruts in the paddock, throwing Izzy about before she eased on the brakes near the gate. Quickly, she got out, rolled on the tarp over the wheat that had settled into the trailer and headed back onto the main road.
Five minutes later the truck roared its way around the receival bin at Pingaring and pulled up next to the sampling platform. Izzy jumped out of the cab and tugged her denim shorts down – the jerking of the
‘Sure am. Neville Lane has just had a breakdown with his truck and it won’t be fixed till tomorrow. I’m like a dog with a cracker up its arse trying to keep up with the extra work. What pisses me off is that I’ve a truck sitting at home that could be doing something,’ he said, his face contorted with stress.
Izzy brought her hand up to her chin and rubbed it. ‘Well, I have my truck licence. If you’re desperate, I could drive for you today if it’d help. I have plenty of experience.’
Hope flashed across Dave’s face. ‘For real?’
Izzy shrugged. ‘Why not? Dad won’t even know I’m gone. It’d be great to be doing something besides sitting on my arse all day.’
‘That sure would help me out of a jam. It’s only Neville who will have loads for you. You remember the blue Dodge I’ve got?’
Izzy smiled and nodded. Sometimes Dave brought the truck out on weekends to make extra storage space, so they could keep harvesting.
‘You think you could handle it?’
‘Yep. No problems.’ She struggled to contain her excitement. Not many people would get excited about having to drive an old truck in this heat, she guessed.
‘Great! I’ll drop you off and get you sorted out before I take this lot into the bin.’ They both nodded in agreement before Dave climbed onto the semitrailer to check the level.
Later that morning the old blue Dodge spewed out black smoke as Izzy clunked it into an idle. After waving his finger and giving her a couple of tips, Dave headed off in his truck to unload. Izzy left Dave’s yard and headed south towards Neville’s place. The truck rocked along the flat road. It took a few minutes of grating a couple of gears before she got the hang of the difficult gearbox. But soon she relaxed, stuck her elbow out the window and watched the golden crops spread out in the paddocks either side of her, all the way to the horizon, in between a smattering of mallee trees and towering gums. Every now and then, she passed a bare dry paddock that had been left out of the crop-rotation plan and sheep would be visible, usually gathered together under the only bit of scrub bush or gum tree they could find.
Nev was working in his top paddock and, as per Dave’s directions, Izzy turned off the gravel road and headed into the bottom corner of the paddock. She bounced in her seat, dust exploding around her as the truck bobbed along the rough plough marks.
With the truck lined up under the field bin, Izzy got out and cranked up the auger. It didn’t take long to fill up the trailer, all sixteen tonnes. Goose, Neville’s son, had pulled up in their green JD header and unloaded his boxful into the semitrailer as well. Goose was about twenty-eight and well-rounded. Plenty of beer had helped fill out his middle and his neck was solid like a rugby player’s. He was heading down the right track to look just like Neville. But what they lacked in the looks department they made up for in character, as never could two funnier blokes be found.
Izzy shut down the tractor and gave Goose a wave, before climbing back into the cab and sliding it into gear. She was tempted to pick up the two-way and say g’day but she couldn’t remember their channel number. The truck lurched slowly over the ruts in the paddock, throwing Izzy about before she eased on the brakes near the gate. Quickly, she got out, rolled on the tarp over the wheat that had settled into the trailer and headed back onto the main road.
Five minutes later the truck roared its way around the receival bin at Pingaring and pulled up next to the sampling platform. Izzy jumped out of the cab and tugged her denim shorts down – the jerking of the
Similar Books
