Open Highways, Empty Checkbooks

"When am I gonna go home?"

"If you hush I'll tell you."

Blaine and Aquilina are ready to hit the open roads. But when Blaine checks in again -- it's now 11:15 -- there's bad news.

"Now they're telling me nobody knows nothing about this damn load," Blaine says. "They don't even know there was one."

They sit in silence in the truck. At 12:40, there's another job. It means driving to Staten Island. Blaine rejects it. He doesn't want to sit for hours on the George Washington Bridge, burning gas, for such a short trip. He'd lose money, he says.

They return to the Buckhorn for lunch.

Blaine's back in the truck at 3:05 p.m., checking his e-mail.

Nothing.

Blaine talks about his home, a trailer in Ethel, Miss. He has five children, all grown. One just returned from Iraq. He's going back again soon. Volunteered for more. Blaine has had two marriages but trucking and marriage didn't mix in the end, he admits.

"The public isn't aware of what we face, of what we go through," he says. "We have the same problems out here that you have at home, only we can't deal with ours till we get home."

He gets home about once every six months.

Blaine's much-anticipated call finally comes on Saturday night -- after a 48-hour wait. He's bound for Minneapolis.

"I'm happy now," he says. What comes after Minneapolis?

"I can't think about that now," he says. "I'm on the road. That's all I'm thinking about right now."