Truckin’ Luxon stepped out on to the road in his thigh-length leather boots, high-waisted leather trousers with cross-stitching, and a leather jerkin cut right around his broad shoulders. In contrast, his expression was very serious.
He approached the cab of his Kenworth T610 SAR with 600Hp and Alloy10 stud wheels, and turned to face his gang, the National Roadsters.
Truckin’ Luxon accepted the applause as his due. He was a leader of men and some women, too. He was one mean hombre who lived for the open road. He wanted all men, and some women, too, to enjoy the freedom of the open road. He was, in brief, born to be wild.
He turned to climb up to his cab.
But he was unable to lift his foot on to the step. The boots were really quite heavy and it didn’t help that his pants were so tight.
Truckin’ Luxon sat high in the cab of his Kenworth T610 SAR with its front taper-leaf suspension, and gunned the Cummins C15 Euro 5 engine.
It didn’t start.
“A little help,” he said.
The National Roadsters rushed to his aid once more and informed him that he had run out of gas.
“It’s quite expensive,” they worried.
“Filling up your truck won’t be cheap,” they fretted.
“How will we pay for it?” they stressed.
Truckin’ Luxon gave the matter some thought. He was a deep thinker. Many of the National Roadsters cherished him for his intellectual heft.
“We’ll borrow some money off of some Chinese people,” he said.
They cheered and hollered.
The National Party announced their transport policy. From left Simeon Brown, Chris Bishop, Christopher Luxon and Nicola Willis. Photo / Mike Scott
WEDNESDAY
Truckin’ Luxon gunned the Cummins C15 Euro 5 engine as he sat high in the cab of his Kenworth T610 SAR, and smelled the good, strong fumes of petroleum.
He saw the long, open road in front of him and thought of a day when there would be even more long, open roads. He imagined the thick black clouds of exhaust, and the sweat of diesel. He had visions of an entire nation driving the roads all day and all night, going places, doing things, enjoying the very thing that bonded the National Roadsters: freedom.
He was about to pull out on to the highway when a huge convoy came into view and cut him off.
He choked on their dust and could only sit and watch Genghis Seymour and his Act Crime Busters gang hog the highway.
THURSDAY
Truckin’ Luxon continued to choke on the dust of Genghis Seymour and his Act Crime Busters gang.
FRIDAY
Truckin’ Luxon got his Kenworth T610 SAR moving, finally, and led the National Roadsters down the highway.
They drove past a social wasteland. Shopfronts were smashed in. The AOS patrolled the streets. Shots rang out, and families huddled inside their homes, peering through the curtains of their dark homes. Many couldn’t afford to pay heat. Many others worried how they could afford to put food on the table.
They cheered, a little, at the sight of Truckin’ Luxon leading his National Roadsters to a brighter tomorrow. He looked very powerful in the cab of his Kenworth T610 SAR. He was going places. He was driving with confidence and purpose.
But suddenly he pulled to a stop. He had come to a roadblock. Some kind of crude yet very effective barbed wire fence had been strung up across the asphalt.
Truckin’ Luxon stared through the windscreen at the face of that noblest of all road warriors, that stubborn nemesis of democracy through the ages, and cursed the name of The Great Khan Winston.
