I’d waved frantically, pointing. Hoping he’d realise what I was desperately trying to indicate. In just seconds. An escape lane. Just around the corner. A remarkable piece of driving, struggling with the last vestiges of control. The wheels on one side momentarily leaving the tarmac as he’d rounded the bend. Somehow managing to sound the horn. Continuously. Warning others.
He made it. Had the presence of mind to cut his engine as he ploughed into the deep gravel. Emerged dazed, shaken, but otherwise fine. His load, now strewn around the lorry? Shale. Very stuff that had saved him.
By the time I reached Shangzhou that evening I needed a coffee. Another prosperous provincial town. A familiar Western fast food outlet. Felt certain the Colonel wouldn’t disappoint. Picture menu to help. Came in a small tub. Espresso I thought. No. Mashed potato. I hoped the lorry driver I’d met earlier in the day was faring better. He definitely needed a drink. A stronger tipple than mine.
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