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A woman in her thirties with a sleek dark ponytail, in a tan canvas jacket and work gloves, pulling a strap tight over a tarp on a loaded pickup bed in a driveway at night under the porch light

The Load Goes In the Night Before

Before a long trip across the West, the loading is done in the dark of the driveway, and the strap is what the whole run depends on.

The load goes in the night before the trip, in the dark of the driveway, with the porch light on, the air already cold and dry off the high desert. Whoever drives this route loads alone, working from the cab end out, with the tailgate down, the bed swept, and the dogs watching from the fence.

The bed

The bed is swept first. The last run left fine gray dust in the corners, the kind that gets into everything, and a few pebbles rattling in the wheel wells. A stiff broom goes over the floor and the sides, and the pebbles are picked out by hand; the dust hangs a moment in the porch light. A tarp is laid over the bare metal, one piece, spread into the corners and lapped halfway up the walls, so nothing in the load touches the bed. The tailgate stays down. Loading begins at the front, against the cab.

the pickup bed loaded at night under the porch light, duffels

The first layers

The heavy things go in first, lined up over the axle: the steel toolbox, the water jug, the jack, the case of oil. Each one is lifted in and set down, not dropped — the first hours settle a load that was heaved in. The toolbox is pushed to the front wall and stays there; it weighs more than it looks, and it is not moving again until the trip is over. The water jug is braced against the cab wall, with the toolbox on one side and the jack on the other, so it cannot roll at the first corner. When the first layers are in, the load is level from side to side, with nothing standing higher than the rails.

The reachables

The things a person wants before morning go in last, at the tailgate end. The duffel with the toothbrush and a clean shirt. The cooler with the sandwiches, packed level and closed, and the bag of road food — jerky, hard candy — set on top of it. The thermos of coffee, filled before bed, wedged where it cannot tip. The blanket for the passenger seat, folded across the duffel. Nothing that gets needed at two in the morning is buried under the tent. When the tailgate drops at a pullout, the duffel comes out first and the cooler second, and the rest of the load stays wrapped.

sitting on the porch steps afterward in profile facing right, the canvas jacket on

The top

What rides on top is what can stand the weather: the tent, rolled and dry; the camp chairs; the sleeping bags in a waterproof sack; the firewood in a feed sack. The tent is unrolled on the tailgate and checked for damp before it goes up; a tent packed damp under a tarp is a damp tent for the whole trip. These are lifted up one at a time and spread level across the first layers, so no corner of the bed carries more than the others. The tarp goes over them, pulled from the middle out, with the wrinkles worked flat under the hands. The sides are folded under at the rails, and the front edge is tucked against the cab. When the tarp is down, the load has one smooth surface, and the wind across the flats has nothing to catch.

The strap

The strap is what holds the shape. It runs across the tarp at the highest point, hooks to the tiedowns on both rails, and is pulled tight a click at a time until the tarp dimples around the webbing. The driver pulls it once more, then pushes down on the load at the corner with both hands. If anything moves, the strap is pulled again. When it is right, the load does not move under the push, and the buckle is set hard against the tarp, with the loose end tucked through so it cannot whip on the highway.

the next morning at first light, standing by the driver's door of the loaded pickup on an empty country road

The walk around

Before bed, the driver walks the truck once around in the dark, the same way every time. A hand runs over each tire, feeling for one that is soft or hot. The headlights are flashed against the house wall, then the high beams, then the turn signals, once each. The hitch is taken by the neck and shaken. The windshield and mirrors are wiped clean of the day's dust with the sleeve of the jacket. The straps are touched at both ends, where they hook to the rails. The tailgate is pushed, hard, to feel it catch. Then the driver stands behind the truck at the middle of the tailgate and looks down the length of the bed.

The night

The porch light goes off. The cold comes down off the high desert and settles over the driveway. The load sits square in the bed, under the strap, with the tailgate shut hard against it.

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