By MONTE DUTTON

“Six Days on the Road (and I’m A-Gonna Make It Home Tonight)” was written by Earl Green and Carl Montgomery. It’s my favorite trucker song. I don’t have a lot. A man who drives pickups doesn’t count as a trucker. I was, however, on the road for six days. I have neither 10 forward gears nor a Georgia overdrive.

It turns out a Georgia overdrive is a term for shifting into neutral and coasting downhill.

I got home Tuesday from three nights in Johnson City, Tenn., and three in Asheville, N.C. I watched Presbyterian College predictably lose a women’s basketball game on Wednesday, then watched Furman University win a women’s basketball game Thursday, and PC pull an overtime men’s upset Friday, and Furman win three straight on Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

I also watched other basketball games in which I had less interest. I didn’t get back home until about 2:30 p.m. because I drove straight from Asheville to Joanna for a monthly good time.

Then I hit a wall. I was useless. It finally occurred to me to have a cup of coffee when I mustered enough energy to brew one. I still haven’t found everything I brought home. I think it will all show up, by and by. It usually does. I think I saw most of it, but I don’t remember where.

Was it worth it? Oh, yes. I’m just out of practice traveling. I was adept for many years. After every night of the Ingles SoCon Championship, my aforementioned truck wanted to send me back to Johnson City. As I drove around and around the parking garage adjacent to Harrah’s Cherokee Center, every time there was an opening in the concrete, the GPS said, “Take the next right.” Downtown Asheville has complicated roads. To get to I-40 West, one has to take I-240 East. Each night a trip of about five miles took me at least 10.

I apparently left a book I was really enjoying at Logan’s Roadhouse in Johnson City. It may, however, turn up. I was almost through it. I may have to download it on my cell.

One problem was that I couldn’t sleep. I was obsessed with the possibility of a Furman championship. I dreamed about what I was going to write when I awakened. On Monday morning at 7, I decided to eat breakfast at the nearby Waffle House. Afterward, I went back to the room and sang old country songs and plunked my guitar for about a half hour. My voice was dragging. I decided to take a nap.

My cell went off. I was an 864 number, so I answered it. I was disoriented.

“Hello.”

“This is Brad. I’m three doors down.”

My first thought was how could someone be irritated by me playing music in the middle of the day? I could see 4 in the morning. Never mind that it was unlikely anyone else in the motel knew my cell number.

“I’m doing some home repair and noticed yours needed some work.”

“You’re right. I sold my property, and my house was bulldozed two weeks ago.”

Click.

As I tried in vain to go back to sleep, I thought how, in this age of information, people are communicating less and less. I don’t answer most calls I don’t recognize. If I call someone who doesn’t answer, it’s likely that “the mailbox is full.” Sometimes, when I send an email, later the recipient tells me “Oh, I never check my email.”

I hate texting. It’s so abrupt and compact that I often take it the wrong way, and vice-versa.

Conversations I like. It’s a dying form of communication. I had a long conversation with a close friend Tuesday night. It was much more stimulating than “How ‘bout them Paladins!!!”

Furman mowed down Samford, UNC Greensboro and East Tennessee State. It was exhilarating. On the floor, confetti was flying, grown men and women were crying tears of joy. I saw a few people I haven’t seen since college, and that was a long time ago.

On the way to Joanna, I started thinking about taking my camper-trailer on its first road trip to see the Paladins play in the NCAAs. The site and opponent won’t be known until Sunday. Furman can’t play in Greenville because it’s the host. I’m not driving to Portland, Ore., or San Diego, Calif. Oklahoma City is a long shot. Saint Louis? Tampa? I should have more sense, but perhaps do not. Wonder how much gasoline is going to cost in two weeks?

It’s a dream, but I’ve been dreaming a lot. I’m wondering how much adventure I can take.

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It means a lot to me that you enjoy what I write.

Most of my books are available at Amazon. Two of my novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audio versions.