Ron was a passenger in the driver's seat of the vehicle. The computer was taking control of the journey. The heavy load of concrete rotated at the insistence of an electrical and hydraulic symphony of mechanics, powered by the resilient diesel motor. The drive shaft spun the rear wheels. The tyres left bits of rubber on the roadway.
The odometer was approaching four hundred thousand kilometres. Bugs from the last ten had come to rest in chaotic patches over the windshield. His hands gripped the wheel uneventfully. He had another thirty minutes of a easy journey to the construction site. First, they had built the road.
It started at the edge of suburbia, and at first, construction was slow. Suburbia threatened to expand faster than the road could be built, but eventually, the road builders won. They extended out into the land, away from the rivers and canals that represented the old roads.
The base of operations for the slurry in the back of the truck kept leap-frogging its prior destinations, to ensure the material arrived fresh. A railway line ran along side the road, and it too was racing away from the cities, as they become heavy with a population that didn't cease expanding. Its construction was concurrent, and rapid.
Ron never understood people, but he liked the simplicity of roads. Travel down one, and you would go where it would take you. If you didn't like where it was going, you could always choose a new one. First, his loads of concrete had been used to build the road, now they were being used to build the spaceport facility.
The scale was not easily fathomed, but it needed to be as far East as possible. It would make for more efficient launches, and it would ensure any debris from accidents would end up in the Ocean. He had taken this trip countless times over the last few months. He hadn't stopped to look at it on recent journeys, but it would be a few days before he would need to turn back to the city.
Arriving at the base, a massive work camp of labourers and traffic signs awaited. He took his truck to the queue of those other trucks waiting to unload, and he witnessed the stead stream of headlights heading back to the quarries for more aggregate. The countdown timer said 45 minutes. He had made it. He unlatched the seat belt, which engaged the automation that would complete the other steps in the construction process.
He got out of the truck, leaving the engine running. The mixer continued to spin. He'd go back in a more comfortable vehicle, at least until the train line. Today, he wanted to see the Ocean. It was a few kilometres beyond the construction site, but he had time. He walked as the sun surrendered its hold on the land and the moon rose in the night sky.
He gazed at it as the tide crashed against the shore, and sea-salt and brine filled the air. Seagulls bickered. He looked up at the moon, hanging in the sky, and the remembered the odometer. The truck he left had travelled the same distance between the Earth and Moon. So had he, in a myriad of vehicles, but he sat back and wondered what this new form of roadway, one which didn't involve water, or land, or even air would take humanity. First to the moon, then mars, then the satellites of Jupiter. Beyond that, there were no more plans. But they'd always need more concrete, and roads to get it there.
