After an unexpected extra day in Pamplona, I woke up in the morning and went to load. At first, everything looked normal. The truck was ready, the load was ready, and in my head I had a simple plan: continue back to Slovakia.
But in trucking, plans can change quickly. I found out that there was a public holiday in France, and with it, a driving ban for trucks.
When the Driving Ban Changed the Plan
That day, I could only drive for about two hours towards the Spanish-French border. There I had to park the truck and wait until the ban was over. There were thousands of trucks around, all in a similar situation. Everyone had their load, their route, and their delivery time, but in that moment, it did not matter who was going where. The rules said stop, and we all stopped.
After the previous day in Pamplona, it was a quick return to the reality of trucking. For me, it felt even stronger because this was my first big Spain run for the new company. And right away, I was in a situation where, if we wanted to make it work, I would have to drive at night.
The First Real Night Behind the Wheel
This was not just a normal evening move. This was going to be my first real night drive as a truck driver. Not a few kilometres in the dark, not a late arrival at a parking area, but a proper drive from ten o’clock at night until the morning.
I never really looked for night driving. While I was waiting, I tried to get some sleep, but it did not work. I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but sleep did not come. In my head, there was France, the motorway, the truck, the time, and the fact that I was about to do something I had never done before. Instead of sleep, adrenaline took over.
And then ten o’clock in the evening arrived. The ban ended, and the trucks started moving.
A Night Motorway in France
When trucks were allowed to drive again after ten, it felt like someone had started a race. Everyone who had been standing all day started moving at once. The French motorway filled with lights, trucks, and overtaking. It had a completely different atmosphere from normal daytime driving.
It was not about me wanting to race anyone. I was mostly just watching what was happening around me. One truck after another, lights in the mirrors, overtaking, and constant movement coming from behind. It felt like a huge night flow of traffic.
When the truck ban ended, the motorway came alive again.
That was when I realised that trucking is not only a beautiful road and romance behind the wheel. It is also pressure, time, rules, bans, and tiredness.
When the Body Says Enough
For the first few hours, I managed. I was focused, careful, and still full of adrenaline. But around half past two in the morning, I started to feel sleepy. I continued, but the tiredness was getting stronger. And before six in the morning, there came a moment that showed me very clearly that this is not something to play with.
I had a microsleep.
I will not turn this into a heroic story, because there was nothing heroic about it. It was dangerous. For a very short moment, I switched off, and something immediately woke me up. A reflex, an inner alarm, God, angels, I do not know. All I know is that in that moment, I did not feel comfortable at all.
That was when I told myself: enough. At the next possible place, I am stopping, parking the truck, and going to sleep. Not in one hour, not after another hundred kilometres. As soon as possible.
That night taught me one thing very clearly: tiredness behind the wheel is not something to fight with. It is something to respect.
The Cap from France
I stopped at a service station in France, turned off the engine, and finally allowed my body to stop fighting. That night was a big experience, but also a hard lesson. As a beginner truck driver on my first Spain run, I immediately learned what it feels like to drive through the whole night, after a day of waiting and without proper sleep.
At that service station, I bought a cap. From the outside, it was just an ordinary cap from France. Nothing special. But for me, it was not ordinary. It became a physical memory of that night. A symbol of what I managed to do, and also a symbol of the limit I should not have kept pushing.
More than anything, it will remind me of this:
Sometimes the most responsible decision is not to continue, but to stop.