It was after dark on Highway 11, about an hour outside of Knoxville, Tennessee. The mountains pressed in close on both sides of the road, and the air, which spent the late afternoon cooking us alive, finally shows us a little mercy as the sun drops away. Traffic still moves just a few feet off the shoulder, headlights cutting the dark, drivers who don’t really register that there are people out here.
Then the lights come up, one big balloon light floats above the lane closure, throwing a broad circle of white across the asphalt, and the milling machine starts to move.
I will be honest with you. Standing next to the milling machine, watching the drum bite into the highway surface while cars blew past at full speed, I felt something that most people reading this page already know: this job is not for everyone. The road workers accept a level of risk that most professions never have to face. But, as the saying goes, somebody’s got to do it…