(Second part of Duel) Fear hinders our ability for thinking, analyzing and acting cunningly. When I realize the lorry driver wants to chase me to death, my only reaction is to speed up and escape; run away on a straight line as a hen ahead of its predator. Were it not for fear, I would’ve realized that I could easily tease and even mock my pursuer, precisely because my vehicle is faster and quicker than his. But I'm scared and just speed up. Now driving 120 km/h, a somewhat dangerous speed for normal Lithuanian by-roads; yet not enough for getting rid of the lorry, which is close on my heels, barely 200 m behind. I didn’t know such a heavy vehicle could go that fast. Perhaps, alike the truck in Duel, this has also a tuned Diesel engine; and also alike in that film, I'm being forced to make some rash overtakings. When I arrive to a town called Paluse I think of appealing to the Police, but how to find a station? If I stop at a traffic light or a zebra my pursuer will seize me there. Policemen are only an option if I come across them by chance. Besides, it might even not work: I can't say a word in Lithuanian and maybe officials here are as wild as the truck driver is. I might be taken for a fool if I try to explain that I'm being chased by a mad killer driver. So I go ahead jumping lights and zebras, and before deciding anything useful, Paluse is already gone.
I can't go on like this, driving so recklessly until Vilnius. I need to shake him off no matter how. But that's easier thought than done: along this road there's not a single fork or a crossing for many miles to come, nowhere to make a turn to somewhre else; not a bend or a slope where I can get out of his sight enough in advance for finding a hideout. So, even though it pisses me off, I speed up to 140 km/h (thanks God I'm on a full tank) in order to get ahead of the lorry. But that son-of-a-bitch is always, though getting a bit smaller, in my view mirror.
Gee! He must be doing 130 km/h. How can he go that fast? After a while, I enter a region with some low hills where the road makes a few bends. Right after the last one I see my chance: there is a dirt track to the right and a patch of bush some fifty metres further. So I jam on the brakes, take the track and hide behind the sparse foliage of a shrub. Jump off the bike, huddle and wait, watching the road. For half a minute —that seems ages to me— I'm fear frozen: if he has seen me and pulls out to come here after me, then I am in a mouse trap. With indescribable relief, I see the truck going past in a rush, now chasing only after the wind. Only then I realize how frightened I am; my legs are shaking; and as I calm down a new fear replaces the former, when seeing the mistake I may have just made: while I was driving ahead, at least I knew his position and movements, but now that I'm behind and lost sight of him, I don't know where he is or what he's doing. Once he realizes I've given him the slip — and it wont' take much to — he can just stop and lie in wait anywhere, visible or not. Which one of the hundred similar lorries along this road is mine? It was not particularly different from any other: white, 20 m long. Any similar one stopped on the shoulder, at a petrol station, a road restaurant, a side-street in a town could be it... This idyllic road has become a trap to me: since there aren't any alternative routes to Vilnius (or to nowhere else, for that matter), I'm forced to drive along the 100 remaining kilometres, not knowing if he’s positioned somewhere ahead, waiting for me. Which means travelling in the same fright I've just tried to get rid of. But there is no choice. I have to keep going, so I set off; a lot slower now, and watchful of any suspect lorry I see around; which means I'm startled every so often.
When — after two hours of uneasiness and starts — I finally see myself inside the city's busy traffic (who would have told me I was ever to welcome heavy traffic!) and safe from the lorryish threat, my nerves are on edge, albeit physically unharmed. Yet this wasn't the end of today. I park Rosaura near the train station in order to search, on foot, some accommodation around. Take off the rain gear, pack it, and start looking. Barely 100 m away rain begins again. Murphy’s laws. So I go back to Rosaura and put on the rain pants. But regarding accommodation I can't complain: I find this small and simple Hotel Alexa, quiet and unexpensive; and conveniently located too, between the station and the old town. The receptionist, an agreable one, allows me to park Rosaura in the inner yard. Fine. When I go fetch the bike, rain gets heavier. Once in the room (small, yet comfy), I strip off my clothes and get under the shower for a long while for washing away all the day's emotional burden. Tired and sleepless as I am, I lie down and try a nap; but the anxiety prevents me from resting. After a while, again defeated by insomnia, I go out for a walk and to get me some dinner and a couple of beers. There has been no rain for quite a while now, when in my room, but after walking a few minutes a downpour falls on me, this time for real: a diluge; as though the world were ending today. No porch nearby where to shelter. In half a minute and despite my umbrella, my boots and jeans are soaked to the knee. I choose a lively and warm restaurant, hoping to recover a bit from the day's hardships; but here I come across this typical sullen, bitter tender so common in the Eastern-block countries, who ends up ruining my spirits. One hour later, when I go back to the hotel (wow!, is it not raining this time!), utterly defeated, I feel like crying. This has been what I'd call an ill-fated day.
Epilogue: Of course I never knew why the lorry driver was awaiting me on the road shoulder that morning, nor how come he knew I would go past. Trying to remember all details, I can only conjecture he must have seen me while I was putting on my rain gear on the shoulder, after the road works stretch; and gave me the eye. But then again, who can guess the motives of a Lithuanian driver?