Do you want to know what a truck looks like, from underneath? You don't, not really.
I had this less than desirable view this morning whilst riding to work on my motorbike. The snow has begun to melt, everywhere except in all the places I have to go. First my rubber prophylactic wellies burst. I buy them every winter. They're very flexible but thin rubber covers that stretch over my shoes and have grit glued into the soles. They usually last me until at least March. This year they split the moment I tried to put them on. Hence the lack of grip and my long painful slide under the comforting warmth of a truck sump.
Amazingly I was able to continue once I'd counted my fingers and toes. Yet when I got to work, my ankles frozen to solid lumps of joint-less meat, my boss demanded to know why I was, A: walking like Frankenstein's monster, and B: why my suit trousers were creased.
I'm self employed and not allowed the luxury of telling employers where they can go and what things they can shove into different parts of their anatomy. However, we couldn't really go anywhere much because of the snow so I was able to do quite a lot of writing.
On the plus side, if one of my books ever requires me to explain in vivid detail what it's like to be be run down by a truck, I've gained valuable insight.