To document the night shift on America's highways, MPR Assistant Producer Stephanie Curtis spent five days traveling with long-haul truck driver Myrna Patterson. Patterson, 55, lives in Kansas City, Missouri and drives for Minneapolis-based Dart Transit.

I first met Myrna over the phone. She asked me if I was young and impressionable. Not quite knowing how to respond, I told her my age. She hooted, "Great ... I can teach you about life."

Myrna appeared ornery the first time I met her. I was not sure I was up for five days in a truck with a crank. She lectured me on the do's and don'ts of driving with a trucker. Each of these rules was proceeded with "a little education."

For example: "A little education: never block my mirrors. If I can't see cars, I hit cars. Don't lean forward if I'm switchin' lanes" and "A little education: tell me about fifteen minutes ahead of time that you need to go to the bathroom. Trucks can't stop just anywhere."

At nearly every stop, Myrna checks her tractor and trailer for problems such as burned-out lights and flat tires. She usually finds something. Machines break when you drive 700 miles a day. But Myrna doesn't get too annoyed about repairs. What really bugs her are dirty trailers because she doesn't like to look like a slob on the road.

Myrna's cab is obsessively neat ­ little compartments and hidden bins everywhere keep her possessions in order. There's one drawer filled with presents, like Tasmanian devil stuffed animals, that she carries back to her grown children. There's no room to spare in a truck, and most of it's swallowed up by Myrna's custom-made bed. Myrna's proud to say she sleeps in style. Her mattress is extra soft and has a heated pad that plugs into the cigarette lighter. I slept better in that cramped cab with a truck driver I'd never met before than I do at home.

When we left Minnesota, there was still snow on the ground. Reaching Tennessee, we finally found springtime and flowers. Myrna was especially enchanted by the mimosa trees. They have big purple blossoms and purple is her favorite color. She decided that I was to look for a branch of mimosa that I could pick from the cab. We kept missing trees because my vision is lousy and Myrna zipped through the windy canyons at 55 miles per hour.

Finally Myrna yelled, "there's one!" She pulled over to the side of the road, but by the time we got the truck to a full stop, we were well past the tree. So Myrna threw the truck in reverse and we rattled backwards on the shoulder until I could reach a branch. The blossoms smelled spicy. Within hours they wilted. I threw them out the window in North Carolina while locals glared at me for littering.

The first three days of mimosa picking and sleeping eight hours at night passed quickly and amiably. Then, Myrna got assigned a trip that would require us to stay up most the night. I planned to tough it out with her. Myrna is twice my age and she assured me it wouldn't be hard to get by on a couple naps during the night.

When the sun glowed the next day, I was feeling sick and slow for a patchy night's sleep. My brain stalled out and I kept fumbling with my audio recording equipment. I brought back nearly a half hour of tape of me mumbling into the microphone, "Hello? hello? Is this working? I don't think it's working. Hello?"

But Myrna's a veteran. She stayed sharp and energetic.

Myrna got assigned a return trip to Minnesota after we made our delivery. But I was wrecked. In Dayton, Ohio, Myrna drove me to a motel near the airport and let me out of the cab. She told me I was a wimp.

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