Flashbacks of a Dream

I have flashbacks of a dream.

I am driving a big white truck, the one I drove for a summer job in Mississippi. I am lost. I drive over a bridge, a wide bridge over a wide river. The bridge is so steep I cannot see what is on the other side. The signs are blurred – I cannot read them.
I crest the top of the bridge and drive down the other side. I take an immediate right down an off-ramp. The ramp curves around, doubles back underneath the bridge, and comes to a T intersection against the river. A bright orange sign announces that the road to the right is closed, and a detour sign points to the left. I look to the left. The road dead-ends. I have nowhere to go.
I see a truck, half-hidden behind a pillar of the bridge. There is someone in the front seat. I cannot tell, but I think he is staring at me. Is he lying in wait beside the river? Suddenly I am on a motorcycle, no longer secure behind locked doors. I hear the truck rev to life.
The dream ends.

I first had this dream while working in Mississippi, shortly after getting very lost in New Orleans while picking up a friend. Her convoluted directions and a series of less-than-helpful road signs sent me over one bridge, and back, several times. I drove alone through some of the less savory New Orleans neighborhoods at night, searching for my friend’s house and glad of the locks on my solid truck doors. I did find her eventually, though I was rather a nervous wreck and nearly in tears.
I do not flash back to that night. I flash back to the dream.