The ride to Chicago was typical, except for a quick stop in
Gary, Indiana where I noticed that the flags were at half-staff. I quickly realized that this was the day of Michael Jackson’s memorial. Looking around Gary, I wasn’t sure why they were honoring him with the flags; he obviously had not “given back” much of his fortune to THIS community! Chicago’s attraction to so many is still an enigma to me, and I was happy that we were there for a quick 90- minutes. Chris and I spent $10 too much for a couple of nasty sandwiches, and were quickly on the bus that would take us over the Mississippi again.By now, I was really looking forward to getting back to what I consider the west. The Kalamazoo cop had again reinforced just how much better things “feel" out here. People leave you alone. They treat you with much more respect. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t feel as though I am in competition with everyone else, or considered a cash- cow. The pace of life is slower, and folks don’t seem to have the same, hamster- on- a- wheel priorities. Their lives and families somehow take precedent over their jobs and bills. It is refreshing, and they seem genuinely happier with lower blood pressure as those in places like Detroit and Chicago! Articulating this is hard, but I have heard it a million times. People from places like Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Colorado, the Dakota’s, and New Mexico have asked me a hundred times, “How could you stand to live out east?!?” After living in the Mountain West for nearly five years now, I have no answer for that. I just didn’t know any better.
I slept across the Mississippi and during our quick stop in Davenport, we learned that the bus not only got us close to the Iowa 80, it actually stopped there.
We had been hoping this was the case, and were quite happy to think that we would be dropped off at 1:30 am in rural Iowa, at what’s billed as the “World’s Largest Truck Stop.” Chris and I had each immediately thought of this place when we discussed Iowa. 
He had been there, and I always made a point to stop on my numerous trips home while doing radio in Des Moines & Waterloo during the late 90’s. Shalain and I had also stopped here in 2005 where I had taken a picture of me with the sign. One I was SURE to duplicate! I got a kick out of the thought that this journey was bringing me back here.It was a great feeling disembarking the bus, stepping into the late Iowa night, and looking around at our new stage. This was Iowa! Walcott to be precise. The bus had stopped at the smaller Pilot station across the little road that takes you to Prairie View and Walcott.
We were quite the sight to the other Dirty Doggers. This was their meal stop and, judging by the looks, they must have been wondering why two backpackers were getting off… here. I confess I had missed the feeling of being a spectacle! I got a picture, and then quickly arranged the pack before we crossed the road to the Iowa 80.The Iowa 80 looked smaller to me than I remembered, probably because it was nighttime and I could not see how expansive it really was. That would change with daylight but right now the priority was food. We were starving, and they had a 24- hour diner. We went inside, sat down for coffee, and before we had a chance to breathe, we saw a glimpse of what our stay in Walcott would hold. Enter Jess.
Jess is a rather attractive 20- year old who works as a server in the diner.
It was by now nearly 2am, the place was nearly deserted, and we were laughing, interesting characters, so she naturally took an interest in us. She asked what we were up to, listened to our stories, looked at our pictures, and asked us if we had come for the “Trucker Jamboree” that happened to be Thursday and Friday. We had no idea what THAT was but, after looking at some of the pamphlets, it seemed interesting. If the weather was good, perhaps there would at least be bikini tops? Chris and I were both exhausted and borderline ecstatic. All the drama of the previous weekend had seemingly dissipated long before Indiana had arrived, and it seemed that we were back in our element. The vibe at the Iowa 80 was welcoming and, if Jess was any indication, we were going to enjoy this place!The Iowa 80 Kitchen was the perfect spot to begin.
We ate like sloths, enjoyed the endless stream of coffee from Jess, and began to toy with the notion that we may just hang around and investigate this well- timed Jamboree. Country singer Aaron Tippin was performing a free concert Thursday evening, so that was sure to draw a crowd, and this was the perfect spot to hitch a ride west making it less urgent to try. If we failed, we had Photo Guy presumably coming through Friday. In short, we did not HAVE to do a damn thing. The irony of this new attitude, particularly after the previous weekend, was not lost on me.5am approached before we decided that sleep might be a good idea. We had yet to scope things out, so we strapped on the packs and hunted trees in which to hide. No such luck. Nothing but fields, fields, oh, and a few more fields.
It's Iowa! After a few minutes, I reverted to last year: interstate exit ramps. Inside a small grove of trees between the ramp and I-80 itself, we found a perfect spot. As the sun began to rise, I finally fell asleep quite happy with my new digs, and free from the mental spider web I had been tangled in only 24- hours earlier.Forest through the trees, dumbass…
