By the time we left the I-80 just short of the Illinois state line after making the long journey from Buffalo to the opposite end of Lake Erie, I wasn't entirely sure the back end of the RV was even still attached. It was one of the most poorly maintained roads I've ever driven on and to make matters worse, it's a toll road, so I paid for the privilege of getting thrown around the cab like a crash test dummy.
I'm fairly susceptible to a healthy bit of road rage at the best of times but it's rare for it to be literally directed at the road itself. It was compounded by the fact that the toll booth was automated, so all the clever (obnoxious) and witty (sarcastic) things I had prepared to say to the booth attendant (because obviously they have full control of what the toll money is spent on) had to go unsaid.
It was already fairly late by the time we got off the main interstate, so we pulled in at a truck stop and after confirming that I thankfully wouldn't need to file a claim for damage with the State of Illinois, we decided to stay the night and plan our approach to Chicago.
At some point during the evening I managed to knock over a glass of Sangria, turning a pile of clothes a nice shade of pink. 1st world problems! Anyway, luckily these truck stops have lounges, showers and, most importantly for me at the time, launderettes. So I strolled across the fuel station forecourt at 1am with what probably looked like a bloodstained body bag and dragged it past a diverse clientele of truckers sitting on the plush leather seats in the lounge just inside the main building.
They were all sitting there happily watching Judge Judy on the big screen. I don't know whether they were all too polite to change the station, or if she has some kind of cult following among burly haulage workers.
I got talking to a few characters while putting the washing machines through their paces. One guy was with the carnival and had travelled all over the world, although it seemed to have done nothing for his geography skills because when I told him I was from the UK he said "I know a guy from the UK called Andrew Prescott, do you know him?". I told him I'd probably met him several times but that I'm terrible with names. Nice guy though and gave me some pointers about things to see and do in Chicago, which was much appreciated.
How America sees Europe
How Europe sees America
When we reached a lull in the conversation, another guy called me out into the corridor, said "Come here, let me show you something!" and started lifting up his shirt. Now, I'm not saying I jumped to conclusions, but when you're standing near the shower cubicles in a random truckstop in the middle of nowhere and a guy whose body hair could probably clothe a small village starts getting naked, it's hard to imagine things are going to end well.
Turns out he wanted to show me his tattoo, which he said was in honour of Princess Diana's funeral. It was a tattoo of an English rose and he said something about being a pallbearer at her funeral, and that the secondary stem and flower on his tattoo indicated his position when carrying the coffin. Yep. Maybe I didn't hear the story right but I always thought she was carried by the Welsh Guard! Ah well, good story nonetheless.
So there you go, just a little slice of life on the road. Next stop Chicago!
P.S. if you don't know the reference in the post title, it's from Ricky Gervais and Karl Pilkington discussing truckers' conversations on CB radio back in the day. Give yourself a laugh: http://youtu.be/lEzkUqguL_U
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