Scenery

I just finished spending half an hour watching the customers at a driving range. Golf, that is.

I know nothing about golf except what I've read, so I'm not really qualified to judge the quality. And that's just fine. A couple of the girls were pretty, and I got to watch a bunch of non-PGA types to compare the PGA types on TV to. Body mechanics is a pleasant enough diversion (even if the body isn't young, female and pretty).

This, and the sailboats I was watching earlier, are probably going to be the high point of my week, as far as scenery goes.

People are always saying "Be a trucker, see the USA." Maybe if I were a bachelor who never spent his breaks at home. As it is, I see a lot of truck stops and industrial districts. On good days I see neat new truck stops and industrial districts. On bad days I see grungy old truck stops and industrial districts.

This makes sense, I suppose. Why would you put a truck stop next to a tourist attraction? The place to park a truck is near where you'll be loading it. And who wants to put warehouses and factories next to a tourist attraction? Or even a nice neighborhood, with nice restaurants and stores?

A truck stop near a WalMart is a rare and precious thing.

This is not to say I don't see anything worth looking at. I do. Mostly when I'm in transit, so I can't properly appreciate it, but there's still a lot of pretty things to see. A few high points so far:
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Several tantalizing glimpses of the battleship Alabama, as I cross the bridge over Mobile Bay.
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The time I came around a curve in the Appalachians near Knoxville, and the whole world was white. Not snow. Frost. The heaviest frost I've ever seen. Like one of those "frosted" Christmas trees that used to be the fashion, but much more convincing--and going on for miles. It made snow look heavy and clunky. A whole new kind of winter wonderland.
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The biggest and most shameless tourist trap I've ever imagined, much less seen. I may talk about it in detail someday. For now--it's called "Pedro's, South of the Border." The North Carolina border, that is. There's a truck stop within walking distance for some reason, so I got to wander through it. Even in winter I had fun--the lack of pretension was so refreshing.

I want to go back when it's all open and see the tourists have fun getting fleeced. I have no doubt they do enjoy it...
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The beautiful and terrible drive up US15 over the Ozarks. Average speed limit about 25mph, and I think that's too high. The hairpin curves were scary enough, but the hairpin curves through the middle of the quaint-motel district were beyond horrific.

(Imagine. You're on a narrow two-lane road, taking a blind 160-degree downhill curve at 5-10mph. At the moment you're halfway through it. Your steering tires are skimming the shoulder of the opposite lane. Your rear tandems are doing the same thing some 60-80 feet behind you. Somewhere in between, the right side of your trailer is an inch or so from a sheer rock wall. Or a carefully built stone retaining wall. Or a highly-embellished motel-drive gatepost.

(And it occurs to you--if this were summer there would be oncoming traffic...)

Some of those motels cater exclusively to motorcycles (with two-wheeler garages, no less); and I can picture what riding those roads on a Harley would be like. Oh, glorious! In a semi with a 53-foot trailer, though...

And yet it was still at least as beautiful as it was terrible. I wish I'd dared look around...
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And on a more mundane note, a truck stop in Ohio where I've parked twice. Nothing special about it--it's part of a chain, and not the best or the worst example. A fairly nice family restaurant within walking distance (pleasant, but not unique. Merely rare.).

No, the reason I look for a chance to stop there again is in the parking lot. The back spaces are on the edge of a dropoff. If you drive into the space instead of backing into it (usually a BAD idea--another subject for another time), your back will be to the rest of the world. And in your windshield is a valley, green fields bordered with small trees and bushes, leading the eye to the little tree-covered mountain behind them.

If you arrange the curtains just right, you are alone. The trucks are all beside and behind you, and facing the other way. There are only two houses down there, a mile or more off. If you're lucky about your schedule, you can sit in your passenger seat and watch the day fade away. And wake up to watch the sky turn grey and then blue, while the dark emptiness below slowly remembers that it's full and green.

Maybe someday I'll have to restart my work week there.