Lone Star And A Yellow Truck
Road trips are amazing. Salt and vinegar pork rinds, Big Gulps, blasting Pearl Jam, keeping off the Interstate and visiting places like Wall Drug in South Dakota or Winslow, Arizona. Living on the road, however, isn’t always as amazing.
I recently read an article about the growing trend of van living and couldn’t help but shake my head a little. The spirit of the idea is admirable: travel across the US, living simply while telecommuting or finding odd jobs to keep the money flowing. The reality is a lot less glamorous and in fact, kinda dirty. Sleeping in rest stops, washing your hair with a jug of water and a bucket, waking up in the middle of the night because you’re shivering from the cold and splurging for a dinner at a chain restaurant to give yourself a slice of normalcy. It can also be nerve-wracking. The vast majority of Americans don’t view vehicles as an acceptable living arrangement for well-adjusted people (retirees in RVs being the exception), so you always need to be self aware. Unless you enjoy run-ins with cops or concerned citizens you have to pay close attention to where you spend the night and just how obvious it is that you live in what you drive.
While I didn’t live in a van down by the river, I spent the better portion of two and a half years working for a traveling museum. From Bangor and Milwaukee to Key West and South Padre Island, I gave solo presentations at elementary schools on pioneer life during the mid-19th Century. I logged long-haul trucker miles in between talking to students and teachers about a fascinating slice of American history. Scheduling allowed for 3-4 work days a week so there was always time to explore while I got from place to place. For someone who loves traveling and teaching, it seemed like the perfect fit.
A couple of nights a week I would stay in a cheap motel, but the rest were spent in a re-purposed Ryder box truck. Half of the storage area was filled with displays and supplies for my presentations while the other half consisted of a lofted bed and a few shelves for personal storage. A simple curtain partitioned the two area, so it wasn’t exactly the most home-y place, but it got the job done. My biggest peeve with the truck was its outward appearance. It wasn’t a newer, less ostentatious white rental truck. Rather, it was bright yellow with faded Ryder logos that screamed “Do not help this man load anything into this truck if you value your skin.” I got used to the sidelong glances and occasional comment, but when you spend so much time on the road, there’s bound to be at least one major incident. For me, that memorable incident happened at a rest stop in Texas.
It was a Thursday and I had just finished a show in Houston. The next day I had an afternoon presentation in Austin, so I decided to spend the night at a rest area. I figured there would be more than enough time for me to wash up and finish the drive as long as I got an early start the next day. While they don’t have showers, rest areas have ample, hassle-free parking and the sound of Interstate traffic oddly soothed me. I’ve always found it hard to fall asleep in complete silence, so the occasional wavelike whooshes of cars and trucks passing usually lulled me to sleep.
For dinner, I grabbed a few things at the Buc-ee’s (think Wawa or Quik Chek with a smiling beaver mascot) in Luling, TX. I like to think of myself as a convenience store connoisseur so I’m not exaggerating when I say that Buc-ee’s stores are road trip heaven. Besides having an insane selection of jerkies, homemade potato chips, awesome sandwiches and burritos, they also make these fantastic sweet, puffed corn snacks called Beaver Nuggets. Unfortunate name aside, they’re basically Corn Pops on crack and I’m not ashamed that I’ve eaten an entire bag of them in one sitting. Needless to say, Buc-ee’s was a regular stop whenever I drove through Texas. In addition to dinner and snacks, that night I picked up a six-pack of Lone Star. I rarely drank during my time on the road, but for whatever reason I was craving a cold beer. Lone Star, the quintessential Texas beer, seemed to be the obvious choice among the various AALs (American Adjunct Lagers) that Buc-ee’s offered.
I pulled into the Guadalupe Rest Area off I-10 a little bit after 5. Cars heading home rushed by the rest area as the sun slowly began its descent into the horizon. By rest area standards, this one was pretty nice. While it just had a nondescript, squat brick building with a tin roof that housed restrooms, there were wide grassy areas, some wooden benches, covered picnic areas and even a small playground. Perfect place to rest my weary head. Show days always took a lot out of me since they started early and I was on my own to unload, set-up, present as well as pack up when the day was over. Needless to say, I was ready for an early night.
I crawled into my living area through the small door connecting the cab to the rest of the truck while it was still light out and settled into bed. My primary source of entertainment at the time was a portable DVD player. This was well before Netflix streaming and copious Wi-Fi hotspots, so I usually picked up a few seasons of TV shows when they went on sale at Walmart, Target or Best Buy. I had recently finished the first six seasons of ER and was working my way through the second season of 24. I cracked open an ice cold Lone Star and eased into a relaxing binging session.
While I was on my second beer, and Jack Bauer was screaming at someone to do something faster, I heard banging on the side of my truck. I wasn’t particularly surprised because this had happened in the past when a trucker needed me to move the truck a bit so they could fit into a parking spot. There was a bit more urgency in this knocking though and soon someone was banging on the driver side door. I put my beer down on the bedside shelf and shimmied myself into the cab. Bright white light with intermittent red and blue flashes bathed the area, nearly blinding me as I lugged myself into the drivers seat. A Texas State Trooper stood at the door with three patrol cars surrounding the truck in a semicircle. “What the fuck” doesn’t do justice to what was running through my head at that moment.
Now, I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I made it a point of driving with extreme caution while in the truck and hadn’t passed any weigh stations who might have taken exception to me bypassing them. I left the school in Houston with a smile and a wave, and the stop at Buc-ee’s had been drama free. When you’re faced with that much law enforcement, though, you can’t help but second guess yourself. Was it a “My Cousin Vinny” case of mistaken identity? I didn’t have a wisecracking, Brooklyn-raised lawyer cousin, but I had no doubt there was a Fred Gwynne-esque judge ready to throw me into a federal pound me in the ass prison for causing a ruckus in this tiny, Texas hamlet. If I made it through four years of the University of Scranton without being thrown into the back of a paddy wagon wearing leg shackles, I certainly didn’t want that streak to end here.
“No sir,” I responded wondering where the other cops were, “it’s just me.”
“Can you please open up the back of the truck sir?”
“Of course officer.” He backed away slowly as I finished opening the door. Even though I wasn’t wearing shoes, I quickly hopped down to the asphalt which was still warm after a day in the sun. My heart was pounding while the trooper followed me wordlessly to the back of the truck. I couldn’t help but notice the other troopers looking at me warily from their positions by their cars. Thankfully, none of them looked like Walker, Texas Ranger. I fumbled a bit with the combination lock on the door but finally managed to get it open revealing the truck’s cargo of tables, plastic tubs, wringer washers and wooden displays.
The trooper took a quick glance into the truck. “What exactly do you do?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
I briefly explained my job and he shook his head a bit.
“We got a call from someone saying that they heard banging and yelling from the truck so we were sent to check it out. Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Go right ahead,” I responded, silently cursing at Jack Bauer’s antics as well as the person who thought I must have been kidnapping someone. The trooper climbed into the back and started to take a closer look at everything. It’s precisely at this point that I remembered about the open cans of Lone Star on my bedside shelf and I started to freak out a bit. Was it legal to have an open container of alcohol if it’s not in the cab of the truck? I mean I was obviously in bed, not going anywhere. Wouldn’t it be OK if I was in an RV? Is it a ticketable offense? A jailable offense? How they hell am I going to explain this to my boss? I’m definitely going to get fired. As these thoughts were racing through my mind, the trooper finished his run through of the truck and came back outside.
“We’re just going to have to ask you some questions,” he started, “and fill out a report. Sorry about the inconvenience, but it’s standard procedure.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
As I answered questions in the cab of the truck, the rest of the troopers gradually left. The setting sun gave the sky an orange tinge as the thrum of cars and trucks racing by on I-10 filled the silence between questions. The rest area lights started to flicker on as cars and trucks trickled in and out. Thankfully Houston’s humidity hadn’t followed me inland
“People can be overzealous,” the trooper commented as he flipped his notepad shut, “but we always have to check it out.”
“Oh I understand sir. You can never be too safe these days,” I responded. I thought about making a joke about the serial killeresque quality of my truck but smartly kept my mouth shut.
“Well, stay safe and enjoy the rest of your time in Texas.” With that the trooper returned to his patrol car and my heart finally stopped racing.
The rest of the night was thankfully uneventful. After calling my dad to tell him what happened, I returned to the back and finished my, now quite warm, Lone Star and the episode of 24 at a much lower volume. I don’t know if the trooper saw or even cared about the beer, so I didn’t know if I should have felt lucky or thankful. I finished up the six-pack in a hotel room the next night and to this day I haven’t had Lone Star again. Whenever I see a picture of one though I can’t help but think about Jack Bauer, a Texas State Trooper and an ugly yellow truck.
