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125. Truck Stop

  • Rainey Knudson
  • 6 hours ago
  • 2 min read

Dear readers, we’ve made it halfway through the American 250, holy moley. In honor of the occasion, a place of rest along the road. Thanks for reading. - Rainey

Flying J truck stop in Summerville, South Carolina
Flying J truck stop in Summerville, South Carolina

On our roads, we want for nothing. How did we come to take that for granted? We stop along our journey, bound up in worries, the uneasy sense that we’ve become strangers to this land, no longer welcome—how did we sink into that fog so deeply that when we trundled into the fantasyland of abundance, we were numb to the pleasure stacked upon pleasure, the sea of colorful visual delight? Such cheerful abundance, conjured in the middle of nowhere?

 

It took an influx of World Cup foreigners, standing slack-jawed at the plentitude, for us to remember: well, yes, it really is quite remarkable.

 

The truck stop emerged to relieve the loneliness and dislocation of long-haul truckers, giving them a hot shower and a friendly face. Today it assuages everyone: a brightly-lit bazaar, overstuffed with jars of pickled garlic, pickled quail eggs, beef jerky, turkey jerky, sassy paper napkins reading “This salad tastes like I’d rather be fat,” fake-turquoise-bedazzled crosses, NASCAR jackets with Busch beer logos—all this abundant convenience, so much human ingenuity bent on delight, and yes, on separating us from our money, but in a worthy exchange. For is this not a shared commons, a tiny republic that strangers inhabit together, 20 minutes at a time?

 

We have come to think so poorly of ourselves and our bounty. But all along our highways, we are invited, right now, to pause on our road, to rest. Wanting for nothing, cared for by strangers who send us back into America.



This post is part of The American 250, a series featuring 250 objects made by Americans, located in America, in honor of the country's 250th anniversary. 250 words on 250 works, from January 1 to December 31, 2026.


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[1] "What more fertile ground could there have been than this island of German peasant culture in the new world which, because it was composed of a different language group, was simply dismissed by the surrounding English and Scotch Irish settlers, as dumb, hopeless, and beyond possible improvement?"


Donald A. Shelley, The Fraktur-Writings or Illuminated Manuscripts of the Pennsylvania Germans (Allentown, PA: Pennsylvania German Folklore Society, 1961).


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