Who are these gods?

That's The Grass I Walked Bobby On

Dottie's Truck Stop Restaurant From My Booth

The Truck Stop Shop Working At Night

Size means a lot

You know me. I always say I have a guardian angel. Or, my gods take pretty good care of me. Uh huh. I'm sitting in a truck stop (big) all night restaurant with only 50% available on my computer. So, where to start. As directly as possible, I guess. I crossed over into Missouri this afternoon and was able to track down a good map with Route 66 references.  I had lunch at a fun restaurant about an hour after St. Louis. My nice waitress gave me some grilled chicken for Bobby that was slightly overdone for her customer and one of the other waiters googled for campgrounds around Springfield and wrote down the directions as well. A pretty good day, as Loudin W. Jr. says. So I'm heading at a reasonable clip toward Springfield and finally thought I should stop at a rest stop near St. Claire for Bobby's sake as well as mine.

That went well and we got back in the car and I put her in reverse and stepped on the gas.  You expecting something? .....not so good? You're RIGHT! It just revved but did not engage. In other words, this great machine I've been raving about (except for the locks), had suddenly called it quits when it comes to reverse. Three nice men said they'd push me out into the road and I could drive in forward gear to one of the towns down the line.

I stopped first at a Mobil station in Bourbon, being careful not to stop in a place I'd have to back out of. A good Samaritan offered to take a look at things, which he did. He said he could find everything but the transmission fluid, which he suspected had something to do with the situation.  He could do no more and gave me directions for driving down the line to a town named Cuba. He directed me to take the "service road" which was the real Route 66 and it was lovely to be on it for 9 miles.

At the end of that drive came the first wrong turn, leading me up into farm lands and woods and unable to go into reverse. it only gets worse, so I'll spare you parts of it. But I must say, I made some clever moves before I made my next wrong turn.  It was a trying hour or two let's say. I came out of it alive, got myself to a wonderful truck stop in Cuba where the nicest guys alive puzzled over the Rialta for at least an hour and refused to charge me a penny. One (of the 3) finally  went to the internet and provided me with the name of, directions to, etc. for a VW dealer in Springfield because VW makes these things so that only they have the parts and tools to fix them.

Bobby and I are sleeping next to the shop with three big rigs parked right next to me. This big restaurant, johns, showers, store, etc., is open all night and is amazing. I finally decided that that is what this is all about. I obviously needed a little more education. Elaine had told me that I could always stop at one of these big rig operations. I just did this for you, Elaine.

So, after two or three conversations with Steve, two with AAA I'll say, "To be continued."

I couldn't go on any further even if I knew more because a group of four men and two women just pushed two tables together right about four feet from my booth and I am so completely taken by their conversation I can hardly stand it. Don't mind me. I'm just a home grown Bay Area product of California and when I get expose to a genuine Missouri accent times six, plus general overall phrasing, I have trouble behaving  myself. They're talking about everything from snow plows to lice and automobile gas milage. Also some great references to driving their rigs into the "wrong neighborhoods," and picking up the wrong loads, etc. It hardly matters what they're saying because I'm so fascinated it wouldn't necessarily even matter. Four of them make up two middle aged couples. Happy co- drivers no doubt. And they seem like really good people. But I can hardly contain myself, they are so genuine and so funny. May the gods forgive me.

Like I said,  "To be continued."