Crossroads (and I’m not talking about that awful Britney movie)

There’s a place where the highways cross and wide swaths of asphalt and gravel form a massive parking lot with room for hundreds of trucks. It lies between Burlington, Emporia, Topeka, and Ottawa, and it’s called BETO Junction. It isn’t a town but a window into a niche of society that most people have never seen. But this little spot is a sample of the backbone of society.
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You walk through the rows of diesel behemoths and look at the vast array of cargo. Some are grain trucks and some are tankers emblazoned with hazard stickers. Others hold untold freight. Chances are, most of your possessions were once hauled in a truck like these. Your favorite dress, coffee pot from walmart, leather sofa, and last night’s steak dinner.

The truck stop restaurant has an incredible menu and the biggest cinnamon rolls I’ve seen in my whole life. They’re bigger than my head. They also have a lunch and dinner buffet with fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, and different features depending on the day of the week.

There’s another truckstop phenomenon known as “lot lizards.” CB radios can be great entertainment. As we left BETO my fiance handed me the CB and prompted me to do a little social experiment.
“Any drivers looking for company?” I asked.
“Where you at, honey?” a voice responded, eager.
Will and I stifled our laughter and I asked, “Where do you want me to be?”
“Now that’s a good question!” the driver chuckled. “I’m over at the BP.”
Will and I laughed and kept driving. After a while the fellow said, “Guess you must be across at TA.”
“Yeah,” I said, “It’s pretty busy over here tonight.”

I thought Will was going to bust his stitches he was laughing so hard.

It all goes to show you there’s a story to be found everywhere you look and even in the places you don’t.

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