City Lights, Long Nights, and Unexpected Company
Life ...
After completing the 402-mile delivery and pocketing $1,757.00, I parked the truck for the evening at a busy truck stop on the outskirts of Los Angeles.
The freight was delivered, the paperwork was signed, and for the first time all day, the engine was silent.
Trucking has a way of making a person feel both free and isolated at the same time. One day you're crossing mountain passes and desert highways, and the next you're sitting alone in a parking lot surrounded by hundreds of people you've never met.
As I stepped out of the cab and stretched my legs, I noticed a woman standing near the far end of the lot. She looked tired but confident, carrying herself like someone who had spent plenty of nights around truck stops and travel centers.
Every driver has heard stories about "lot lizards." Some stories are exaggerated, some are true, and most become legends passed around over coffee and CB radios.
I wasn't looking for trouble.
I was looking for conversation.
A few minutes later we found ourselves sitting in the truck stop diner, sharing coffee and swapping stories. She told me about growing up in Southern California, the jobs she'd worked, and how life hadn't always gone according to plan.
I told her about the road.
About watching the sunrise over the Rockies.
About snowstorms in Wyoming.
About crossing endless stretches of Texas with nothing but diesel fuel, country music, and the hum of eighteen wheels beneath me.
Hours passed faster than either of us expected.
For a trucker who spends weeks alone in a cab, simply having someone willing to listen felt refreshing.
Outside, the truck stop continued its endless rhythm. Engines idled. Drivers came and went. Fuel pumps clicked on and off. The highway never slept.
Eventually the coffee cups were empty and the night was growing late.
We walked back toward the parking lot, both knowing that road life rarely allows people to stay in one place for long. Before parting ways, she smiled and wished me safe travels.
I climbed back into the cab feeling surprisingly optimistic.
Sometimes the road gives you freight.
Sometimes it gives you stories.
And every once in a while, it gives you a reminder that even in a profession built around solitude, meaningful connections can still happen in the most unexpected places.
As I pulled the curtains shut and prepared for some much-needed sleep, the lights of Los Angeles glowed in the distance.
Tomorrow would bring another load, another highway, and another chapter in the life of a truck driver.
