Conversations From the Cab

It is dawn in Louisville, KY and The Big Yellow Truck swings west towards St. Louis and points beyond. The heat from yesterday lingers and the sky is cloudless. There is a small bucket of ice on the floor between me and the Winner. In a very short time it becomes a bucket of water.

The Big Yellow Truck is peppy, even in the heat. Traffic is light as it rolls up and down the hills of KY. Soon we cross over the Ohio river into Indiana. The sun climbs higher as we pass mile after mile of soy bean and corn fields. The winner opens the newspaper and scans the headlines. The top story is the heat. The heat is relentless and over 100 people have died from it in California. The west coast will get a break today as the scorching temperatures move east into the midsection of the country. That's where we are. I dont need the newspaper to tell me it's hot. Heat advisories are posted for St. Louis. I reach up and touch the driver's side window. It burns my fingertips. I think cool thoughts. Ice cream. Swimming pools. York Peppermint Patties.

Indiana falls behind us as we move into Illinois. The landscape remains unchanged but our clocks don't. We move back an hour in time. I don't know exactly when I crossed into Central Time but my cell phone knows. I realize that the time change gives me an extra hour to explore St. Louis. Missouri resembles Illinois and if the welcome sign had not hung along side the highway I would not have known I had crossed into it. By late morning the Gateway Arch shimmers in the distance. The Big Yellow Truck is joined by many bigger trucks as we approach the city. We slow to a crawl on the bridge and I watch the Mississippi slide under us.

St. Louis is a reasonably accessible city if you are in a car. I am not in a car. I am in an oversized vehicle. I find that I am unwelcome everywhere.
'May I park here, sir?" I ask a parking attendant.
"No."
"Can you tell me where I might be able to park?"
"No. There is no parking for you."

I jounce over cobble stones until I reach an unattended parking lot. In small print on the uninhabited toll booth it says "no oversized vehicles." I pretend I didn't see the sign and pull in. I pull to the back of the lot and try to hide The Big Yellow Truck under a tree. The Winner and I walk towards the Arch past restaurants and bars. We stop momentarily to read the menu of The Fiesty Bulldog. The door opens and a woman tells us to come in. She says she's the "street snatcher." She owns the place and this is how she gets her customers. I appreciate her initiative. We take a table and drink buckets of lemonade. Literally. The lemonade is served in a bucket. It is sweet and cold. I add it to my list of cool thoughts.

The stainless steel Gateway Arch shimmers in the heat on the west bank of the Mississippi. A security guard asks me to open my purse. Open my purse! Ugh! My purse is a jumbled mess filled with receipts, lose change, and lip gloss. Had I known it was going to be inspected I would have tidied it up a bit. I stand there as the security guard looks me over and gazes into the messy contents of my purse. I smile trying my best not to look like a security risk. I realize anyone who can smile in this heat must appear to be mentally ill.

The guide books tell us that the Arch is 630 feet tall. They tell us about the architect and his vision to create a monument that comemorates Jefferson's push for westward expansion. The museum at the base of the arch introduces you to Lewis, Clark, Troy, and Sakagewea. The guidebooks do not tell you that the Arch is a thrill ride. No. They keep this little piece of information secret. No one tells you. The ticket taker that checks your ID doesn't tell you. The docent that instructs you not to bump your head when you get on the tram doesn't tell you. Even the people exiting the tram don't tell you. It is a conspiracy of silence.

The steel doors to Tram Number 6 slide open and I realize that I am expected to get into what appears to be a 50 gallon drum with plastic seats from 1965. The Winner and I sit down in our little Star Trek Pod and the doors slide shut. The tram starts its accent. I am trapped on an aged ferris wheel that creaks and groans and sways menacingly. I am going up and I am going sideways at the same time. I can't wait to get off. I feel like I am breathing the Winner's exhalations. Don't get me wrong. I like the Winner. She's a great gal. But I don't want to breathe her air.

The swaying tram comes to a stop and the door slides open. I tumble out trying not to look like I'm panicked. I climb the stairs the rest of the way to the top. The view is gorgeous. I forget about the tram as I gaze west. I can see forever. Too soon we have to leave and head back to The Big Yellow Truck.

Back on the road I sing "Everything is up to date in Kansas City" to the Winner. She pulls out the novel we plan to read out loud during our journey. She begins with chapter one of Annie Freedman's Traveling Funeral. The writing is lovely and the story line makes me grin. The book opens with the protagonist agonizing over her favorite bra's demise. Every woman has a favorite bra. I can relate.

"Do you have a favorite bra?" I ask the Winner.
"Yes" she says. "It's my Ipex."
"I do to," I reply. "It's purple."

And so the conversation in the cab goes. It flows from one strange topic to another.

"What's the best and worst pick up lines you've ever heard?" I ask
"Huh?"
"The best pick up line I've ever heard was from a guy in Seattle who told me my shoes were fun. I love it when a guy compliments my shoes. I told him that line was good enough to get me to go home with him but I happen to be with another guy. And the worst line was "Your hair makes me think of sex."
The Winner looks at me with an arched brow.
"I don't hear pick up lines. I don't hang out in bars." She replies.

A billboard for an adult toy store announces it's unique inventory to drivers.

"Do you have a favorite adult toy? I ask the Winner.
"Yes" she answers. "It's a little ________ with a ______ on the end. I love it. It does everything."
"Oh. I reply. "I like Monopoly."

And so it goes until we get to Kansas City. Just so you know. Everything's up to date in Kansas City. They've gone about as fer as they can go...