I have spent more than a few nights at rest stops. In the right car, with a reclining seat, plenty of leg room, pillow, blanket, and eye shades I can get an adequate nights rest – well, at least a few hours. There are ample reasons to spend the night in the car, including: cannot find a hotel, too sleepy to drive another mile, very anxious to get a head start toward the final destination, and of course to save money.
When we first started our road trips, we had a little red truck, which would often be fitted with a camper shell, and a queen size mattress. We slept very well in that truck. For a couple of dollars, you could buy a shower, in the morning, at a truck stop, and be on your way. When you are young, and all of your parts work well, a quick stretch of your body and you are set to go. You get older and it is not so easy.
We use to trade a night in the car for admission to a museum, a fancy lunch, and souvenirs of wherever our little truck had taken us; but sleeping in the car never felt desperate, it felt like an acceptable choice. Until the night photographed here, I had never pulled into a rest stop and felt sorry for the people around me; I had always assumed that they were making a choice.
The quality of this photograph is purposefully less than perfect; as I very much wanted to make sure that man pictured here could not be identified. I was deeply conflicted about whether or not I should take this photograph. In the front seat of this small truck were a woman and at least one child, which I could see. The man sleeping on the tailgate is quite literally trying to rest on the only spot available. They were pulled into a rest stop, along a major highway. From my vantage point, none of the occupants of this truck seemed comfortable. They did not appear to have another option, and that is what bothered me.
Kate took the picture for me, and as we walked Merry, we tried to imagine that the family was okay and not as desperate as they looked. The problem we had was that they were not alone; there was an entire row of cars and trucks with occupants that very much looked like this man. They did not look like vacationers that wanted to be the first in line to enter the Grand Canyon or people whose hotel room, at Disney World, would not be ready for a few hours more, they all looked like the Joads family, trying to escape the dust bowl, heading toward what they hope, in their desperate state, is a better life.
I so hope I am wrong about all of those people who seemed crammed into overstuffed cars; and desperately trying to hold on to some semblance of a life they have known. It was quite a View from the Road.
