The crew bus rolls along a narrow deserted highway somewhere between Kentucky and Missouri. Â The drive has become so boring that many of us have gone to our bunks because there’s nothing else to do.
I have the lights out and am lying down with my eyes closed but not really trying to sleep. Â After about 15 minutes I feel the bus start to slow, then make a sharp turn, then another, and finally we seem to have stopped (though the ride is so smooth, at low speeds it can actually be hard to tell). Â I suspect that our quest to find Mexican food for dinner has come to an end. Â At the very least, I have learned that these sensations generally indicate we are stopping.
I slide my bunk curtain partially open and stick my head out, just as Bart steps into the open doorway of the driver’s compartment and exclaims, “El Bracero!” Â I flip my legs out of the bunk, and immediately Nick slides his curtain open across from me and asks, “Are we somewhere?” Â I say, “Yes.” Â And so we all gather in the front lounge, getting shoes on and tidying ourselves, and together head out to dinner.
