Last night a friend asked me how I find the small, locally-owned motels where I tend to stay. I told him I just wander around whatever town I’m in until I see a motel-looking building that doesn’t have a Holiday Inn Express sign on top. You don’t meet interesting people at a Holiday Inn Express. And that’s the purpose of my wandering, to meet interesting people: steel workers, powerline workers, asphalt workers, concrete guys, carpenters, electricians, windmill erectors, engineers, government inspectors, young couples, retirees, farm laborers, low-budget lawyers, helicopter pilots, circus workers, long haul truckers, cowboys, mechanics, salespeople selling toilet paper and John Deere tractors, beat up women and exhausted children, people with wheelchairs and walkers, people on porno shoots and sexy trysts, drug dealers, rodeo riders, addicts, drunks, hookers, fellow motorcyclists; silent people, noisy people, people who don’t speak English, people beaten down and moving on, people with their heads held high and moving on. These motels house the rich, colorful, fabulous and messy tapestry of our society. And every person I meet has a story to tell. A little situational awareness is advised.
