Pennsylvania sucked. Rain. Trucks. Traffic. Fog. More trucks. Wet shoes. Foggy visor. Endless boring fields of corn and rural industry. More fucking trucks. And more goddamned rain.
This gas station was an urgent stop. Was falling asleep at the wheel and the gas gauge was at the FEED ME SEYMOR level. It was supposed to be a Mobil station, but apparently they couldn’t hack it out here in the boon docks. No branding anywhere. The shop looked closed. Desolate. Nothing but grain silos and random rural industrial buildings. All the pumps had hand written notes apologizing for not being a Mobil gas station. I saw two cars from out of state drive through the lot, slow down, roll down the windows, shake their heads, and drive off. I had a similar moment myself. The only person I saw was a deeply redneck white guy leaving the store. He was total rural white trash with the heavy metal t-shirt, torn jeans, a trucker hat, and even took off on a Camaro. The only thing ruining this stereotype image was the fucking flip flops. Cracked me up.
I decided right there that I had had enough of the rain. I was still 2 hours outside of New York, it was raining, and I was damn tired. Did I mention my feet were wet?
I pull up to this Super 8 Motel, across the street from a really cool looking Italian restaurant. I’m not questioning this, even though it’s right across the highway from the former Mobil station. The Indian guy behind the counter quotes me a room rate of $80! He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and a look of defiance as if he just told me a thing or two about how the world works. I tell him he’s out of his mind and I leave. I query my gps for lodging in the area. It says there’s a motel 1.5 miles down this side road. Cool. It takes me on this crazy winding backroad. Old houses are a blur through my foggy rain spattered visor. Suddenly the houses are giant estates. Huge homes. Then I’ve traveled back in time to this quaint little town. An old pub on the corner with nothing but Lexus, BMW, and Mercedes parked out front. It’s weird, like a group of rich white folks bought a small farm town and are recreating a Disney version of it.
No motel in site. It’s getting darker. My helmet is still fogging up and I’m now getting irritated.
Another 30 miles down the interstate and it’s starting to get scary. Full on rain and visibility is crap with the fogging visor and glasses. This dump will have to do…
Obviously that photo was taken the following day, just thought I’d throw it in for reference.
I was really hating life at this point. I had been wearing the rain gear since 8am that morning. It doesn't breath. My hands were like prunes! On coming traffic causing glare and the highway lanes merging into one. Chaos!
My room had much to be desired. For $75 I expected more. There were a few issues I had with the place.