Iowa to Chicago...without a bus

With my large pack strapped to my back and a laptop thrown across one shoulder, I stood in the breakdown lane of I-80 East with my thumb out, holding a sign that read ‘Chicago.’ And hour and a half passed, while I listened to cars whiz past me. I was surprised no one picked me up and reconsidered how I was going to get to Chicago from Pella, Iowa. As I began walking off the highway and truck cab without a trailer pulled over. My faith in humanity was bolstered, but I passed up the ride that was only going to Iowa City. I walked off the highway to a nearby hotel.

The woman at the hotel desk handed me a map of Des Moines with directions to the bus station, which was too far to walk. So, I called in a favor from a friend living in Des Moines who I had run into earlier in the day.

Christina pulled up in her car with a gift of three slices of Des Moines’ finest pizza, then dropped me off across town. I bought my one-way ticket to Chicago, sat down on a bench, opened my laptop and started typing my thoughts.

“Are you going to Chicago?” a man with a soft Indian accent asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, I am flying home from Chicago after three years in the United States.”

“Where’s home?”

“Punjab.”

“Aman is my name.” We shook hands.

As we spoke, my computer screensaver activated and BioTour photos streamed across the screen.

“What’s that?” he inquired.

“That’s the bayou in Atchafalaya, Louisiana.”

I narrated a photo slideshow of the BioTour. The conversation went on. We shared stories, cigarettes, and pistachios. He told me about his two children, his homeland, and his friends. Before long, we were friends and he invited me to Punjab to stay with his family, even offering to buy my plane ticket.

The plan for Punjab is now forming. I slept all the way to Chicago.