As I grapple with my Americanness, one of the Manichean struggles centers on our tendency towards excessiveness, grandiosity, and gluttony. In so many regards, my lifestyle runs oppositional to those habits. I live within my means; keep my footprint small; tend–in most cases–towards the understated. When I see others engaging in such practices on an individual level, I’m often put off, mildly offended by the showiness and self-indulgence.
And yet, for all of that, there’s something I can’t help but adore about American bombast, towards our national tendency to do things in a manner far greater in scale than anyone might consider reasonable. I’m not here to apologize for it; I can’t dismiss the wastefulness intrinsic to much of it, nor the harm done to individuals, groups, or the land in many cases. But it’s like a loved one who engages in behavior that is somehow simultaneously endearing and aggravating. It’s who they are; loving their excessiveness is part of the package.
As the water level in the Mississippi is currently excessive, a significant portion of the American Discovery Trail from Davenport to my next scheduled stop, Muscatine, is currently underwater. Initially, I planned to adapt by just shifting over to the highway all the way between the two cities. Later last night, though, I was dwelling on how much that was going to suck–totally cut off from the Mississippi, a longer walk, no interesting stops, traffic whizzing past. So I took to Google Maps in pursuit of a Plan B and it quickly smacked me in the face. The purest piece of Americana between Davenport and Cedar Rapids was situated northwest of me and easy to integrate into a modified itinerary. In the end, it would even shave 10 miles of walking between today and tomorrow! Sometimes, problems open doors.
So on I walked to Walcott, Iowa, and then a little further to Exit 284 on I80, in order to visit Iowa 80, the world’s largest truck stop. Set on 220 acres, this sprawling metropolis of overpriced snacks and Iowa-related tchotchkes is a monument to American excess. Parts of it are practical and commendable enough, I suppose. If you’re a trucker, this place is a paradise. Not only do they have 24 private shower rooms, they also have a dentist, chiropractor, and barber shop. Was the demand such in Walcott, Iowa to necessitate such a massive installation? Certainly not! But this is Iowa after all, and if you build it the Americans will come, and come I did. A Taco Bell, a Wendy’s, and a Dairy Queen, all squeezed together in one gas station? Who could say no?
Lest that sound underwhelming, the more legitimate attraction sits just across the street–the Iowa 80 Trucking Museum. When I first found the reference to this on Google Maps, I thought it would be a minor curiosity, filled with semi-trucks like I see whipping past me on a daily basis. Instead, though, it truly tells a compelling and vivid history of trucking in America, with a staggering mix of examples, from the 1903 Eldridge–one of the first trucks ever built–onward. There’s a paddy wagon from the Cleveland PD, an honest-to-God 1930 snowmobile truck, a bottled-coke delivery vehicle, and all manner of Mack trucks, complete with adorable dog hood ornaments.
As at the John Deere Pavilion yesterday, I was struck primarily by the remarkable beauty of this heavy machinery, its power complemented with bright paints, dramatic lines, and other appealing design choices. Only in the earliest of examples did function trump form–though I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that we’ve largely swung back around to that with the semis of the present. Legitimate craft and creative vision went into these earlier vehicles, and it makes this an art museum as credible as any place filled with paintings or sculptures.
Concerns about how well a country the size of the United States would hold together were legion from early on. Certainly, those aren’t foreign to us today. But it’s fair to argue that, if anything is holding us together, it’s trucking. The statistics are staggering. In 2022, 11.46 billion tons of freight were shipped by trucks in the USA, distributed across nearly 14 million trucks. That’s roughly 73% of all domestic shipments for the year. It’s fair to question whether this should be the case, of course. But it’s hard not to be astonished by what exists.
Whether it’s the world’s largest truckstop or a nationwide trucking network (and all the accompanying logistical complexity), both speak to quintessential American brazenness. Some might say a thing couldn’t be done. Some might say a thing shouldn’t be done. But say one thing for Americans–some of us won’t rest until we do the damn thing anyway.
