John was in the mood to drive even though he was exhausted. Ironically, when he snapped out of his road stupor he found himself within the city limits of Amarillo. He couldn’t help himself but pull into a big stockyard parking lot and go to sleep. There was something comforting about a lot of animals and the rich organic smells of the night. It wouldn’t have been appealing most nights, but for some reason it was tonight. He slept like a baby. He awoke to banging on the camper door and a trucker yelling, “You need to move your rig out of the way!”
John yelled, “Alright, be right out!” He hopped out of bed forgetting where he’d parked for a minute. Then he remembered pulling into this parking lot just off Route 66. He guessed it was sale day, and sure enough, the lot was full of trucks and cowboys looking for cattle. He reckoned it was time to move on down the road, but not before he thought about the life of the modern-day cowboy. He figured he could pull off the Wrangler jeans, Stetson hat and roping boots, and then smiled at the idea of being a jack-of-all-trades. Pulling off the appearance would be one thing he knew he could do, but would he actually enjoy the life of cows, boys and pickup trucks? Not that it really mattered much anymore, since it seemed like there was some definitive plan for his life—albeit not so clear to him. John shook his head, spit out the window and started looking for a breakfast diner.
He didn’t have to drive far before he saw a crowded diner named Sally’s. Not to feign too much for superstition, he decided to drive on. No need to stir anything up on such a lovely morning.
John found himself a little confused about which direction to head. He was heading back West when he pulled in for gas at a Flying Trucker stop, then he headed east as he turned back onto Route 66. The next thing he knew he turned onto Interstate 40 heading towards Oklahoma City. He spoke out loud, asking “Where am I going?” And the weirdest feeling washed over him. He didn’t know where he was headed, but he was headed somewhere. He was definitely on his way—somewhere. Maybe that was how the cowboys of old felt when they got on their horses and rode off knowing that this wasn’t it. This wasn’t the place. It’s somewhere else. The feeling kept washing over him. He felt restless, lonesome and lost. He didn’t like these feelings and knew he couldn’t drive away from them, but what was he to do except drive on? So, he drove on most of the day and finally pulled over when he saw a sign as he was approaching the Arkansas boundary.