Untitled

[betweentowns]

Between Towns – Colorado Part 2

(Or: How My Bladder and Denver Tried to Finish Me Off in the Same Afternoon)

Stopped at a Love’s truck stop because my bladder had officially declared martial law. What started as a polite little “hey, maybe later” had escalated into a full-blown hostage situation. I was shedding actual tears and doing the international emergency waddle when I walked in and saw… him.

Mister Blackbeard. Towel wrapped around his head like a medieval warlord. Standing at the sink. Taking a full fledged bath. While brushing his teeth. Just going to town. Soap, water, the whole production. In the middle of a truck stop bathroom. Like this was a completely normal Tuesday and he was prepping for a date with a middle eastern mermaid…whatever that means. It made sense in my head.

I locked eyes with him for one second too long. He didn’t even flinch. Just kept scrubbing. I did the only reasonable thing a man in my condition could do. I peed like my life depended on it and got the hell out of there before he offered me a washcloth and his toothbrush.

Back in the Mile High City for the night. Traffic is fantastic. I’m being facetious. I hit rush hour like a bug hits a windshield.

Six lanes of pure compressed human misery. Semi truck to my left is losing his mind because the car in front of him is apparently driving like a tourist who just discovered the concept of a steering wheel. He lays on the horn so hard I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’m pretty sure the look on my face was the exact expression of a man who just heard his own death approaching in the form of a Peterbilt.

Then, behind me, a limo. Of course. Some guy in the back rolls the window down, points at me like he’s the king of Denver, and demands I stop in the middle of six lanes of gridlock so he can cut in. Buddy, I am already one honk away from a full mental collapse and my trailer brakes still sound like a broken doorbell every time I touch the pedal. Ding. Ding. Ding. I did not let him in.

I did, however, let several normal humans in. I’m that guy. The guy who still has a soft spot while the rest of the city is playing Mad Max at Thunderdome.

At this point I’m seriously considering which mountain looks the softest to drive off of. The brakes keep dinging like they’re mocking me. Everything in this entire state smells like weed. Nothing says “welcome to Colorado” like driving around all day smelling like a skunk that just got promoted to middle management.

Between Towns score today:

Bladder: 1

Truck-stop bath guy: 1

Denver traffic: 47

My sanity: currently in the witness protection program.

See you on the next exit.

It’s my life Between Towns

[betweentowns]

Blake Shelton’s Hometown, a Phantom Bale Wrapper Demo, and the Day Johnny Thunderpants Almost Killed Us All

Well folks, today was one for the books. My boss and I loaded up and headed south to the glamorous metropolis of Tishomingo, Oklahoma — official hometown of Blake Shelton and his famous Ole Red joint. We weren’t there for the barbecue or the live music, though. Nope. We were on a very important mission: a “demo” on a bale wrapper we supposedly sold last year.

The salesman (bless his heart) had been hyping this thing up for a week. “We’ll sell two or three easy,” he said. “I’ll bring a couple other folks out. And hey — the customer is buddies with Blake Shelton himself. Might even get to meet the man!”

We get there, and reality hits faster than a loose bale off the wrapper. Turns out there was no real demo. No crowd. No Blake. We were basically giving a private tutorial on how to run an old bale wrapper that the guy already owned… the one nobody could figure out how to use, so of course he never bought a new one from us. The salesman? Come to find out he’s not even with the company anymore. He’s freelancing now. Shocking, I know.

And get this — he used to be a John Deere salesman. Y’all, I should’ve seen it coming. Every John Deere guy I’ve ever met is cut from the same bolt of green fabric: big smile, bigger promises, and a tractor that somehow always needs “just one more little fix.” Full of shit? That’s putting it kindly. We got played like a cheap guitar at Ole Red.

On the bright side, the scenery on the way home was pure Oklahoma gold to an almost Missouri tragedy. We passed this beautiful little farm with a little bit of everything — sheep, goats, Shetland ponies, horses, the works. It looked like Noah’s Ark had a yard sale. Then, out of nowhere, one lone black pig comes hauling ass across the field like he was late for supper!

My boss was driving. He got distracted for half a second admiring the pig rodeo… and suddenly we’re staring down the headlights of an oncoming car like it was a game of chicken we didn’t sign up for.

I screamed like a little girl who just saw a snake in the outhouse. Might’ve even peed myself a tiny bit. (Don’t judge — that black pig was moving with purpose.)

We swerved. I cried like a baby in the fetal position. No crash. Just two grown men white-knuckling the wheel and laughing like idiots once the adrenaline wore off.

New official nickname for the boss: Johnny Thunderpants. He earned it. He thought of the name. I am rolling with it. Maybe he’s hiding a secret of his past of being a porn star. “ Johnny Thunderpants.” I’m probably not going to research this, afraid of what I may find. 😂😂.

Moral of the story? Never trust a freelance ex-John Deere salesman promising celebrity bale-wrapper parties. Always keep your eyes on the road when black pigs are involved. And if you ever do meet Blake Shelton out there in Tishomingo, tell him some idiots from the equipment biz almost died trying to sell farm toys in his backyard.

Next time we’re just sticking to hay baler demos. At least they don’t come with as much drama… or so I tell myself while I’m still washing the fear-sweat out of my jeans.

What a day.

PS If anyone does see Blake tell him Johnny Thunderpants and Mister Pee Pants said hello.

[betweentowns]

Dark skies hang like quiet thoughts,

Heavy with things unsaid.

Stars starting to slowly blink through the silence, clouds moving rapidly to cover the sun.

Where daylight fears to tread.

The world slows down its breathing,

Wrapped in shadow’s disguise…

And somewhere in that stillness,

You finally hear your mind.  

There’s a stretch of road I keep finding myself on, somewhere between where I’ve been and where I’m supposed to be. No signs, no landmarks worth remembering. Just asphalt, headlights, and those dark skies that feel a little too big.

Out here, the noise dies off.  No drama from people who are insecure in their life and hate the success of others, no expectations riding shotgun. Just the hum of the tires and whatever thoughts decide to crawl out of hiding. It’s strange how honest things get when there’s nothing left to distract you.

The sky doesn’t rush you. It just sits there, wide and patient, like it knows you’ll figure it out eventually. Or maybe it knows you won’t, and it doesn’t care.

Between towns, there’s no version of you to perform. No roles to play. Just a guy driving under a sky that doesn’t need answers.

And for a little while, that’s enough…

This is how it feels “between Towns”

[betweentowns]

Dealer Visits, Near-Death Experiences, and Apparently I Pack Like a Girl

This trip to Colorado was supposed to be simple. Ride along with my boss, meet dealers in my new territory, shake hands, learn names, and act like I have my life together for at least 20 minutes at a time. Basic professional stuff.

Also, minor detail, I’m trying to learn the farming side of things… because up until now, all I really know is Schäffer loaders. That’s my comfort zone. You want to talk loaders? I’m your guy. You start talking crops, soil, implements, yields… I’m basically a confused tourist.

So my boss is out here trying to educate me like I’m his slightly slow window licking apprentice.

We spent the first part of the trip hitting dealerships across western Kansas and into Colorado. The goal was introductions. The reality was me nodding along while he and the dealers talked about farming practices like I fully understood, when in reality I’m internally translating everything into, “Okay, but how does a loader fit into this?”

At one point they’re talking about equipment setups and I’m just standing there like, “Yep… those are definitely words.”

I’m pretty sure if someone had asked me a direct question, I would’ve just pointed at a baler and said, “That one looks important.”

Somehow, I survived all of that without making too much of a mess. The day is young…

Then the real chaos started.

At the end of one long day, we’re at the hotel bar/restaurant. Just me and my boss, winding down like two normal human beings who had a productive day.

I make a joke.

Not my best work, not my worst. Solid B-minus material.

He starts laughing… then coughing… then wheezing… and before I can even process what’s happening, this man just tips over and hits the floor like someone unplugged him.

Out. Cold.

So now I’m sitting there thinking, “This is it. I just killed my boss on a work trip while still not knowing what half this farm equipment does.”

I’m halfway out of my chair, mentally rehearsing how I’m going to explain this to 911. “Yes ma’am, I made a joke… no ma’am, it wasn’t worth dying over… also I still don’t understand crop rotation.”

And then… he wakes up.

Like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, I’ve aged seven years and am now afraid to be funny for the rest of my career.

So that was a nice, relaxing evening.

Last dealer of the day stop. It went well. Now driving through God’s country I turn and see “something” standing on the side of the road. It’s two mountain goats standing on the shoulder of the road. Listen, these are not normal goats. They’re huge!!! I swear one of them was smoking a cigarette and flexing its muscles at me and asked if I wanted to buy a Rolex. You know the kind…the one that the “R” had fallen off. It looked me in eyes and grinned. I’m pretty sure I screamed like a little girl being chased by killer clowns.

My Boss once again thinks I’m a complete idiot. I mean…he’s not completely wrong. I did lose my hat today. Good thing I found it resting on my head. Can’t make this stuff up.

At some point after that emotional trauma, we stop at a Love’s truck stop. I’m getting out of the truck, and there’s a woman walking toward her car parked next to me. We make eye contact. She smiles.

And immediately steps off the curb like gravity just remembered her.

Gone.

I think…maybe she is falling for me. Ok that was a little too much. Sorry.

So now I’m like, “Not again. I’m not collecting incidents on this trip.”

I swing my door open to go help her… and almost take her out with the door. Inches away from turning a minor fall into a full-blown accident report.

She immediately jumps up She’s laughing, I’m apologizing, and I’m starting to realize I might be the common denominator in all these situations.

Then, because the universe has a sense of humor, we’re driving down the interstate and this bird decides to test its luck.

It flies straight at the truck like it has a personal issue with us. No hesitation. No fear. Just commitment.

Full kamikaze.

At the last possible second, it pulls up and misses us, but not before both of us flinch like we just saw our lives flash before our eyes.

At this point I’m convinced I’m being targeted.

And through all of this, my boss has one main concern: I pack too much.

Apparently bringing extra clothes, snacks, chargers, and basic survival gear for a multi-day trip makes me “a girl.”

Every single stop, he’s sitting there waiting on me shaking his head while I dig through “my apartment” in the back seat.

Meanwhile, I know he’s regretting ever meeting me. 😂😂

Somehow, in between trying to learn farming, almost killing my boss, nearly taking out a stranger, and surviving an attempted bird attack, the trip was actually incredible.

Once you get into Colorado, the scenery just hits different. Mountains everywhere, streams cutting through the landscape, views that make you forget you’ve been living off gas station food and confusion.

It’s one of those drives where you realize, “Okay… this job might actually be pretty great.”

Even if I still don’t fully understand the farming scene I’m part of. That being said I’m going to learn it if it kills me…and I’m certain at this point it will.

So yeah, the trip was supposed to be about meeting dealers, learning the territory, and figuring out the farming side of the business.

Instead, I almost killed my boss with a joke, nearly committed accidental assault in a truck stop parking lot, got targeted by a suicidal bird, got roasted for packing too much, and learned just enough about farming to confidently nod in conversations.

All things considered… I’d call that a strong start.

At the end of the day crazy just seems to happen Between Towns.

[betweentowns]

Farm Show Survival Guide (Barely)

Just got back from a farm show that lasted one week in human time and roughly eleven years in emotional damage.

If you’ve never worked a farm show, let me explain.

Imagine a county fair… but remove the joy and add more boots, opinions, and beef jerky.

Days were long.

Nights were longer.

By day three, I forgot what town I was in and started identifying locations by smell.

“Ah yes… this must be the building that smells like popcorn, diesel, and unresolved childhood trauma.”

Now somewhere in the middle of all this wholesome agricultural fellowship, I managed to get into a fight with a guy roughly the size of a grain silo.

To be fair, most people look big when you’re built like a travel-sized human. I’ve been described as “fun size” and “easy to throw.”

Words were exchanged.

Masculinity escalated.

Poor decisions were made.

Next thing I know, I’m on the ground reconsidering every life choice that led me there, and just when I think it can’t get worse… his wife enters the chat.

And folks, she did not come to de-escalate.

She kicked me in the ribs like she was trying to start a stubborn lawnmower.

So if you’re keeping score at home:

Got beat up by a guy built like a barn.

Then drop-kicked by Martha Stewart’s angrier cousin.

Farm shows really are about community.

Somehow, in between catching hands and questioning my survival instincts, I also had some insanely fancy dinners. The kind where the plates are huge and the food is tiny and everyone nods.

lost a few years off my life expectancy.

But that’s the thing about the road.

It gives you stories you didn’t ask for…

in towns you barely remember…

with people you’ll never forget.

And somehow, between the chaos, the fights, the fancy dinners, and the absolute exhaustion…

You look back and think,

“Yeah. I’d probably do it again.”

Which is either resilience…

or a cry for help.

Either way.

That’s Between Towns

[betweentowns]

Between Towns: Big Rigs, Bigger Egos

Today woke up and chose to hate me Specifically.

First incident: a semi decided my lane was more of a vibe than an actual boundary. I’m passing, minding my own business, when I notice the cab drifting like it’s slow dancing with the fog line. Not aggressive. Not road rage. Worse. The driver was clearly in a heated REM cycle.

I sped up. Slowed down. Sped up again. The whole time thinking, buddy, if you’re gonna nap, at least pull over instead of turning me into a hood ornament with a backstory.

Ten minutes later, different semi, same audition for America’s Worst Drivers. This one wasn’t sleepy. This one was just an asshole. The kind that doesn’t speak English and washes his damn feet in the Loves Truck Stop Bathroom sink while brushing his hair with his hand. The kind who believes blinkers are a government conspiracy and smaller vehicles are optional obstacles. I survived. My pickup truck survived. My Apple Watch probably thinks I ran a marathon.

Then came the sales call.

I walk in polite, professional, doing my friendly, non-threatening salesman thing. Thirty seconds in, he cuts me off with:

“I only sell Bobcat. Not interested.”

Cool. Love a decisive man.

But then came the look. The tone. The confidence of a man who believes Bobcat was forged in Mount Sinai and personally handed down by the Lord Himself. Schaffer? Absolutely not. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want it breathing the same air.

Bobcat guys are always the same. Grumpy. Defensive. Convinced their equipment is the best because it’s the equipment they’ve always had. No curiosity. No comparison. Just blind loyalty and a mild superiority complex held together with their Carhartt.

So I thanked him, shook his hand, and left. No argument. No pitch. No wasted oxygen. Not every door is meant to open, and some are better left shut, locked, and labeled Do Not Disturb: Brand Loyal to a fault Inside.

Today was a reminder. The road can try to kill you, and people can be stubborn as hell. You just keep driving, keep selling, keep your head on a swivel, and try not to die before dinner. Speaking which…I’m starving.

Tomorrow’s another town. Another road. Another opinion.

And hopefully fewer assassination attempts

[betweentowns]

Morning in downtown Shreveport. The city lights are still on, probably confused, just like I was yesterday. Trains keep rolling by like they’re mocking me for sleeping in a real bed while they stay productive. Yesterday was a masterclass in questionable decisions and polite conversations I didn’t want to have. This morning I’m sitting here with coffee, pretending today will be different, knowing damn well it’s going to be just like yesterday with different lighting, a different view.

Let’s just make the day positive and let’s get this shit show started.

[betweentowns]

Between Towns

Most of life doesn’t happen at the destination.

It happens in between.

Between exits.

Between meetings.

Between hotel check-ins and gas stops.

Between the version of yourself you were five years ago and whatever the hell you’re becoming next.

I spend a lot of time on the road. Not in some romantic, Instagram way. I’m talking back roads, interstate miles, truck stop coffee, and too much time alone with my thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, I realized those quiet stretches are where the real stuff shows up.

The thinking you don’t do at home.

The honesty you don’t always say out loud.

The questions you push down because you’re busy being “productive.”

This isn’t a travel blog.

It’s not a self-help blog either. Nobody here is pretending to have it all figured out.

This is just a place to write about what happens in the gaps.

Work. Life. Food. Frustration. Good days. Bad moods. Things I’m learning the hard way. Things I still don’t understand.

Some posts might be short.

Some might ramble.

Some might hit a nerve. That’s kind of the point.

If you’re reading this, you’re probably between something too.

Between jobs.

Between chapters.

Between who you were and who you’re trying to be.

So yeah. Welcome.

Pull up a chair. Grab some coffee, beer, vodka, bourbon, or whatever you’re drinking. 😂

Let’s see what shows up between towns.