A Glimpse of Supreme Beauty at the World's Largest Truck Stop

I love driving crosscountry through Iowa.  The rest stops are interesting, with jogging trails that wind through prairies and woods, and there is a steady stream of cute guys walking to and from their cars.

But yesterday it was raining hard all day, plus nonstop construction -- you'd inch you're way through a construction zone, drive half a mile, and then see yet another sign "Construction Zone Ahead."

Only short rest stops, stuck inside, not enough time to explore.

Finally, late in the day, hours behind schedule, we made it to the World's Largest Truck Stop, also known as the Iowa 80 Truck Stop in Wolcottville, Iowa.




The World's Largest Truck Stop, also known as the Iowa 80 Truck Stop in Wolcottville, Iowa is a veritable trucker's mall, with every car part you could imagine, a food court, clothing, toys, accessories.    Plus a lot of services for truckers: a movie theater, a laundry, even a dentist and a chiropractor.

It gets thousands of visitors a day.  Usually a good place for beefcake watching, if you like beefy truckers and their broods.

But yesterday it was nearly empty.  Not a single hot guy to be found.  At least not in the food court; Bob rushed me in and out so fast that I didn't have time to check anywhere else.

Tired, frustrated, beefcake-bereft, we stopped into one of the gigantic gas stations with 10,000 lanes to get gas before pushing on to Rock Island.

Suddenly one of those small white panel trucks pulled up into the lane to our right and a little ahead.  The driver jumped out.  Young, in his twenties, pale, muscular, shaggy brown hair, wearing a dark green athletic shirt and short pants.

Intensely, insanely handsome, with the kind of face that makes you freeze in awe.

Our eyes met.  He smiled.  Then he began pumping the gas, his body shifting back and forth so that sometimes he was hidden behind a pillar.

What could I do?  I couldn't roll down my window and talk to him.  We were at a gas station in Wollcottville, Iowa, off to separate lives.

But I cold take a picture.

I pulled out my cell phone, waited for the camera function to load, and waited for him to sway in my direction.

But then Bob appeared, cleaning the windshield with a squeegee.

I didn't want him to know that I was snapping a photo of a stranger at a gas station, so I waited for him to stop.

Supreme Beauty swayed in and out, in and out.  How long did it take to fill a panel truck gas tank?

Finally Bob moved away.  He would now get into the car and start driving.

I had to act now.  Swaying or not, I snapped a picture of the most handsome guy I had ever seen.

It came out blurred, his supremely handsome features almost impossible to discern, his muscular frame reduced to a simple bicep bulge.

But at least I have the photograph to jog my memory.

And a reason to go back to Wolcottville

See also: A Gay Connection at a Gas Station in Rural Illinois