Tonight finds me in Roseland, Indiana. Yesterday I picked up a snow removal truck headed for a small town in Maine.
This morning I made my way down from Wisconsin to western Illinois to pick up a pavement roller going to a town a little north of Boston.
The roller was supposed to be ready to load first thing this morning but when I got to the factory they weren't quite finished building it yet. It was after lunch before they finally had it done and ready to load.
Such is trucking.
I made it as far as Roseland and called it a day. I checked into the hotel here and walked over to the pub I normally visit just to find a sign posted on the door saying that they had a new owner and were closed awaiting their new liquor license. Bummer.
I walked down to an Irish themed pub about a half mile away. It turned out to be a good time. I had a very good corned beef sandwich, a few beers, and some interesting conversation, including a younger woman who asked me to look up, on my iPad, the status of her son who was in prison for robbery.
I kind of felt sorry for the mother, but let her know I didn't feel any sympathy for her son who had committed robbery on another person. She actually felt the same way, for which I liked her, but was understandably worried about her son. Once again I felt sorry for her.
Such situations can be very complicated.
She seemed like a very nice woman and we chatted for quite a while before she went home to her husband and other, younger son. Before she left she told me that some of of comments had cheered her up a bit. That is nice to hear.
After she left I chatted with a few fellow ex-military guys before emptying my pipe and filling it again for a final smoke, Frog Morton On The Town, and set out walking back to my hotel.
I have always found it interesting that when you are sitting someplace and enjoying a good pipe that people seem to be drawn to you if they need or want to converse.
What is it about a pipe that draws people into a conversation, even if they don't smoke one themselves?