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We didn't end up going to Mt. Rushmore this weekend. Yesterday it rained just about all day and we decided we didn't want to spend the day driving in the rain. And, the South Dakota weather forecast didn't look to hot. Instead, we stopped and got bagels and drove north to some outlet stores about an hour away.

There are a lot of great big truck stops in my lovely state and for some reason my mom really likes to stop at all of them. Truck stops are kind of a crazy cultural icon in their own right and we've been known to do a little shopping along the side of the nearest interstate. Some of the best truck stops, though, are scattered in Wyoming, Idaho and Oregon. A few years back, my mom took me and two of my cousins west on a 3500 mile road trip and we stopped at some of the most amazing stops. Some truck stops have full-service restaurants, parks, showers, and malls inside of them. And, these, are lots and lots of fun to see. There's a gigantic truck stop, that's sort of a family resort as well, called "Little America" near the border of Wyoming and Colorado. We had seen it on our way out of Colorado on this road trip a few years back and really wanted to check it out. It's one of those places that you really can't miss if not for the 100,000 square foot, 50 acre complex on the side of the road, than for the 15 billboards that pop up along the way: "Little America, only 100 miles away." "Little America, only 88 miles away."

So, yesterday after our shopping conquest, our stomach juices were rumbling and we didn't know where to go. Much of Colorado, at least the new parts of the state, are littered (I chose that word on purpose--these sorts of restaurants just seem to pop up everywhere with no rhyme or reason) with food joints like Applebee's and Black Eyed Pea. These are the suburb chains. And, being as we were in, what is becoming, the suburb capital of the world, there wasn't much to eat. Then, my mom remembered that she had seen a famous truck stop featured on the news a while back and that she had really been wanting to check it out. [Actually, the chronology of this story is a bit off: now I remember that she remembered this when we passed the truck stop on our way to the outlet mall and said that we would stop there on the way home.] So, we decided to go there for lunch. She was in the mood for a greasy grilled cheese sandwich and french fries, and I didn't know what I was in the mood for, but I figured I'd be able to find something.

This place wasn't that great. I've definitely seen better. But, it's under renovation and much of it was out of commission. Admittedly, looking around was quite a riot. We placed our order to go and just observed the scene. It seemed like this place on the side of the highway was more of a family gathering joint than a truck stop. While we were waiting, a family of 4 came in to pick up their to go order, as well. This place supposedly has the world's best cinnamon rolls. Now, as much as I hate the term "world's best" (I mean, come on, how can you really make a judgment like that?), when we watched everyone leave with one (a few people even came in and bought 6), I figured they might be on to something, and who was I to not even give them a chance?

We were both kind of embarrassed at our purchases. But, in between bites of melted craft singles stuffed between two pieces of wonder bread and warm, gooey cinnamon roll, we managed to get passed the initial rosy cheeks. My mom's grilled cheese turned out to be excellent. But, it was excellent in one of those "I only need to eat this once every 3 years to know it's excellent" sort of way. Unfortunately, my cinnamon roll wasn't that good. Well, it just wasn't great. I actually felt bad for all of those people who spent their weekend budgets on purchasing six of them at once. I've certainly had better, and even made better to be perfectly honest. But, nonetheless, it was fun. Mount Rushmore is a true American monument. But, let me tell you, these truck stops--you'd have to have a hell of a good argument to say that they aren't American monuments in their own right. So, Johnson's Corner wasn't Mt. Rushmore, but it was an adventure, and that's what counts.

Sometimes I reflect upon the childhood stories that I'm going to have logged away to tell my children and grandchildren. And really, the thought of recounting the stories, alone, gets me excited.