When I was little, I always thought it’d be cool and oh-so-young-Drew-Barrymore if I roadtripped across the country with random truckers met on the open road. That idea didn’t last long, but the love of diners and truck stops is still there. I’d love nothing more than to drive across the Midwest in a Winnebago, photographing truck stops and their signs (and campers, trailers, hillbillies and giant spools of yarn). For now, though, I’ll just settle with the occasional breakfast at a local truck stop.
These are some film photos from my Pentax K1000. Jen and I wrote about this truck stop my dad would take me to when I was growing up. He loved the huge pile of hash browns, bacon and runny eggs that consumed the plate. It’s under new ownership now, and no longer has ostrich burgers, but the Highway 99 noise and white trucker beards still give it that on-the-road feel.