I'm a rambling man

I’m 20 miles east of Salt Lake at a truck stop and there’s a guy walking a parrot.
There’s a joke there somewhere.
I’m on the road, looking for WiFi hotspots (hopeless in Nevada) and pretty sketchy in Utah. The Flying J promised a hot spot experience, but we’re having technical difficulties.
So I’m having a plate of biscuits and gravy and coffee. I like to live dangerously.
(I ended up at a Starbucks in Park City to load this; old stomping grounds from the 2002 Winter Olympics.)
I’ve so far managed to stay (somewhat) out of trouble. Minding my own business, watching the landscape roll by at 60 mph (averaging 26.1 mpg) and jamming to the iPod. No skipping songs; I’m listening to them as they play.
I got in 490 miles on Sunday and stayed at the Motel 6 in Elko, Nev. My friend, ChrisN was in Elko as well (but I didn’t see her). She and her hubby are on Interstate 80 as well, moving to Kansas. I’m hoping they pass me at some point.
I drugged the girls on Sunday, but not on Monday. Trin just laid in the back, her nose running in little drops, while Scully rode shotgun and kept belching.
So I picked Motel 6, as they promised free WiFi.
But only in certain rooms.
Not the one the chain-smoking fat girl gave me.
“Whoops, sorry. I don’t know nothing about that.”
OK.
So I showered, slept and got up early.
But not as early as the eight Hispanic guys that were sharing the two rooms above me. They were in the parking lot at 4:15 a.m., their possessions in tied plastic grocery bags, yelling and whistling at each other.
I was organizing my driving space, quietly. Everything was loaded, even the girls.
“My goodness but you’re loud,” the woman in the next room yelled at me.
“Who do you think you are?” she hissed, before I could tell her it wasn’t me.
“Hey, why don’t you kiss my ass?” I said, without thinking.
She slammed the door, but watched me through an obvious part in the drapes.
I couldn’t resist.
I hit the high-beams.
She opened the door again, and was yelling.
I couldn’t hear her over the stereo, which was cranking out Camper Van Beethoven’s “Take the Skinheads Bowling.”
I put the truck in reverse, turned back to flash her a big smile, and gave her both fingers.

(It made me fell better, yes.)

I’m headed for Wyoming; I want to get in at least 700 miles. Trin's taking the wheel for a bit.