In the middle of the night, partway through a cross-country drive, I unfolded myself from the driver’s seat at another random gas station. Someone special was waiting at the east end of Interstate 90, but the rig and I both needed fuel. Unleaded and Road Warrior Blend, respectively. As reliably as diesel hum at a truck stop, there is a chocolate muffin in the store, baked by a semi-local bakery, wrapped in clear cellophane, and called “Double Chocolate Muffin,” or perhaps “Chocolate-Chocolate-Chunk Muffin,” and occasionally “Chocolate Bundt Cake.” Sometimes the cashier will insist they don’t sell them, but like love, you can find that muffin if you look hard enough—or if you lower the bar enough all the way down to Hostess, if necessary. Not the cream-filled cupcake, but a legit chocolate muffin. Anywhere else, that muffin might be as forgettable as one endless highway mile after another. But our …