EFFINGHAM, Ill. >> The vast Petro truck stop here is a neon-lit, blacktop oasis at the crossroads of America. It beckons big-rig drivers with showers, laundry machines, a barber shop, even a knife store. “Professional drivers only,” reads the sign above the tables of the Iron Skillet restaurant, where truckers sit mostly alone, carrying the solitude of their jobs into an otherwise social setting.

Driving a long-haul tractor-trailer is as commonplace as the items that drivers carry, from bluejeans to blueberries, from toilet paper for Wal-Mart to farm machinery bound for export. There are 1.7 million men and women working as long-haul drivers in the country. Yet truckers — high up in their cabs — are literally out of view for most Americans.

At a moment when President Donald Trump has ignited a national discussion of blue-collar labor and even climbed into a truck during a White House event, trucking, which was once among the best-paying such jobs, has become low-wage, grinding, unhealthy work. Turnover at large for-hire fleets hauling freight by the truckload — the backbone of the industry — runs an astonishing 80 percent a year, according to a trade group. Looming over the horizon is a future in which self-driving trucks threaten to eliminate many drivers’ livelihoods.

Still, trucking continues to draw plenty of newcomers, reflecting the lack of good alternatives for workers without a higher education. Some have lost better-paying manufacturing jobs in the continuing deindustrialization of America. Others have spent years knocking on the door of the middle class in minimum-wage jobs in fast food or retail. To them, trucking is a step up.

Over two days recently, The New York Times spoke to truckers at the Petro stop, which sits at the intersection of Interstate 57, between Chicago and Memphis, Tennessee, and Interstate 70, between Indianapolis and St. Louis. These interviews were edited and condensed.

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‘The clock’s ticking, the clock’s ticking’

Greg Simmons, 54, Hastings, Florida. Driving 27 years.

We’re throwaway people. Nobody cares about us. Everybody’s perception of a truck driver is we clog up traffic, we get in the way, we pollute the environment.

We’re just like cops. Everybody needs us, but nobody wants us.

Q: Truckers are paid mostly by the mile, not the hour. Federal rules say they can drive 11 hours within a 14-hour window, and then they must stop for a 10-hour break. Many resent the 14-hour rule.

A: Everybody’s constantly looking at the clock. If you get caught in a traffic jam for 4 hours, that’s four hours of your productivity gone. Or if you go to pick up a load and these people take 5 1/2 hours to load you, they’ve killed 5 1/2 hours of your day. The clock’s ticking, the clock’s ticking. Got to go, man, got to go! The 14-hour rule has created an unnatural amount of pressure. For the young fellows, after two or three months, they say the hell with this.

Why do you keep driving?

Because at 54 years old, nobody wants me. I can’t retrain for anything else. For older people, you kind of get trapped. For every one that does well, there’s 30 that it destroys.

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‘Something I’ve always wanted to do’

Michael Gallant, 22, Biddeford, Maine. Driving eight months.

Truck driving is something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a little kid. I love it. There are some times when it’s kind of a crappy job, but other times it’s great. Overall, I’m very happy with my job. I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Do you worry, as a young driver, that self-driving trucks could take over the industry?

That’s a touchy subject. I haven’t really thought too much on it. I think it’ll be a little while until we get to that point. You’ll still need a driver to make sure that nothing goes wrong with that truck. I don’t see it all becoming autonomous.

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‘My last husband hated me being a truck driver’

Patricia Moore, 60, Oak Grove, Louisiana. Driving 15 years.

I haven’t been married in over 10 years. My last husband hated me being a truck driver. He used to fight with me on the phone out here on the road. I loved it when I had no signal.

It was either my job or his alcohol, and I picked my job.

What’s the best part of being a trucker?

A paycheck.

A friend of mine said, “If you’re out here on the road, how come you don’t make more money than you make?”

Everybody paints this as glamorous. Yeah, we get to see the country. At 65 mph from the interstate.

How is your health?

Horrible. They can’t figure out what’s wrong with my stomach. We eat a lot of junk food. Like last night I ate Subway. It’s junk. In 15 years, I’ve gained 70 pounds.

Last month, Moore quit long-haul trucking and moved to Midland, Texas, to be closer to a son, where she now drives an 18-wheeler that services the oil fields of West Texas. In a phone interview, she said the job allows her to return home every night, and has other benefits.

I bettered myself — almost doubled my salary. I bought me a brand-new car, a 2017 Chevrolet, two days after I hit this town. My health is also better. I’ve lost some weight. I cook my own food now.

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‘Freedom. Oh my God, I cannot tell you.’

Daniel McMillan, 33, and Susan Zimmerman, 48, Danville, Virginia. Driving two years.

Susan: We met working at McDonald’s. Trucking was my dream first. I raised my daughter and she was going to college, I needed to better myself. Working for McDonald’s for 10 years, trying to raise your child on a McDonald’s wage, you could only rely on tax season to get her stuff. Daniel encouraged me to go get my CDL.

Daniel: She came back and picked me up. I jumped on her truck and she trained me. Then I got my CDL.

Susan: I’ll drive eight hours and he’ll drive eight hours, and then we shut down. Now we’re owner-operators. We are a company.

People say it’s lonely on the road, but it must be different for a couple.

Daniel: We have friends that were truck drivers, their home life fell apart.

Susan: Their spouses cheated.

Daniel: Children going crazy, going to jail.

What’s the best part of trucking?

Daniel: Freedom. Oh my God, I cannot tell you.

Susan: Beautiful sunny days.