OldTroubador's blog post - An Hour in the Shower

I set the brakes at a truck stop, gathered together my shower gear, and stepped out of the truck. Oh, it was hot, damned hot, the air thick with humidity from the coast and the storms that were starting to build up. This was Texas heat, the kind found only in the southeast portion of the state. The kind of heat that makes you walk slow. The kind that radiates up from the parking lot and envelopes you like a living thing. The kind of heat that saps your appetite and will to do anything. The kind that scorches the bottoms of your already abused feet through the stoutest of boots. The kind of heat that says that I am finally home.
It had been a tough week getting here, the last couple of days the hardest. I had left the Allentown, PA area late Tuesday afternoon and 1600 miles and two and a half days later, was in Temple, TX, south of Waco. Another day was spent doing local work in the Dallas area before picking up a load that I would drop in Houston. Then I could go home.
The last couple of weeks had been an endless parade of 12 ½ or 13 hour days, broken by no more than a 10 hour break, the minimum allowed by law. But even that is a lie, for there is always paperwork to do, inspections, minor fixes to the trailer or tractor, mail to answer, routes to review, laundry to wash, and food to eat. The one good thing about the electronic log now attached to my dashboard is that it forces me to take the whole 10 hour break, but that is about the only benefit I can see to that black box.
Summer had finally taken hold across middle America, but it was already September. The preceding months had been warm, and there had been a few hot spells, but nothing like the last couple of weeks. As a matter of fact, a few weeks previously, while touring the Midwest, the mornings were cool enough to necessitate using my heater for a few hours to knock the chill out of the cab; but not now. The drive west had put the afternoon sun square in my windshield, heating up the Freebird's cab to the point where all the air conditioners could not keep pace. Water was poured down my throat in even greater quantities than the coffee I drink. The sweat dripped off my beard and speckled my t-shirt. Hell, sweating like this, I might as well be working for a living.
I had used up my free showers a couple of days ago, except for one. I was smelling like overcooked roadkill and feeling like the bottom of a cattle trailer. Once I finished up the last of my paperwork (which now includes typing everything into three separate screens on the e-log), it was time to rectify this situation. First order of business was to take off my boots and socks and put on my flip-flops. My feet were so swollen, that wrestling my boots off was a major project, but boy howdy, was it worth it to let my feet breathe. I threw a change of clothes into my shower kit, and hopped out of the truck. I had missed the signs, and when I hit the ground, my knees buckled a bit. They, too, were swollen and stiff and sore from all the hours of sitting behind the wheel – working the clutch, brake, and accelerator. I would have limped to the truck stop, but both knees hurt equally, so I looked fairly normal walking across the lot.
I redeemed my last shower, and headed in. Thankfully, the air conditioner was working, along with the fan mounted high on the wall. And even more thankfully, I drew a shower that had a lot of pressure; I hate a wimpy shower. I left my dirty clothes where they lay, and stepped in. I placed my heels against the wall under the showerhead and leaned my forehead on the opposite wall, letting my arms dangle. The hot water stung my back, reaching deep into the muscles to pound away the stiffness. After a bit, I could imagine that I could feel every mile I had driven cascade down my back. There went north Texas; Arkansas just went down the drain. Good-bye Tennessee, adios Virginia. See you later West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and each of the other thirty states I had toured over the last 6-1/2 weeks. So long grease and diesel and dust; the salt from the dried sweat and the mud from rain drenched parking lots all were washed away, along with the problems of lazy shippers and receivers, the tension of driving, the stark fear of close calls, and the frightening sights of the accidents I have seen. I watched as the shower spray fell to the floor, the droplets combining, coalescing into larger drops that soon rolled to the drain like living things. I assigned each one a name, a place, someone or somewhere that had caused me agitation, and watched as they all disappeared. As time passed, the aches and pains eased; the tension flowed out of me like a river headed toward the sea.
I stood up and grabbed the soap. I scrubbed hard to erase the last vestiges of dirt and grime from my skin. Wash, rinse, repeat as necessary. I operated the shampoo dispenser on the wall and washed my hair, my nails digging deep into my scalp; I did the same to my beard, scraping the grime and any traces of last night's supper and this morning's coffee out of the tangled brushpile that rimmed my face. I was starting to feel human, even if I don't look it. I turned and got my toothbrush and toothpaste and scrubbed my teeth and mouth vigorously until my mouth was as clean as my skin.
I turned off the shower and stepped out, feeling refreshed. I took hold of my old towel, the nap long gone, the texture rough. I dried myself off, the sandpaper-like cloth invigorating. I dressed in fresh boxers and a t-shirt, put my jeans on and slipped my feet back into my flip-flops. I packed away the my used clothes and my shower supplies. I folded my towel and slipped it between the handles of my kit bag. I put on my vest, and arranged my hat on my head. Last to go on was my glasses and sunglasses, then it was time for the biggest, and best, decision I would have to make today.
Chicken fried steak with sausage gravy, or chopped steak with brown gravy and onions. The mashed taters – yeah, they are a given.