Overland Meets Over the Road

051115 630AM

Circle Bar Truck Stop, I-10, East of Ozona, TX

Sometimes Things are Just Meant to Be.

I awake from what I believe had been about 4.5 hours of pleasant slumber.

Through the thinning veil of my covering tarp, an intermittent light show indicates storms to the south and east. No audible thunder. I’m safe.

But I’m cold. I add a clothing layer and adjust the sleeping bag. It’s 430AM Central Time. Back home, I’d be walking my 9 year old Labra-doodle Gypsy around my ski resort village neighborhood and looking forward to showering and then snuggling back under the covers for a pre-dawn nap.

Instead, the knot that has developed in my back two days ago, the knot that contributes to my left arm and hand going numb while riding after only a few miles, the knot which I thought was on the mend, is back in force and dissolving any hope for a return to comfort. Time to get up.

I check the weather. It’s actually warm at 61 degrees, but the condensation on the inside of the tarp lends a penetrating dampness to my station that isn’t escaped until I throw back the tarp, tentatively swing my legs out, and finally emerge from my polyester parachute cloth cocoon.

Stretch. Stretch. Stretching.

Not helping.

I check the weather again and see that it is snowing in Colorado. What?

I check Mormon Lake, AZ’s forecast for the coming week and weekend; daytime highs will be in the 50’s/60’s with lows in the 30’s/40’s. Uh-oh.

I check El Paso, my approximate destination for today’s riding; 80’s and 60’s. Ok.

Standing outside, I analyze my camp. One word comes to mind. Inadequate. It needs an inner layer like that of quality four-season double-walled tents. And maybe another blanket. Fortunately, I brought a ground cloth that will work as an inner layer and can experiment at tonight’s camp. I’m out of luck on the blanket, though. Maybe my leather riding jacket will do. It occurs to me that my buddy’s leather cloak (The Mansheath) would do well in this circumstance. I turn to look around my surroundings and feel a pang of envy for the lavish sleeper cabs of the OTR haulers.

My current camp location, a truck stop in western Lone Star, is an unusual choice for me, but the promise of laundry and a shower were too attractive. Doubly so after navigating yesterday’s drenching, tornado-producing, Texas-sized storms.

Into the diner/general store/laundry/bathhouse I enter. Small bottle of detergent procured; quarters, check. Clothes successfully in a washing machine, I claim for myself shower stall Number One. Surveying my surroundings, I’m somewhat amused by an insight on trucker priorities and am impressed by the comparative overall cleanliness of this space when there is fecal debris and dried vomit found across the floor of the men’s bathrooms.

The warm water feels great and eases my back for the moment. A shave restores my face to pre-derelict status. I look in the mirror. Is that me? Is that how I look? The love handles, the (diminishing) cookie belly, the thinning hair and almost comically big shnause, the Frankenstein scar across my right collarbone- yeah, it’s me. No tattoos, but there’s character in this body, and aside from the persistent knot under my shoulder blade, I’m pleased with its overall physical condition and presentation.

Return to the laundry. My timing is impeccable as less than one minute remains in the wash- buzzzzzzz! Into the dryer my wet clothes and more quarters are fed. There’s a lounge upstairs, a kind of trucker’s living room. Should be a good place to write.