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Started By
Message
TulaneLSU's review of Love's Travel Stop showers
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:22 am
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:22 am
Friends,
“I was ruined when they legalized marijuana. I had just gotten out of prison, serving a few years after the feds found my plantation and burned it down. I thought I had nothing to come back to. And then I realized I could start renting the tiny homes that my plant workers used to stay in. Legalization destroyed my weed business, but it made me look to VRBO for new revenue.”
Thus began an hour tour of my recent VRBO accommodations. And thus began my regret, a regret that was fortified when the host walked me past a pit with a large ladder extending out of it, in renting the cheapest place I could find on that website. “That will one day be my cellar.”
Concrete, Washington sits on the Skagit River and is famous for its concrete. It seemed like a good and strong place to find a place to rest for a night or two. It is just a 90 minute drive from one of the best hikes in America: the Cascade Pass and Sahale Glacier hikes.
I am not a creature of comfort. Electricity, luxury, an indoor toilet, a bed – all are secondary to my need to get a few hours of quiet rest each night, especially when I am hiking or mountaineering. Quiet, darkness, and protection from the elements are all I really need, or so I thought.
As my host showed me my quarters, the fact that it did not have electricity or a toilet did not bother me. I can get by with a battery powered five lumen light source, as it is time for bed once the sun goes down. But the lack of running water was a concern. I asked, “How do I take a shower?”
The host laughed. “A shower? We do military showers here. And I only take one per week. It’s better for your health.”
“Where is the running water for the military shower?” I responded.
“There is no running water. That three gallon tank over there – he was pointing across the 10 foot wide room – that is for you to drink and shower. You can put some in the sink and use a washcloth to hit the important parts.”
Not wanting to correct my host and inform him that military showers actually include running water that is stopped during the lathering phase, I simply shrugged. Then I said, “Well, sir, I will be doing a very strenuous hike tomorrow. My body will require some running water.”
He responded, “In that case, there is a small creek with some running water a five or ten walk from here. It is easy to find. Just follow the trail.”
For some reason, I trusted him and went to bed with anticipation for next day’s hike, trusting that when it was completed, there would be a cool, glacier-fed stream waiting to wash away the dirt of my past.
The next morning began in darkness. It is a long road up to the North Cascade National Park, a hard road that is unpaved, and honestly, unforgiving on the cars that make the trek. There is a five to ten mile section that has essentially a shell road that makes the driver believe he is driving on a washboard, replete with tiny undulations that cause rolled up windows to shake and the entire car to rattle to the point where even 25 MPH feels too fast. Renting a car for the day would likely pay off in the long run, considering this road probably ages your car three years.
On weekends of good weather, if one is not to the parking lot by 7 AM, he can expect to park downhill, precariously on the road’s precipice. I arrived at 6:55 and found a prime space. The Cascade Pass trail is the first part of the Sahale Glacier trail. While the Cascade Pass route is considered tough for day hikers, it is a very easy and casual eight or nine mile out-and-back with about 1500-2000’ of elevation gain with lovely switchbacks on a soft footing most of the way. As such, the slope is pleasant, and much of it goes through a canopied forest where coolness, even on warm days, prevails.
This first and easier part of the trail is filled with wildlife. I saw three bears, including one from less than 50 feet on the descent. Thankfully, as of yet, the grizzlies have not made their way back into the Northern Cascades. There is a ridiculous and foolhardy movement, backed by the NPS, to reintroduce these beasts, thus decreasing the accessibility and safety of another park. I despise grizzly bears, now more than bridges. Marmot, which are almost annoyingly loud, communicating with one another in the early morning hours, and beautiful flowers fill the sides of the Pass. Here, the marmot almost look like skunks. Most other parks have marmot that more closely resemble the color of nutria brown.
There are scenic views to the south, with Mix Up Peak dominating that direction. Glaciers, even in late August and early September, are aplenty on the northward facing slopes.
At the end of the Cascade Pass trail, which is a worthy accomplishment if you are obese or over 70 years old, looks east through that historic pass. I stood here for a few minutes and considered the mettle of those early pioneers crossing the continent, looking for a dream. The pass is hard enough to hike with modern gear while in good shape. How much harder it must have been in wagons, carrying family and every belonging, where there was no safety valve or ranger watching out for you.
“I was ruined when they legalized marijuana. I had just gotten out of prison, serving a few years after the feds found my plantation and burned it down. I thought I had nothing to come back to. And then I realized I could start renting the tiny homes that my plant workers used to stay in. Legalization destroyed my weed business, but it made me look to VRBO for new revenue.”
Thus began an hour tour of my recent VRBO accommodations. And thus began my regret, a regret that was fortified when the host walked me past a pit with a large ladder extending out of it, in renting the cheapest place I could find on that website. “That will one day be my cellar.”
Concrete, Washington sits on the Skagit River and is famous for its concrete. It seemed like a good and strong place to find a place to rest for a night or two. It is just a 90 minute drive from one of the best hikes in America: the Cascade Pass and Sahale Glacier hikes.
I am not a creature of comfort. Electricity, luxury, an indoor toilet, a bed – all are secondary to my need to get a few hours of quiet rest each night, especially when I am hiking or mountaineering. Quiet, darkness, and protection from the elements are all I really need, or so I thought.
As my host showed me my quarters, the fact that it did not have electricity or a toilet did not bother me. I can get by with a battery powered five lumen light source, as it is time for bed once the sun goes down. But the lack of running water was a concern. I asked, “How do I take a shower?”
The host laughed. “A shower? We do military showers here. And I only take one per week. It’s better for your health.”
“Where is the running water for the military shower?” I responded.
“There is no running water. That three gallon tank over there – he was pointing across the 10 foot wide room – that is for you to drink and shower. You can put some in the sink and use a washcloth to hit the important parts.”
Not wanting to correct my host and inform him that military showers actually include running water that is stopped during the lathering phase, I simply shrugged. Then I said, “Well, sir, I will be doing a very strenuous hike tomorrow. My body will require some running water.”
He responded, “In that case, there is a small creek with some running water a five or ten walk from here. It is easy to find. Just follow the trail.”
For some reason, I trusted him and went to bed with anticipation for next day’s hike, trusting that when it was completed, there would be a cool, glacier-fed stream waiting to wash away the dirt of my past.
The next morning began in darkness. It is a long road up to the North Cascade National Park, a hard road that is unpaved, and honestly, unforgiving on the cars that make the trek. There is a five to ten mile section that has essentially a shell road that makes the driver believe he is driving on a washboard, replete with tiny undulations that cause rolled up windows to shake and the entire car to rattle to the point where even 25 MPH feels too fast. Renting a car for the day would likely pay off in the long run, considering this road probably ages your car three years.
On weekends of good weather, if one is not to the parking lot by 7 AM, he can expect to park downhill, precariously on the road’s precipice. I arrived at 6:55 and found a prime space. The Cascade Pass trail is the first part of the Sahale Glacier trail. While the Cascade Pass route is considered tough for day hikers, it is a very easy and casual eight or nine mile out-and-back with about 1500-2000’ of elevation gain with lovely switchbacks on a soft footing most of the way. As such, the slope is pleasant, and much of it goes through a canopied forest where coolness, even on warm days, prevails.
This first and easier part of the trail is filled with wildlife. I saw three bears, including one from less than 50 feet on the descent. Thankfully, as of yet, the grizzlies have not made their way back into the Northern Cascades. There is a ridiculous and foolhardy movement, backed by the NPS, to reintroduce these beasts, thus decreasing the accessibility and safety of another park. I despise grizzly bears, now more than bridges. Marmot, which are almost annoyingly loud, communicating with one another in the early morning hours, and beautiful flowers fill the sides of the Pass. Here, the marmot almost look like skunks. Most other parks have marmot that more closely resemble the color of nutria brown.
There are scenic views to the south, with Mix Up Peak dominating that direction. Glaciers, even in late August and early September, are aplenty on the northward facing slopes.
At the end of the Cascade Pass trail, which is a worthy accomplishment if you are obese or over 70 years old, looks east through that historic pass. I stood here for a few minutes and considered the mettle of those early pioneers crossing the continent, looking for a dream. The pass is hard enough to hike with modern gear while in good shape. How much harder it must have been in wagons, carrying family and every belonging, where there was no safety valve or ranger watching out for you.
This post was edited on 9/5/23 at 1:23 am
10
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:22 am to TulaneLSU
The majority of hikers take in this view for a few minutes and then descend, feeling quite accomplished for “going half way” to Sahale Glacier. While this may be true distance wise, the next part of the hike is a bit more grueling than the casual walk through the forest path already completed.
But so much greater is the next part of the hike, that I would not argue if you said it was the best hike in America. The elevated ridge that leads to the glacier is known as the Sahale Arm. Here you will find Doubtful Lake and wild, delicious blueberries growing so close to the ground even when your brain is starving for glucose your body will wonder if it is worth bending to the ground to pick them. Waterfalls cascade and roar to your north, joining your heart and the marmot as the only sounds.
It is a steady uphill, and all along the way, you know the mountain has saved the most grueling part for last, when 1000 foot gain in under half a mile with scree, large boulders, and a poorly-marked trail await.
Both the elevation and the gain caused me to break four or five times in this unrelenting section. Do not worry – every person who passed me, I eventually overtook them on the way down, where no one ever passes me. Uncle has always said that had I been born in a place with nearby mountains, I would be a world class climber.
The Sahale Glacier has camping sites, but seeing that massive glacier, which no longer has any snow cover, is impressive. There were also some mountain goats, animals that most people on the trail do not seem to fear. After nearly being speared by one in Glacier, I am careful with these mercurial mammals. The views from this height, 8000-8500 feet, depending on high up along the glacier you go, are glorious and well worth the effort.
r
We were not made to live on mountain tops, and just as Moses and Christ before us, we spend but a time at the top to return home, with the hope that our journey will freshly inspire us and reaffirm God’s calling to bring the good news of God’s love to those who need it the most, whether they be a pedophile, prisoner, or OT pro.
It took me 4:50 to ascend and 2:45 to descend. I spent about 30 minutes at the glacier where I drank six bottles of water and prayed for God’s healing of a fractured world that looks to substances and hatred to fill the emptiness inside them. If only they knew that your love will seal all their cracks and make them well.
At the trailhead, I stood around for about 30 minutes while I gave handshakes and applause to those I passed on the trail but who had also finished this demanding trail. AllTrails clocked it at 11.5 miles, but the people with whom I spoke who had fancy tracking devices all said they clocked 14.5 miles. That would explain why it took me 7:35 to do the roundtrip, five minutes longer than AllTrails estimates. Normally, I shave anywhere between 20 and 50 percent off a hike’s estimate.
These hikers, of course, are not your typical internet hikers who do it for photos and social media credit. These guys hike as their number one hobby. They shop at REI and have walking polls, rope, crampons, and hiking helmets. I would imagine most of their resting heart rates are around 50 bpm. They drive Subaru, Mercedes conversion vans, Tacos, and 4 Runners.
As I made my way down the rippled road, I fancied the thought of a cool, flowing river running over my dehydrated and overheated body. But first, I knew I needed to eat anything. Great Value energy bars will get you so far, but I had just burned well over 3000 calories and know I needed some pizza. Gratefully, I found a spot in Concrete that was bursting to the seams with customers. Named Annie’s Pizza Station, clearly, this pizzeria is a town favorite.
The lovely ladies working there could see I was famished, so they gave me the VIP treatment. I ordered a large pepperoni, an usual order, as 95% of the time at non-chain pizzerias, I will get a plain. They said a large is enough for 4-6 people, but I did not have trouble eating mine, and nearly ordered a second. But thoughts of that cool stream beat out the stomach’s hunger.
Cooked in a gas Blodgett oven, this pizza was pretty thicc and very generous with sauce and cheese. It weighed three pounds and seven ounces. At $24, I was getting a good deal because this was the equivalent of two large Brooklyns from Dominos. It was a solid 7.0, better than Lovely’s 50 50, which now, undeservedly, is making more than one list for best pizzas in America.
And now it was time to get that shower! I rushed back and prepared my towel, change of clothes and soaps. The walk through the forest was lovely and interesting. It wound past my outhouse, which the host had to explain to me how to use. Then I unexpectedly passed a bus house, where my host told me he first lived when he bought this 46 acre property.
He had lots of fruit varieties growing throughout. Thankfully, I did not see any illegal or mind-altering substances, lest I report them to the DEA. There were random outdoor kitchens and sandboxes with toys scattered. What a way to spend childhood.
But so much greater is the next part of the hike, that I would not argue if you said it was the best hike in America. The elevated ridge that leads to the glacier is known as the Sahale Arm. Here you will find Doubtful Lake and wild, delicious blueberries growing so close to the ground even when your brain is starving for glucose your body will wonder if it is worth bending to the ground to pick them. Waterfalls cascade and roar to your north, joining your heart and the marmot as the only sounds.
It is a steady uphill, and all along the way, you know the mountain has saved the most grueling part for last, when 1000 foot gain in under half a mile with scree, large boulders, and a poorly-marked trail await.
Both the elevation and the gain caused me to break four or five times in this unrelenting section. Do not worry – every person who passed me, I eventually overtook them on the way down, where no one ever passes me. Uncle has always said that had I been born in a place with nearby mountains, I would be a world class climber.
The Sahale Glacier has camping sites, but seeing that massive glacier, which no longer has any snow cover, is impressive. There were also some mountain goats, animals that most people on the trail do not seem to fear. After nearly being speared by one in Glacier, I am careful with these mercurial mammals. The views from this height, 8000-8500 feet, depending on high up along the glacier you go, are glorious and well worth the effort.
r We were not made to live on mountain tops, and just as Moses and Christ before us, we spend but a time at the top to return home, with the hope that our journey will freshly inspire us and reaffirm God’s calling to bring the good news of God’s love to those who need it the most, whether they be a pedophile, prisoner, or OT pro.
It took me 4:50 to ascend and 2:45 to descend. I spent about 30 minutes at the glacier where I drank six bottles of water and prayed for God’s healing of a fractured world that looks to substances and hatred to fill the emptiness inside them. If only they knew that your love will seal all their cracks and make them well.
At the trailhead, I stood around for about 30 minutes while I gave handshakes and applause to those I passed on the trail but who had also finished this demanding trail. AllTrails clocked it at 11.5 miles, but the people with whom I spoke who had fancy tracking devices all said they clocked 14.5 miles. That would explain why it took me 7:35 to do the roundtrip, five minutes longer than AllTrails estimates. Normally, I shave anywhere between 20 and 50 percent off a hike’s estimate.
These hikers, of course, are not your typical internet hikers who do it for photos and social media credit. These guys hike as their number one hobby. They shop at REI and have walking polls, rope, crampons, and hiking helmets. I would imagine most of their resting heart rates are around 50 bpm. They drive Subaru, Mercedes conversion vans, Tacos, and 4 Runners.
As I made my way down the rippled road, I fancied the thought of a cool, flowing river running over my dehydrated and overheated body. But first, I knew I needed to eat anything. Great Value energy bars will get you so far, but I had just burned well over 3000 calories and know I needed some pizza. Gratefully, I found a spot in Concrete that was bursting to the seams with customers. Named Annie’s Pizza Station, clearly, this pizzeria is a town favorite.
The lovely ladies working there could see I was famished, so they gave me the VIP treatment. I ordered a large pepperoni, an usual order, as 95% of the time at non-chain pizzerias, I will get a plain. They said a large is enough for 4-6 people, but I did not have trouble eating mine, and nearly ordered a second. But thoughts of that cool stream beat out the stomach’s hunger.
Cooked in a gas Blodgett oven, this pizza was pretty thicc and very generous with sauce and cheese. It weighed three pounds and seven ounces. At $24, I was getting a good deal because this was the equivalent of two large Brooklyns from Dominos. It was a solid 7.0, better than Lovely’s 50 50, which now, undeservedly, is making more than one list for best pizzas in America.
And now it was time to get that shower! I rushed back and prepared my towel, change of clothes and soaps. The walk through the forest was lovely and interesting. It wound past my outhouse, which the host had to explain to me how to use. Then I unexpectedly passed a bus house, where my host told me he first lived when he bought this 46 acre property.
He had lots of fruit varieties growing throughout. Thankfully, I did not see any illegal or mind-altering substances, lest I report them to the DEA. There were random outdoor kitchens and sandboxes with toys scattered. What a way to spend childhood.
This post was edited on 9/5/23 at 1:29 am
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:22 am to TulaneLSU
Finally, ten minutes later, I made it to a body of water. It was not what I would call a running stream. Instead, it was a muddy, stinky bog. Still, I was willing to give it a go. I was dehydrated, hot with friction burns on my thighs and lips salty from the pizza and the loss of electrolytes from the hike.
I removed my shoes and socks and cautiously approached the water’s edge. That was when I sank knee deep in foul smelling mud the likes of which you smell and feel while crawfishing in the Bonnet Carre Spillway. It was disgusting. At this point, I knew I could not enter the bog, as it would be even muddier there.
So here I was. My lower legs completely caked in a methane-rich mud. My body unclothed, I could not put my clothes or shoes back on, lest I ruin them with this mud. So I walked back, carrying quite a load, barefoot. My fragile, soft feet were already blistered from a week of over 35 miles of hiking and 15,000 feet of elevation gain. Thankfully, Mother had packed my bags with a hidden supply of moleskins, which became quite useful, even though on the packaging it says do not use on active blisters.
Barefoot, I walked painfully over the rocks the host had laid on part of the path. My return took 30 minutes as I gingerly navigated the sharp rocks on my poor feet. Exhausted, I made it back to my shack, looking, knee-down, like a swamp creature. It took my backup 24 count 16.9 ounce Great Value bottled waters to remove this caked mud, which I did outside, in the nude, praying that the host would not bother me.
Exhausted, I went to bed, dirty, angry, and uncivilized. I imagined, “This is what it must feel like to be a college football fan waking up after passing out from inebriation – humiliating and debased and disgusting.” I prayed that night for purity of body.
The next morning, I arose at 3:30 and was gone from that unfortunate experience by 3:40. I drove in the dark to I-5, where I came across Love’s Gas. There was a large illuminated heart that lead me there and not one of the other three gas stations within a stone’s throw of it. The gas, at $4.63 a gallon, was also the cheapest I had seen all week. There was no denying it – God led me to Love, the greatest of the gifts, according to Paul, if you read One Corinthians, as some biblical illiterates might call it.
While I cleaned my luxury sedan, rattled by that rough road, the overhead advertisement rang through the area. “Truck drivers, come get a hot shower to refresh. Currently there is no line.” God had answered my prayer. I hesitated not one second and marched into the store.
There was a Cinnabon station to the right, which is better food than anything Bucee's has. There are very few, if any things, I can say positive about Bucee’s. It is a mockery of a gas station that discriminates against our truck drivers and drives the easily influenced to purchase junk either made in China or made to clog the arteries. If I had the inclination, I would write a Top 10 reasons Love's is superior to Bucee's. But I have more important things to do than compare gas stations.
“Give me one hot shower,” I said to the cashier, smiling from ear to ear. It was 4:30 and both of us were already full of cheer.
“Are you a truck driver?” he asked.
“No, I am driving a sedan. It is that black one out there you can see on your video.”
He responded, “I am sorry; you cannot use the showers. Truck drivers only.”
Hopes dashed and thoughts of making the five hour drive to Astoria filthy, I pleaded with him. That did not work. I then stood there and bowed my head, to clear my thoughts and pray.
“Eureka! I have a CDL!”
“You do?” The man was quite surprised.
“Yes. I am in the late stages of starting a tour guide service in New Orleans that I call TulaneLSU’s Poorboy Tours of New Orleans. Right now, I lack a vehicle, but I carry a CDL just in case I ever save enough money for a new Ford F350 tour bus. Here it is!” I plopped my card on the counter.
The cashier seemed genuinely surprised and happy that he could sell me a ticket to one of the six shower stalls. It was $18, a bargain at that time. I would have paid $100. The receipt carried a shower number and a code.
At the door, there was a security pad with numbers. I typed in my code and I was officially part of the Love’s shower club.
Luxurious does not begin to describe the comfort I felt upon entering the bathroom, or should I say, the spa. To my right were a private toilet and vanity. To my left was a tiled bench. Just beyond was that morning’s piece de resistance: the shower.
There were two levers: one to control the force of water and the other to control the temperature. But for a few moments, I stood there, gazing all around, admiring the tiling and the strips of backsplash, the fire alarm, the fan, the stool for obese or those with a handicap. I said a prayer of thanksgiving to our benevolent, guiding God.
And then the water flowed. Normally, my showers last two or three minutes. But this was my time, and I divulged in the steaming shower. I washed my hair with the delightful soap that doubled as shampoo, not once or twice, but three times. Using the washcloth provided, I rinsed every crevice with the precision of a surgeon cleaning his hands at a scrub sink. It felt like a new baptism. The old and concreted mud washed away. The new and lovely purity was here.
Drying myself with their brown towels, I wondered if these were made of the finest Egyptian cotton. It mattered not. I have stayed at some of the finest hotels and resorts in the world – The Ritz, The Grove Park, The Plaza, The London Lodge, The Fairmont, and more. None of them has ever given me a shower experience as beautiful as Love’s.
May we all, in our own way, find such a cleansing experience, a moment or a string of moments, where our dirtiness if washed away by the redeeming love of Christ. Or as Paul says:
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
I removed my shoes and socks and cautiously approached the water’s edge. That was when I sank knee deep in foul smelling mud the likes of which you smell and feel while crawfishing in the Bonnet Carre Spillway. It was disgusting. At this point, I knew I could not enter the bog, as it would be even muddier there.
So here I was. My lower legs completely caked in a methane-rich mud. My body unclothed, I could not put my clothes or shoes back on, lest I ruin them with this mud. So I walked back, carrying quite a load, barefoot. My fragile, soft feet were already blistered from a week of over 35 miles of hiking and 15,000 feet of elevation gain. Thankfully, Mother had packed my bags with a hidden supply of moleskins, which became quite useful, even though on the packaging it says do not use on active blisters.
Barefoot, I walked painfully over the rocks the host had laid on part of the path. My return took 30 minutes as I gingerly navigated the sharp rocks on my poor feet. Exhausted, I made it back to my shack, looking, knee-down, like a swamp creature. It took my backup 24 count 16.9 ounce Great Value bottled waters to remove this caked mud, which I did outside, in the nude, praying that the host would not bother me.
Exhausted, I went to bed, dirty, angry, and uncivilized. I imagined, “This is what it must feel like to be a college football fan waking up after passing out from inebriation – humiliating and debased and disgusting.” I prayed that night for purity of body.
The next morning, I arose at 3:30 and was gone from that unfortunate experience by 3:40. I drove in the dark to I-5, where I came across Love’s Gas. There was a large illuminated heart that lead me there and not one of the other three gas stations within a stone’s throw of it. The gas, at $4.63 a gallon, was also the cheapest I had seen all week. There was no denying it – God led me to Love, the greatest of the gifts, according to Paul, if you read One Corinthians, as some biblical illiterates might call it.
While I cleaned my luxury sedan, rattled by that rough road, the overhead advertisement rang through the area. “Truck drivers, come get a hot shower to refresh. Currently there is no line.” God had answered my prayer. I hesitated not one second and marched into the store.
There was a Cinnabon station to the right, which is better food than anything Bucee's has. There are very few, if any things, I can say positive about Bucee’s. It is a mockery of a gas station that discriminates against our truck drivers and drives the easily influenced to purchase junk either made in China or made to clog the arteries. If I had the inclination, I would write a Top 10 reasons Love's is superior to Bucee's. But I have more important things to do than compare gas stations.
“Give me one hot shower,” I said to the cashier, smiling from ear to ear. It was 4:30 and both of us were already full of cheer.
“Are you a truck driver?” he asked.
“No, I am driving a sedan. It is that black one out there you can see on your video.”
He responded, “I am sorry; you cannot use the showers. Truck drivers only.”
Hopes dashed and thoughts of making the five hour drive to Astoria filthy, I pleaded with him. That did not work. I then stood there and bowed my head, to clear my thoughts and pray.
“Eureka! I have a CDL!”
“You do?” The man was quite surprised.
“Yes. I am in the late stages of starting a tour guide service in New Orleans that I call TulaneLSU’s Poorboy Tours of New Orleans. Right now, I lack a vehicle, but I carry a CDL just in case I ever save enough money for a new Ford F350 tour bus. Here it is!” I plopped my card on the counter.
The cashier seemed genuinely surprised and happy that he could sell me a ticket to one of the six shower stalls. It was $18, a bargain at that time. I would have paid $100. The receipt carried a shower number and a code.
At the door, there was a security pad with numbers. I typed in my code and I was officially part of the Love’s shower club.
Luxurious does not begin to describe the comfort I felt upon entering the bathroom, or should I say, the spa. To my right were a private toilet and vanity. To my left was a tiled bench. Just beyond was that morning’s piece de resistance: the shower.
There were two levers: one to control the force of water and the other to control the temperature. But for a few moments, I stood there, gazing all around, admiring the tiling and the strips of backsplash, the fire alarm, the fan, the stool for obese or those with a handicap. I said a prayer of thanksgiving to our benevolent, guiding God.
And then the water flowed. Normally, my showers last two or three minutes. But this was my time, and I divulged in the steaming shower. I washed my hair with the delightful soap that doubled as shampoo, not once or twice, but three times. Using the washcloth provided, I rinsed every crevice with the precision of a surgeon cleaning his hands at a scrub sink. It felt like a new baptism. The old and concreted mud washed away. The new and lovely purity was here.
Drying myself with their brown towels, I wondered if these were made of the finest Egyptian cotton. It mattered not. I have stayed at some of the finest hotels and resorts in the world – The Ritz, The Grove Park, The Plaza, The London Lodge, The Fairmont, and more. None of them has ever given me a shower experience as beautiful as Love’s.
May we all, in our own way, find such a cleansing experience, a moment or a string of moments, where our dirtiness if washed away by the redeeming love of Christ. Or as Paul says:
quote:
If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
This post was edited on 9/5/23 at 1:37 am
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:28 am to TulaneLSU
You’re an incredibly odd duck.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:30 am to TulaneLSU
quote:
“Eureka! I have a CDL!”
“You do?” The man was quite surprised.
quote:
. I typed in my code and I was officially part of the Love’s shower club.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 1:42 am to TulaneLSU
We're lucky to have you baw
Posted on 9/5/23 at 2:33 am to TulaneLSU
I usually recoil when they announce that someone’s shower is ready. I think of a medically obese truck driver hosing off shite between his folds that gets stuck in the drain.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 3:06 am to TulaneLSU
I think I’d bring my own towel. Brown doesn’t seem like a towel color I would want to use at a gas station shower. Hell of a review as always though 
Posted on 9/5/23 at 3:25 am to TulaneLSU
quote:I get a good chuckle at how well you keep your finger on the pulse of the vernacular of todays youth, sir.
this pizza was pretty thicc
Posted on 9/5/23 at 3:33 am to TulaneLSU
TulaneLSU:
Those towels are gray. Also you made a typo:
Those towels are gray. Also you made a typo:
quote:-Texas Tiger Thirty-Three (33)
May we all, in our own way, find such a cleansing experience, a moment or a string of moments, where our dirtiness if washed away by the redeeming love of
This post was edited on 9/5/23 at 3:34 am
Posted on 9/5/23 at 3:58 am to TulaneLSU
Love’s truck stops make me crave Chester’s fried gizzards. Chesters is far superior to Cinnabon.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 4:43 am to TulaneLSU
Did you notice just how bad some of Washington's rural roads are, esp around St. Helens and Ranier?
Haven't showered at a truck stop since right after Katrina. But I just found out a buddy of mine that drives trucks for a living has an account with Pilot so I might start doing that on road trips.
I have to drive to LA this weekend for a doctor's appointment next week. I think I'll do a little tour of some of the places to get BBQ in Texas. Going to start in Tyler and eat my way to Austin before heading on to California.
Haven't showered at a truck stop since right after Katrina. But I just found out a buddy of mine that drives trucks for a living has an account with Pilot so I might start doing that on road trips.
I have to drive to LA this weekend for a doctor's appointment next week. I think I'll do a little tour of some of the places to get BBQ in Texas. Going to start in Tyler and eat my way to Austin before heading on to California.
This post was edited on 9/5/23 at 4:44 am
Posted on 9/5/23 at 5:14 am to TulaneLSU
How many Lot Lizards have you and Mother murdered?
Posted on 9/5/23 at 5:32 am to DeltaTigerDelta
quote:
I usually recoil when they announce that someone’s shower is ready. I think of a medically obese truck driver hosing off shite between his folds that gets stuck in the drain.
I think of Auschwitz
Posted on 9/5/23 at 5:36 am to TulaneLSU
There is a lot going on here. Well done.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 5:38 am to TulaneLSU
quote:
"Eureka! I have a CDL!”
Posted on 9/5/23 at 6:45 am to redstick13
quote:
make me crave Chester’s fried gizzards.
That’s disgusting
Posted on 9/5/23 at 7:16 am to TulaneLSU
quote:
“Are you a truck driver?” he asked.
“No, I am driving a sedan. It is that black one out there you can see on your video.”
He responded, “I am sorry; you cannot use the showers. Truck drivers only.”
Why would they care if you don't drive a truck?
Posted on 9/5/23 at 7:19 am to TulaneLSU
This was a great early morning read. Thanks.
Posted on 9/5/23 at 7:23 am to TulaneLSU
Looking forward to this one. Can't wait to have a sit and think and give it its due time
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