This Is Why We Travel – Colleen Friesen
I am balancing on my right foot, the left, still dripping, is pulled carefully from the shower-wet flip-flop and slid into the dry land of my waiting clog.
Now.
I shift my balance to my now-dry left foot and slide my right out of the slippery flip-flop…dammit, the other clog has been knocked behind me.
I do a slow pivot, twisting myself to face the clog. Success! My foot makes contact. I am now standing in dry shoes, a good inch and a half above the wet floor splotched with patches of mud and someone else’s hair.
I dress quickly from the top down, covering myself from the night’s chilled air that is contained in the cinder block building. It is the kind of cold damp air that brings to mind a meat locker. I tell myself it’s invigorating, but really, it’s just damned cold.
I lift each piece of clothing off the top of the shower door, ever vigilant that nothing else is dislodged to spiral to the aforementioned murk of the floor below.
Why the hell is there only one hook? Who designs these things? How much could an extra hook cost in the grand scheme of things?
Okay. Now it’s the pants. Always the trickiest part…I bunch up the left leg so it won’t dangle into the mucky floor, then, standing on my left leg, I slowly insert my right foot in to my pant leg. It’s still damp and sticks to the thin cotton.
I’m tipping! Nope. We’re good. Crisis averted.
One leg in, and so far, nothing wet. I realize that my heady sense of accomplishment is surely disproportionate to the task at hand. I don’t care. I feel triumphant.
But remember! Pride goeth before the fall (just once, I’d like to turn off that Mennonite sound-track).
It’s always the second leg that can be fraught with danger. This would probably be easier if these were sweat pants, but I might also point out that sweat pants are bulky and take up a lot of space in Tiny Trailer Life and to put on jeans at this point would be an exercise in damp-legged frustration.
So although these India harem pants stuff into the tiniest of spaces, they are also, rather voluminous. However, with the super large waist that can be tied tighter or looser, depending on the number of s’mores inhaled around the campfire, they are extremely camper-friendly.
I partially unfurl the bunched left leg, dangling it just above the shoe. I point my left toes and try to slide my foot into the piles of fabric. Argh. I shake it a little, pull at the sticking bits and, Oh yeh, baby. Just a little backbend of the foot, but an admirable recovery, no tipping, and look!
I am ready to roll.
I do a final check around the shower stall. It’s rather disconcerting to arrive at the next camp site, strip down and then discover you have left behind your soap and shampoo at the last State Park. (I’ve heard that has happened to some campers, right Kevin?)
Dangling the flip-flops from my fingers, I find some paper towel to wipe them off, wrap them up and stuff them in my shower bag.
I emerge, scrubbed clean and sure in the knowledge that if there were merit patches to sew on a Big Gal’s Camper Vest, I know that once again I have earned the How To Have A Shower In A State Park badge.
And so, given my qualifications, I forthwith offer the following:
Top Five Toiletry Tricks for Tiny Trailer Life.
#1 – Store all your toiletries in a good flat-bottomed shopping bag (thank you Tourism California). This means that if there’s only one hook, you simply hang the bag. This gives you a place to dump your stuff without it having to touch the floor. If, God forbid, there is no hook at all, you can sit it directly on the floor and still keep all your stuff dry.
Plastic Shower Bag (Thanks California!) – Colleen Friesen
#2 – Always bring along a pair of cheap flip-flops in the aforementioned plastic-coated shopping bag. You need never have your toes touch the bottom of that nasty shower stall.
Flip-Flops – Colleen Friesen
#3 – Get in those showers early. Early means they were recently cleaned. Early means other people haven’t been in there. Early means less icky shit on the floor. And remember to position your dry shoes out of the path to the drain. And always keep those pants as far away as possible from touching anything.
#4 – Soap-on-a-rope. Seriously, I’ve had this plastic soap container forever. It’s purple, it’s tacky, and it’s ugly. And…it’s a lifesaver. If there’s nowhere to hang it in the shower, it goes around your neck. Yup. Your body is now the ultimate hook.
Soap On A Rope – Colleen Friesen
#5 – Waffle-cotton towels. They’re thin, but they’re very absorbent and they dry quickly. Like my aforementioned flouncy pants, our towels are from Fab India in Delhi. As such, they have the added benefit of reminding me of travel in India. This, my friends is a good thing. Plus, hung in the back of the trailer while driving, they’re crispy dry for the next round of State Park Shower World.
More travel tips will be forthcoming.
But for now…
I remain at your service as I continue to selflessly explore further shower tips and other camping codes of conduct.
Comments
LOL! Anyone who has ever had the (dubious) pleasure of showering in a state park will totally relate to this!
But seriously, I’ve got to get one of those soap on a rope thingies. I hate setting my soap on what passes for a shelf in those showers!
Ha! Glad you relate Shelly. I forgot to mention the other genius feature of that soap on a rope…it even has drain holes at the bottom so that the soap doesn’t become a gooey mess like it does in other soap dishes. I would do an infomercial on my soap container. It is the BEST!
Jack and I had a Scamp trailer for many years, so I totally related to your Living Small adventure. I’m just jealous that I’m not in a position to go off on my own year of living without an address. I’ll just have to enjoy the trip through your eyes. 🙂
Shelly, I’ll do my best to do your Scamp trailer memories justice and live as big an adventure as possible 🙂
http://www.ebay.com/itm/231759096957 in case, God forbid, that you leave yours behind one day.
Holes and all
Hey Bruce,
Thanks for searching for the soap-holder-extraordinare! Good to know they’re still out there just in case…
So where does one find one?
I hate putting my soap on shelves in cheap motel and Casita bathrooms, too.
There ya go Joan. Scroll through to Bruce’s comment and you can buy one for only $3.99. Clearly, I need to start selling these things 🙂
That soap idea is a great one, have to add that to my list. Also like the idea of the plastic bag with handles so that you can keep it off the floor. Keep those ideas coming, hopefully one day i too will be back on the road…………
I’m guessing you’ll be on the road soon Barb. But then you can’t be in your studio…don’t you hate having to make such impossible choices, all of which are great? I had to laugh at myself when I realized I was struggling with the choice between two things I love doing…art in my studio or traveling and seeing what’s around the corner.
Nothing like camping life! We sold our 28′ trailer a few years ago – really miss it. and hoped to buy another one this year but may wait one more year. How to solve your hygiene & shower dilema …..Hmmmmm, maybe a bigger trailer? Looking forward to the next blog.
Hey Kelly, that 28′ trailer sounds palatial. We do have a teeny shower in our bathroom but it’s smaller than an airplane toilet so one has to do Houdini-like contortions to manage much. It will, however, be nice to have in a rough camp. We are now in a State Park with heated restrooms and shower rooms! Crazy luxury!!