One by one, he could release the sensations, andanalyze them. With his eyes still shut, he began to work through them.First, he started at his feet, ...e could feel his toes, and his legs werecovered by something loose, most likely a sheet, but felt otherwise naked.After some effort, he managed to wiggle his toes on both feet, the musclememory slowly returning. There did not appear to be any weakness, just anecessity to remember what the body was capable of.His exercised his hands in a similar. The tables had been pushed back to leave a dance floor in the centre, and the bar was open, though it sold tea and cakes as well as its more normal fare. Feeling that I needed a bit of Dutch courage, I ordered a glass of red wine and found a table a little distance from the loudspeakers and turntable which were operated by a dj who looked rather like a faded rock-star.I thought the music would be really old fashioned, waltzes and quicksteps, but most of it dated to the 60s and 70s with a few. "No time," he said. "You called just as he was coming in. Look, Gwen," he went on, turning the ignition. "I know we don't have any relationship at all, you and I, but Cathy is my daughter and I'm just as worried as you are. I'll find her or die trying." He turned the engine over, slipped into reverse, and backed onto the road. She watched him disappear down the highway.Cathy stood on the gravel beside the road, her hand shielding her eyes from the nearly setting sun, her thumb thrust out. "I'm talking about a different kind of load," he smiled patting the front of his pants. He then started telling me about this Red headed female trucker. Rusty was her name, and she wasn't much to look at he'd said, but she could probably suck a golf ball through a garden hose. He described her in detail, but he really hadn't needed to. Two of his details left me hoping that there were two female truckers out there like what he'd described. Rusty was my nickname for Darla because of her Red.