What I remember the most is the earring. A gold cross, probably nearly a centimeter tall, on a post in his left lobe. Not a simple cross, but not as elaborate as a French or celtic cross, either.

I saw it up close, as I hung on the side of his cab, hanging onto the handrails two steps up as we talked through his window. I warned him that one of the hoses on the right shelf of his water truck was about one-third out, almost hitting the washboard road.

When I told him there was another hose, just like it, laying in the road on top of the far hill, almost a mile behind us, his face fell.

This youngish man with the ponytail and bandanna. You'd have thought I just fired him. Or told him his dog was dead. And in that instant, it hit me why, and I made my decision.

I'd seen the hose in the road and thought nothing of it, except that if there was much traffic on this bumpy road, someone else would've snarfed that equipment up by now. Then as I crested the hill, I saw the water truck far below, off to fetch another tank of water for the drilling rig running in the oil field behind us. And when I saw the second hose almost dragging on the ground from his truck, bouncing up and out with each ridge of the washboard, I knew where the lost hose had come from.

I passed on the left, getting a little excited when my left rear wheel dropped into the muddy borrow ditch, forcing me to aim at his front fender to get out. And then, after the pass, I'd slid to a stop in the middle of the road.

Hence our conversation through his window.

And my peek at his earring.

And the distressed look on his face.

And I caught on. He'd never be able to turn that rig around in this road. Especially not with the muddy, soft shoulders. Nearest he could hope to turn around would be at the gas well, maybe two miles up. And it'd be three miles back to the hose, and then probably another mile or two in the wrong direction before he could turn around yet again.

The solution was obvious.

You stay here, and I'll go back for your hose.

It was heavier than I thought. Had to work just to get one end in the back, then fed it in in a long coil. Probably 16' of thick hose. Should have worn my gloves, 'cause my hands reeked of oil.

He, of course, handled the hose with ease, sliding it back into its berth on his truck like I would a garden hose. Quite grateful for the assist.

And maybe a little surprised.