The People Along the Way

This trip would be nowhere near as exciting if I didn’t have a host of travel companions to spice things up. To say they re a motley bunch would be cliched, so I’ll just be cliched. They are a motley bunch. There. I don’t do it that often, so you’ll just have to forgive me.

I say this for the first time, and I’ll say it again a few posts from now. Greyhound has got a bad name. While it is true that the fares are low and the service sometimes less than prompt, in no way is Greyhound the bottom of the barrel transport-wise. For one, the newer buses have free WIFI, electrical outlets for every seat and plush, comfortable seating. For two, they have, friendly, courteous, professional drivers who won’t hesitate to throw miscreants off the bus. Therefore, no miscreants on these buses.

But it goes further than riding with possible miscreants. There is a solidarity to Greyhound passengers that doesn’t seem to exist while riding any other mode of transport. These riders are willing to share their food, drink, smokes, life stories and experiences. Especially the latter they do freely. The rest you have to ask for. Not that anyone has asked me for food in particular, but one young man in Dallas, whose name I failed to record did say he was hungry and that he hadn’t eaten in three days. He stood 6’7” and skinny as a rail, had been kicked out of his religion and lost his chance at a job, all in the same day. Because of the religion issue, his entire family had turned their back on him. Now he is in Dallas, with a destination somewhere in Wisconsin, but no place to go once he gets there. Sad story. I shared some of my food with him.

It was Lacey that first gave me the idea to start recording names for future blog entries. She had a very dramatic life story that included being shot and losing custody of her little boy to her mother. As you recall our bus had broken down in Idaho Falls (see previous entry) and we were stuck for nearly 3 hours. That gave us all plenty of time to mill about and socialize. There was that young man that played banjo at lightning speed, the two young men who regaled us with their comedy routine, some more sedate passengers who just stuck to their books and didn’t say much at all, and one ‘family unit’ – a mom and her two well groomed kids who were only riding as far as Aspen. Mom shepherded her kids protectively, as a mother duck would her ducklings on their first swim.

And then there was Lacey, a long-haired uber-blonde with overdone eyes, a nice figure encased in a pink tube dress that showed off her tattoo collection, and flip-flops to display her pedicure to maximum advantage. Should I profile? Maybe. But it was she that gave me the idea to…

Talk to people! Get their story! No, seriously: bill myself as a writer (no stretch there) and invite them to tell me their story. After all: what else do we have to do over the miles and miles of miles and miles? Of course, if I was going to bill myself as a writer I should probably have some business cards to hand out. And I should create an email address, different from the ones I use for personal correspondence so that my ‘subjects’ and I can stay in touch, right? I should also have a notebook to take notes in, right? I already have some pretty nice pens, one of which I’ve since lost. Such a pity!

I didn’t have any of that ready when we were broken down in Idaho Falls, but I did conceive the idea there, thanks to Lacey who wanted me to write her story. And with the help of my conspirators (who did most of the work), we did come up with a nice business card design that I can simply load onto a thumb drive and take to Kinko’s for a reprint whenever I run out. But when we were stuck between Denver and Aspen, I had no such things, so I ended up jotting my regular email address and my blog address on a piece of paper.

I haven’t heard from Lacey yet. I wonder if she took me seriously, or if, overcome with joy at reuniting with her little boy, she forgot all about telling me her life story. I have not let go of my resolve to write about the people I met along the way though, so without further ado, let me introduce you to some of them.

Terrance shared a table with me at the Denver station. With his braids and his saggy jeans, most people would look at someone like Terrance and profile him as a gangsta. I found him to be anything but possessed of the ‘gangsta mentality’. Informed of current events and quite eloquent in his speech, he opened conversation by asking me what I thought about the Casey Anthony trial that had just ended. From there we talked about travels – his to Japan and mine to China, and our search for knowledge. He watched my bags while I went to the restroom; afterward I accompanied him outside. That is how I nearly missed the bus out of Denver.

Maaike: Pretty and blonde but not in an overdone way. She has a freshness about her only seen in people whose life is about to begin. She sold me the purple-covered composition notebook to record impressions from my trip in. Her brother’s best friend is currently in China, and she thought it was so cool that I was following my dream of travels far and wide. She has dreams of the world shining from her eyes, all while clerking at the local Safeway. Go, Pretty Maaike! Follow your dream and find your happiness!

Rehab Man: he was also on the bus coming back from Denver. A fairly attractive man, but careworn. He did not hesitate to confess that he was freshly out of rehab, after having sung the Ballad of the Booze for over 25 years. Was it part of his therapy to divulge that information to random people or just something he was so proud of that he felt he had to confess it to a total stranger? He never did volunteer his name or where he was headed to from Denver, but wherever he is, I wish him well. Overcoming such a battle is a remarkable feat and I hope he stays clean and sober for the rest of his days.

‘Junkie Shuffle’: This was the only person that truly scared me. Tall, rangy, tanned and handsome even though clad in only a black tank top and kahki shorts. Nevertheless this man could well have been someone’s worst nightmare. I am not outright accusing him of doing drugs even though I did surreptitiously check his arms for track marks. I dubbed him ‘Junkie Shuffle’ because, the whole time he sat next to me, he could not stop squirming.

Mind you, the only means I know anything about the junkie shuffle is from books. Apparently, when a junkie craves his next fix, he scratches his arms, can’t sit still, mutters, lolls his head about, gnaws at his fingers, tugs at his clothing and other such non-socially acceptable behavior. As junkies can also be female, please ascribe feminine pronouns wherever you see ‘he’. This particular affliction is not reserved solely for men.

Back to our ‘shuffler’, though. Immediately after sitting down next to me, he engaged in a few moments of lucid conversation with me while storing his shopping bag, which I found out later contained good, nutritious food like fresh fruit and granola bars. He had been traveling since Florida, he said. He was headed to Aspen for work, he said. Grew up in these parts and knew all about the woods because his Dad was a logger. He was a roofer by trade, he confided. And then, he drifted to sleep and that is when he started twitching and squirming. Now to the left and then to the right with his hips, and then his head would land on my shoulder. At one point he muttered “Pay me back, it has been a year.” And then, he hummed a little tune. Bleary eyed he would rouse himself and remind me to wake him if he got too close. I was already considering the idea of him sharing a seat with me as being too close, but divulging that would not be proper bus etiquette. This sort of thing comes with the territory when riding such conveyances.

‘Junkie Shuffle’ did not stop his squirming until a few miles outside of his destination. Only then did he rouse himself completely. He ate a pear and a granola bar, while telling me the area we were traveling through was rich in mining and logging history. He then got his cell phone out and called someone named Sara to tell her he was nearly home. I was relieved when he took his Jake Gyllenhaal good looks off the bus.

And we’ll take a break too. There are many more people to meet along the way but this entry is long enough, so, as I go on, I’ll introduce you to more of them, OK?