Bus Stories of a Meandering Jew

I’ve traveled a great deal around the continental US and Canada, and I’ve done most of it by Greyhound or some other non-descript bus line. I know you’re going to ask, “You have a nice car, or you can afford to fly. Why Greyhound? There are lots of crazy people riding those buses!” What you don’t realize is that is precisely why I love riding the bus. The people who DO ride the bus are usually the poor souls who can’t afford to do get around any other way, or those, like myself who are fascinated by communal travel, and love interacting with other travelers. I’m crazy. We all know that.

When you travel by car, and I enjoy that, too, but without the benefit of satellite radio you are pretty much going to have to endure long hours of country music and gospel preaching as you cross this great land of ours. In the air, every passenger straps themselves into a tight little seat, puts down the tray table, slaps on the headphones, and secretly wishes they were alone on the flight. Unlike the plane, one can stretch out on the less crowded buses, and even grab the long bench in back if one doesn’t mind being close to the bathroom, and catch a decent nap. Being trapped by myself in a car, however, even a nice one, is just plain boring, and if you enjoy the trip as much as the destination, you don’t mind having a few other people to share it with along the way.

Bus travel is interesting. It’s kind of like jury duty on wheels. Once you get on, there is no getting off, you are trapped for long period of time with the same people, and no matter how bad the ride may get, you’re stuck for the duration. I can think of no better opportunity to meet and befriend compete strangers than when trapped in motion for 6 hours at a time, and bored senseless looking for something to obscure the images of passing tractor trailers and cornfields. The buses are filled with people who have real stories to tell about life, pain, and hope, and many times those stories turn out to be the very reason they're riding the bus.

I enjoy listening to others speak about how they ended up where they are, or even just stories about dumb things that happened along life’s road. Poor people have better stories than rich ones. Rich people have life stories that are boring. They have so many people doing other things for them, that I have to wonder what it is they do to keep themselves breathing, other than managing all those people they hire. The people on the bus don’t bore me with giddy little anecdotes about trinkets from Bali, or how a Rolex they ordered ended up being shipped to their Paris address (how on earth did they survive that one!) I met real people, some with real hefty problems, and most of them, believe it or not, showed a tremendous amount of courage, hope, and good humor.

The dangerous people that we are always being warned about don’t actually ride the bus. They hang around in the bus terminals and prey on those who ride the buses, looking for stray luggage or dropped money. I learned this in Chicago and once again in Reno. I was never accosted or robbed, but there were always a good number of drifters and scum looking for teenage girls or old ladies traveling alone. On a trip out to Denver, I befriended a 19 year old girl after telling some bum that I was her uncle to chase him off. And yes, we did spend a couple of nights/days together once we reached our destinations. I don’t remember her name, but I DO remember everything else.

The secret to better bus travel is planning ahead and having a plan B when things don’t go as expected. Sometimes it requires a bit of ingenuity, sometimes more money. The thing to watch out for in the big city terminals, aside from the police and the criminals, is the bus companies themselves. They tend to oversell tickets the same way that airlines do. They know that a certain number passengers might not show up, probably due to parole violations, so they feel it is safe to overbook. In the rural areas this isn’t a problem because passengers are generally few in number, but in the cities it IS. If you are traveling out to Ekvelt, Wisconsin, there is only going to be one bus a day going that direction, and if you end up being booted off the bus, you’ll be spending the next 24 hours fending off a sore tuchis from sitting in the bus station. Keep a towel handy.

I was only bumped off a bus once in Chicago, and Greyhound was more than gracious about it, refunding my entire fare AND offering me an extra one-way to anywhere I wanted to go in the 48 states. The funny part is that they had only sold 1 ticket too many , and as luck would have it, right behind me at the end of line for boarding the bus stood a pregnant woman and her 3 year old daughter. I knew it was going to be a long wait for the next one, but chivalry kicked in and I walked away. Chances are you’re not the only person stranded in the bus terminal and you might find some pleasant company to help pass time while you’re waiting.

Travel light. Nothing ruins the road trip like having to shlepp around too much stuff. As a guy who wasn’t particularly careful about shaving everyday anyhow, one disposable razor worked fine for shaving under the neck. If you are finicky about showering everyday, don’t use the bus as your primary mode of cross country travel. Travel in the summers so you can wear sandals and a light jacket, though if you are going anywhere near the Rockies, be prepared to freeze if you’re not prepared. At many of the bus stops they have souvenir booths. Avoid buying crap along the way. It’s just more to carry. Stretch as often as you can, and laugh more than usual. Find someone pretty and make conversation. Traveling light is also a state of mind.

Always bring something to break the monotony. Nothing kills faster than boredom. I brought along with me a miniature computerized chess game (I suck at chess), some light reading, and a deck of playing cards for when I was feeling more social. The cards came in handy on a leg between Butte and Sandpointe, when the bus suddenly broke down in the middle of Gornisht. There were a few marines on leave on that bus and we played poker for about three hours until help arrived. They had some stories to tell, and I wish I had written them down. Marines DO know how adapt, innovate, and overcome. One of them smuggled an entire case of Labatt’s onto the bus. It wasn't cold, but it was there. A good time was had by all.

One funny story, which occurred on the same bus, was sitting directly behind me. You know, when you grow up in the ghetto of orthodox Jewish Brooklyn, your life is pretty much limited to whom you meet right then and there, and when you hear stories about what happens to people out in the country, you seldom get to see it up close and personal. I’m sure many of you have heard the jokes about the Redneck or Hillbilly that somehow managed to run himself over with his own pick-up truck. You’ve heard of him, I MET him.

The poor bastard was in a cast that extended from his ankle all the way up over his hip. That could not have made bus travel any easier to bear. So, in pure Aronovitz fashion, I remarked, “I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like!” He laughed, and then of course proceeded to share every gory detail of this comic tragedy that he could recollect. Before I recount his saga, let me preface by saying that I KNEW already how the story was to begin before he even began telling it, and yes, it began with drinking heavily, as I imagined (doesn’t everything?). Here is his story.

“I was drinking a lot that night. My wife had left me for the 3rd time and I was really upset. So I drove back up past the farm to Rosie’s Bar to get my mind off her. (In that part of the country nobody actually ‘drinks’. They just ‘get their minds off’.) To make a long story short (probably because he didn’t remember much more than that), it was raining when they closed down the bar so I decided, even though I was way too drunk for driving, that I would drive home anyway because it was still raining (seamless logic, no?). My trailer is set up on a hill and there is steep incline (he didn’t use THAT word) getting up to it. So I drove home, turned off the engine, and got out, when I noticed the truck starting to roll backwards. I must have forgotten to set the parking brake again. (Notice how he said “again”.) So I ran down the hill ahead of the truck and tried to stop it with my leg.”

There you have it. If I hadn’t been on the bus, I never would have met the legend.

More to come!

If you have any good bus stories, please share them!