They Were That Day.

I once did a very stupid thing. I rode a bus, well several busses, from Panama City, Florida to Toronto, Ontario (994 miles, 1600 km, 864 nautical miles). It took 39 hours and the thing that makes it stupid is that I chose to take the bus. I flew down and had return tickets, but no, I thought the bus would be fun, see the countryside, across the USA from south to north. From a balmy 25C in Florida to -20 with the wind shrieking off the lake in TO. The trip began at 10pm and finished at 6am, 2 days later

In Birmingham, Alabama a baggage guy yelled at me because I stepped across some painted line and retrieved my bags “Wait until I put them on the curb, sir” but by then I already had them so I asked if he’d like me to put them back, pointing out this would require crossing the painted line of death once again. In fact, nobody was smiling in Birmingham that day. I assume other days, its a very cheerful place, but not that day.

I never stopped any one place for more than 15 minutes before it was time to get on the next bus. It’s a well planned system. Each and every driver made the same announcement, no smoking on the bus, or the police will be called! Yikes. Luckily they didn’t say anything about vodka, which I shared for about 400 miles with a guy who had just had his big toe sewed on where his thumb used to be. It was really quite remarkable.

Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York. I forget the rest; after about 28 hours on the bus it felt like I had always been on this bus, I got protective of the back seat which I had managed to claim through stealth and timing. The back seat is THREE seats wide, which means you can assume a position sort of like lying down, which allows something like sleep. Amish people got on in Pennsylvania.

I was dozing at about 3am, next stop Buffalo NY, gateway to the Borderlands, when I sensed we were stopping. There already? Excellent. But no, we were pulled over on the interstate, at 3am, next to a Burger King…and it was open. And everyone quietly rose and filed off the bus into Burger King. No No No, this is bad…we are so close now…we should keep going…oh god, maybe I really do just travel on this bus forever.

I had a cheeseburger, and the thumb-guy had an orange drink and bummed my last cigarette off me. Didn’t matter, no smoking on the bus. The last change was in Buffalo, then customs, Niagara Falls and Toronto…only two more hours.

It was cold and grey in the Buffalo pre-dawn, but that was perfect. I found my bus and knew I was close when the driver came out and said “How’s it goin? Look I gotta go do some paperwork eh, then we’ll be off. Would you please ask the other passengers to put their bags next to the bus? Jeez I’m sorry I can’t open ‘er up for you, she’s cold this morning. Be about 10 minutes.”

Well, I would have waited up to twenty minutes for such a fine, fine human being. But he was only 5 minutes after all, and then me and two guys from South America were heading for Canada. I crossed the border with no passport, just the secret salute, eh. The SA guys apparently didn’t have visas and they got to go back to Buffalo, and I had the entire bus to myself as we entered Toronto just in time for breakfast. I had a very vague sense of how a POW must feel upon repatriation. It had snowed while I was away, shut down the city and I missed it, but people on the street were smiling in the sun that day. I assume they are not always so cheerful, but they were that day.