The Endless G-Bus Ride Into the White

Does this scene resemble this one at all? Hmm, no, I didn't think so.

The weather this winter has been about as bad as I can remember. It's not the size of the storms: we're not getting huge snows of two or three feet at a time. It's the frequency of them: we get a little snow, or the famous "wintry mix" (which is a grab bag of goodies - snow, sleet, freezing rain, rain, snow, sleet, did I mention snow?) every day or two. It may not amount to much, but while it's happening, the roads get bad and travel can be treacherous.

And then you have the joys of snow removal almost every day. If you don't shovel the sleety, heavy mess off your driveway before dark, it freezes overnight and stays there forever and turns into an even worse slippery, icy nightmare of a mess. Which is why I was out shoveling last night in the dark. Again. But I digress . . .

Consequently, this winter, I've ridden the bus more times than ever before. The house I own, which I bought in 2004, is a mile or two outside a small town that is about 15 - 20 minutes from the University where I work. It's a very rural area, full of farms and open spaces, which I love. Many of the photos I've posted here have been taken on my commute to or from work, so you can see why I love where I live.

When I bought the house, there was no public transportation I could take advantage of. So I had two choices when the weather was bad: drive (and possibly risk my life) or stay home (either taking a vacation day or scheduling a day to work at home).

A year or two later, I rejoiced to discover that the Centre Area Transit Authority (or CATA) had added a route to serve my area. Even better, the closest stop would be less than a five-minute walk from my driveway. Hooray! In the beginning, it was a whole separate route, and I got to ride the Z bus. Which was cool, it being a Z and all. A bus that might take you to the very end of things.

I guess ridership was rather low (possibly because it is made up - at least in part - of people like me, who only ride the bus when the weather is so bad they don't want to risk driving themselves), and so they combined routes, adding the Z route to an existing G route, and then killing off the separate Z bus route (somehow it reached the very end of things much more quickly than even I expected). This is how I have come to ride the G bus.

The weather on Wednesday morning was terrible. The weather dudes had said that Tuesday night's "wintry mix" would turn to plain rain overnight. But it didn't. So I awoke Wednesday morning to sleety freezing rain which quickly turned to fat snow flakes practically the size of baseballs. Only not as heavy, because snowflakes are made of feathers. Or angel wings. Or something. So I took the bus.

Which involves me running around like a crazy woman in the morning, because I usually get up around 6, and it is quite a feat to get a shower and be dressed and out the door in one hour so that I can be on the 7:05 bus. When I'm driving, I leave around 7:30. Sometimes even 7:45. So being gone by 7 is a big deal.

I am generally one of those bag ladies you see who carries EVERYthing you can imagine along with her, everywhere. I walk into the office with my huge L.L. Bean boat/tote bag (size XL) packed to the tippy-top, my computer bag, and my lunch bag. People hold the door for me and they sometimes even look a little bit sorry for me.

I have tried to slim down the contents of my bags but there are just some people (namely me) for whom "travel light" is not genetically possible. Except when I ride the bus! Then, I pare things down. Because I have to. I toss a few things into a daysack and take off. I actually developed a checklist (see below) to make packing quicker, and so I don't forget anything critical. So I pack up my bag and run out the door and catch the bus and then - voilà - there I am, a vagabond, free on the highways and byways of America! Out on a Grand Adventure!

Riding the bus is almost an exotic experience for people like me. I can turn on my tunes (courtesy of my tiny pink iPod shuffle, and a recently updated playlist!) and sit and gaze out the window at the rural landscape and daydream. Or I can sit and look at my fellow travelers and wonder about them, or make up stories about them, like in that Simon & Garfunkel song, America.

The rather conservative-looking woman with the bun, who gets on at a stop in the middle of farmland? She's going into town to meet up with the married professor with whom she's having an affair.

The young man with rather carelessly tied, ratty sneakers? He works at the weather station. He's recently married, and on the salary he makes, he is wondering how he and his wife can ever afford a family, let alone a home of their own.

I always snap a few pictures on the bus. Always in black and white. Almost always straight up the aisle, like this. (Usually the shots are even symmetrical; but somehow, not today.) Occasionally out the window, although the results I've gotten from that haven't been too promising. Still, I try. The bus is taller than my car and so I can see everything from here! SNAP! Download and look to find: more blurry shots through a dirty window; delete . . .

The driver sometimes sees me taking pictures and looks at me suspiciously. I think he thinks I'm a spy planted by the local transit company. How are our drivers doing? Call this number! Even better, send pictures! So I have learned to try to be discreet. Ease out the camera, turn it on, look in a different direction than the one I'm actually taking a picture of. And - SNAP!

When I downloaded this picture and looked at it, one of the things I immediately noticed was how white everything seemed. You can't really see any level of detail as to what may be outside the windows. Maybe NOTHING is outside the windows.

Suddenly an image crystallized in my mind: one of me and a small group of strangers, each of us with our own private story, riding this huge, rattling, tin-can tube into a winter world of endless snow. You can't really see the driver - he could be Charon, for all we know. No River Styx for us, though: just me and my tunes, and all these strangers, on our endless G-bus ride into the white.


P.S. The title of this blip is a shameless rip-off of the short story, "The Endless Streetcar Ride Into the Night," written by Jean Shepherd. That story bears little resemblance to this one, other than that I liked the title. And stole it shamelessly. So there.

P.P.S. I know you're dying to see my checklist for what I pack in my daysack, so here it is. What? You're not dying to know? Here it is anyway. You'll thank me later.

daysack (never forget the obvious)
computer and power cord
camera in its case, connector cord, teeny-tiny external hard drive (it's where all my pictures live)
quarters for the bus ($1.50 each way)
pink iPod shuffle (most important of all! TUNES!!!! well, besides bus money, anyway - and camera)
keys to office, key to house
cash money, credit card, ID, secure ID (for work), proof of insurance (what if the bus wrecks!?)
Care Deeply lip balm (I'm addicted to the stuff), emery board, a few kleenex tissues, antibacterial soap
glasses and sunglasses (just in case the sun ever comes out)
food and drink for the day
a few mints or some gum
paper and pen
any work papers I may need
umbrella
(you're welcome!)