"And now's the time, the time is now
To sing my song
I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl
On my way
I've been this way ten years to the day
Ramble on..."
Here is a piece of a travel thingy I am working on:
Bus tickets in hand, or in my case, both on my phone and with a printed out version from the Rumford Public Library’s computer, stuffed in my new backpack, I started my journey by heading to my friends’ house to have them drive me to the bus terminal. It was only about a 10 mile drive to Rumford Center from my apartment in-town, Rumford and I knew the coffee would be hot, and we would have some time to relax and chat before we drove 80 miles to the Bus Depot in Portland, Maine. Pulling my backpack out of my van, I broke one of the shoulder straps, which I would not be able to repair until the vacation was over, so that was a minor inconvenience, but no matter now, I was ready to embark upon an adventure!
After cups of coffee, we decided that we would drive down to the Greyhound depot in Portland in my van, so my friends’ Alfred and Kristi would have the van to drive while I was gone, in lieu of their pickup truck that needed a little maintenance. I had to load my overstuffed bags back into the van. I decided since they were going to keep the van, and Alfred, having been a truck driver down in southern Maine in and around the busier parts of Portland would drive there. “Pick Greyhound, and when you can always leave the driving to someone else” would be a great motto.
It was a quick ride down the interstate on a bright sunny July morning, and soon enough I was dropped off at the station. I had never ridden on a Greyhound or any other large bus, except for one time in the military when my squadron chartered a bus between Albuquece and Rosewell, New Mexico. I went inside the terminal to check in and wait the 45 or so minutes for the scheduled bus departure time.
The less than cheery driver looked at my ticket and pointed to the open luggage bin, and I stowed my burden and entered the shiny new motorcoach’s door, already seeing a better than anticipated mode of transport. I chose a vacant seat about ¾ of the way down the aisle from the front, which did not have anyone else in it, with only one person in front of me and no one in the row behind.
Having entered the well air conditioned bus, and finding the seats comfortable and spacious, I assumed the 26-hour ride would be smooth sailing and I would nap and snack my way across the eastern half of the country in joy, but that was until I found out that there would be approximately 26 stops on the way, from picturesque small town kiosks to grimy and scary inner city hovels. As a sample, the first stop was about 30 miles in Wells, Maine. We took Congress Street to Maine-22 West and Portland Road to US-202 West, then got on I-295 South, which quickly took us to I-95 South and Exit 19 into Wells.
Soon we were rolling, however improbable back along US-202 West, where we took Washington St to NH-9 W, to US-202 W and US-20 W to NY-5 W to Howard St in Hanover, New Hampshire.
I struck up a conversation with the young gentleman in the seat in front of me. Derrek was an Army veteran who had a few issues while in uniform and was now a civilian. He was originally from Minnesota, but had tried his luck on the east coast, and was now headed back to his home state. Knowing he was a little anxious about the trip, I ended up helping him find different check in places and bus numbers through our journey, because as it turned out we were on the same routes from the time I boarded in Portland, until I disembarked in Chicago.
Somehow in the 125 or so miles from Hanover, New Hampshire to Boston, Massachusetts, we ran into and were slowed and stopped by every kind of traffic delay conceivable, and ended up being two hours behind schedule pulling into the station, which was evident by every kind of complaint imaginable by my fellow passengers, but my schedule was not affected, and I knew I would be on time into Chicago, which was still many, many hours and miles away.
Somewhere in between New Hampshire and Boston, Derrek and I became seatmates as the bus had gained more passengers and neither of us wanted to sit next to a complete stranger, as sometimes traveling by bus can attract unsavory types.
Another jaunt had our faithful diesel follow NY-5 West and Pennsylvania 5 West, which shall be noted is also East Lake Road back onto US-20 West with a short stop in West Springfield.
Our next road adventure had us take Elm Street and Garden Streets, (though I saw neither trees nor gardens) to US-5 South and Riverdale Street, known for the lack of a river and onto Interstate 91 S and Connecticut 15 South and West 56th Street, often at a walking or slower pace in Manhattan, New York., then we took 11th Avenue and West 38th Street to 8th Avenue and stopped at the huge Port Authority of New York City.
The young lady who sat in the seat across the aisle from us was born and raised in New York, though she regularly took the bus or train between NYC and Boston to work. She gave us a “windshield” tour of the city as we inched through traffic and pointed out some very beautiful buildings and places, as well as giving us detailed instructions on how to get to The Freedom Tower at One World Trade Center, though with our arrival and departure so close together, we did not have time to do any sightseeing.
Further along down the trail, we took Ohio 7 South and US-6 W to OH-528 South and a brief stop in Montville, Ohio. What happens in these small towns. People wander off the bus to smoke and stretch their legs, depending on the duration of the stop. Some passengers retrieve their luggage from under the bus and head into the station, and a handful of new travelers board the transport. One or two souls decided to use the bathroom, which I was delighted to discover was far cleaner and more pleasant to use than the one on the train that I returned home on.
The next leg of our journey had us continuing on Ohio-528 South to OH-303 West and then back onto US-20 West in Wakeman Township, which if I remember correctly was a stop at an all night convenience store, which had a Krispy Kreme donut shelf, where I filled up on the first food that was not in my snack bag, and bought my first coffee of the trip, which necessitated checking out the rolling potty more than once before the next stop.
After the 45 minute rest in Wakeman, Ohio, we resumed driving on US-20 West then OH-113 West and US-6 West to West Melton Rd to East 47th Street in Chicago. We then took the 47th Street exit from South Lake Shore Drive onto South Lake Park Ave, South Indiana Ave and South Michigan Avenue and onto South Federal Street, where the mammoth greyhound bus station was my final stop, after what seemed like a million miles glued to a bus seat.
Unlike air travel, where you depart the aircraft, and wander through various gates, then find a sign that directs you where to (hopefully) retrieve your luggage, a gentleman in a Greyhound uniform opened the baggage bins on the side of the bus where I had stowed my green duffle, when I boarded this particular motor coach, and there it was!
Tired, but glad to have finally reached the final stop on the first part of this odyssey I carried and dragged my bag up the staircase and into the bus terminal, where to my relief, my daughter Emily was waiting for me. Thankfully, she had found a close parking spot, which is not the norm in a city the size of Chicago.
After a short discussion while walking to her car, we decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings to eat, and discuss what we were doing for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, since it was around 2 pm, on a warm summer day. Emily punched in the directions to the nearest restaurant, then gave me the first of many great surprises. “Dad, I made you a playlist!”
As musical tastes often differ, even though I listen to many genres of music, both popular and not, I was not sure what the music would be, but the first song was a country “golden oldie,” called “Saginaw, Michigan,” by Lefty Frizell, one I had often heard when I listened to the radio with my mom. I had often played it while road tripping with Emily, years before. From there, the drive to BWW, and proceeding to her apartment in Milwaukee was full of songs and memories I had shared in my childhood, and her childhood too.
We arrived at the restaurant and found that it is far easier to park in a parking garage than to try to find a place on the street. I do not remember much about dinner, besides a friendly smiling waitress and the eatery not being too busy, because the rigors of riding for so long on a bus and sleeping so little were catching up to me in a hurry. We decided we would postpone sightseeing in the city of Chicago for another time and just head for my daughter’s apartment in Milwaukee.
However, after 20 minutes trying to figure out how to get the machine to take our parking ticket, and exit gate to work, an attendant told me I had to go back to the restaurant to get the ticket validated, so back out of the garage and around the corner I went. The hostess confirmed the coupon electronically and we proceeded up the highway toward Wisconsin.
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