tdaxp

The bus ride from Kilgore, Texas to Omaha, Nebraska went well. Nothing on it compared to the indescribable beauty of the sky-scraping Sears Tower in Chicago, but then nothing compared to the hideous awfulness of travel in the American South, either. All in all a fair trip. It also was quite social, with Rob driving me from Nacogdoches to Kilgore, and Lady of tdaxp ferrying me from Omaha to Lincoln.

But before some neat pictures and regular travel commentary, a word on "Steve." Steve (Me: "What's your last name?" Him: "You don't need to know.") was my terrible, terrible bus driver from Kansas City to Omaha. I have no idea if "Steve" is a real name or a nom de autobus, but whatever that creature is legally known is he was the driver of Jefferson Lines JL-0502 on between roughly 8 AM and 12 PM, Friday, July 28, 2006.

My friendly encounter with Steve began as follows

Steve: That (pointing to my second carry-on bag) is not coming on the bus.
Me: Why not? What is the problem?
Steve: Don't get smart with me. That's not coming on the bus. It needs to be checked.
Me: It's been carried on nine trips so far this journey. It is the correct size and weight for a carry-on.
Steve: Listen, that's not coming on the bus.
Me: I'll go over to the Information Desk, and ask them if there is a problem with my carry-on.
Steve: Do you want me to call the police? I'll have you escorted out of here. When you work for Jefferson Line for twenty-five years, you can tell me about their Standard Operating Procedure.

Steve's general build and his hilarious use of military terminology (from his quixotic, personal "SOP" to his hilarious use of the word "tarmac" to refer to "parking lot") imply a background in the United States Air Force. His personality does not. I am fortunate enough to count several Air Force officers among my first friends. The way these men conduct themselves -- their combination of warmth and seriousness -- always impresses me. Military service, to any country, is a serious business, and I am always impressed by how patriotism and true manliness bring out the best in each other.

Clearly, Steve was an exception.

That rant over, let's begin the photo tour!

I am writing this on a comfortable and safe-feeling Kerrville Buss Company vehicle, in Texas just after US 84 crosses the state line with Louisiana. Greyhound bus travel in the South is as terrible as Eddie and Sonny predicted. For much of the journey I was jammed next to the toilet between a very fat woman and a very scary-looking man. Worse, Greyhound's magical-mystery philosophy of bus scheduling -- such as overbooking a bus by nearly 100% and sending on my checked luggage two buses late, meant much of the travel was mentally stressful, as well. Then there were the extra connections which contradicted earlier information, chronically late vehicles, the fact that Southerns can't line up...

Oh, that brings me to another part of the rant. Part of my vacation reading is P.J. O'Rourke's Peace Kills: America's Fun New Imperialism, and in it he makes the point that one of the hallmarks of civilization is the ability to form a line. The context was the rowdy and riotous behavior of Iraqis during (unneeded) aid dispensation, but O'Rourke may well have been describing the behavior of Southerners in Tennessee. The most charitable position that I (as a supposed descendant of CSA General John "Swamp Fox" Mosby) could make of this is that the evolutionary biologist Steven Pinker was right to describe the south as possessing a noxious "culture of honor." Physical aggressiveness almost matching the anarchic-but-non-violent behavior of Beijngers in the subway was the norm, and may be a way of indicating that one is not to be trifled with (even if one is old, fat, and theoretical female).

Part of my anger comes from seeing how those even less familiar with bus trave than I fared. Through much of the trip Mexican families, an Asian Indian couple, and a Chinese man were sharing the bus with me. Their stress rose visible through our hastles and indignities, and I shudder to think that many will see that slice of the South as "America."

Yet perhaps my anger at the Land of the Lost Cause is misplaced. (Incidentally, I wonder if it is aggravated by constant displays of the Confederate National flags, the Confederate battle flag, the Confederate Naval Jack, etc. I don't recall being upset by the iconography before, as part of my family was pro-Confederate West Virginian, and I generally favor the preservation of whatever images people love. But you lost, I kept wanting to say, get over it. I could continue, but back to bashing Greyhound...) Several of the riders I traveled with blamed Greyhound's sorry state on lack of competition. Certainly my earlier positive Greyhound experiences were largely supported by the happy treatment I received before Indianapolis and after Texarkana.

(Hmm... this opens up whole new areas of exploration. A Barnettian economicist v. a Huntington culturalist view of bus services? Some cool Catholicgauze maps showing the overlap between Dixie, transportation competition, and shoddy services? An excellent reflection on bus quality and poetry from Phatic Communion.)

Well, theoretically we are approaching Nacogdoches by-and-by. I shall sign off, weary from my travels.

As happened to me in China (when I saw a gorgeous Hindu-Buddhist temple), the most beautiful parts of my journey hit me when I was without my camera. (Ironically, I do see a Hindu-style temple outside Chicago.)



I had a four-hour layover in Chicago, and hoping for some distraction I checked my bags into a locker and proceeded to explore the neighborhood.

It turns out that the Chicago Greyhound station borders the financial district. It is just blocks from Union Station and the Sears Tower. I spent the $11, took the ride up, and enjoyed one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful sites of my life.

Visibility was "zero," our guides warned us, so I was prepared to be disappointed. Indeed, as for much of the beginning of the trip I was all alone, I figured the view must be terrible. How wrong I was. To see thick, billowy clouds shredded by the tops of skyscrapers -- to see the sea of the sky underlit by a great American city -- is beyond my ability to describe.

The people were wonderful and friendly, too. I met a Taiwanese man and his American son, where a small faux-paus (tdaxp: Ah yes, Taipei -- the greatest city of the Republic of China. Man: Peking is the greatest city in the Republic of China!) begin a friendly encounter. Or the former space engineer, proud of his work on the Hubble Space Telescope but grumbling of the "politically-driven" selection of the Galileo Mission over his own company's proposal.

Yet no photographs remain of that. So what continues below is from the journey, and is far less photogenic. I had a great time on my Greyhound trip, and even the schizophrenic woman damning us to hell was taken in good humor (well, humor -- not all of it was kind) by my fellow passengers.