Overall, my bus ride from Modesto to Grover Beach was relatively uneventful. Not to say there weren't several interesting chapters and characters along the way. One can not spend over eleven hours on four separate buses and not experience something a bit out of kilter. By the way, the eleven hours were spent traveling about 250 miles! And that was on the itinerary by design.
First, there was the two hour delay in departing Modesto. Scheduled departure time: 4:55 am. Actual departure time: 6:40 am. My bus arrived at the stop nearly two hours late. And at that time of the morning, the station office is not open and no information was available as to the why's and the when's. Loretta and I simply sat in the dark in the parking lot and waited. I found out later from a passenger that the previous 650 mile leg of the trip (originating in Oregon) suffered through four driver changes, most of which drove too slowly! My planned two and half hour layover (and transfer) in Fresno was reduced to 25 minutes and I was back on schedule boarding bus #2.
A short 30 minutes later, I arrived at Goshen Junction, just off Highway 99. I waited 20 minutes for my next bus at the only stop in which I took any photos. Check out the these shots of the luxurious Goshen Junction Bus Depot and Senseless Casino.
There were no slot machines or crap tables. Just a lot of old crap, a Greyhound bus sign, a small office, disgusting restrooms, and some dirt. The casino had long-since closed. No snack bar, no waiting room, no drinking fountain, and (as you can see) very little shade. The graffiti on the ladies' room door reads, "Women...enter at your own risk!" How accommodating? I was smack dab in the middle of Central California, but it felt like I was stranded in a scene from The Grapes of Wrath. Shame on you Greyhound.
To be fair, the next two stops were at near new Amtrak stations in Hanford and San Luis Obispo. But that's Amtrak. And, the last two buses were Amtrak as well.
One of the highlights of my bus adventure was listening to conversations between passengers. Total strangers striking up short term, verbal relationships across the aisle. One exchange of note almost ended in a fist fight between an old man traveling to his niece's wedding and a 40-ish burned out hag who decided to demean the old guy for taking a stand on religion. Another passenger close by said, "Maybe we should change the topic of conversation. Let's talk about my divorce!" That comment was followed by a few muffled chuckles as she commenced to document in detail how her marriage of 25 years recently ended when her husband ran off with the cleaning lady. A younger woman across the aisle from her commiserated by saying her spouse took off last year with their babysitter. A young mother traveling with her 8 month old baby trumped them all by saying, "I just got out of Chowchilla women's prison where I had my baby. My husband killed a friend of ours and is doing a life sentence in San Quentin". It was then I decided NOT to chime in with my sad story, "Well, I sold my old Porsche on eBay this week...and the buyer flaked out on paying! Gotta relist it." My saga paled in comparison to the other stories I had been privileged to hear on this bus.
The conversations between those passengers waned as our bus headed into the hilly, construction-laden pass on Highway 41 toward Paso Robles. We all found ourselves on a new thrill ride called Mr. Toad's Wild Late Bus Ride to Hell.
Our octogenarian bus driver (yes, he was 85 if he was a day!) announced at the beginning of this leg that he was 30 minutes late and didn't know when we would get into San Luis Obispo (about 60 miles away). Picture a full-size Greyhound bus highballing it down an old, curvy two-lane highway at 70 miles an hour, tailgating and passing slower cars as it gained speed. At this point, all conversations ceased as every passenger grasped their armrests and hung on for dear life. Near the back of the bus, four elderly passengers joined hands, recited Hail Mary's, and gave each other communion of Cheese Nips and swigs from a bottle of Ripple in a paper bag. I opted not to join them. The bus driver's demeanor reminded me of that scene from Dr. Strangelove where Slim Pickens road the atomic bomb down to its target...yahoo-ing and waving his ten-gallon stetson over his head! We were careening down the hill at 75 miles an hour toward the Highway 46/41 junction where James Dean died back in the fifties. How appropriate I die in a bus crash here?
Well, I am not writing this blog from a hospital bed, or worse, from the grave. I made it to Grover Beach 10 minutes ahead of schedule! I got to spend a couple of days with my mom near Pismo Beach, visit with son Jimmy, and pick up the car I had purchased. The trip back to Modesto in the 1992 Subaru SVX went smoothly. The seller even filled the gas tank before I picked up the car.
I also had time to hang out for a while at one of my favorite Central Coast ocean spots and visit with my sister Kris and brother-in-law Mark. Not to mention the quality time spent with my mom and my son. It was a good trip after all. And, I will send Disney a letter suggesting a new thrill ride at their theme parks!
