1/27/10: 2010 Launch-Viva El Perro Sucio!

The ONLY reason Greyhound is still in business is because it's a monopoly. Every year, they find new and astounding ways to baffle me with what I believed to be futility. I've since realized that it's not "futility"; they just don't fucking care. They don't have to! Why has this company been granted National Bus Line status? More on this latest vulgar display to come...

To catch you up: The remainder of January was spent sporadically chatting with Chris and adjusting my "schedule of intentions" around a string of Pacific storms. Chris had made his way from Denver to Los Angeles to see family making this a prime opportunity to consolidate a few different ideas:

1) Getting together with him to see where we each were nearly a year after boarding the Veggie Bus
2) This is the prime time to pay a visit to Slab City-in the California desert
3) Seeing an old high school friend of mine friend who now lives in Phoenix

When Chris made his abrupt decision on when to go to LA, early in January, I figured it would be worth accelerating my "plans"  (ha!) by a couple weeks in order to accommodate the opportunity. Originally, it appeared as though 1/17 would be the [first?] 2010 departure date...until the storms began battering southern California & Arizona. Chris was buried with family beneath 5 FEET of snow in a cabin near Big Bear while the California and Arizona desert experienced flooding of biblical proportions; at least it seemed that way to them.

With the storms, Chris repeatedly delayed his departure east, which in turn allowed me to creep further toward, and then to, my original date: 1/27. In the end, it worked out perfectly. It would be 1/27 after all, and I was quite glad after seeing news footage that I was NOT in the desert during these storms. In fact, we would all see the effects of these storms first-hand later on.

After coordinating with El Jefe in Phoenix, and having a nice last week in Santa Fe, on January 27, I found myself on the way to Albuquerque to catch the 11:15pm bus for Glendale, AZ. My girlfriend and I had a nice conversation on the way, and it repeatedly struck me that leaving for Phoenix felt similar to departing for Devils Tower last August. We said our goodbyes, and I found myself on that metaphorical "on-ramp" again.

The bus boarded late and was 30-minutes behind to begin with. I was exhausted and fell asleep before the bus had even left the city sprawl.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up a few minutes later to see the bus back at the Albuquerque terminal! Just sitting there. No explanation. Nothing. Just baggage handlers acting like mechanics and checking something on the bus. After 30-45 minutes, the driver finally shared with us that the bus was getting no heat and that we may need to switch buses if it couldn't be fixed. Story: meet theme.

An hour later, we were still on that same bus. Still not moving. Still with no idea of what was going on. The bus was scheduled to arrive in Glendale, AZ at 7:45am, and El Jefe didn't work until 1:30 which gave a 5:45 window on an 8-hour ride, so I felt safe. Others, however, were not so lucky and quite pissed off that they were going to miss their connectors...and were not being told details.

At 2am we were finally herded like cattle aboard another bus and again on I-40 toward Flagstaff. I chose to remain awake this time to observe the ruckus if we were delayed again! Now over two-hours behind, and likely arriving at 9:45 rather than 7:45, I figured Jefe could sleep in a bit so (selfishly) this wasn't a complete clusterfuck.

I awoke periodically through the night to the sight of slick roads due to a moderate snowstorm in Arizona. At 6:45, I discovered to my utter dismay that we were still an hour EAST of Flagstaff! I called Jefe to let him know, and resigned myself to fate. A couple hours late isn't so bad as long as nothing else happened.

As long as "nothing else happened?" Ha! This is El Perrito Sucio!

The driver emphatically told everyone that we would be in Flagstaff NO LONGER than 5-minutes. Forty-five minutes later the driver had vanished and the passengers were something a bit south of restless. To complicate matters, Flagstaff had received the same 5-FEET of snow as Big Bear thus the terminal was closed out of fears the roof may collapse from the snow's weight!

An hour after arriving, a woman intending to board in Flagstaff instantly became the target of wrath when some especially abrasive passengers assumed we were being held up by HER for some reason. Despite her gladly joining the chorus of frustration, and even laying on the bus's horn to hurry things up, she was understandably upset by how other passengers treated her and decided to find other means by which to travel.

Shortly after she left, the bus driver returned to admonish the mob insisting she had nothing to do with the delay. When he didn't respond to my query, "Then, what the fuck IS the delay?", I politely offered that perhaps the loss of her patronage was then HIS fault, not the fault of passengers who had been abandoned then ignored for FOUR hours on this supposed 8-hour ride.

Did he think we'd go Hymn Time Country Style? Reenact episodes of Gilligan's Island? It was closer to Mutiny on the Bounty.

Near 9:00 (two hours after this "5-minute" stop began), I became concerned. If this went on much longer, I was in real danger of missing my ride. Thankfully, the driver came out to confirm another rumor: that he was awaiting a fax from Greyhound; one clearing him to continue on to Phoenix, presumably due to driver time-limitations. A few minutes later, the fax had come and we were mercifully on our way south mocking the bus driver, and organizing to be sure that no one on that bus paid for the ride.

Somewhere near Sedona

Despite my concerns, things worked out fine. The bus arrived in Glendale with enough time for Jefe to pick me up AND get to work, leaving me at his house to contemplate what came next...

9/19-9/21/09: Greyhound-Portland, San Diego, Santa Fe

The ferry ride to Seattle was surreal. When I called Shalain and gave the all-clear to purchase the ticket, it finally hit me that this intense phase had ended, and it a couple days I'd be back in familiar surroundings, being mauled by my cats. Nagging regrets lingered, but I was OK with it. I was mentally spent, needed a break, and would see some interesting (and new) parts of the country on the way.

Wendie's predictions were in fact accurate. I got to see some of the city, albeit from the backseat of a cab, and was surprised at how much I actually liked it, reminding me a little of both San Francisco and Denver. The $8 cab got me to Seattle's shithole Greyhound terminal with 45-minutes to spare, and before I knew it I was nestling into a window seat on a nearly abandoned 1:15 bus and riding right back down I-5 toward Portland. I had honestly hoped that I would meet some interesting people, but all that was offered was another backpacker... with a demeanor that made me want to beat him. Rather than petty violence, I settled for my Mp3 player. Following stops in Tacoma and Olympia, I found myself back in Portland for a 90-minute service layover.

Portland felt much different from this vantage point! As I crossed the Willamette into the western section of downtown, I gazed at the river and laughed out loud at the realization that only a week ago, I was boating beneath this same bridge with Andre. Now, I was re-entering the city less a conquering vagabond- via the least glamorous mode of travel I could think of other than the back of a patrol car! It was quite odd! Despite my time there, this was the first I'd seen of the bus station, and was rather impressed: it was the Taj Mahal compared to Seattle! Clean. Modern. Didn't smell like pee. I considered calling some of my new friends while I was there, but it felt like overkill. What was we going to do with an hour? I settled for a short walk, a pack of cigarettes, and putting a charge on my phone. Leaving Portland on I-5 south took me within sight of the Oregon Yacht Club, and Andre's house. I hopped across the aisle to take one last look at the floating home, the Master Craft, and the spot that had held so much intensity the previous week. Believe it or not, it was more nostalgic than August when I retraced the route I had traveled in Idaho more than a year ago.

The sun sinks early out west, and soon enough I was sleeping the rest of the birthday away. Aside from a quick stop in Eugene, the rest of the night... and most of the trip to LA... was the standard Greyhound experience. We passed into California and I remember hearing an announcement for Redding but didn't bother to open my eyes, let alone get off the bus. Sacramento was my first transfer, early Sunday morning, and being spoiled by the empty vessel ended abruptly with this over packed Los Angeles express!

Central California is nothing to fawn over, however once you get near LA and begin crossing the mountains, it becomes quite gorgeous. The western side of the California mountains (the areas that will be swallowed by the Pacific) have always exceeded my curiously low expectations... with the exception of the Los Angeles cesspool. As we passed through Hollywood, I began to see familiar, iconic sights and signs... like the Capitol Records building and Melrose Place. Now, that's some culture!

The 3-hour Los Angeles layover was the part of this bus trip I was dreading! The last time I bused through LA, I was 14, and we had our luggage stolen from the downtown terminal. I naturally assumed (since it was Greyhound) that little had changed and we were headed back to the same spot. I was pleased when we bypassed downtown altogether and pulled into what can only be described as a "compound" on the south side of the city. The terminal is the most secure I have EVER seen, complete with cameras, fencing, razor wire, automated bus gates, and a security checkpoint that is closer to airports than Greyhound... which generally has NO security whatsoever. The LA station was quite nice after all!

The highlight of the ride same in San Diego and was a nice elixir for the mental upset I had experienced about ending this early. I finally got to meet my friend Amber. I had called after leaving LA, told her my bus was stopping for a short time, and that if she was free it would be great if she stopped in to the bus station so we could finally meet face-to-face. Amber happened to be downtown having dinner, and walked in shortly after the bus arrived. It was nice to see an actual face, and we quickly discussed possible, theoretical travel ideas down the road. I was curious to see if the vibe was the same in person as it had been via Couchsurfing and email. Indeed it was, and the possibilities of someday traveling with her seemed encouraging. San Diego and I seemed to agree with each other. It was one of the last cities that I hadn't seen, and wanted to. Although I didn't get a chance to explore, I liked what I saw and want to return. Soon!

Sunday ended on an interesting note in Calexico, California which, as you can no doubt guess by the name, is ON the Mexican border. I assumed we would get within a mile or two, but the stop was literally within sight and a stone's throw of the checkpoint. Looking for ways to entertain myself, I took a small amount of joy in that I had essentially gone ocean-to-ocean and border-to-border since April. This little side trip was also practical & useful because it was quite close to the Salton Sea, Niland, CA: Slab City. Chris and I have discussed The Slabs numerous times as a possible joint-destination over the winter and this gave me a chance to see the landscape first hand for the first time. I was also privy to numerous Border Patrol ID checks. Along I-8 and I-10 close to the border, Border Patrol would stop the bus, come aboard, and demand immigration papers/ID. They also pull random luggage from beneath the bus and let their dogs go to work. In addition, the highway was blanketed with Border Patrol SUVs shining spotlights into the desert hunting illegals. It was a bizarre experience, but in retrospect should have been expected.

Soon after Tucson finally came New Mexico, and Las Cruces for my final transfer and the last 200-miles up I-25 to Albuquerque. I slept the entire way, but only after learning my father was nearby in Alamagordo on vacation with his RV. I found it putridly ironic that someone I had never met before would meet up with me (Amber), but my own father wasn't approachable. It was a quick, bitter realization, but an important one. I believe that book finally closed for good when I came up with a new moniker for him: Ward. As in Cleaver. Daddy of the Year!

From Albuquerque, I caught the New Mexico Rail Runner commuter train for the last 60+ miles to Santa Fe. This was the first time I had ridden it and highly recommend it to anyone traveling from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. Greyhound had appeared to eliminate their stop in Santa Fe, but I was happy to wait the extra hour to take the train! We later discovered that the bus still stops here, but there are no schedules listed on their website. That's fine, maybe having to take the train to Albuquerque will keep me off Greyhound and out of Denver?

I finally arrived home at around 6:30pm on Monday, 52-hours and a world away from Seattle. What happens next was anyone's guess but along with quiet, yet frantic decompression, the preparation began almost immediately.