Gym Cracks By Jim February 19, 2003 CUSS THE BUS 1753 miles on a Greyhound bus...not the best way to spend a few days By Jim (Babe) Berryman MissingNebraska.com Western Nebraska Ever ride a bus 1753 miles? School buses and mass transit buses do not count. Who would ever ride a commercial bus for 1753 miles, if they did not have to make such a trip via this mode of transportation? I plead guilty! This trip would have to rank at or near the trip of bad decisions I have made in my lifetime. WHY? Son Jim invited me to New Haven, CT. My options--Amtrak, Greyhound, luxury car, or one of the many airlines serving Denver. Why did I elect to travel this distance in a Greyhound bus? Greyhound used a slogan many years ago which said, "Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us." I recalled one video Greyhound used--a couple seated in comfortable seats surrounded by freshly-scrubbed middle-class people savoring the countryside. I boarded the bus early evening in Kimball, NE. A 15-minute break was scheduled at Ogallala. After many of the people had exited the bus, the driver walked to the rear of the bus and checked the restroom. Before leaving Ogallala, the driver admonished the passengers, "There are two ways out of Ogallala--one is by horseback and the other is on this bus. If any person wishes to smoke in the bathroom he/she will be looking for a horse." Tobacco, or marijuana, I wondered. Only 1720 miles to go! The bus was full. A 6'5" body does not fit in one seat. I did have an aisle seat where I could extend my legs. Some of these well-scrubbed passengers in my area had not had their monthly shower. A lucky few were able to sleep. How did I know? Snoring! The bus arrived in Omaha early morning. Now I would see these well-scrubbed individuals Greyhound had portrayed in their videos? Wrong again! I have taken Grayline tours (not to be confused with Greyhound) through slum areas in some of the great cities of the world. But in and around the Omaha bus depot in the early morning hours, I saw as many derelicts and other street people as one would encounter around the New York Port Authority at the same time of the day. Off to Des Moines and a breakfast break. Between this Iowa city and Chicago, two male passengers across the aisle from me engaged in heated conversation about a card game. One said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout most of the bus, "I should blow you away, you stupid sob." (He didn't use the abbreviation.) Shortly after this threat, the man whose ancestral background had been questioned moved to the back of the bus. In the Chicago station, queues were formed for passengers to board buses to continue to their destinations throughout the United States. Greyhound employees (at least two had Greyhound jackets on) were working these queues selling packaged items like hair dryers ($59 value for $15), shaving kits ($25 value for $5), and other "bargains." It certainly didn't take a rocket scientist to determine stolen items were being marketed in this station. I was still looking for the well-scrubbed people. My second night on the bus was spent between Cleveland and New York City. Another barrel of fun! The first driver, a black female, reminded me of my basic training first sergeant. The second driver kept reminding a young passenger he could hear music, even though the young man was using a headset. The young man gave the driver the "bird" numerous times. New York City bus depots! Let your imagination run wild! A policeman did ask me to show him my ticket so I could remain in the waiting area for the bus to New Haven. Apparently by now I was not the well-scrubbed middle-class person I had been a couple days earlier. The bus to New Haven was not full. I could stretch out. I was giddy! My experience riding a cross-country bus was almost at an end. Young Jim was waiting for me at the bus depot. Hey, there is a well-scrubbed person in a bus station. But first I had to take a kneeling position and thank God I was safe. I took a Southwest flight home. But guess what? Greyhound would not honor my return ticket, not even give me a partial refund. Whenever I hear the name Greyhound, it conjures up images of the longest two-plus days in my life. I no longer think of the well-scrubbed middle-age couple savoring the beauty of the United States while traveling on a Greyhound bus. 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