Tales from the Bus
One of the biggest changes I have made to my life in the last year was to give up my car. Now, in many places in the world, this would not be a big deal. But I live in Southern California, where the car is king. I had never owned a car before I moved out here from Canada, and didn’t buy one until my second year here. But it is true – in Southern California everyone is expected to own a car.
Everything here is very spread out. It can take an hour to get across town to a friends house for dinner. And that is with a car and driving on a freeway. So selling my car and deciding to go back to public transportation and my trusty bicycle was not a simple decision. It was one, however, that has opened up a whole new world for me. Because you see, on the bus you actually meet people. You meet all kinds of people. And so for the first time in many years, I find myself having the most interesting conversations with strangers.
One early Sunday morning I was on the bus and three big tattoo-covered men ranged in age from a teenager to a grizzled old man easily in his eighties got on the bus, talking some language I didn’t recognize. Then I noticed the fishing rods they all carried and gestured at the rods with a question and a smile. The youngest grinned and held his up “We are going to the pier” he said, “and will catch lots of stickle-backs for breakfast” The others just nodded and added their comments in their language. The young man and I traded fish stories for a few more minutes, then their stop came and they all climbed out, waving good-by as the bus pulled away.
I have had discussions about the nature of god with Baptist ministers and talks about the anthropological evolution of man in Europe with my bus driver. I have sat and talked fashion with young pierced and tattooed teenage girls and had serious political discussions (especially the day that Obama was elected) with groups of young black men while riding a train through Compton. I have watched young men and Vietnam vets discuss their various experiences as I rode past the Veterans Administrative Hospital, and enjoyed chatting on Sunday mornings with gloriously bedecked ladies heading for church.
My friends ask me if I miss driving these days. If I miss jumping in a car, and getting to my destination in twenty minutes instead of an hour. I guess the answer is that sometimes it isn’t only the destination that counts – it can also be the journey.
When I am not riding on buses I am usually working on my websites, which can be found at Get Ready to Grill! and BandSaw Tools World and How to Build a Retaining Wall.
