The Grey Dog Don't Hunt

The trip to Spokane for Dad’s funeral (held Dec. 07) was one of those journeys that merit some thought or comment; for the purpose of the trip and for the journey to and from itself.

            Transportation: I decided to take the Greyhound even though my sisters had offered to buy a plane ticket. I just don’t like flying…. I don’t like it and I won’t fly as long as there is time and an alternative to flying.

Options: Renting a car wasn’t an option this time either because I wasn’t sure how well I could handle driving on ice this time of the year; I haven’t had to do so since I lived up there @ 1965. I would have taken the train because it was usually only a little less a problem compensated by the comfort of the train: being able to get a snack and to walk around whenever one feels like it. But the buses take a day and a half and there are choices on the schedule for arrival times. The train takes more than two days and there is only one choice for that and it arrives in Spokane after 1:00 am. If one of my sisters were to pick me up I didn’t want her to have to do so in the middle of the night.

The Bus: Dec. 05, 2013: schedules have changed so much… been pared down and there is no bus that goes North from SB like they used to. The all go to L.A. and then transfer to Bakersfield before it heads north to Sacramento. It takes a roundabout series of transfers that could only have been designed by a bean pusher with no concept of direction, geography, or convenience for the customer. 

This being said, I must mention that Greyhound has some beautiful new buses. When I boarded the first bus to Los Angeles I was given a taste of what I would miss out on the rest of the trip. This bus had very nice seats upholstered with a faux-leather-like material. It had electrical outlets and even Wi-Fi! The Amtrak usually does't have Wi Fi except on commuter trains. I thought that this wasn’t so bad and I could suffer the additional time on a bus if this was the case. However, this luxury turned out to be a tease because, upon transfer in L.A., I boarded an old cow that was more typical until the last leg of the trip (with the usual natty fabric upholstery, no electrical outlets or Wi-Fi).

The trip: The first transfer was only a thirty minute break and it went smoothly. I had both seats to myself and was comfortable enough. It went without any problems worthy of mention to Sacramento except that the route it takes splits off from I-5 to Bakersfield and stays with route 99, stopping along the way several times before, between and after Fresno and Stockton with only an hour break while transferring at Sacramento to the Portland destination. I was okay with that and it went fine.

The passenger demographic changed slightly at Sacramento. Before Sacramento my travel companions were mostly Hispanic. I think I was the only white boy on the bus. From Sacramento on there was more of a mix. My three collegian black men sat in the seats across the aisle, a couple of middle aged black women with one elderly black man had the seats directly behind me. We were a congenial lot and it was fine. I am grateful that texting on cell phones has replaced audible loud yakking on them. We all got along fine and that made for a rather pleasant ride.

The first incident (Dec. 06, 2013): The bus was only almost half an hour late by Medford but the driver promised he could make up the time before long.

The elderly black man (my age) was seated directly behind me. Before Red Bluff he tapped me on the shoulder, leaned over the back of my seat and he asked, “I’m a Viet Nam Veteran, can I use your cell-phone?” I obliged saying I'm a Vet too… he had a hard time figuring out how to unlock the phone so I dialed it for him. No problem. After a few minutes, before Redding, he tapped me on my shoulder again… he began a nonstop spiel in a low voice; “Mister, I’m a Viet Nam veteran … I’m flat broke and need to get a hotel room when I get off this bus… can you lend me twentybucks?… Gimme your mailing address and I promise on my grandma’s grave I get it back to you….”

I felt badly for the guy but only had a few bucks on me so I could be honest with him and say, “I’m flat broke too. That’s why I’m on a bus.”

It was true, I spent my last bucks on this bus ticket. Money for the rip home would have to wait 'til my SSI check is deposited mid-month.

He hit me up to use my phone, once more pleading, “I’m a Viet Nam Vet, I’m sick… the VA turned me out… can I…”

From the last call I knew he'd need help, “Give me the number… I’ll dial it for you.” I had to interrupt several times… shouting over his nonstop spiel.

He got pissed, “Oh fuck it… you treat me this way... I’m a Viet Nam Veteran... I'm sick and that is how I am treated… I don’t want your damned phone!” I heard him mumbling a complaint about assholes on the bus and how the VA turned him out and how he was sick... over and over and over again. 

I watched the guy as he made his rounds and noticed he wore sandals with no socks and no jacket… just a tee-shirt and jeans. Anywhere there was an empty aisle seat he sat down and I suppose he probably continued a similar proposition. Everyone started to settle down and most, including me, were sleeping before Medford. In the mountains past Medford everyone was awakened by the woman in the seat in front of me shouting, “Where’s my wallet!”

In a low voice… “… mumble... mutter… mutter, I ain't got your wallet... search me,” was all I could hear from him at first.

“Where’s my wallet!” again and again, “Where’s my wallet! I saw your hand in my purse! Where’s my wallet.”

“I don’t have your wallet,” he protested earnestly and loudly… “You're crazy lady, I ain’t got no wallet! Search me! Dammit, search me!”

"I want my wallet. He had his hand in my purse when I woke up... I felt him tuggin' at it!"

Everyone was awake by then as this woman had a great voice. In a flash a big white boy named Jason had the guy in a headlock demanding, “Give the lady her wallet!”

The black kids joined in on the shouting in unison, “Give the damned wallet back, you fool!”

The driver stopped the bus and came back. He immediately saw what was happening. He told Jason to let go. Jason obliged. The wallet and cell phone had been dropped on the floor by the old guy’s feet. Jason found it and handed it over, “Check to see if anything is missing.”

She checked, “No, nothing is missing. We must have caught him in time.”

The driver had the thief come to the front of the bus as the guy protested all the way, “What did I do… I didn’t do nothin’… I didn’t take a wallet… ii was sleeping… the woman is crazy!” and so on.

Meanwhile the bus was sitting there waiting for the police to show up. It was about twenty degrees outside by then too. A half hour passed… forty-five minutes… still waiting… Oh good, I thought. When the Oregon State police get there we will probably be delayed while reports are written and so on. I was relieved when the guy demanded he be let of the bus and the driver obliged him. It was crazy for the old guy. I hope the police got there soon because he could easily get frost bitten the way his feet were shod. I still think of him standing there freezing his thieving ass off…

I would help any Vet... especially a Viet Nam Vet... but a thief, Vet or not, has to be reckoned with. Still, I wish I could have helped him. Karma.

We took a short break at Grants Pass where the driver passed out incident forms for everyone to fill out as a light dusting of snow began to fall. From there the driver was trying to make up for lost time but, as the snow started to fall more heavily towards Roseburg… about a half inch by then.

We were probably about twenty miles before Eugene when the bus slowed to a crawl. The first one… a car had taken a spin off the freeway up ahead. There was about two inches of snow. By the time our string of the morning rush hour got through that there was another one and the snow had increased to four inches. We got through Eugene (scheduled for 5:30)…  it was approaching eight am by the time we got to Corvallis and the driver told us there were two more wrecks ahead. We got through Corvallis by 8:45am and the snow was up to five or six inches. Through Salem a crawl… it was after 10:00 am by the time we got through Woodburn (the transfer to Spokane in Portland was scheduled for 10:00am).

I figured that Greyhound would have a contingency plan for those of us who missed our transfer. I could not have been more wrong. We arrived in Portland after noon. No one knew anything about us. We had to change our tickets there but no one told us anything about that and we wouldn’t have even known about that little detail had not one of our group been at the counter and overheard it.

The manager in Portland was pulling her hair out by this time and fled to her office when any of us approached her with questions leaving our angst to the ticket clerk who knew nothing. I cornered her once and she snapped back saying, “It’s the weather… you can’t expect us to do anything the weather.” I asked her why there was no contingency plan for weather… like a back-up bus. She fled back into her office. It was only after our persistence that someone behind the counter (not the manager) informed us that we had to transfer our tickets for Seattle…. We were all compensated with ten dollars in Portland for a meal on Greyhound’s grudging behalf. It was about six pm before we boarded a bus for Seattle. We waited at the station in Seattle from about 8:00 pm to then transfer at 11:30 pm for Spokane. I wrote a nasty complaint via the Greyhound site comment section.

(Dec. 06-07) I would have liked to say the ordeal was over by then but, sadly, it was not. The arrival tie in Spokane was supposed to be 5:30 am. I was hoping we would get there later as I didn’t want Barbara to brave the early morning hours to pick me up. The bus we boarded was one of those brand new ones like the original bus I got on in Santa Barbara. I felt so good about that. I immediately went online to check e-mail and so on. We were only a few blocks away when the driver stopped the bus. We had barely left the station!

Some lights on the consul warn him that there was some kind of problem. The later the better I thought. His dispatch had him take the bus to the yard where a mechanic could figure it out. We sat in the yard another hour. Now, that was just fine with me by then. As this was the day of Dad’s funeral at 11 am, I was a little worried but as long as we got in Spokane in time to change clothes and shower I was okay with it. We had to change buses and got one of the old cows. It made for a slightly less comfortable ride and we got in Spokane with no further delays between 7 or 8 am. Barb and Mike picked me up, I took a shower and we made it to the church on time.

I swore I’d never take the Grey Dog again… it is Amtrak, rent-a-car, or airliner from now on… I swear! I swear! The damned dog just won't hunt.

The ride home on Amtrak was, as usual, a pleasant one with only a few minor hitches to start with that go along with public transportation or travel in the north country... like in December. I will write about that soon. I loved it regardless of the time it took.

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