"Leave the driving to us" Greyhound announces in their commercials. I'm most obliged to leave the driving to them, hoping my trip from point A to point B is a safe and relaxing experience. However, when Murphy’s Law boards the bus with you, what can go wrong, will go wrong.
Please sit back, as the drivers say on the bus intercom, and enjoy the ride. I say sit back with me as you read this anecdote of the bus ride of the Calamity Express. Traveling via Greyhound buses can be an adventure or it can be distressing. It depends largely on weather, atmosphere, and the luck of the bus running efficiently. However, for the most part it is the clientele of Greyhound; some of which seem to be from on another planet, or at least in a world of their own.

When you step up that little stairway into the bus and look back into the coach, you only see rank strangers as you search for an empty seat, hoping that you're not sitting down beside an axe-murderer or someone who seems over friendly and wants to explore every detail of your life.

A recent bus trip my wife and I made to Maine started out in complete confusion. The ticket agent sent us to Atlanta, Georgia to be routed through the Carolinas and due north to Maine. We thought that was a bit odd going south to go north. Leaving Atlanta, it started to rain, and it rained all the way to Maine. But the rain was a minimal issue to deal with compared to the psychos riding with us.

While in Atlanta, waiting on our next connection to Richmond, Virginia; I was waiting patiently for my order at the food counter when an elderly gentleman walks up to me and asks me what town he was in.

I promptly told him he was in Atlanta.

“Atlanta?” he said

“I thought I was in Minneapolis.”

With a puzzled look on his face, and as well as mine, he held his head low, looked up at me and said, “What town did you say this was?”

“Atlanta,” I answered.

“Can I buy a bus ticket here?”

“Yes, I told, him,” and pointed over at the ticket desk.

“They will be glad to sell you one.”

“You mean to tell me, if I buy me a ticket to Minneapolis a Greyhound bus will take me there?”

“Yes” I informed him. “That’s what Greyhound buses do.”

“What town is this?” he asked again.

“Atlanta,” I said again.

“I have been walking around all day asking people where I was,” he said.

My food was ready so I promptly took it and went to my seat beside my wife.

A little black lady that appeared to be in late her 70’s, wearing dark glasses, sat down beside me and asked me if I needed some candy.

“No thanks,” I told her.

“I got a bag full if you want some,” she said shaking the bag.

Over the Intercom someone announced a bus departing that included a stop in New Orleans.

“Can you imagine riding a bus all the way to New Orleans?” the lady said.

“Well we are riding one to Maine, that’s further than New Orleans,” my wife informed her

“Oh no it’s not,” she said. "New Orleans is in another hemisphere, it’s 10,000 miles from here."

My wife just looked away not saying anything.

 I just continued eating my hotdog trying to reflect on the long journey ahead when some maniac started screaming: “I can't believe this.” I've got to wait until 4:30 in the morning for a bus to Fort Lauderdale.” Over and over he repeated this loudly while walking hastily back and forth through the terminal. ‘Another nut had escaped’, I thought. Soon the guy must have run out of energy or lost his larynx, because he did calm down.

After boarding the bus, the next stop was Richmond Virginia, so I tried to get some rest. However, there is no way anyone can sleep with a squalling baby, and folks talking loudly on their cell phones, and the constant bouncing and rattling of the bus.

Moving on up the interstate at full speed ahead, the coach suddenly became very warm. The air conditioner went out and it suddenly became an inferno. The temperature went from 72 to 85 degrees. Folks were sweltering. Some came forward to the driver and asked him what the problem was.

“The air conditioner is out,” he informed them.

“Greyhound told me to proceed to Charlotte for the bus to be checked out.”

The passengers suddenly became belligerent, almost hostile, as they demanded the driver pull over and let them off to get some cool air.

A voice from the back: “Stop this bus or I'm calling 911 and telling them you're holding us all hostage.”

"Stop it now, it’s too hot in here,” said another voice.

I suddenly feared a mutiny and kept quiet . Even though I agreed with the potential mutineers, I said nothing. The driver seemed to be doing what his supervisor told him to do by taking the bus to Charlotte to be serviced, but the driver finally gave in to their demands and stopped at a convenience store. Although the store was closed, it did have an awning so the passengers were able keep dry while cooling off their bodies, as well as their attitudes.

“Okay folks you can get off the bus, and cool off and I will see if I can reset the AC."

The irate passengers, got off the bus in light rain. The smokers were elated that they could grab a quick smoke. The cool air in the drizzling rain felt pretty good as opposed to the 85 degrees in the bus. I walked around to get a little exercise and to stretch my legs a bit. With the air conditioning reset, it started working, the bus was reloaded, and the temperature was soon back to 72 degrees. The mutineers quieted down, and peace was restored.
The exchanges we made through to New York were pretty much flawless. We boarded our last connection to Waterville, Maine at 11:00 A.M., our last stop and destination. However, we didn't make it there on the bus. The water pump went out in Lewiston about 50 miles from Waterville. We had two options. We could wait on another bus, which was coming from Boston and was about four hours away, or call my wife’s sisters that were in Waterville waiting to pick us up. We chose the latter, and soon we were in a sandwich shop having a nice lunch.
With this account of our trip to Maine the disquiet soon was a memory. I will relate some good positive things I shared during the two weeks we were home, as my wife calls it.

I did get two photographs of three moose standing on the side of the highway at three different locations I saw Canada from two different view points. I photographed the international bridge that took you to Canada and the Saint Johns River that separates Maine and Canada.

I love Maine, and it’s people. My wife has the nicest folks. The vexed bus ride was worth the wonderful time I shared in Maine with her family. I love the rural countryside that reminds me of Tennessee.

The return trip was flawless except when the police entered the bus in South Carolina. They took no one off and left without incident. Soon the driver announced our destination... Athens Tennessee. We said goodbye to the bus and watched it move away toward the interstate. I somehow felt a little melancholic that the trip was over and we were home. But for two and a half days that bus was our home. Now it’s gone but will return for us in December for our Christmas trip back to Maine. I am taking a heavy coat just in case the heater malfunctions on the bus.