Episode notes
Chapter 2: The Art of Adventure Travel
Inside the bus, Driver Chris had taken off his shirt and he was sitting at the dinette table reading from a business ledger. An incredibly attractive girl with flowing brown hair sat on the mattress close behind him massaging his shoulders. His red-bearded face exuded joy. There was a look in his eyes like that of a wise older person, like travel had taught him much about life. I longed to experience that kind of joy myself, to gain such wisdom and to learn about life on the road.
The huge man I had seen standing by the station door took up the rest of the bench next to him. He was setting up plastic pieces on a tattered chessboard. There was a pack of playing cards on the table next to him. It was a dirty deck of cards made in the seventies with a different half-naked woman on the face of each card.
The guy with the acoustic guitar had removed his leather jacket and was now sitting across the table from the man-mountain chess player. They introduced themselves to each other. “I’m Johnny from England,” he said in a British accent.
“My name is Dave,” said the big man in an incredibly slow, deep, and mellow voice. They shook hands. “Do you play chess?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’m crap,” answered the Brit.
“Do you play to win, or do you play to play?” Dave intoned. His hairy jowls, massive body and broad shoulders reminded me of a buffalo.
“Err... to play,” he responded.
“Then we can play,” resolved the big man.
The black-haired guy who called himself Chicken Jim sat around playing songs on his guitar while the driver sold tickets. “So, you work here?” I asked him as I took a seat across the aisle.
He answered in a hipster voice. “Correctamundo,” he said pointing his guitar pick at me with a nod. “I’m training to be a driver.”
“That’s awesome bro! I would love to be a driver. Do you get paid for training?” I asked him bluntly.
He kept using his hipster voice. “It’s a labor of love bro!” He began plucking the chords to Ticket to Ride.
A cute American girl with light-brown hair came up the steps out of breath holding two reusable shopping bags and a soccer ball under one arm. She stopped before the top step and smiled at the huge blond-bearded driver. She was sporty and cute with an endearing sparkle in her hazel eyes. “Is this the bus to California?” she asked.
“Indeed, it is,” the driver answered gregariously. “Welcome to the Green Tortoise.”
“Wicked!” she said enthusiastically, looking inside the funky old bus. She gestured with her chin to her shoulder lifting her thumb under the strap of her bag. “Where do I put these?”
“Jimbo!” the relaxed driver called out. “Help this young lady with her luggage. Will you please?”
“I have more bags outside,” she told the reclined helper, but he did not move.
A young kid wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap rushed up to the Bostonian and shouted, “Awesome! I love soccer!” He tried to grab the ball under her arm, but she turned away out of reflex. When he jumped for the ball, she raised it high above his head. “Awe! Come on!” he complained. She put down her bags so she could hold the ball in both hands.
A woman that appeared to be his mother scolded him. “Josh! Leave that nice girl alone.” She had been combing her hair with a brush and a handheld mirror. She seemed annoyed at the interruption.
“It’s okay.” The soccer player softened. “As long as you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” she replied.
She gave the ball to the boy.
“What do you say, Josh?” his mother prodded.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He winced when he licked his severely chapped lips. He tossed the ball in the air to himself, dropped it to the floor and kicked it down the aisle. He seemed overjoyed by such a little thing. Chicken Jim kicked it back and forth with him while the Bostonian stood there watching.