Scenes from a Greyhound Bus - A Snovel written for my Nature Writing class

“Were happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time; it’s miserable it’s magical oh yeah”     -Taylor Swift, Twenty-Two

            With $60 in her pocket she pays the man $38 at the ticket booth. She waits patiently while her ticket prints out, grabs it and sits near the bus gate until her departure is called. This is a place she knows well having traveled across Colorado by bus throughout her late teens and twenties. She recalls a ride from Grand Junction where an obnoxious drunk on the back of the bus caused the driver to stop- all she wanted was to see her dad one last time; or when the tire popped and the passengers were left waiting, as fluffy white flakes drifted lazily from the sky, for over 3 hours until a new bus arrived. This type of travel can be exhausting, but there is nothing like the scenic beauty from a bus window, the uncertainty because your fate is in another man’s hands and the awkward closeness of sharing such magical mountain moments with complete strangers.  Today she has somewhere to be but riding the bus brings a solace to her. It’s where all the major moments in her life have occurred.

“Bus 302 heading west towards California” is announced over the intercom but it sounds more like “Buhhh threeohto heed wef to calif”. Luckily, she is fluent in intercom voice so she heads to the line to check bags and get on.

She stands up situating her backpack--it is the only item she brought. A carry on, filled with a camera, a notebook, pens, colored pencils, a Bible, head phones, sparkly white flats, and of course her veil neatly folded  and pressed. Her dress and other necessities were taken to the Church in Glenwood Springs ahead of time. She takes the window seat front row. She has identified what type of people sit in the back, the middle, the front. She feels safest behind the bus driver. The bus pulls slowly out of the gate, a loud thud and onto the busy downtown scene. They head south on 19^th street toward Curtis as the buzz of the city lulls several passengers to sleep.

The driver announces, “Welcome aboard folks! Looks like we have lovely weather today should be an easy pass through the mountains. Our first drop off point will be in Idaho Springs, then Frisco and then a 5 minute stretch break in Vail. There is no alcohol allowed on the buses you can have your Colorado Kool-Aid aka Coors Beer when you depart at your stop. Settle in and be kind to one another.”

            She stares out the window as they pass the sky rises eventually hopping onto Interstate 70 as the passengers leave fleeting memories of Green Mountain and pass the road signs for Red Rocks Amphitheater- “a geological phenomenon [it is] the only naturally-occurring, acoustically perfect amphitheater in the world.” She remembers in vivid detail the first concert she ever saw there. She was in 8^th grade and her dad took her to see Los Lonely Boys. Her memories consist of the little things, like the smell of Coors Beer on her dad’s breath, the low whistle of the amp situated in front of them or the way the moon light reflected off of the rocks giving the whole place an auburn aura. The skyline behind her disappears. It is 7am and the sun is playing peek-a-boo behind the mountains as the bus heads in that direction.  She puts her head phones on to avoid the distractions of the heavy breathers and soft humming of the bus engine.

The sun is now blaring into her line of vision causing her to shade her eyes with one hand. About an hour and a half into the trip the bus pulls over at a small park in Idaho springs, Colorado. This town is known for its historic mining as a part of the Pikes Peak Gold Rush in 1859. She recalls coming here every summer of her childhood. Her family loved to raft on the Clear Creek River. She was 12 the first time she hopped in a raft and paddled on what seemed like monstrous waves, 10 to 20 times her size. In reality it was only class 1 rapids merely ripples in the water. None the less, when she fell into the freezing water that first day her mother about had a heart attack. That day you would have seen her mother waling her oar in the air, arms flapping wildly, almost knocking the guide off the boat yelling, “My baby, my baby! Help!” She remembered the basic training; lie on your back and float down stream with the water. She could feel the scares amounts of fish pooling beneath the weight of her heavy body. A rough hand clutched her wrist, it was her fathers, and she knew she would be okay. They went back three times that summer and every summer thereafter until she moved away. It is a place filled with fond memories of water fights, family bonding and growing up like a fish in the water. She craved the rushing swells over the boulder rocks, the drone of paddling in motion eventually working her way up to class 4-5 rapids. She could feel her fathers hand clutching her wrist as the bus began to move. It was comforting—the thought that he was there with her.

The bus pulled back onto the interstate and to the right she saw her favorite Beau Jo’s Pizza- the place her family always went to wind down from an intense sun soaked, water filled day. On this day the river is low and the rocks protrude from the creek bed. Rafting season is over and low levels make it impossible to ride despite the still warm weather.

Off to the left in the distance she can see Mount Evans which is covered in snow this time of year. It was the first 14er she ever climbed. Her memory of the actual hike, the grueling amount of time it took her to shuffle up the mountain that looked over the vast expanse of Colorado, was clouded. She remembers that day clearly because it was on the bus ride home when she received a call from her mother.

“Honey, I don’t want to worry you too much but your father is in the hospital. He’s pretty sick and I think you need to come visit him when you get back to Denver from your hike. We love you; call us when you get in.” Click and the message went dead.

It was the first time her dad got really sick. After that the calls became regular and the shock wore off.

The bus continues to weave up the I-70 Mountain transient eventually passing the continental divide traveling through the stretch of the Eisenhower tunnel. The tunnel was completed in 1979 allowing easier travel through the mountains- it is the longest mountain tunnel in the US and the highest on the Interstate Highway system. She remembers as a kid trying to hold her breath throughout the entire length of the tunnel as the orange florescent light blinded her vision, making the tunnel seem longer and more enclosed.

She aimlessly stares out the window noticing how the mountain pine beetle was slowly killing the expanse of the once beautiful, lush green Colorado trees. It saddens her to see the trees turning a burnt rust color, the branches cracked, and its life gone. She unconsciously plays with the engagement ring on her finger slowly realizing that in just a few short hours her life will begin anew.

The bus nears Vail—a high class ski town with houses in the millions of dollars—the last drop off point before her final destination. As a young child her parents took her skiing on the Vail bunny hill ski slope. It only took her one run to know it wasn’t for her but she watched in awe as herds of skiers danced, swiveling, and turning leaving tracks in the snow racing towards the bottom of the hill. Her dad was one of them—a weekend winter warrior whose grace grazed the powder almost every weekend during ski season. This is also the place where she first met her fiancé. “Fiancé” she said it aloud and giggled anxiously catching weird looks from her bus neighbors.

Her heart begins to flutter with excitement. Just like the first time they met re-creating it almost exactly. The bus pulls off at the local ‘Cum and go’. An emphatic thud and she knows that in a few moments her soon to be husband will enter the bus. She can’t ditch the huge smile spreading across her face.

It was only six months before when she was taking the same route via bus from her father’s funeral back to school in Grand Junction at Colorado Mesa University. She had slept through the Vail stop that time and when she woke up the bus was just outside of Glenwood Springs. A soft face man was sitting next to her, quietly reading his Bible. He had shoulder length curly ginger hair and eyes that made you feel like he was in on a secret that you just needed to know. He turned to her and silently handed her a Kleenex, She hadn’t even realized that she had been crying during her nap but her face was moist with sweet salty tears. She felt embarrassed. “Who cries on a public bus?” She thought aloud. He asked her in a whisper almost inaudible, “could I pray for you?” They closed their eyes and bowed there head. She prayed that God could give her peace about her father’s passing. She missed him more with each snowflake that drifted lazily from the swirly gray sky. They were in their own world on that bus. She snapped her head up becoming more allusive from her thoughts and there he was an adorable smile plastered on his face, his ginger hair flopping wildly beneath his knitted winter hat. He sat down silently and held her hand playing with the ring on her finger.

She had heard it all recently, “you’re too young”, “you met him on a bus six months ago, how well do you really know him?” and “marriage is for life!” As if I didn't know these things. In this moment, sitting on the bus staring as she watched the Vail ski bums rotating up and down the pure white slopes she knew that this was the right decision. She only wished that her father could be there. There would be no father daughter dance and no one to ‘officially’ give her away. The reflection in the bus window looked like that of a broken little girl not a woman so in love that she was getting married in just a few hours. She felt the warmth of her fathers hand on her wrist again and smiled looking longingly up at the sky. She squeezed her soon to be husbands hand as the bus thumped its way through Glenwood Canyon. They were almost there; she just had one last person she needed to talk to.

“When are you going to be here? The staff is letting me leave for a little while your mother and I thought we could go to dinner and celebrate your twenty second birthday! Call me soon pumpkin. Love you.” He chuckled. Click—the last message she ever received from her dad. She saved it and played it when she needed him most. She hadn't played it in a full week. It wasn't a profound message about life or love or loss. It was just one of those messages you leave normally because the day before your whole life changes is just like any other day.

As the charcoal sky began to turn to black, the sun tucked away under the mountain peaks she remembered the quote her father always used to read to her, “I haven’t a clue how my story will end, but that’s all right. When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, that’s when you discover the stars.”-Nancy Willard