All Bonnaroo Saga posts: tag/Bonnaroo 07
Long Way To Go by Railroad Earth
[audio:http://www.archive.org/download/rre2007-06-08.akg483/rre2007-06-08akg483t01_64kb.mp3]
Baltimore, MD
Got on a bus in New Britain at 0830 this morning (it was running 10 minutes late). The ride to New York was mostly uneventful, I think that I was asleep for any decently long stretch of time we spent on the highway. Once we got close to the city, the winding roads and stop/go traffic kept me up. I saw the NY skyline, but we didn’t get any closer to downtown. One thing that caught my eye was that in the minute or so we saw the skyline, there were at least 4 helicopters in the sky above it. I’ve never seen 4 helicopters in the same place at once. Not even at big events or disasters. NY is crazy.
So we arrived at 11 or so in the NY terminal, which is a massive underground structure. The bus arrived about 15 minutes later than it should have, so I rushed to the next terminal to catch my connecting bus. In line for the next bus, I find that my bags weren’t properly checked in New Britain, so I have to go find the baggage check. I’m a bit worried as I approach because I see they have the scales and the tape measurer which will prove my bag is over their arbitrary limits. Luckily, the guy who is supposed to be staffing it isn’t there, and by the time he arrives a line has formed. Eager to get rid of us, he gives me a bag ticket without finding out whether it is within limits. I get back in lie, only a person behind the spot I originally had in line. They start boarding, and we move up in line, until I’m right next to the door (2 people in front of me). Then the lines stops moving, and we’re told the bus is full, and the next one will be by at 1400. One thing you should understand about Greyhound, that I quickly learned in New York, is that even though you have a ticket, you are not guaranteed a seat. It is a first come, first served basis. So from 1130 to 1400, I stood there, bags at my side, talking to the handful of other people who had been left behind.
Two women and a guy, all at least 15 years older than myself. One woman, who I suspect was in her fifties, was on her way to Florida. She was one of twelve children, and she had three of her own. She had many stories to tell, jokes and witty comments to share, and was in general very good company.
Another passenger was Bill. Bill looked like he was also in his fifties. Bill sat next to me when we finally got on the bus. I only heard Bill’s story on the bus, because he disappeared during that two hour stint waiting for the bus to arrive. Bill was a nice enough guy: bald, overweight, soft-spoken. He had recently gotten out of prison. I never learned why, or for how long he was in, but it was long enough that I had to help him use his cell phone. Bill and I shared companionable silence for the most part, only talking during the brief times we were both awake.
The third person I talked to in the NY terminal was a heavyset woman with dyed dark red hair and colored shamrock tattoos on the left side of her chest. She was traveling to her nephew’s wedding, and she was very nice and lots of fun, but despite her shamrocks she was a very unlucky lady. She was already on my first bus when I got on in New Britain. During that trip on the way to NY, she sat next to Yankees Superfan, who claimed to have done time in dozens of places around NY City. He wore a Yankees shirt, watch, and hat, and told her that he had gone through a six pack before getting on the bus (he got on when I did at 0830). She said based on his smell that she believed him. Flash forward: after waiting two plus hours with me for the next bus, she is told by the driver that the bus she wants to get on is at gate 75 (we were at 78) and will arrive in another hour at 1500. Frustrated, no – that is too tame a word. Enraged, she went over to 75 to wait. I started to follow her, but doubled back when I realized I had a different destination than her. Got on the bus at 78, where I heard Bill’s story.
Bill, myself, and the rest of the bus arrive in a rest stop in Baltimore Maryland for our dinner break. During this time, I phone back home to update them, let them know I’m running late. My mom suggests that I talk to a ticket agent instead of going on with the route I had (which was two hours later than the route I was supposed to be on). After talking to the agent for some ten minutes, he told me that if I were to go on to Richmond (the next stop) I’d have to wait until 2030 the following day to get on a bus to Manchester. That was obviously out of the question, so we figured out an alternate route that should get me there. It involved some 4 additional transfers, but it should get me back on track. So I sat down, made myself a sandwich, and started to write this down. About an hour later who walks in the door but that very same unlucky lady. She gets some food, then site with me, claiming she’ll never ride a bus again (she works for the Peter Pan Bus Company). We talked some more, traded bizarre passenger stories, and then she mentioned that some folks on her bus were headed to Bonnaroo as well. It is a though, but I tihnk I’ll play it safe, and do what the ticket agent laid out for me. As we’re sitting, a guy passes us who I’m pretty sure is on his way to Bonnaroo (bandana, camelbak). On his way by me again I ask him,
“Hey man! Are you headed to Bonnaroo?”
“Yes I am.”
“How’re you getting there?”
“I’m taking the bus.”
“Which bus?”
“Greyhound.”
“Alright, but which?”
He isn’t exactly sure, but we eventually establish that it is indeed unlucky lady’s bus. So now my plans have changed. Get on this bus (The last few paragraphs were written on the bus, after leaving the terminal) , transfer in Atlanta, get off at Manchester. I am writing this from that very bus.