Travelers

July 26-27 - on the road

The one thing I like about the bus is that you get to talk to people. These are real people, getting around on a budget. I talk to a Lebanese truck driver from California. He's down on his home state. California is driving independent truckers like him out with their pollution regulations. He says LA is bad, pollution wise. He wants me that when we go over the mountain into LA, to expect a broad yellow smog to cover the city below. Still, the pollution cleaning devices the state is requiring all trucker to put on their vehicles cost about $14000. He can't afford it, so he and his wife are moving to San Antonio, where you can still make a buck.

I talk to a 40ish hippie lady. She looks road worn and not entirely there. She's from Tempe. She's spent the last 10 years in Florida waiting tables. She's wearing a huge back pack when she gets on the bus. I ask her if she's a experienced traveler. Surprisingly, she says no. She'd hitched east in late 90s to get out of Arizona. She's going him to take care of a sick friend. She says that like it's a surrender.. She packs like that cause she likes camping. But bus riding isn't camping; you have to pack light, not tall. The bus is hard on her and the cramped seats make her fidget. She gets off in El Paso and determines she'd rather hitch her way back to Arizona, even if it takes longer. She looks like she's spent a lifetime taking the harsher route.

The bus stops in Blyth, California for a 30 minute lunch break. A McDonald's and a Taco Bell are one block from the bus stationette. Two guys named Manuel and Carlos walk with me three blocks further in the dry midmorning heat to taqueria across the freeway. The food there is just like Taco Bell, but we feel better for our efforts at authenticity. I ask Manuel if Carlos is his nephew or his son. "No, we're just friends. We're both from Corpus and we're heading home California." Manuel is much older, at least late 60s, dark skinned with a salt and pepper beard, long and scraggly like an Indian's. He's buying Manuel's lunch. When Carlos brings the food back from the counter, Manuel tells us about a time he was young and penniless and some guy bought him lunch, only making him promise that someday, if he met someone in need on the road, he'd have to help him out. He makes Carlos promise to do the same once he has money. Carlos is in his 20s and eagerly takes this bargain; he can't imagine not having lots of money one day.

Manuel talks about his 27 years in the army. He's seen the world, starting with Vietnam, but no one place is his favorite. He says he might be going senile. He has 9 siblings back in Modesto. Everyone but me on the bus seems to be going home.

Gina is 16 and is traveling with her mother, who doesn't at first appear to speak English. They're returning to San Bernardino from visiting relatives in Taos. When we pass a huge wind farm out of Indio, California, she looks at the massive three blade propellers karate chopping the wind to harvest its energy. She says, "I want to be an engineer one day and work on them." I tell her that's a good goal; that's the future. "Well, if I can go to college," she adds on. "No," her mama interrupts in a heavy Norteño accent, "you weel go to college." Good for you, mom, I nod. The conversation has reached a comfortable end point and the ladies go back to watching their movie on Gina's laptop.

I probably look like a goober taking pictures of mountains out through the bus window. I don't care. I'm still blown away at the sight of the western mountains this up close. I embrace my goofiness.