This is a tale in three parts - kinda like a play.
1. Getting there
2. Being there
3. Getting back.
This is Part One: Getting There
There were three ways to get there (the northern part of Virginia where my LD resided), air, train and bus. Air was out right from the start since I don't have a passport. There appears to be no way to get from Toronto to Harrisonburg, (or anywhere near there), in less than two days by train. Hell, it's only about 650 miles! So that leaves the bus. Twenty-four hours, and $150.00 later I find myself in Charlottesburg VA.
What is it about bus travelers? We left the terminal at 9:30 PM. Most of these people have had all day, or at least all evening to eat dinner, call all their friends and use the bathroom but immediately upon leaving the terminal, out come the lunch bags, snack packages or cell phones, for some, a veritable smorsgabord of goodies accompanied by the squeaks, beeps, squawks and various tunes of their cell phones. And a steady stream of people for the tiny bathroom. Since I had the misfortune of sitting at the rear of the bus, I was subjected to repeated bumps and shoves as each squeezed past my seat.
I found myself seated beside a lady of proportions somewhat in excess of the width of her seat who had an MP3-playing cell phone and who sang along with her tunes when not responding to her phone's repeated bleatings of "Miss you have a text message." The previous occupant of my seat had folded the aisle arm rest down and for the life of me I could not figure out how to raise it. I spent the first leg of the trip in mortal danger of tumbling out of my seat onto the floor of the aisle. Welcome to bus Hell.
We stopped at Lewiston to cross the border (looooong slow lineup at Immigration then collect luggage and pass through Customs), Buffalo to change drivers, Syracuse for a snack, (at 3:00 AM for Goodness sake... who wants to snack?), NYC for a 3-hour layover (the Port Authority Terminal hasn't changed in decades) and bus change, Baltimore for another meal break, (Sbarro pepperoni slice - not bad), Richmond for a second bus change and another 3-hour layover (the only seat available in the terminal was next to the garbage can - I wonder why it was available - and about a zillion flies), and finally Charlottesville 24 hours later.
I have never been so tired.
This lovely lady, and seller who is of some advanced years, met me there and promptly got lost finding her way out of the terminal and to her vehicle. Oh, boy!
We find her truck and surprise surprise, we don't have the detailed maps of Charlottesville I had sent her and she has no idea how she found the bus terminal let alone how to find her way back to the highway. Not to be delayed by incidentals such as going in the right direction, we hurtled off for some random point - at a high rate of speed.
When, 15 minutes later, I see the bus terminal sailing by, I gave up all hope. Like that guy in the song lost on the Boston Transit. Finally we stumble on a sign pointing to the Interstate. Pure dumb luck. Then my chauffeur informs me that she really doesn't like driving at night. Great! She's chatting away like a three year old who's eaten too much chocolate cake and I'm needing toothpicks to keep my eyes open. The speedo is somewhere north of 80.
She stays in her lane by jerking to the right or left when she hears the BBBBBRRRRRRPPPPP of her tires on the edges of the lane.
Finally, we turn down a driveway lined with pine trees and pull up in front of the largest garage I've ever seen. And there, in the garage is my baby. I mumble apologies about being so exhausted and when she opens the door to show me the inside, I almost fall on my face. We say our goodnights and I tumble into a deep dark pit of exhaustion and neither see or hear anything until 8:00 AM the next morning when a cheery voice pipes at the door, "Good morning, Ginger. I have a cup of coffee for you here."
Oh boy! I'm there.
Ginger
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