I step up the stairs, pay my fair, take a seat or find a place to hang on before the driver pulls away from the curb with a lurch, and I’m there, on the bus. Sometimes it’s full, sometimes empty, sometimes I see people I know, sometimes I’m anonymous, sometimes I chat with the person next to me, and sometimes I avoid eye contact.The bus stops and starts, dropping off and picking up passengers, and eventually I push the stop-request button, stand up, and get off at my destination.
Some would rather drive their own car to avoid the restrictions of a set schedule and routes, and the irritation of smelly seat mates or talkative strangers asking personal questions. Some don’t mind the odd people and the uncomfortable experiences, and consider the bus to be freedom, transportation unhindered by traffic or parking meters. Some have lost faith because too many times, the bus was late or didn’t come at all, or passed them by, too full to pick up any more riders. I am somewhere in between. I have a car, but I like to ride the bus.
Driving gives me control. I can come and go on my timeline, and add in an errand or side trip on a whim. I can take the dog with me and load up the back with groceries. Driving is about me. The frequent interactions with other drivers, pedestrians and bikes, though, makes taking to the road a challenge. Rude drivers cut in and honk and waggle judgmental fingers, distracted pedestrians step out into crosswalks without looking up, and bikes fly into the intersection, seemingly without concern for anyone’s safety. Angry fists, mouthed insults and a mighty frustration are common.
The bus is not about me. It’s relinquishing some responsibilities, taking on others–bus schedules, bus fares, bus routes. The bus doesn’t wait, doesn’t let you on without payment, and doesn’t change it’s route when you’re going the wrong way. It’s reliable, but not certain–often, it’s late or early or doesn’t come at all. Real time tracking on smart phones has taken the mystery out of it, but catching the bus is still not an exact science.
My earliest bus memory is as a small child with my grandmother. My grandparents lived in Grand Rapids, and my grandmother never learned to drive. My grandfather took their car to work each day, so household errands were done on the city bus. We boarded at the corner about a block from their house and went downtown for her to shop and get her hair done.
Later, in Southern California, my friend and I took the bus to the mall once in a while. It was a long ride through parts of town that seemed scary, and I always worried that we would end up somewhere and not be able to get home. Getting there and home again was an accomplishment; it was a brush with danger, a little excitement in our suburban existence.
I have been to cities with amazing transportation networks, like Paris, Washington DC and Berlin, and I have lived in cities with such limited service that I never considered using the bus. Here, I love having bus stops close to my house. Out the back door, through the back gate, up the neighbors driveway and it’s a short half-block to our stop.
It’s not the actual bus ride that I like, it’s the idea of the bus. Taking the bus is a life skill. It’s an exercise in fitting in instead of controlling. It’s slowing down and letting go of the need to be captain of my own destination. It’s breathing room. It is connection to the larger community as you step into the crush of the bus and take your place in the crowd.
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