The Greyhound bus doesn’t have the greatest reputation. Although it’s probably the cheapest way to get from A to B in North America (save for hitch-hiking), the Hound is not your average twentysomething traveler’s vehicle of choice. It’s uncomfortable, it’s dirty and it’s dangerous. In July 2008, a 22-year-old Canadian man was stabbed, beheaded and cannibalized somewhere in Manitoba while riding a Greyhound bus along the Trans Canada Highway.
The average twentysomething traveler would prefer to conquer North America by car, blasting the likes of Springsteen, CCR and The Band. But, having grown up in Toronto, I pride myself on being a city slicker and a public transit connoisseur. By age 21 I didn’t have a full driver’s license (I still don’t today but that’s not the point). I guess I missed the boat on that adolescent rite of passage. And so, when my boyfriend, Rory and I decided to do a road trip through the Great American South, we opted to go by Greyhound. Instead of belting out “Born to Run” as we raced down those American highways, we took along bus-friendly ipods. I’ll never forget listening to Paul Simon’s Graceland as we approached Memphis, Tennessee, sitting in contemplative silence, eyes shining as we reveled in the days of miracles and wonder.
(Ok so we basically just traded one cliché for another)
Financially, the bus worked out well. We got Greyhound Discovery Passes ($400 for one month or $500 for two), which allow you to take as many bus trips as you want in North America in a fixed period of time. There was no car to rent, no insurance to buy and no need to budget for gas money as we went along. With someone else doing the driving for us, there was no map to navigate. We could just sit back and relax.
Though I may be painting an idealized picture, the Greyhound is not for the high-maintenance. While the buses themselves were much safer than I had previously thought, the bus stations can get pretty seedy. I used many (and I mean many) of the most disgusting toilets on earth. I also learned that you have to line up for the bus early, or you’ll be stuck sitting next to a less-than-ideal stranger for a ten hour overnight journey. And on your ten hour overnight journey, you’ll have no control over whether the person sitting in front of you will recline their seat back to the point where their chair is more or less kissing your nose.
But it’s on those overnight journeys that the bus really starts to feel like home. Rory and I brought blankets and travel pillows and took turns sleeping on each other’s laps. All around us, people cuddled up to their windows, while parents hushed their kids to sleep. We would all rest under a star-filled sky as the hound pressed on, carrying us through some vast stretch of American desert. At four in the morning the bus driver would pull over at a 24 hour Burger King in the middle of nowhere. We would file out in a sleep-induced haze, and line up like a bunch of zombies for a late-night Coke or a side of fries. There is a great sense of community on the Greyhound that you will never experience by traveling in your own car. And so, though the Greyhound wasn’t perfect, I would recommend it and I would definitely do it again.
Once we got to know the ropes, we created our own routine. Upon disembarking the bus, Rory would grab our bags from the luggage hold while I would run ahead to secure us a place in the line for our next destination. We got used to sleeping sitting up, packing bus-friendly picnics and brushing our teeth in repulsive bathrooms. We guarded our place in line religiously and filled our flasks with a second helping of fountain soda when nobody was looking.
For several weeks last summer, we made the hound our home.
Caitlin Vernon Writing 