Ode to the Greyhound.

Revulsion. Pity. Shock. Disgust. Whenever I tell people I’ve ridden the Greyhound from Toronto to Abbotsford, their face contorts into one of these emotions. People ask me, “Does it really cost that much more to ride the plane?” If you factor in all the money I’ve spent on food and snacks, and the enormous amount of extra time that it takes, from a purely economical viewpoint, it probably doesn’t make sense to take the bus.

Still, I’m glad I did it, and am looking forward to hopping back on that bus in 5 days time, and riding her for three more days home. Why? There are quite a few rewards I get from riding a bus across the country that I can’t get anywhere else.

First of all, I got time to think. Lots and lots of time where I had nothing to do but think and reflect on whatever I wanted to. I’ve experienced a lot lately, as my World Tour notes can attest to, and I haven’t given myself time to sit back and digest everything I’ve been through. I’ve been spending time with friends, or working, or finding other ways to occupy my time. Sitting in the dark, trying to sleep as the bus vibrates around you, there is nothing to do but think, reflect and pray in silence. I’m glad I had that time, and think it was very healthy for me. Four hours of flying wouldn’t have been enough time.

Secondly, when the sun was up, I saw the transforming environments of Canada in an up close and personal way that I never see from the air. Don’t get me wrong, there’s something very special about seeing folded mountains from the sky, and looking out over the landscape identifying features I’d only ever seen drawn in a map, but until you’ve been across the roads of Canada, you’ll never appreciate the sheer size of Canada and the variety of the environments. I love riding through the Canadian shield, seeing the rocky promontories jutting out over Lake Superior, looking at the beautiful town of Kenora nestled on Lake of the Woods gradually making way to the immense flatness of the Prairies which stretches out for a full day before slowly transforming from the foothills outside of Calgary into the majestic Rockies which never cease to draw gasps from me as the winding roads divulge stunning vista after vista. Canada is huge and beautiful.

Finally, the biggest reason I love riding the Greyhound is the people that I meet. There are so many fascinating characters that I observed and met just on this one trip that I took. The ones whose names I didn’t learn, I’ve given names in my head, and I’d like to introduce them all to you.

The Smoky Bandits: These were the first people I saw, waiting with Finbar to get on the bus. This couple wore dark clothing all the time, and were the worst chain smokers I’ve ever seen. Any chance they ever had to be off the bus, they were outside puffing a cigarette. They would smoke as many as they could in one go before being shuffled back on the bus.

Smiley McRacist: Smiley sat behind me right from the start in Toronto. When we left at 1:00 AM, he proceeded to talk to the girl beside him about all his girlfriend woes for the past five years, including a businesswoman who he had some ‘real dirt’ on that would get her fired. After the first break, I switched seats to near the back of the bus. He switched to a seat in front of me, and told another young woman the exact same story. I moved again, he moved to the seat across the aisle from me, and told another lovely young woman the exact same story. This woman refused to take any crap from him, and told him exactly what he’d done wrong, and about how he’d better stop thinking of himself as the hero of his story, because he wasn’t. After which he told this lovely young black woman all about how black people wear too much jewelry, and would NOT let it go, no matter how offended the young woman got. I think of him as ‘Smiley’ McRacist though, because sometimes a real nice guy shone through the bull. There was a very touchy feely man getting touchy feely with the girls on the bus, and Smiley defended them and got the police involved and was very gentlemanly. When he left the bus at Winnipeg he patted me on the shoulder and wished me all the best on the rest of the trip. He was a nice guy, a rotten vengeful bastard, and a racist - all rolled up in one yellow-hatted package.

The Brothers Karamazov. – I have only fond thoughts of the brothers. Two blind men that I think were twins…. One of the brothers was much more handicapped than the other, and the able brother was very lovingly taking care of his twin. It was remarkably sweet to watch, and the little conversation I had with the brother left me touched by his friendliness and sensitivity. I was sad to see them go in Winnipeg.

Sir Coffsalot. – This sickly man sat right behind me from Sudbury to the Soo. Constantly hacking and coughing, at one point he grabbed the seatback in front of him –mine-, hoisted himself up and coughed directly on the back of my head. I have no fond memories of this one.

Mr. Indecisive. – Spent the entire trip from Sudbury to Wawa asking the driver if he could go back. At Thunder Bay he hopped off our bus and onto one heading right back to Sudbury. This is a trip of around 13 hours.

Captain Quebec. – Captain Quebec was easily the most bizarre of my travelling companions. He had a gaunt narrow face, and wore his long hair in a ponytail. He had a tan blazer and khaki pants that he kept tucked into his calf-high cowboy boots. He always wore a full sized Quebec flag with a hole in the middle of it as if it were a poncho. He also had a large terry cloth bathrobe with fleur-de-lis’ sewn into the back. He was a friendly enough man. During the first couple rest stops, we would engage in small talk. ‘Where are you going to?’ ‘Do you usually take the Greyhound?’
A couple rest stops later, I finally got up the nerve to ask him about the flags. ‘Is there any special reason why you’re always wearing the flag?’

His answer: The Holy Spirit told me if I wore the flag for a full year, Quebec would separate from Canada.’ Definitely not what I was expecting, though I’m not sure what I *was* expecting. He was travelling across Canada spreading the spiritual message of Quebec, and was going to give the flag to the leader of Quebec when it separates in April. (One year after the Holy Spirit convinced him to start wearing the flag.) I decided to take that at face value, and asked him why he thought Quebec should separate, since obviously he was passionate about this. ‘Well, uh… I uh… I don’t think Canada deserves Quebec. People in Quebec, they are much more intelligent than people in Canada. Maybe because they have to learn two languages instead of just English…’ Then he paused and thought for a bit. ‘Hm… Why Quebec should separate… No, I think that’s the only reason. I can’t think of anything else.’
I’m pretty proud of myself for successfully holding in my disbelieving laughter. I talked to him one last time, near Calgary, feeling like I had to let him know how I felt about his separatist reasonings. When I told him I was offended by the generalizing and belittling statements he made about Canada, he responded ‘Well, I always speak the truth. I’m sorry if this offends you.’ I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I asked him about how he heard the Holy Spirit. What he told me was remarkably similar to Brad Jersak’s listening prayer teachings, for those of you that are familiar with that. I decided to impart to him some of Brad’s guidelines for hearing God’s voice, which includes interpreting in community. Captain Quebec told me he was very much of a lone wolf prophet, who has been ostracized by his Pentecostal community, and had no interest whatsoever in joining a church. After that, I decided I’d had enough of conversing with him, though he seemed to want to talk some more. I feel like I’d already given him much more respect and attention than most.

My favourite co-traveler was an old Chinese man named Wai Cheung, who had lived in Calgary for ten years, then Utah before that, Las Vegas before that, and Peking China, originally. He was VERY smart, and we talked for hours about Mormons, Mennonites, Israel and Palestine, Canadian politics and economics, and gambling, among other things. He was incredibly well-informed about current events, and when I got off the bus in Abbotsford, we were both very happy with how educated we felt after our conversation. I learned a lot from him, and he learned a lot from me.

My life is quite a bit richer now, because I took the Greyhound. I doubt my trip back will match this one for the sheer novelty of my co-passengers, but life can be quite surprising. I’m sure I’ll find it rewarding in some way.