I like to procrastinate blogging. Not because I don't like, its just that when you have the world at your finger tips sometimes you find yourself speechless. So many new things around you, meeting new people constantly, and putting it into words never seems to do it justice.
For the average driver it takes about four hours to drive from Portland and Seattle. For the average Bus driver, it take about five hours. With snow, it reduces to buses speed to about 35 mph. If you add the 45 minutes to put on chains it still only take about 6 and a half. The last variable is Seattle drivers, who, for the most part have probably never driven in the snow.
As I stood in the well lit Portland bus depot, I fingered the change in my pocket hoping to feel enough quarters to buy a snack at a nearby vending machine. I didn't.
My last meal was over 12 hours ago and consisted of a small bag of Cheez-its, another equally small bag of Lays chips, and some M&Ms. It ran me close to five bucks. Take it from me, bring your own food on a bus trip, or else you might find yourself delirious, hungry and stuck in traffic for hours. Not a good combination.
The last boarding call for Seattle was made. I pulled out my ticket and moseyed over to stand in line by my luggage. In a few short minutes I handed my ticket to bus driver and found a pair of empty seats near the front of the bus hoping to sleep most of the 5 hour trip to Seattle. Little did I know It would take a little longer.
Soft fluffy white precipitation started to fall gently an hour or so out of Portland. Over my shoulder little bits of conversation were overheard. Talk of closing the roads due to snow and such.
After another hour of driving at the high speed of 40 miles an hour the bus driver pulls the coach to a stop on the side of the road and announces he is going to put on chains. A man (who I believe is a bus driver) exits the bus with the man driving the bus. I look out my window, they open the compartments underneath where I am sitting and pull out the chains. The two men laid out the chains, both of them looked rather dumbfounded at how to dress the tires with them. I close my eyes and leave it up to them.
About a half a hour later I feel the rumble of the bus and the bumping of the chains as we fishtail down the road. The bus didn't seem to move faster, but I felt comforted know we won't wind up in any ditches.
I stepped off the bus in Tacoma, about an hour outside of Seattle on a regular day, to stretch my legs. By this point I had been traveling for over thirty six hours, my legs were as stiff as boards, and I was warring a skimpy suit coat. It was about 25 degrees out and I hadn't eating a good meal in over a day. After only a few minutes in the frigid air, I decided I would fair better back on the bus.
Ten minutes outside of Tacoma the bus was surrounded with traffic, but the bus was still moving. I looked across the median; all outgoing traffic was stopped dead in their tracks. I smiled, and said something like "sucks to be them." But I had spoken too soon.
Not 30 minutes from the bus depot, the bus grind-ed to a halt, tetrised in among to thousands of other cars. What had started as a nice drive in the snow turned into a honking traffic jam! (pun intended) At only three miles away from my exit the phrase "close but no cigar" was given a whole new meaning. Crawling along the freeway I made impeccable time at half a mile an hour. I was being torched. Stuck inside this giant tin can with a bunch of negative nancies like sardines. It was the longest 6 hours of my life. I was too stressed to sleep, too hungry to read, and too delirious to make conversation with the others on the bus.
I got stuck in traffic 9ish o'clock, and didn't get to the stations till a little after 3 am.
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