Riding the Grey Dog.

Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man,
Tryin’ to make a livin’ and doin’ the best I can.
And when it’s time for leavin’,
I hope you’ll understand,
That I was born a ramblin’ man.

My father was a gambler down in Georgia,
He wound up on the wrong end of a gun.
And I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus
Rollin’ down highway 41.

Ramblin Man; The Allman Brothers Band

Leave the driving to him.

I’ve experienced most modes of transportation available to man. I’ve ridden bikes, boats, buses, trains, planes, automobiles, motorcycles and probably other transports of which I fail to recall.

I’ve flown across both major oceans, rode trains across the continental U.S. and the full length of Japan, and motored all over most of the world, in trucks, jeeps, buses and cars.

I have stories from many of those trips; but the one mode of transport which I carry some of my most vivid memories are from motor trips via bus.

Our tour of the west had an oriental flavor.

Some years ago, my wife and I took a chartered bus trip on a tour of the West. It started out in Denver, made stops in South Dakota, Wyoming, and Utah, with Yellowstone being the highlight of the trip. It was owned by a Chinese touring company, and 75% of the people taking the tour were from mainland China. It was very interesting, and full of humor as well. My blog “Yellowstone with an Oriental Twist” covers that trip.

Sometimes I flew, sometimes I walked…sometimes I took the Greydog

Though I’d ridden the bus before and after, most of my bus traveling occurred while I was in the U.S. Air Force, from August of 1968 to June of 1972. I took a bus from Kenosha, Wisconsin to the induction center in Milwaukee. From there I flew to Amarillo, Texas for basic training. The drill instructors “welcomed” us on our bus ride from the airport to the base.  😆

After basic was happily over, I was sent to Lowry, Air Force Base in Denver, Colorado for Tech school. I flew to Denver, but during idle hours awaiting Tech School, and liberty periods we occasionally took public bus transit to get downtown, although we often walked as well. City bus travel in Denver held no particular charm or surprises, but late night rides often came with the distinctive odor of inner city indigent activities.

Riding the Pooch

We called them Nodaks; they talked funny and drank Grain Belt beer.

After Tech School and a short leave, I flew to my first permanent duty station at Grand Forks Air Force Base, North Dakota. (Frostbite Falls)

There was no bus service from the base to town, which usually meant a fifteen-mile walk each way, or bumming a ride. But I did take the Greyhound from Grand Forks to Milwaukee to go home on leave a few times. From Milwaukee I caught another bus to Kenosha. Those bus rides were mostly without drama; long, boring and a good time to catch up on your sleep.

There was no getting around them.

There was one section of highway between Grand Forks and Minneapolis/St. Paul that provided a bit of levity. About a half hour into the ride east, there was a section of road which was always littered with the carcasses of skunks. Everyone who took that drive was familiar with the skunk situation, and the area which had became known as “Skunk Alley”.  Passengers were sparse on the line, and many of those were airmen going home on leave, or returning. Many who traversed the route, back and forth would count the carcasses along the road, and put them up later in a betting pool on the base. I vividly recall my journey’s through Skunk Alley, and distinctly remember seeing thirty skunk carcasses during one trip home and back.  🫢

Military life is often filled with boredom, and any diversion is welcome. Skunk Alley provided one.

I eventually bought a 1956 Chrysler New Yorker from another Airman leaving the base. It was a fine automobile, and I had it until I left the base, upon receiving orders for Vietnam. I was proud of that Chrysler, and took pains to avoid adding any carcasses as I traveled through Skunk Alley.  😉

Vietnamese on both sides of the conflict used elephants to transport goods

Public transportation in Vietnam wasn’t a problem….. there wasn’t any in our neck of the woods. When we left the base, it was either in a cargo aircraft, chopper, (helicopter) truck or jeep. No bus stories from the Nam, and probably just as well.

The Grapes of Wrath

The bus ride that really stands out from those days was on a return trip, from North Hollywood to Riverside, California, when I was stationed at March Air Force base after returning from Vietnam. Before I purchased a vehicle there, I often took the bus to visit my Great Aunt and Uncle in North Hollywood, where they had a small tavern. As I recall, it was about a 90 minute ride, requiring a change of buses at the main terminal in downtown L.A.

Let no man enter here, who…… steals grapes.

On this particular day, we were about ten miles from Riverside when the bus driver pulled off onto the shoulder of the two-lane road, right alongside a grape vineyard. All the passengers looked around, trying to figure out what the stop was all about.

The driver stood up and said we could go into the vineyard and pick as many grapes as we wanted. When we all looked around at each other, he repeated himself saying he does it all the time and no one minds.

Well, the lure of fresh ripe grapes after a hot dusty bus ride was hard to turn down and most of us ambled off the bus and out into the vineyard. (Bus driver leading the way) Many of the Spanish riders had small canvas satchels which they emptied on the bus and now filled with as many grapes as they would hold. I had a small leather suitcase which held more grapes than I could eat in a month, but since I was still living in the barracks on the airbase, they would not go to waste.

We were munching on some of the ripened grapes as we gathered them. Imagine our surprise when a pickup truck came roaring up to the field, and an enraged man got out, yelling at the top of his lungs, running towards us.  😬

After the initial shock, there was a mass retreat to the bus. Some folks remained cool, hanging on to their booty, while others dropped their sacks of grapes before high tailing it out. I hadn’t even started to gather any before the man showed up but did have a mouthful which I swallowed before sprinting back to the road.

Once back on the bus, the driver caught hell, with a few of the passengers threatening to beat him. He sheepishly got the bus back on the road and remained silent for the remainder of the trip.

Sometimes we had mariachi music on the buses, other times there were other forms of entertainment 😉

Many of the passengers were farm workers who were a little rough around the edges anyway. They were mostly unfazed by the escapade and munched on their grapes as we motored along.

Others weren’t so forgiving, grumbling and threatening to report the driver to bus line superiors.

Some of us thought the whole thing was hilarious and laughed it up on our way into Riverside. Paper bags containing bottles were often passed around on those gritty bus routes, and the grape incident added to the amusement that day.  😆

In Conclusion

Greyhound has transformed itself in the 21st century

But this is the old “grape wagon” that I remember.  😄

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