Notes From a Bus Terminal

The plan was to leave work early, go home, get my luggage, and take a train, a train and a bus to Laguardia. The plan was to board AirTran flight 208to Akron. The plan was to spend a night in Cleveland and drive to Cincinnati the following day for a Memorial Day weekend that was a housewarming and reunion all rolled into one.

As they say, "The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry and leave us naught but grief and pain."



An impromptu Wednesday night drinking session (instead of doing laundry) led to a Thursday afternoon trip to the laundromat led to a $30 car ride to the airport. A disorganized air traffic control tower and a mild rainstorm led to a canceled flight. A burning desire to see old friends led to a 12:45am bus out of Port Authority bound for the North Coast. A Saturday morning re-booking exchanged for a Thursday night Greyhound odyssey. Twelve hours on a bus and four hours in a car. One hour spent driving for every year I've known the friends I'm going to see.

Sitting on the floor waiting to board I'm transported back seven years to this same terminal set to embark on a trip of striking similarity yet stark difference. Tonight is the beginning of a journey, leaving behind a home made in New York for an Ohio that becomes a little more unfamiliar by the year. My 20 year-old counterpart, propped against the gaudy orange wall tile playing Big 2, is facing the beginning of a journey's end. He is returning to an Ohio that's still holding a place for him and leaving a New York that is more eye-opening getaway than prospective residence. We're both hoping to sleep away the bulk of the journey though the 2010 edition hopes to have more inspiration and less raw fish stowed in with the luggage.

To be honest, these parallels with my past travels made the decision to scrap the outbound flight much easier. I was interested in treading a path untrod since before I was old enough to order a drink. This time i have a project and a netbook instead of traveling companions but enough time has passed that, at 27, I'm still able to delude myself with the idea that a 700 mile bus ride holds the promise of a grand adventure.

I expect tonight holds nothing more esoteric than sporadic sleep and more sporadic writing Interrupted thoughts both waking and asleep. Still, there's a certain romance in the idea of taking the longer, less convenient road. In eschewing the quicker, more nerve-wracking trails of the open sky. Time will quickly tell whether this half-formed thought results in memorable experiences or or just stiff limbs and a sore neck.