For those of you unaware, the pacific northwest was hit with what can only be described as a blizzard. It was an eastern seaboard-style winter blow-out with snow drifts almost five feet deep, streets of frozen washboard ruts, inclined streets turned into unscalable slopes.
Fortunately, all of my month's assignments were done when the storm came down. I was anticipating catching Amtrak to Portland from Seattle on the 23rd. But as my departure date neared, train and plane schedules were halting all across the region. I was panicked this would be my first real Christmas alone. I didn't care much for that idea, nope, not at all.
Below is the travail, in its original email form, sent to a pal who I knew damn-well would be reading it from from his safe and warmth perch behind the counter of his record store in Kailua, HI
DC,
Well...I made it.
How do I describe this trip without having a nervous breakdown?
Amy and I were checking the Amtrak status all day Monday, and were relieved to find Amtrak running when they updated their website at 9:00pm.
I didn't sleep all night, I was getting so anxious, even WITH my new medication...
Amy had a friend with 4-Wheel drive who was happy come and shuttle us over the ice and snow to the Amtrak station. When we got to the station we found everything heading south was running on time. Dad had suggested I extend my ride on to Salem, or reserve a seat on a Greyhound, as he didn't think it wise to risk driving up from Salem to get me. Unfortunately, all train routes were stopping in PDX, and they couldn't book me a bus seat at the time. I'd have to book a seat from the Portland Greyhound station.
We got to PDX AHEAD of schedule (like, 11:15am) and Amy walked me over to the Greyhound station which was less than a quarter block away.
Entering the depot was like being dropped into a war-zone. Travelers hunkered around the Greyhound bus depot was like refugees. The place was like all the airports from here to BC, only on a much smaller scale; people camped out on blankets, provisions provided by the bus depot littered folding tables; stale bags of Wonderbread, cold cuts, and bottles of mustard and mayo. These were those people trying to get to Denver, CO, or California, and had been stranded for days.
I bought a $15.00 one-way ticket on the 3:40pm bus to Salem. Amy waited until her Dad came to get her in the Red Cross Truck (he was a volunteer). I wasn't worried, I had plenty to read, and such a little distance to go. Less than forty miles. I really felt pretty blessed.
I got bumped from the 3:40PM bus because of the mass of displaced people. Those of us bumped were ensured a seat on the next bus to arrived...whenever that might be.
So there I was with the great-unwashed and toothless, for several hours at the PDX Greyhound depot.
Then it started to get weird. I drug my bags into the Men's room and entered a stall. Suddenly I heard a pounding of something on a metal door several stalls down, "Whatchoo doing bringing that beer in here, that's against the law--come on out of there!" It was a Depot Security Guard.
"Just a minute man, I'm taking a shit!" came the reply.
"Can't you read the signs all over the place? You can't come in here to drink your beer!"
"Fuck you, man, I just got out of jail, give me a break!"
"Come on out of there right now!"
"At least let me finish taking a dump!"
"Come out or I'll be callin' the police!"
"AW, GIVE ME A BREAK MAN, I JUST GOT OUT A JAIL, I GOT NO WHERE TO GO AND NOTHING BUT A T-SHIRT ON!"
It disintegrated from there. Eventually the coatless jailbird was escorted from the terminal and I finished my business.
I found a place to sit near the depot "deli." I had plenty to read, and sat as patiently as possible but being as much a sheep as any other, whenever there was an announcement of an incoming bus, I'd grab my bags and queue up like the rest of the woolies. I didn't want to get bumped again.
It went from weird to surreal at that point; a one-legged man, about six foot five, hobbled into line with us. Mike was very, very chatty, and I had to crane my neck to look him in the face and keep from eyeing the phantom space between his empty, foreshortened pant-leg and the floor.
Mike liked the girls, and started making time with some little gal reading MARLY AND ME. The book inspired him and he commenced to tell a story, "This buddy of mine had this dog, and one day I was visiting and the dog came back from running around the neighborhood with a size-twelve, left-foot hiking boot in his mouth. He must have stolen it from a neighbor. He brought it right up to me and dropped it on the ground. That was amazing! I thought, 'Now I can go hiking!'"
I had to walk away.
I couldn't board until around 5pm. And then I experienced the most harrowing bus ride of my life. It took almost 5 hours to drive forty miles to Salem. The bus had chains, but it bumped and slid over the frozen ruts the whole 40 miles to Salem. I don't think I have ever experienced something so frightful as riding in a several hundred ton hunk of metal as it fishtailed at 50 miles an hour. I could not see to either side of the road as long-delayed semi-rigs crawled, bumper to bumper alongside us. Our bus, in the center lane, was hemmed in by wall after wall of frozen metal.
I was never so happy to see my parents as I was when I got to Salem. They'd been waiting in the depot for hours. I was worried they'd been there even longer since I'd not been able to update them via cell. As it turned out, someone else in the depot had a relative on my bus, and called with regular status reports, sharing them with the other concerned family members who sat waiting.
Then it started to get weird. I drug my bags into the Men's room and entered a stall. Suddenly I heard a pounding of something on a metal door several stalls down, "Whatchoo doing bringing that beer in here, that's against the law--come on out of there!" It was a Depot Security Guard.
"Just a minute man, I'm taking a shit!" came the reply.
"Can't you read the signs all over the place? You can't come in here to drink your beer!"
"Fuck you, man, I just got out of jail, give me a break!"
"Come on out of there right now!"
"At least let me finish taking a dump!"
"Come out or I'll be callin' the police!"
"AW, GIVE ME A BREAK MAN, I JUST GOT OUT A JAIL, I GOT NO WHERE TO GO AND NOTHING BUT A T-SHIRT ON!"
It disintegrated from there. Eventually the coatless jailbird was escorted from the terminal and I finished my business.
I found a place to sit near the depot "deli." I had plenty to read, and sat as patiently as possible but being as much a sheep as any other, whenever there was an announcement of an incoming bus, I'd grab my bags and queue up like the rest of the woolies. I didn't want to get bumped again.
It went from weird to surreal at that point; a one-legged man, about six foot five, hobbled into line with us. Mike was very, very chatty, and I had to crane my neck to look him in the face and keep from eyeing the phantom space between his empty, foreshortened pant-leg and the floor.
Mike liked the girls, and started making time with some little gal reading MARLY AND ME. The book inspired him and he commenced to tell a story, "This buddy of mine had this dog, and one day I was visiting and the dog came back from running around the neighborhood with a size-twelve, left-foot hiking boot in his mouth. He must have stolen it from a neighbor. He brought it right up to me and dropped it on the ground. That was amazing! I thought, 'Now I can go hiking!'"
I had to walk away.
I couldn't board until around 5pm. And then I experienced the most harrowing bus ride of my life. It took almost 5 hours to drive forty miles to Salem. The bus had chains, but it bumped and slid over the frozen ruts the whole 40 miles to Salem. I don't think I have ever experienced something so frightful as riding in a several hundred ton hunk of metal as it fishtailed at 50 miles an hour. I could not see to either side of the road as long-delayed semi-rigs crawled, bumper to bumper alongside us. Our bus, in the center lane, was hemmed in by wall after wall of frozen metal.
I was never so happy to see my parents as I was when I got to Salem. They'd been waiting in the depot for hours. I was worried they'd been there even longer since I'd not been able to update them via cell. As it turned out, someone else in the depot had a relative on my bus, and called with regular status reports, sharing them with the other concerned family members who sat waiting.
But I made it. Christmas was spent with my sister and her family, just south of Salem, in Lebanon, OR. Lebanon had no snow. It had all melted. They didn't have the foggiest as to what all the fuss was about.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
...don't even get me started on my New Years.
