Word: bus
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS! The green flyer on the campus bulletin board promises the greatest little cross-country bus "ride ever. There's no bus terminal, though. To get a reservation you have to shove $10 and a return address under the front door of an anonymous San Francisco connection. Even then, just where or when to find the bus remains a mystery. A note in the mail a few days later tells you to turn up, with a sleeping bag, at an intersection in the Haight-Ashbury district by sundown Wednesday. Says a friend: "You might...
...intersection turns out to be an entrance to Golden Gate Park. At sundown 40 people are crowded around a beat-up purple and white bus. Jeez, how will they all fit? Adam, a frizzy-haired, forlorn-looking grad student in an orange serape, says at least six passengers can bunk in the luggage racks. It begins to rain, and soon sleeping bags are turning to mush. There was no receipt for that $10 either. Will there be a seat? The woman was pretty evasive on the phone. All this secrecy, the whole scene, in fact, brings back college days...
...seats two sofas face the aisle up front. Beyond that, amidships, is a card table, one side supported by a length of nylon rope tied to a metal ceiling rack. A long, cushioned sleeping platform, raised about 2 ft. off the floor, fills the whole rear half of the bus. The ponytailed bus driver (there are two drivers aboard) tells people to take off their shoes, so the sleeping platform will stay clean. He says his name is Monk-see and he even spells it out. He also explains there is no smoking on the bus and no Interstate Commerce...
...Portland-to-Berkeley run ten years ago. Its success prompted a flock of imitators, which still crisscross the continent summers and during the Christmas break. "We all know we're working on borrowed time," says one of the owners, who also doubles as a bus driver. "One of these days we'll be found out, and it will be over." At Big Spring, Texas, we have to trade drivers with the westbound hip pie bus. Dave, the night driver, has to get home to Portland. He passes a tequila bottle around as he leaves. "Well folks...
...West Texas the bus enters a stretch of icy country that turns out to last some 2,000 miles, almost to New York, in fact. Wrecked semitrucks and skidded cars begin to litter the roadside. At one stop, a shocked, trembling trucker keeps saying: "There were cars all around me, and this little one pulled right in front...