Homo Viator: The Westward Expanse - St. Louis

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of what you really love. -- Rumi


Dear Readers, I FINALLY broke the barrier, somehow sneaking across the Mississippi and making it safe and sound to St. Louis.

Now, it's true: I wasn't all that thrilled about the prospect of wandering, once again, through the often described Gateway to the West. It's entirely possible that my stubbornness related to my desire to avoid St. Louis... simply because I wanted to breach the western lands at a different location... is part of the reason why I always seemed to get smacked back from crossing the river in the first place.


It's also entirely possible that the universe really IS out to get me; or, at the very least, out to push me in ways I'd rather not go. But rather than feed THAT paranoid little thought...

When I got here I was in no real hurry to jump back onto another bus. After all, I want leisurely travel, I want to be able to not have to rush around a whole lot, unless there's no option.

(There's almost always an option.)

So I considered my options.. after eating a chicken sandwich and drinking a much needed cup of coffee.

Now, the coffee wasn't great. But it was of slightly higher quality than the grainy vending machine coffee at the Louisville station. And, without caffeine... specifically without COFFEE... I sleep or turn into a giant puddle. It was perfectly fine to sleep on the bus, since driving from Nashville, through Western Kentucky and Southern Illinois held very little appeal for me. 

But once off the bus, I had to think. 

Initially, I was under the impression that there was no direct Greyhound Bus route from St. Louis to Hannibal... even though it's only a couple of hours away. Frustrating, but not surprising. I mean, it's only the boyhood home of one of America's most venerated writers.  And it's not as if anyone reads, outside of class or requirement... except, dear readers, you dear and sacred few. 

So I looked through the schedule and found  a loophole. 

I could hop a bus to Kansas City and backtrack; but that would add almost two hole days of travel time, and the 60 days on my Discovery Pass are ticking. Then I looked and saw that I could do the same thing, only go to Columbia, Missouri, which was closer, and would only add a day. 

I verified to bus schedule with the ticket counter. After that, I noticed my phone needed charging, so went in search of a plug, finding one in the large hall heading towards the bus gates, near the floor. So I dropped my stuff, popped a squat on the floor, and plugged in my phone. 

Not long after that, however, a member of the cleaning service came by and told me I wasn't allowed to charge my phone there. She barked the words more than spoke them, like she had barked them a lot. Before I had a chance to ask WHERE I might charge my all too necessary cellular phone device, she asked whether I was on the bus or the train.

"On the bus," I said.

"There are courtesy cell charging stations near the bus gates," she said, waving a latex gloved hand towards the bus gates behind her and rushing off. Not wanting to be a problem, I unplugged, unpopped my squat, picked up my blue bag and my coat, and walked over to the bus gates, where  had come in through only an hour or so before.

A note about Courtesy Stations: Nice idea, bad follow through. The plugs are always stripped and sometimes you have to go through several to find one that carries an electrical current. If you're lucky, though, where there is a courtesy charging station, there's a hidden wall plug that's in good shape. Usually behind a fake tree or a a bench. Just look. It can't hurt.

While I was charging my phone, however, I looked up from where I was sitting and noticed this:

That's right, Dear Readers.  Greyhound doesn't have a direct route to the land that spawned Samuel Clemens. But Burlington Trailways does. I dug my netbook out and looked them up. There was only one bus, and it left at 7:30 in the morning.  (I later confirmed this again at the ticket window.)There were no other schedules; but it was a two hour trip with no stops. Then I looked up to make sure that Burlington Trailways is one of the bus lines that accepts my Discovery Pass... and moreover, upon asking, I learned that I didn't even need a boarding pass.

So even though I'm once again spending the night in a bus depot, I'm not losing any time in my trip to Hannibal, where I'll spend the day tomorrow and hopefully hop another bus, headed either to the Ozarks or some other point west.

Sleep well, Dear Readers. And  with one eye open.

Homo Viator: The Westward Expanse: Nashville, TN

You can never count on time. -- Me, Untitled Poem Draft.

That's right, faithful readers. Nashville.

The least I can say is that I have, at least, made some westbound progress, and in an hour and a half -- if all goes well -- I'll be making more, getting as far as St. Louis, Missouri.

No. That was NOT the entry point into the west that I had planned. But, when traveling, it's important to be flexible. Especially when you only have a loose idea of where you want to end up to being with.

Ok... to catch up. I spent Derby week in Louisville with college chum Amanda Connor, her husband Shawn, and their housemate, Heather. We managed to make it to the Steamboat races (pictures by Amanda Hay Connor forthcoming), and I went out with them to a club called The Irish Exit in New Albany Indiana where Shawn (aka Sdot) has a regular DJ gig.

The club on the second floor wasn't really my scene... especially AFTER some very burly security kicked us out of the VIP Lounge, which had very comfortable couches, dim lights, and the slim chance of hot drunken women with low self-esteem... but I spent a wonderful few hours in the Irish Pub downstairs with Amanda catching up and drinking cheap well bourbon and coke.

Taken as an anthropological exercise, however, my brief time spent in the upstairs club reminded me of a couple of things:

1. Why I don't go to clubs
2. And the truth behind certain relationship dynamics.

For example: by the end of the night it was obvious who was going home alone, who had come alone but was leaving with someone who in all likelihood is using a made-up name, those who arrived with one but is leaving with someone completely different, and the rare long game play on the dance floor -- kids who arrive together, grind until they've done everything BUT fuck, and then leave together hoping to actually fuck. The good news is that most everyone finds someone to love, even for a few hours until sunrise... even if the cops are called, inevitably delaying nearly everyone's departure.

Everyone except your humble narrator and college chum Amanda. We managed to sneak out without attracting attention... in spite of me attracting the attention of a door bouncer and a midget bartender, both of whom snarled at me for NO REASON AT ALL.

But I digress.

Derby Day was spent, not at a party, but on the very secluded and shaded back porch at the Connor house, drinking bourbon and sweating it out in the warm summer weather. Although this had none of the seeming glamour of your standard Derby Party, we -- meaning Amanda and I -- gave bourbon consumption the ol'college try. We were successful enough that Shawn had to go out on a bourbon run... no small feat on Derby Day.

The goodness of the day was compounded by the fact that Amanda's dad, Jerry, who has been undergoing dialysis for the last two years, was notified that a potential donor kidney had become available. (He is now recovering quite well and may even be home by the end of this week...though it could be some time before they know where the transplant will really take,) Amanda, needless to say, was more than very much relieved.

I was planning in leaving Louisville late Sunday... the last bus possible, with a destination of Hannibal, MO. But with her dad in the hospital and plans having to be made to make the Hay homestead a good environment for him to recover (transplant surgeries are tough on the immune system...so no animals, no plants, no kids, for the next 6 months. The cat, Rodburn ... really Amanda's cat, but who has trouble living with most any other living creature including Merlot... and  a fig tree are new additions to Amanda and Shawn's house. There are bets running as to whether the cat, which is old and snarly, or the fig tree, will be the first to die.) I thought it best to make an earlier exit.

Amanda dropped me off at the station on Muhammad Ali Avenue and Seventh Street, I picked up my Discovery Pass, and waited. And waited. At one point, I was actually LOCKED IN at the bus station... which, apparently, closes twice a day for 3 hours at a time. The only reason I wasn't booted was because my Discovery Pass gave me an excuse to be there.

Of course, the ticket agent told me I needed a ticket anyway... contrary to the information on the site, but not surprising. What I didn't notice, though is that he gave me a ticket for midnight Monday, not Sunday.

My initial option was to spend another day in Louisville, which, while it would have been nice to spend more time with Amanda retelling MSU stories and clearing out the bourbon in the liquor cabinet, was not really an option since she would have to work in addition to being near her dad. Also, I was feeling the need to move forward... whatever that means.

After some haranguing and a bit of arguing, I managed to squeeze onto a bus headed for Nashville, where I was told there MIGHT be a connection to Hannibal.  Upon arriving, however, a ticket agent with a very precise hunt and peck typing method informed there was on ONE bus with a destination of Hannibal... which wouldn't leave until midnight. It was, at the time, 2:30 Central Time. 

Now, don't get me wrong. Nashville is probably a great town and riding in I saw any number of not-too-questionable adult venues that, if I had the money, I could've at least spent time. Though, if I had money for that, I could just as easily rent car and drive my ass west.

I opted for the next bus to St. Louis... which, if my adherence to Central Time is correct, leaves just under an hour.

More from the road, dear readers. Though I was waylaid, I remain ndaunted. Though the Mighty Mississippi has managed to bat me back yet again... which it has done consistently since I started traveling... I am going to breach the barrier... even if it means I have to endure another go round in the St. Louis Greyhound Station.