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EASTBOUND KRIS

June 29, 2003

We put Hobo Kris on a Greyhound about an hour ago. The handoff was relatively uneventful. Suddenly, her decision to "save about 200 bucks" didn't look so good. She could've got a plane ticket for a little over 300 clams. Three hours by jet, 44 hours by Greyhound. Hmmm. Hard to say. Depends on how much time one has, and how much thinkin' they want to do. Maybe she was feeling messed up and needed some miles to sort stuff out in her thinker, maybe not.I've done a couple stretches on the Greyhound, and I gotta say, it ain't pretty nor is it fun. You quickly denounce the so-called "value." They were little runs too, no more than 300 miles. Imagine staring down a whole continent's worth. Phew.- - - -Which brings a memorable journey to mind. Going a couple years back now. The north end of Bend, Oregon...waiting for Ryno's arrival.Man, he looked like 2000 miles of bad road. Haggard, worn, weathered, pale, slit-eyed, jaundiced, McDonalded...but nevertheless, able to crack a rotted tooth smile and thankful to be on solid ground. If I remember correctly, there was some sort of encounter with a little lady. Maybe not. Ryno, please refresh my memory in the comments section.- - - -Good luck, Kris. Word-to-the-wise: Sit towards the front of the bus. It's summertime, and traditionally, that shitter on the "back o' the bus" gets pretty ripe.

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