HONKY-TONK

Scotty and I

have continued

our relationship

with a honk

and a wave

A couple of years ago, a guy rode up on his bike at the Old Town Transit Center and threw it onto the racks; nothing new about this.   But, it was the big smile and greeting, as he hopped on board, that demonstrated something might be different.

Scotty works as the maintenance man/overseer at a do-it-yourself car wash on University Ave.  He has been employed there, and at other associated locations, for more than a dozen years.  The owner apparently has numerous facilities spread throughout the central San Diego area, and Scotty is his main go-to guy

Scotty is also an avid bike-rider.  Originally from the Northeast, he has not only ridden his bike up and down the East coast, but most of the way across country.  He has also had his fair share of crash-&-burns, and is a little worse for the wear.  When I first met him, he had just received a $175 ticket for blowing through a stoplight, a ticket awarded him by the same cop that had warned him on a previous occasion.  He owned up to the fact that he earned it, but still bemoaned the fact that he had better uses for the money.

I had Scotty on my beach-run, once a week for three months, a couple of years ago; I have since to have him on the bus.  The continuation of our friendship has been relegated to drive-by status, where, as I pass by his carwash once a week, I send out an identifiable horn-cadence from the bus, which always gets his attention, and is responded to by a high-wave and a big smile, something I used to enjoy closer up.

For the last couple of years, our relationship has been perpetuated honky-tonk style.

SCULLED

Spring break

in San Diego

sees a large influx

of college students

looking to blow off

some steam

Among a steady stream of out-of-town college kids hitting up the best beach watering holes, was a solitary soul with a more serious countenance.  Assuming he was part of the overall invasion, I asked him what college he was from, to which he replied,

“Not from any college, just the Bay area.  I was just eliminated from the Olympic single-scull tryouts after losing in the preliminary trials a few hours ago.  It was the culmination of the last four years of my focus and efforts.”

“Oh,” I responded, weighing the ramifications of what he had just told a complete stranger.  I could now process the distinction in his countenance from all the other spring-break revelers.  His deflation was understandable when comparing his investment and its return.

“So, what’s next?” I inquired.

“I don’t know.” he responded.  “I’m still processing the whole thing.”

This kid, who was 26, had scrimped, saved, sacrificed and trained for the last four years, without any significant support from his family, who viewed his efforts as a waste of life.  He was now wondering if it had been a waste himself.

“How many were competing for how many spots?” I asked.

“Twenty were competing for one spot,” he answered.

“And how old was the oldest competitor?” I continued.

“Thirty-nine years old,” he replied.

“So, if you wanted, you have a few more Olympics left under your belt at your age should you choose to give it another shot, or, you can reapply that focus and drive in another direction.  What may seem like small consolation now, is the fact that few have or ever will do what you just accomplished, and that is, getting close enough to actually making an Olympic team.  Whether or not you succeeded is secondary; just to get as far as you did is an outstanding accomplishment all in itself.  That focus and drive, whether reapplied or not to another Olympics, is applicable to any venture you wish to pursue, and will carry you a long way.  That may not seem like much now, but you will see the value of it as you move through your life.”

The perspective seemed to cause a small adjustment in his attitude that will only play itself out as his life unfolds.  As for the moment, he was faced with driving back home to the Bay area in the morning, and sorting things out accordingly.

One never knows what direction your life may take after hopping on a bus.

SAM & DAVE

For those

old enough to remember

back in the ‘60’s

there was a soul duo

known as Sam & Dave

That was the segway used to initiate my relationship with a shooting star/personal shipwreck passenger by the name of Sam, who, upon learning my name, immediately made the connection to the aforementioned duo.  I don’t know about this Sam, but this Dave can’t sing, so we will not be offering any competitive efforts.

Sam first jumped onto my bus about three years ago on a busy Sunday, and I thought I had boarded a tornado.  He immediately hung over my right shoulder, and launched into the a soliloquy of rapid staccato, using no punctuation, and seemingly not stopping to take a breath.  This went on uninterrupted for at least five minutes, making little or no sense, with Sam referencing his age, family history, medical condition, job resume, weather, friends, enemies, what’s right with the world, what’s wrong with the world, etc.

In addition to the verbal filibustering, he segwayed into grasping both overhead bars on the bus, projecting himself into the air with his knees to the ceiling, and began to do upside down pull ups.  This all done by a man in his 60’s in front of a stunned crowd.

It’s amazing what a few drugs will do.

I was able, during a pause in the onslaught, to ask him his name, which he countered with the same question, and thus was born, the Sam & Dave connection.

I have since seen Sam, off of whatever he was on in our initial encounter, and he is polite, aware of his surroundings, and really quite engaging.  I have heard from other drivers about some guy who must be a meth-head, is out of control, and who fits Sam’s description.  It must be him.

I went for more than a year without seeing Sam, until recently he showed up for a ride.  I inquired how he was doing, and he replied with a smile that he was currently residing under an Interstate 8 overpass.  In spite of camping out, he was well-groomed and didn’t look any worse for the wear.

A month later, while stopped at a light, I spotted him walking the sidewalk, honked my horn to get his attention, and opened my front door to say “Hi.”  I happened to have my bus in the left-hand turn lane, and expected him to just stay on the sidewalk, which he didn’t.  He unexpectedly crossed one lane of traffic and came right up to the open door.  In my surprised response, I said, “Hey, its great to see you, but you need to out of the street before you become road-kill!”  He was, of course, unmoved by my admonition, returned the greeting with the postscript, “Really love-ya, brother,” and safely returned to the sidewalk unscathed.

Hopefully, he will be around long enough so we can cut another album together--without the pull ups.

ANNIE OAKLEY

NOT

the REAL Annie Oakley

of course

but perhaps

a reincarnation of her

This Annie has all the piss and vinegar of the aforementioned one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a distant relative.

Our first encounter was about eleven o’clock on a quiet Sunday morning in Hillcrest, San Diego’s renown gay area.  She arrived at the stop with a big grin and an impressive hello.  Being the first and only passenger to board the bus while I waited to begin my run, I struck up a conversation.

“So, what do have going this morning?” I inquired.

“I’m just going to meet a couple of my friends and throw back a few of cold ones,”

she responded almost automatically.

Somehow this seemed true-to-form for the countenance she sported.

Annie is of slight build, probably 5’2”, barely over 100 lbs., with a short, cute haircut, and is the ‘male-persuasion’ of the lesbian component.  She did her stint in the military as a Seabee, and traveled the world doing some pretty heavy lifting.  Her hardest job was probably keeping her sexual-orientation under wraps.

We would run into each other every six months, the most noteworthy and fun being a time when she was stinking drunk, but in a good mood, and noticed me exiting my bus heading for the bathroom during Gay-Pride Weekend.

“HEY DAVE!” she bellowed, and started walking awkwardly towards me, kind of stooped over with an arm bent overhead to give me a high-five before a hug.  I immediately began to mimic her by stooping over, and waddling forward with a bent-arm overhead to meet up with hers.

She happened to be with a male friend who began to take offense at me, thinking I was making fun of her.  She quickly intervened, our high-fives meeting, followed by a big hug, and a loud exclamation to her companion,

“HEY, it’s OK.  This is my favorite bus driver of all time!”

Annie Oakley to the rescue.
 

BALANCED BUDGET

San Diego proper

is covered with

wonderfully distinct neighborhoods

many of which are defined by

hills and canyons

Most of the areas near the downtown are sprinkled with quaint, antique homes, many dating back 80-100 years.  One bus route, which begins downtown, winds its way through four of these neighborhoods, from one end of the route to the other.

For four weeks running, there was one particular four-way stop in which the same cop would camp out for three to four hours, pulling people over and writing them tickets.  It was unclear for what reason, but it was probably for either rolling through the stop sign, or the more popular law enforcement ‘meal of the day’, cell phone use while driving.

After witnessing this trap for four weeks, I pulled my bus up next to the cop as he was re-entering his car after writing yet another ticket.  Upon opening the front doors of my bus, I exclaimed,

“You must singlehandedly be balancing the city budget.”

He laughed, and replied, “I just do it as a hobby.”

Returning to the same intersection later that day, but going in the opposite direction, I once again came upon the cop just getting into his car after doing ‘you know what’.  This time I was across the street.  I tooted my horn a couple of times, stuck my arm out the window, and pointed it at him, displaying a huge grin.  He returned the favor with a grin of his own, only to continue with his hobby.

BURIAL AT SEA(weed)

Magic

happens

in moments

On a recent beach hike, I came upon a young mother with two young daughters, one of which was being buried in the sand by mom and sis.  Just as they were completing the burial, I quickly grabbed a pile of nearby kelp, and dragged it over the top of the ‘corpse’, proclaiming,

“You forgot one thing!”  

All three let out a loud “EE-YOUU!”

That probably spelled the end of my career as a mortician.

RAPID FIRE

During an extremely long

and warm spell

San Diego

was finally beginning

to wear down just a tad

Something that is probably more apparent elsewhere, where heat and humidity are more of a factor, sprouted unexpectedly deep into a hot afternoon while on my bus.  While winding around a gentle bend in a residential neighborhood, where the street allows speeds of 35 mph, both front windshields of the bus were met with three different explosions in all of a second.  Not having my wipers on at the time, and having my vision obscured for a moment, it took me a few seconds to process what had just occurred.  It was only after noticing balloon ‘shrapnel’ hanging off one of the wipers did I realize that we were under ‘assault’.  The ordnance had apparently had been projected out from behind the parked cars that lined the street.  I never saw any of the ‘assailants’, but it was, a well coordinated attack.  I truly appreciated the efforts that went into the planning.

After finishing the route, taking my break, and heading back in the opposite direction, I came to the bus stop directly across the street from where the assault had occurred.  It was only now that I witnessed a full-blown battle underway, where two groups from adjacent houses were pummeling each other with both water balloons and hoses.  While stopped across the street, I honked my horn enough times to get everyone’s attention, and with that had, gave them a thumbs up and wave, whereupon they all let out a cheer that their ‘operation’ had been both a success, and was well-appreciated.

Sometimes its great to be the focus of so much attention, and, as a bonus, get my windshields cleaned.