Greyhound Bussing America [Pt.3]

Atlanta, Georgia to Mobile, Alabama. Distance: 329 Miles (529 kms)

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In which I continue to push my luck…

The older I get, the more I want to travel, and the more I travel, the more I want to undertake one Great American Road Trip. Or even two.

This journey from New York City to New Orleans isn’t it, but it’s close.

For me, a great road trip should involve lots of stops and diversions. It should allow time to follow interesting back roads, and minor highways. It should get me off the beaten track, exploring quiet corners and grand vistas. It should be challenging and relaxing by turn. It should give me the opportunity to stay in cheap hotels, eat large, greasy hamburgers – and yes, I do want fries with that – and give me a reason to get up in the morning complaining about the lumpy bed and roach infested bathroom.

Damn it – I’m getting old and soft, and I don’t like it! I need to push myself more, and test myself more, and I need to do it now, not in ten years or even five. The road may go forever, but I won’t. The clock is ticking, and time is not on my side.

But I digress. Where was I?

Ah, yes, I was travelling down the I-85 towards the state line that marks the boundary between Georgia and Alabama. It’s 7.25AM, and a golden sunrise has just broken above the horizon heralding a beautiful day ahead.

Now read on…

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Image: A page from my pocket notebook which records the following…

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8.40AM: Crossed into Alabama. Now off freeways down rural two lanes. Unleaded Petrol $2.40 a gallon. Alabama is a land of a million churches; abandoned weatherboard, shingled shacks and homes; donkeys; West 80 (two lane road); cows; horses; rural farms; crops; trailer homes; roadside memorials marking fatal auto accidents; lumber trucks; plantation timber; into Macon County; fibro and cement; countless billboards.

FINALLY GETTING TO SEE AMERICA!

At last. This is it! This is what I have come to see. For hundreds of miles we’ve been speeding along multi-laned Freeways, down Thruways, over Turnpikes, traversing Parkways and I don’t know what else, but now – for a brief moment in time – we are finally off the fast lanes heading towards Tuskegee, Alabama, on West 80, a two lane road that winds roughly parallel to the I-85. But more importantly, it winds past a landscape that is almost a perfect copy of the images of the American South I have in my head.

…Pleasant Valley Church. Photo courtesy of Mary Alice...

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Every few hundreds yards or so there seems to be an old one-roomed weatherboard church. Some appear to be still in use, others are well passed their use-by date. Some properties remind me of old cotton plantations, and for all I know they are old cotton plantations. Trailer homes can be seen nestled under trees, and the usual collection of farm yard debris seen on farms all over the world (old cars, rusting farm machinery, wood piles, oil drums, worn tyres, broken play equipment, etc), is scattered about in back lots or no longer used parts of the property.

Small roadside stores appear and disappear quickly as we speed towards our next stop. Ancient clapboard shacks, paint peeling, walls askew, windows broken and doors ajar, are dotted across the landscape. The only thing missing is the aged black bluesman sitting on the porch singing Cross Road Blues. We pass small farm machinery franchises selling John Deere tractors, little used car yards filled with cheap battered trucks and SUVs, and always, always, the ever-present tiny, local Southern Baptist Churches. A phrase keeps popping into my head: weatherboard and shingle, weatherboard and shingle, and I write:

Weatherboard and shingle,

Fibro and cement.

A thousand tiny churches,

Alabama came and went.

© 2010. Jim Lesses. All Rights Reserved.

Tuskegee, Alabama

At 9.25AM, we reach the roadside service station on the Martin Luther King Jr. Highway that doubles as Greyhound's Tuskegee Bus Station for a five minute pick up and drop off stop, but who cares? It gives me an excuse to write about Tuskegee, Alabama, population (in 2005) 11, 950.

A sign nearby points to Rosa Parks Plaza. Rosa Parks, the African-American civil rights activist was born in Tuskegee on February 4, 1913. It was Rosa Parks whose refusal to give up her bus seat to white passengers became the catalyst for the year-long Montgomery bus boycott that began Monday, December 5, 1955 and lasted 381 days. Although Rosa was not the first person to refuse to give up her seat, her decision and the arrest which followed was the 'straw that broke the camels back', and gave hope and focus to the growing civil rights movement across the United States.

Another famous resident, Lionel Richie, was also born and raised in Tuskegee. He graduated from Tuskegee University, and of course has gone on to be a highly successful R&B singer, songwriter, composer, producer and occasional actor.

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Tuskegee Airmen - Circa May 1942 to Aug 1943 Location likely Southern Italy or North Africa [Source: Wikipedia...]

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This small, rural Alabaman town was also the training ground for the famed Tuskegee Airmen, a popular name bestowed on a group of African-American pilots who fought in World War II. Formally, they were the 332nd Fighter Group and the 477th Bombardment Group of the U.S. Army Air Corps, and its members were the first African-American military aviators in the United States armed forces.

So much history – so little time. And I would dearly love to have time to visit every place of interest I have passed over the last eight hundred miles. But it is not to be.

If this entry is in danger of turning into a black American history lesson, I apologise… Actually, no I don’t. I’m on a Greyhound Bus travelling through the heart of the American south, for goodness’ sake, and this part of the country is steeped in the history of black American relationships with all the baggage that entails. After all, the fledgling American nation went to war with itself over the way blacks were being treated in the south (and in the north). And some would say that ‘war’ has been going on ever since.

I could of course, have chosen to spend a week at the Renaissance Ross Bridge Golf Resort and Spa, located in Hoover, Alabama, where "The natural beauty of a Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail championship golf course surrounds this renaissance-style luxury hotel." Then I could have regaled you with descriptions of the resorts "refined comfort and sophistication," and described how I spent each morning play a round or two of golf, before resting by the pool in the afternoon sipping martini's while a resort beautician trimmed my ingrown toe nails! Somehow, I don’t think so. As I am sure you have worked out by now, that is not the type of experiential travelogue you are going to get from me.

But I digress again.

Back on the I-85 we speed our way towards Montgomery, and I bid farewell to West 80. High above dense woods in rural east Alabama, I spot a flight of four birds of prey circling, watching, waiting for their morning meal. Which reminds me: I haven’t eaten anything substantial since ‘breakfast’ at 4.30AM in Atlanta, Georgia. Thankfully, it’s less than an hour to Montgomery. I hope the coffee is hot.

Lot’s of interesting names flash by along either side of the highway: Waffle House; Piggly Wiggly; Grease Monkey, an auto mechanic where Our certified crew is here to help you; Hide Away Bar & Grill, I wonder if people have trouble finding it!; Chick Filla with its breakfast, playground and diner; Arby’s, where bus drivers eat free, but presumably only if they bring a bus load of passengers in with them; Whataburger; Shoney’s; Colonel Dixie and their World Famous Dixie Dog (‘World Famous’? Really? We seem to have missed that news in Australia.); and on and on. Damn – all these burger joints and roadside cafés are making me hungry!

A roadside billboard proclaims: “Selma, Alabama: Historic Places and Social Graces.”

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Image: Participants, some carrying American flags, marching in the civil rights march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama in 1965 [Source: Wikipedia]
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During the Civil Rights Movement in the early and mid-1960s, Selma was a focal point for desegregation and voting rights campaigns. After numerous attempts by blacks to register to vote resulted in over 3,000 arrests, police violence, and economic retaliation, the campaign culminated in the Selma to Montgomery marches – which represented the political and emotional peak of the modern civil rights movement.

On March 7, 1965, approximately 600 civil rights marchers departed Selma on U.S. Highway 80, heading east. They reached the Edmund Pettus Bridge, only six blocks away, before being met by state troopers and local sheriff's deputies, who attacked them, using tear gas and billy clubs, and drove them back to Selma.

Following that attack, Martin Luther King, Jr. and other civil rights leaders went to court to argue for the right to march from Selma to Montgomery, the site of the state capital. The Federal District Court Judge for the area, decided in favour of the demonstrators, and on March 21, 1965, approximately 3,200 marchers departed for Montgomery, walking 12 miles per day, and sleeping in nearby fields. By the time they reached the capitol, four days later on March 25, their strength had swelled to around 25,000 people. [Source: Wikipedia… ]

More billboards advertising hotel and motels; fast food outlets and real estate offices; and state attractions. They dominate open country, spoiling views and quite frankly are a blight on the landscape. They are urging, insisting, nagging at you always to stop and spend and eat. Which reminds me – again – that’s it’s time for some nourishment.

At 10.10AM we pull into the Greyhound Station in Montgomery, Alabama, a city steeped in America’s modern history. Central to the Civil Rights Movement, the rise of Martin Luther King Jr., and the transformation of race relations in late 20th century America.

Our stop in Montgomery is a brief 30 minutes, and I only have time for a coffee – yes, it is hot – and a couple of cookies. Anything more substantial and nourishing will have to wait until Mobile where we have a full hour between this leg of the journey and the final run into New Orleans.

A highway exit sign (Exit 114, or thereabouts) directs travellers to the Hank Williams Boyhood Home and Museum in Georgiana, Alabama. Hank wasn’t born in Georgiana, he was born up the road in the small town of Mount Olive, about 10 miles north of Birmingham, AL., but Georgiana became his boyhood home, and you can find it at 127 Rose Street. I wonder if Mount Olive has their own Hank Williams Childhood Home and Museum?

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Image courtesy of Kayaking The Mobile-Tensaw River Delta...

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Seemingly, out of the blue we are travelling over water. Signage indicates that we have reached the Mobile-Tensaw Delta. Not to be confused with its giant neighbour, the Mississippi Delta, the Mobile-Tensaw Delta is a vast region of wetlands known by various names, including the Mobile delta, or simply the delta. The area is home to some of the most diverse wildlife in Alabama, and indeed in the entire United States. The delta is Alabama's principal remaining natural terrain, and because of this it has been designated a national landmark. [Source: Encyclopedia of Alabama...]

The I-65 rises and falls over wide swathes of water, allowing boats and other marine craft to pass under the highway. The bridge over the Mobile River is particularly high, allowing larger river craft (or small merchant ships) to pass beneath it.

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Mobile-Tensaw Delta image courtesy of Forever Wild...

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Green. Green. Everything is green. Scattered cumulus clouds, heavy with moisture pass high overhead. If they get together I expect they could unleash a pretty impressive downpour, but for now they seem to be content to float by reserving their contents for other parts of the country.

Mobile is the last major city in Alabama, and then we hit Louisiana. But first – a meal break in Mobile. Later, after a breakfast/lunch of hamburger and chips, soda, coffee and a muffin (I did say “nourishing” didn’t I?), I’m ready to roll again. Only another 4.5 hours before we reach New Orleans. Yeah!

To be continued…

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Read The Full Greyhound Bussing America Trip Report:
[Part 1] New York City to Philadelphia, PA…
[Part 2] Philadelphia, PA to Raleigh, NC…
[Part 3] Raleigh, NC to Mobile, AL…
[Part 4] Mobile, AL to New Orleans…
[Part 5] Tips and Advice…
[Part 6] A Final Word…

Greyhound Bussing America [Pt.2]

Classic imagery that helped define the Greyhound Bus company
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In which my luck continues to hold.

One of the things I like most about solo travel is the luxury – the indulgence, really – of being able to please myself with regard to itinerary, level of accommodations, methods of travel, choice of eating establishments and so on. Paradoxically, one of the things I like least is the fact that because I am travelling alone, I don’t have someone else to share my experiences with [suddenly, it occurs to me as I write this, that maybe that’s why I write this blog – as a way of sharing my travel experiences with you, the reader].

My three day stop in Raleigh, was particularly pleasing because it gave me a chance to catch up with extended family, and to share part of the journey with them. So when cousin George saw me off at the station, after he and his lovely wife, Jan gave me a send off BBQ with the whole family present, I was sorry to go, having enjoyed their lively company and warm companionship during my all too brief stay.

The woods and forests across the rolling green hills of North Carolina may well be "...lovely, dark, and deep," but like Robert Frost, writing in his famous poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, I too "...have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep."

With that in mind, and the exciting prospect of three nights in New Orleans waiting for me at the end of a 24 hour bus ride, I departed Raleigh just after 7.00PM for the Crescent City.

Raleigh, NC, to Atlanta, GA. Distance: 410 miles (659 kms)

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From my observations, the further south I travelled, the older the Greyhound Bus fleet seemed to get. That’s not to say the buses were unsafe or unroadworthy, just that some of the seating was well-worn, that there are more rattles and squeaks emanating from various parts of the chassis, and that you might be unlucky enough to find the storage compartment on the back of the seat in front of you, missing.

The bus was 90 percent full, as we left Raleigh, with the usual mix of 80 percent African-American and eight percent Hispanic passengers. The other two percent was made up of mostly of Caucasians like myself. For a while I shared a seat with a youngish male who was trying hard to sleep, although without much success.

At Greensborough some passengers disembarked and to my delight I managed to grab a window seat. Now I should add here, that I don’t do long bus trips all that often, and I do overnight bus trips even less. I don’t have a problem sitting up during the day watching the scenery flash by, but when evening comes, and it’s time for bed, I prefer a nice firm mattress, a fine soft pillow, clean fresh sheets and a warm bed – and I was clearly not getting any of these on this overnight run! Which is why I was delighted to get a window seat.

Coincidentally, it takes almost the same amount of time to fly from Adelaide, Australia, to say, London, England, as it does to travel by bus from Raleigh to New Orleans, which is why I decided to treat the bus trip the same way I treat international travel. When I fly on long flights, I always ask for a window seat, and when it is time for some shut-eye, I wedge myself hard up between the back of the seat and the window, and doze fitfully through the night. It isn’t the firm mattress, soft pillow, fresh sheets and warm bed I prefer, but it works.

At 11.30PM we reach Charlotte, North Carolina and I buy a small travel pillow for $4.30 from the café in the bus station. At 1.50AM, a jot into my notebook: Pillow the best $4.30 I’ve spent on the trip so far!

Personally, I prefer to travel during daylight hours. The whole point of embarking on this bus trip down south was to see America. Spending twelve hours in darkness, rolling across the American countryside does not constitute seeing America in my book, but clearly not all bus trips can be conducted during daylight hours. Not profitably, anyway.

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Image: Highway view by day - seeing America (Well, sort of...)
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Image: The same view at night - Not seeing America!
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As the bus rolls through the dark landscape, we make brief stops in Spartanburg, and Greenville, South Carolina.

Spartanburg gave the world the Southern rock group - the Marshall Tucker Band, and General William C. Westmoreland, who came to much prominence when he served as senior US military commander in Vietnam during the height of that conflict. It was also the home of Pink Anderson, the southern bluesman who unwittingly provided half the band name for Pink Floyd. According to Wikipedia, Syd Barrett came up with the band's name by juxtaposing the first names of Pink Anderson and North Carolina bluesman, Floyd Council, after he noticed the names in the liner notes of a 1962 Blind Boy Fuller album.

Hopefully, you will sleep a lot easier tonight, having learnt that.

Greenville on the other hand gave America the Rev. Jesse Jackson: two-time presidential candidate, civil rights activist, and Baptist minister.

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Image: Jesse Jackson in 1975, surrounded by marchers demanding full employment. [Source: Wikipedia] P.S. Gotta love that 'fro', man.
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Since we were now heading into the real south, a few words about the Rev. Jesse seem appropriate:

During the 1960s, blacks in the [Greenville] area were subject to segregationist restrictions; for example, they were limited to the back of city buses, were not permitted to stay in hotels or motels for whites, and had to sit in the balcony of movie theaters. Especially significant was the restriction of blacks from use of the public library, which partially motivated the activism of the library-denied Jesse Jackson. Jackson, working through the NAACP, organized a sit-in at Greenville's F.W. Woolworth "five and dime" store, and quickly emerged as a civil rights leader. [Source: Wikipedia]

Somewhere off on our right are the Great Smoky Mountains, but since they are at least 50-60 kilometres away, I doubt if we could have seen them even during broad daylight – so I continue to doze on. At 4.15AM we reach Atlanta, Georgia. I’m feeling remarkably chipper, having slept most of the journey from Raleigh. We have a 90 minute layover, and a change of buses before departing at 6.00AM.

Preparing to board at 5.30AM, I encounter my first security check of carry-on bags. I immediately wonder if this is a portent of what is to come? Should I be concerned? Do the new passengers look any more dangerous, deranged, and altogether debauched than either myself or the people continuing the trip down south? The short answer, No. They look tired, haggard, and desperate to reach ‘home’, wherever that may be. Who knows how long some of them have been waiting for their bus, or how many hours they have been on the road, or are still to travel?

I wonder if security personnel are on hand 24 hours, or just during the early morning hours, when travellers are more likely to be exhausted from upset sleep patterns, and cranky due to missed, overcrowded or rescheduled buses.

A Few Observations

• Sadly, Greyhound staff seem to do the absolute minimum necessary to help customers. If you don’t ask you don’t learn or know what’s going on. Staff are faced with an endless stream of tired, stressed and frazzled travellers, but don’t seem to want go out of their way to make things easier than they can be – either for themselves or their customers.
• Thankfully, there are few children travelling on buses, and those that are, are remarkably well behaved and quiet.
• Line up early to get a window seat – if a window seat are what you are after.

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Image courtesy of World Photo Journal.com...
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7.25AM: A golden sunrise breaks above the horizon heralding a beautiful day ahead.

To be continued…

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Read The Full Greyhound Bussing America Trip Report:
[Part 1] New York City to Philadelphia, PA…
[Part 2] Philadelphia, PA to Raleigh, NC…
[Part 3] Raleigh, NC to Mobile, AL…
[Part 4] Mobile, AL to New Orleans…
[Part 5] Tips and Advice…
[Part 6] A Final Word…

Greyhound Bussing America [Pt.1]

Image: Modern Greyhound Bus departing Port Authority Bus Terminal, NYC.
(Source: Wikipedia. Photo: Adam E. Moreira)

Maybe I was lucky.

Reading through other trip reports of passengers travelling on the North American Greyhound Bus network, one could be forgiven for thinking that only the foolhardy (or brave), use the network as a means of travel in the United States and parts of Canada. Online travellers tales are full of warnings and horror stories of cancelled departures, over booked buses, smelly fellow passengers (and even smellier toilets), crying children, and cranky staff.

Like I say, maybe I was lucky.

On the morning of Monday, August 30, 2010, I boarded a Greyhound Bus deep beneath New York City’s massive Port Authority Bus Terminal for the first leg of a bus trip that would take me south through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Washington, DC., Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and finally to New Orleans in Louisiana.

The first leg of the journey was going to be short and sweet. New York City to Philadelphia, PA., was an easy ride of 2.5 hours for a cost of just $6.00. A bargain in anyone’s language. So quick and uneventful was the trip that it only warranted one and a half lines in my travel journal. I was however, very excited to be on one of the newer coaches in the Greyhound fleet which offered free WiFi, a service I happily took advantage of.

I spent four nights in Philly (see Streets of Philadelphia) and early Friday morning boarded another Greyhound for the twelve hour ride to Raleigh, North Carolina.

A woman, three seats back talked to herself constantly. I was hoping she would go to sleep but she kept up a constant flow of whispering and animated conversations with the voices in her head before disembarking in Wilmington, Delaware – less than two hours into the trip.

Apart from one or two other Caucasians, all the other passengers appear to be either African-American or Hispanic. Interstate and intercity bus travel definitely seems to be the poor man’s mode of travel. I was going to say, the poor man’s preferred method of travel, but preference has nothing to do it. I suspect it is simply a case of necessity. They, like me, can’t afford to travel by plane or train, probably don’t own cars, and so have no other option but to take a bus to wherever they need to get to.

My journal records: There are two children on board (male and female, and both about the same age (8-9 years)). Thankfully they are both quiet and well behaved.

The journal also notes that the bus does not have WiFi – unlike the one between New York and Philadelphia. In fact, a check of the Greyhound Bus website shows only six routes equipped with the newest WiFi enabled buses (and yes, New York City to Philadelphia is one of them). One can only assume, and hope, that all their coaches will eventually be so equipped. I also wrote: This bus is older, noisier, and seems to rattle and shake over every bump in the road.

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Image: Screenshot of Greyhound Bus website promoting their newest coaches

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It occurred to me that long distance coaches should be fitted with drop down trays – of the kind airline seating has. Drop down trays would be a great boon to passengers who want to rest books, magazines, food or laptops on something more stable than their knees.

At some point we passed Lincoln Financial Field and it strikes me just how dull and unimaginative corporate sponsorship can be. Like Etihad Stadium in Melbourne, AAMI stadium in Adelaide, and other football stadiums around Australia (and the world?), the names have no resonance, history or nostalgia to excite the imagination of fans or visitors. Later on, crossing into Maryland and entering Baltimore I notice another dumb corporate stadium name: M&T Bank Stadium.

It really gets the heart pumping, doesn’t it? Yawn.

Which reminds me.

The man in the seat behind me sleeps through several phone calls. Finally, after at least six attempts and one or two hours of trying, his “baby” manages to wake him up and get him to answer the phone. “Hi baby – wassup?” he intones drowsily, before explaining the he has been asleep. Then… “You’re breaking up… I’ll call you back,” he says, before promptly nodding off again.

The views along I-95 consist mostly of dense green vegetation which occasionally opens up to reveal rich farmlands, or housing developments which seem newer than the ramshackle homes on the edges of most cities and towns. We pass a semi-trailer. Window open, cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth, the driver steers with one hand while trying to write something in a small notebook with the other.

The towns slip by in a blur of motion and odd familiarity. Each one seems to have a Walgreens, Burger King, McDonald’s, and pizza parlour on the edge of town – sometimes several. Then there are the hotels and motels that line America’s highways. Comfort Inn, Econolodge, Marriott, Hilton and dozens of others. Large concrete slabs which act as sound barriers, line parts of the highway. These indicate some sort of life beyond the eight-laned freeway system we are speeding down.

On the outskirts of Washington, DC.., a sign points to President Lincoln’s Cottage.

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Image: Lincoln’s Cottage (source: Wikipedia)

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President Lincoln's Cottage is a national monument on the grounds of the Soldiers' Home, known today as the Armed Forces Retirement Home. President Abraham Lincoln and family resided seasonally on the grounds of the Soldiers' Home to escape the heat and political pressure of downtown Washington, as did President James Buchanan before him.

The historic Cottage, built in the Gothic revival style, was constructed from 1842 to 1843 as the home of George Washington Riggs. Lincoln lived in the cottage June to November 1862 through 1864 and during the first summer living there, Lincoln drafted the preliminary draft of the Emancipation Proclamation. [Source: Wikipedia…]

At 11.16AM I catch my first and only glimpse of the White House, and immediately regret not allocating a day or two for visiting the national capital.

After a short layover in Washington, DC, we hit the road again. This leg of the trip finds the bus pretty much completely full. I notice, however, that the seats immediately behind the driver are empty, as are the first two seats on the right nearest the door. This is something I note again and again as the trip progresses. It is only while doing some research for this entry that I learn why. On October 3, 2001, just weeks after the momentous events of 9/11, a deranged passenger tried to cut the throat of a Greyhound Bus driver. The driver survived the attack, but in the crash that resulted from the assault, the assailant and five other passengers died.

Again “…on September 30, 2002, another Greyhound driver was attacked near Fresno, California, resulting in two passenger deaths after the bus then rolled off an embankment and crashed. Following this attack, driver shields were installed on most Greyhound buses that now prevent passengers from directly touching the driver while the bus is in motion, even if the shield is forced open. On buses without the shield, the seats behind the driver are normally off-limits.” [Source: Wikipedia…]

Based on my observations, these seats are still left empty, even when there are shields installed on Greyhound Buses.

I am feeling much better now that I’ve had a coffee and sandwich during the layover in Washington, DC. As we head out of town we pass the Pentagon on the right. We are within clear view of the building and while we are some distance from it, it is obvious just how big the massive structure is.

Heading south on I-95 again, we quickly leave the Washington DC, city limits, and enter Virginia. We pass into Fairfax County, where highway signs point to Manassas, Fredericksburg and other towns that featured prominently in the American Civil War. It was near Manassas that the first major battle of the war (often referred to as the Battle of Bull Run), was fought on July 21, 1861. Somewhere off the highway is Chancellorsville, where Confederate general Robert E. Lee achieved his greatest victory. Again I can’t help feeling regret for the lack of time I have to explore this part of the country.

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Image: Confederate General, Robert E. Lee, checks to see if the Yankees are coming. They are!

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As we approach Richmond, Virginia, we encounter our first traffic delay which slows us down to about half speed. Since the coming Monday, September 4, is Labor Day, a national holiday, I assume the hold-up is a result of holiday traffic heading out of Washington to destinations further afield. In any event, the bottleneck soon passes, and we quickly get back to our regular speed.

Occasional glimpses of rolling green country passes on both sides of the highway, but the view is mostly obscured by thick growth along the roadside verges. Sudden openings reveal edges of towns and small regional cities here and there, before the view closes up again.

A line in my notebook observes: No wildlife and no road kill along the highway!

If this journey were taking place on Australian highways, our route would be marked with the putrefying bodies of the occasional fox, careless magpies and crows, and dozens of kangaroos – large and small. But on this trip I don’t recall seeing any signs of road kill, anywhere.

Somewhere along the highway I started writing this:

Chewing up the highway, spitting out the miles,

Greyhound Bus America, crowding in the aisles.

New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC,

Richmond, Raleigh, Stoney Creek, New Orleans by the sea.

Rolling down the Interstate, they call I-95,

Mighty glad to see you folks; glad to be alive.

Gonna take the easy road, just so I can see,

This land they call America, from sea to shining sea.

© 2010. Jim Lesses. All Rights Reserved.

Quote of The Trip: The African-American behind me receives a call from his lawyer talking about a possible upcoming trial for an offence which seems to involve a vehicular accident. They talk for quite some time, and he becomes more animated and louder as the conversation progresses. During their conversation he delivers the Quote of The Trip: “I ain’t afraid of no trial – I’ve been on trial all my life!”

Right on, brother!

Strangest Road Sign of The Trip: It is while driving through Virginia that I spot the Strangest Road Sign of The Trip: SPEED LIMIT ENFORCED BY AIRCRAFT. Since I wrote about this only a couple of days ago, I won’t repeat myself here, but it certainly caught my attention.

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Image: Speed Limit Enforced By Aircraft. [Source: The internet]

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Along the I-95, the state border between Virginia and North Carolina occurs about half way between Richmond and Raleigh. With the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across open farmland, it doesn’t take long before we pull into the Greyhound Bus station on Raleigh's, West Jones Street, and my bus travels for the day come to an end.

That’s it. Twelve hours on the road, and not a thing to complain about. In deed, at each stop along the route, the bus arrived and left on time and without incident. There were no screaming babies or whining children, no psycho killers or objectionable passengers, and no breakdowns or major delays.

Drivers were polite, and the announcements at the start of each leg were brief and to the point: No smoking on board the coach – including the restroom; phone conversations were to be kept as quiet and as brief as possible; other electronic devices (MP3 players, portable CD/DVD players, Gameboys, etc), should be used with headphones or ear buds only. That type of thing.

Having access to WiFi would have helped keep me amused and occupied during the journey, but when all is said and done, it wasn’t a major issue.

Travel Tip: Drivers do not check to see if passengers have returned to the vehicle before setting off on the next stage or the journey. Nor do they check to see if new passengers have boarded the bus. The onus is on you to pay attention to driver announcements about the length of brief stops to pick up and discharge other travellers along the route, and the length of any rest stops. As long as you do that, you do not have to worry about missing the bus.

In Part 2, after a weekend stop in Raleigh, North Carolina, the journey continues to the Crescent City, New Orleans.

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Read The Full Greyhound Bussing America Trip Report:
[Part 1] New York City to Philadelphia, PA…
[Part 2] Philadelphia, PA to Raleigh, NC…
[Part 3] Raleigh, NC to Mobile, AL…
[Part 4] Mobile, AL to New Orleans…
[Part 5] Tips and Advice…
[Part 6] A Final Word…