Every Greyhound Station

On Friday afternoon, as she was on her way to pick us up to begin our journey, our ride to Florida got hit by another car. Four hours in the police station lead to the destruction of our adventure. We had masterminded the plan when we learned our friend Sheena would be running a marathon in Ft. Lauderdale during Reading Week, and realized it was the perfect opportunity to have an official road trip.

Once we realized the car in which we were supposed to drive 4800km had become crippled, our disappointment almost overtook us as we mourned the loss of our dream. Sand, sun, and surf, once so close, now became impossible. The other terrible thing was that we wouldn't be able to support our friend, who now would have to run 42km on a Sunday morning surrounded by strangers and not one familiar face to greet her at the finish.

Disappointed as we were, DR and I immediately moved to Plan B. We checked Greyhound schedules and decided to take a long, long trip to Indianapolis, where his family resides. At 1:30pm on Saturday afternoon, 24 hours after we were supposed to leave for the beach, we boarded a bus to Toronto that would begin our journey. 23 hours, 4 transfers, and 5 big cities later, we arrived in Indianapolis.

The difference between America and Canada begins the moment you cross the border. DR and I were among the only Caucasian, middle-class people on the trip, signifying that the American Greyhound experience is mostly frequented by those who live at the poverty line. At our 1 hour layover in Buffalo, I got to enjoy one of the most disgusting bathrooms I've seen yet. Cleveland had an almost eerily clean, neat, Americanized feel to it- and I could barely believe DR when he told me our bags would be fine sitting in line for us. By themselves. And no one would steal anything. At 3am.

Columbus was busier, as it was nearing dawn and real people had begun their day, and we had coffee to sustain us. We got a total of 5 fragmented hours of sleep, each hour punctuated by aching knees, tired necks, and every so often, a stop and layover to change buses. In Springfield, Ohio, the strip mall we stopped at to collect more passengers (including a midget cowboy) boasted "Hung Lung Chinese Food" and "New and Used Furniture".

My American experience is now just beginning. We spent today hanging out at DR's parent's house in Indianapolis, where we got to sit in the backyard on the swing in t-shirts and bare feet, soaking up the sun. We went to the grocery store, Kroger's, in which there are so many choices for every product imaginable. There is something limitless about America. There are always choices, always roads to take, always options. Always more, bigger, better, faster.

To the south lies Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee. I sometimes can't believe how different the world is, even just 12 hours or 900km away. And yet, I somehow found someone who grew up in this different world but is so much like me.