CHAPTER 28 The London Bus
Much of my time, money and energy was going into the engine of my blue bus. Parts were missing, broken or worn beyond use. The ten gallons of water I had found in the crankcase hadn't rusted a thing. The bottom end of the engine was just fine. The cylinders were all rusted however, and the pistons had to be literally hammered out. Fortunately the rust had done no serious damage. I got her running. On a very happy day, Gone John and I managed to move the old bus under it's own power from it's spot beneath the cottonwood tree to a more secluded (and level) position nearer the road. At about this same time I found another job.
A Phoenix real estate company had bought an old double-decker English bus for advertising and promotional purposes and it was truly a fine Old Lady. She was dubbed "The London Bus" due to her heritage. I was dubbed The London Bus driver due to my mechanical aptitude, plus the fact that I lived in a school bus. I also had a commercial drivers license with no restrictions. All that pot and hard work had paid off.
There were problems with the London Bus though. She stood 14 feet six inches tall. That was exactly one foot taller than what the law allows on the roadways of America without special routing and permits. It was a height guaranteed to cause collisions with traffic lights and lesser bureaucrats. I was in essence, handed a rather large Pink Elephant with a small if steady, paycheck attached. I could probably have retired, parked it for at least a year and simply waited by the phone for an assignment call. It was not to be. I felt challenged again.
The bus and I were moved to the downtown office where we would be less of an eyesore, and plans were made to introduce her on a shuttle route around the parking lots of the State Fair of Arizona. That was my first assignment. With a little parlaying of such favors to the State Fair, I was able to obtain waivers for the overheight status of the bus within the city limits.
I was assigned a young woman named Sandy as my female conductor on the back of the bus. At about that time a group called 10cc came out with a song called "I'm Not In Love". You couldn't tell it, but I was. Sandy was terminally sexy and cute and married all at the same time. I, on the other hand was living alone, tied up with obligations of friendship to Bonnie and developing a real emotional Gordian Knot.
Over a period of the next several months, I found myself working a very frustrating puzzle of personal feelings regarding Sandy, Bonnie and myself.
Other than the casual off-handed affair with Harry T's woman in Tucson, I had never considered adultery as a matter of personal morality. I have always been a sucker for anyone seeking Freedom though. I had always been true to my women up to the point of promise - divorce in the case of Carol. Though I admired many ladies, I had never had a craving or desire as such, for another man's woman. Sandy generated however, an entirely different set of values. She was an uncontrollable infatuation for me and became almost immediately the only love interest in my life. I had to slam that Pandora's Box shut tight many times every day just to try and stay sane. Just being around her was a marvelous and intensely personal torture for me.
The London Bus was becoming a success. I outfitted the bus with a complete indoor/outdoor public address system and intercom. It became a rolling sound stage with a tape player and other accessories. I created a little mailout flyer offering use of the bus to any non-profit organization for one day, anywhere in town. It worked. We were soon booked up with tours for orphaned kids, minority organizations, civic groups and political arms of Phoenix City Government.
Despite the fact that there was no air-conditioning on the bus, there was actually a City Council meeting held on the top deck, touring the slums of south Phoenix. It became a very prestigious way of carrying around the huge billboard advertising for Kachina Village of Flagstaff, one of the properties, on the side of the bus. Despite the lack of air conditioning, it was a hit.
The daily alliances and partnerships of working together with Sandy began to create a bonding that I simply could not bear. It was a friendship that cried out passionately for romance and within that cry was a silent scream of desire. To put it bluntly, I had the hots.
The whole thing boiled over for me right after the first annual Fiesta Bowl. The bus was in the parade. The exclusive use of the bus was extended as a courtesy to the Florida State team, their wives and families. They made full use of it for parties and transportation. We all had a great time with Rod Stewart's "Maggie May" as their theme song. "Maggie" (Margaret) you see, was the middle name for Peggy. Florida. That had been home for a while.
Bonnie and I got invovled in some very minor disagreement and it was much like the last straw. I know she had no way of understanding, but what I had was her and what I wanted was Sandy and it was tearing me apart, something like riding two mtorcycles at one time. In a rage that came over me rather unexpectedly, I finally blew my top.
Please forgive this very personal introspection into my private love life and feelings. I know you probably feel as though you have been ushered into someone's shower bath with no forewarning. Think of it as the custom of the land you are exploring and consider that something like it has happened to you or will, at some point in your own life. It is the kind of confusion that sin brings to a person, that causes one to do unexpected and unexplainable things. Try to be aware of it when (and if) it happens to you. You'll want to keep a notepad, a camera and a tape recorder nearby. A packed bag, extra cigarettes, matches and a few extra bucks wouldn't hurt. Passion is both a blessing and a curse. It seems to reside most intently, within the sanctity of sin.
I had traded off the Dodge convertible for a more practical VW convertible. I had had the engine rebuilt and had planned to tow it behind my own bus in future cross-country travels. It was in great mechanical shape. The rage and confusion that had come over me in my little disagreement with Bonnie had a hold on my soul. I felt that if I didn't get away, I would do her serious physical harm. I grabbed my guitar, a few clothes, some soap and other toilet articles and hit the street with tires squealing and with her throwing rocks at me.
There were a few pristine springs and water falls I knew of north of town in Paradise Valley. Remember, tjais was in the early 1970's. Paradise Valley where we used to hold jam sessions in the desert rocks is mostly concrete now. There once were giant Saguaro cactus' that looked like old men taking a leak. There were places where you could scream and smash rocks and not get arrested for it because there were no people for miles. Further north was Sedona with it's lovely Oak Creek
Canyon where just a few years before, as Betty and I had, you could camp out and sunbathe naked and never be bothered by anyone. Sedona had become infected with a Chamber of Commerce though, and is now infested with tourists.
Further north there were places along the rim of the Grand Canyon ranchlands where you could stand and cuss and swear at the Colorado river, miles below. Cows would stand and stare with complete understanding, much like the indians in some of the bars in Flagstaff. I was on my way to any of those places when a thumb was waved in front of me.
My rider was an old KCAC friend, Frank, who had invited me to DJ in a disco club one night. He had showed me the crow's nest and worked me into the sound system well enough that I could do a pretty good dance mix. I never got the groove of it then, though. I played "Takin Care of Business" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive far to often to suit the dancers in the club. My poetic music collages just didn't work. He was on his way north. I figured I owed him a favor and he had a few bucks, so we headed north.
Destination: Aspen, Colorado.
A Phoenix real estate company had bought an old double-decker English bus for advertising and promotional purposes and it was truly a fine Old Lady. She was dubbed "The London Bus" due to her heritage. I was dubbed The London Bus driver due to my mechanical aptitude, plus the fact that I lived in a school bus. I also had a commercial drivers license with no restrictions. All that pot and hard work had paid off.
There were problems with the London Bus though. She stood 14 feet six inches tall. That was exactly one foot taller than what the law allows on the roadways of America without special routing and permits. It was a height guaranteed to cause collisions with traffic lights and lesser bureaucrats. I was in essence, handed a rather large Pink Elephant with a small if steady, paycheck attached. I could probably have retired, parked it for at least a year and simply waited by the phone for an assignment call. It was not to be. I felt challenged again.
The bus and I were moved to the downtown office where we would be less of an eyesore, and plans were made to introduce her on a shuttle route around the parking lots of the State Fair of Arizona. That was my first assignment. With a little parlaying of such favors to the State Fair, I was able to obtain waivers for the overheight status of the bus within the city limits.
I was assigned a young woman named Sandy as my female conductor on the back of the bus. At about that time a group called 10cc came out with a song called "I'm Not In Love". You couldn't tell it, but I was. Sandy was terminally sexy and cute and married all at the same time. I, on the other hand was living alone, tied up with obligations of friendship to Bonnie and developing a real emotional Gordian Knot.
Over a period of the next several months, I found myself working a very frustrating puzzle of personal feelings regarding Sandy, Bonnie and myself.
Other than the casual off-handed affair with Harry T's woman in Tucson, I had never considered adultery as a matter of personal morality. I have always been a sucker for anyone seeking Freedom though. I had always been true to my women up to the point of promise - divorce in the case of Carol. Though I admired many ladies, I had never had a craving or desire as such, for another man's woman. Sandy generated however, an entirely different set of values. She was an uncontrollable infatuation for me and became almost immediately the only love interest in my life. I had to slam that Pandora's Box shut tight many times every day just to try and stay sane. Just being around her was a marvelous and intensely personal torture for me.
The London Bus was becoming a success. I outfitted the bus with a complete indoor/outdoor public address system and intercom. It became a rolling sound stage with a tape player and other accessories. I created a little mailout flyer offering use of the bus to any non-profit organization for one day, anywhere in town. It worked. We were soon booked up with tours for orphaned kids, minority organizations, civic groups and political arms of Phoenix City Government.
Despite the fact that there was no air-conditioning on the bus, there was actually a City Council meeting held on the top deck, touring the slums of south Phoenix. It became a very prestigious way of carrying around the huge billboard advertising for Kachina Village of Flagstaff, one of the properties, on the side of the bus. Despite the lack of air conditioning, it was a hit.
The daily alliances and partnerships of working together with Sandy began to create a bonding that I simply could not bear. It was a friendship that cried out passionately for romance and within that cry was a silent scream of desire. To put it bluntly, I had the hots.
The whole thing boiled over for me right after the first annual Fiesta Bowl. The bus was in the parade. The exclusive use of the bus was extended as a courtesy to the Florida State team, their wives and families. They made full use of it for parties and transportation. We all had a great time with Rod Stewart's "Maggie May" as their theme song. "Maggie" (Margaret) you see, was the middle name for Peggy. Florida. That had been home for a while.
Bonnie and I got invovled in some very minor disagreement and it was much like the last straw. I know she had no way of understanding, but what I had was her and what I wanted was Sandy and it was tearing me apart, something like riding two mtorcycles at one time. In a rage that came over me rather unexpectedly, I finally blew my top.
Please forgive this very personal introspection into my private love life and feelings. I know you probably feel as though you have been ushered into someone's shower bath with no forewarning. Think of it as the custom of the land you are exploring and consider that something like it has happened to you or will, at some point in your own life. It is the kind of confusion that sin brings to a person, that causes one to do unexpected and unexplainable things. Try to be aware of it when (and if) it happens to you. You'll want to keep a notepad, a camera and a tape recorder nearby. A packed bag, extra cigarettes, matches and a few extra bucks wouldn't hurt. Passion is both a blessing and a curse. It seems to reside most intently, within the sanctity of sin.
I had traded off the Dodge convertible for a more practical VW convertible. I had had the engine rebuilt and had planned to tow it behind my own bus in future cross-country travels. It was in great mechanical shape. The rage and confusion that had come over me in my little disagreement with Bonnie had a hold on my soul. I felt that if I didn't get away, I would do her serious physical harm. I grabbed my guitar, a few clothes, some soap and other toilet articles and hit the street with tires squealing and with her throwing rocks at me.
There were a few pristine springs and water falls I knew of north of town in Paradise Valley. Remember, tjais was in the early 1970's. Paradise Valley where we used to hold jam sessions in the desert rocks is mostly concrete now. There once were giant Saguaro cactus' that looked like old men taking a leak. There were places where you could scream and smash rocks and not get arrested for it because there were no people for miles. Further north was Sedona with it's lovely Oak Creek
Canyon where just a few years before, as Betty and I had, you could camp out and sunbathe naked and never be bothered by anyone. Sedona had become infected with a Chamber of Commerce though, and is now infested with tourists.
Further north there were places along the rim of the Grand Canyon ranchlands where you could stand and cuss and swear at the Colorado river, miles below. Cows would stand and stare with complete understanding, much like the indians in some of the bars in Flagstaff. I was on my way to any of those places when a thumb was waved in front of me.
My rider was an old KCAC friend, Frank, who had invited me to DJ in a disco club one night. He had showed me the crow's nest and worked me into the sound system well enough that I could do a pretty good dance mix. I never got the groove of it then, though. I played "Takin Care of Business" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive far to often to suit the dancers in the club. My poetic music collages just didn't work. He was on his way north. I figured I owed him a favor and he had a few bucks, so we headed north.
Destination: Aspen, Colorado.
posted by freespeak@gmail.com at 1:04 PM
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