CHAPTER 30 Back On The Bus Part II
That the London Bus should have a part II and that I should have had a job at all, was remarkable. My unannounced vacation to Colorado should have been enough to cancel out any kind of future with the real estate company. The original bus was retired with a blown engine, and the real estate company was going for a second shot with another bus in Sedona, Arizona. There I was again, unknowing, re-tracing my Great Grandfather's footsteps.
This bus was an open-top touring model that was guaranteed to decapitate anyone who stood up on it. You sat, or you died. We zoomed just under the trees, up and down the Oak Creek Canyon area of Sedona all during the summer of 1971, Neil Young, Cat Stevens, Seals and Crofts and others playing on the sound system. This bus too, was a local hit but not so my own blue monstrosity. I had driven my bus to Sedona and parked it on the back lot of one of the real estate executives, Jerry.
On the way up the mountains towards Sedona, I had managed to crack the head on the engine. It had been running beautifully before that point. My arrival was without grace - a smoking, clattering mess. While it was mostly out of sight of the community and near a handy outhouse, it (or I) did not seem to be welcome with the neighbors.
Seriously dangerous thunderstorms pounded the area. I was awakened several times with the bus rocking back and forth, thunder and lightning flashing all around. In the weeks of camping there, I had occasion to host a young lady from England at my camp site. She was assisting me as a hostess on the double-decker and it seemed a good idea for the promotional image of the bus to have an English hostess. God or something or someone else definitely did not like the idea of her and I being together, though. We were having a simple conversation as I was giving her the tour of my old bus. As we walked the few steps towards the kitchen in the front (having entered from the back door), there was an immediate, indescribable tension in the air. She seemed suddenly frightened, as though we had arrived at a haunted castle. I picked up on the feeling as well, wondering what I was experiencing. She stopped. I stopped.
I have never had a confrontation with a poltergiest before. I don't know for sure that one was present. I don't know what else to call it, based on what I have read of such things. Whatever, there was something there that was not a part of she or I. There was a loud hissing sound and an invisible movement of SOMETHING in and around the bus that neither of us could see. It was rather like being in the arms and in front of the mouth, of an awakening dragon. It was like being on the inside of giant onion and having the layers of that onion tear themselves apart. Something in layers. Perhaps the pages of a book would be a better analogy. It was something unseen that you could not help but see, something unfelt that you could not help but feel, something unheard that you could not help but hear. The other senses - taste, touch, smell, were not involved. Something unexpected, unexplainable and incredibly powerful had apparently been disturbed. It seemed to be tearing through the fabric of time and perceptible reality as it made its way onward. Audibly, there was a
HISSSSSSWWWWWWHHHHOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH! As an author, I take comfort that the writers of Ezekiel, Revelations and other passages of The Bible had as difficult a time describing the indescribable as I am now.
Barbara (yes, she was another Barbara) staggered and sat down on the floor. I stood with adrenaline rushing and fists clenched, trying to figure out what it was that I should defend us against. There was simply nothing. It was as though we had awakened a ghost of some kind, whose leaving was as rude as its awakening. The experience was too stupefying for both of us to talk with each other about. She was frightened enough to leave without further conversation, except for a shaky "Goodbye" in hushed tones. I was shaken enough to spend the next few hours inspecting the kitchen area of my bus for electrical shorts, gas leaks or any kind of rational, physical explanation of what had happened. There simply was none.
Being human and with a definite ego, I would like to have you think of me as a courageous and brave person. I certainly have had my share of bizarre and dangerous experiences. Since you have been kind enough to join me on this journey as my reader though, I feel bound to share the intimate Truth of myself with you to the point of personal embarrassment. I must confess to you that I am not a brave person. I am a coward. I get cold and shaky from head to foot whenever I am confronted by the metaphysically unexplainable and even fights with ordinary men like myself. I do not like confrontation, I do not like to fight. I do not like pain. Similarly, I do not like dealing with things that I do not understand, particularly when I am scared by them.
What the world may seem to see in me as bravery and courage is something entirely different. It is Christian Faith. I have had other journeys with the Lord, and this story is only part of one of those. It is Christ that is my protector in these trips through what must be the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and I may seem too stupid and innocent and brave to fear any Evil of any kind. That's not the way it is. The way it really is, is that I know instinctively when I am in such situations and that I am to do nothing, save pray. Such prayers are an instant connection to my Faith and can often generate that feeling of Deja Vu' I have described. It works an instant link to the only thing that can save me. I personally, am usually helpless - on the edge of Eternity, as I confront the unknown. Don't mistake me as a brave man. I get scared, right down to the quick of my toenails.
Bonnie came up often to Sedona and we spent the night together several times. A few weeks later, I had a couple of visits from Sandy and her husband,
Mitch. I was delighted to see them, but there was that agonizing desire again and I found my lust for her almost uncontrollable. My old desire was unresolved. The trip to Colorado simply hadn't worked. Once again, it forced me to take another direction with my life. Considering my previous sins, I don't understand yet why I bothered to resist the temptation. Of course, there was no chance for privacy or seduction. Denial is such an exquisite torture where adultery is involved.
As Summer drifted by and the first cool days of Autumn closed in, I decided it was time for a change. I put gas and oil in the bus, made what repairs I could to the head on the leaking engine and headed the bus towards Phoenix. I told no one of my plans, save my hosts. The leaking engine overheated easily and used water at a rapid rate. Knowing I was going to have problems, I rigged a garden hose from the kitchen sink to the right of the drivers' seat, to the top of the radiator. When I felt things were becoming dangerously hot, I simply pulled over to the side of the road and poured water into the sink. I found myself stopping to fill my storage cans from puddles alongside the highway.
I pulled in to a truck stop at the north end of Phoenix and tried to decide what to do next. I didn't want to go back to Bonnie, I needed new directions in my life. I called an old girlfriend Candy, then an old friend Dan from KCAC, for a place to park the bus and crash. I had not paid much attention to the fact that over the years he had become bisexual, then gay. Any port in a storm. Any old storm at all.
This bus was an open-top touring model that was guaranteed to decapitate anyone who stood up on it. You sat, or you died. We zoomed just under the trees, up and down the Oak Creek Canyon area of Sedona all during the summer of 1971, Neil Young, Cat Stevens, Seals and Crofts and others playing on the sound system. This bus too, was a local hit but not so my own blue monstrosity. I had driven my bus to Sedona and parked it on the back lot of one of the real estate executives, Jerry.
On the way up the mountains towards Sedona, I had managed to crack the head on the engine. It had been running beautifully before that point. My arrival was without grace - a smoking, clattering mess. While it was mostly out of sight of the community and near a handy outhouse, it (or I) did not seem to be welcome with the neighbors.
Seriously dangerous thunderstorms pounded the area. I was awakened several times with the bus rocking back and forth, thunder and lightning flashing all around. In the weeks of camping there, I had occasion to host a young lady from England at my camp site. She was assisting me as a hostess on the double-decker and it seemed a good idea for the promotional image of the bus to have an English hostess. God or something or someone else definitely did not like the idea of her and I being together, though. We were having a simple conversation as I was giving her the tour of my old bus. As we walked the few steps towards the kitchen in the front (having entered from the back door), there was an immediate, indescribable tension in the air. She seemed suddenly frightened, as though we had arrived at a haunted castle. I picked up on the feeling as well, wondering what I was experiencing. She stopped. I stopped.
I have never had a confrontation with a poltergiest before. I don't know for sure that one was present. I don't know what else to call it, based on what I have read of such things. Whatever, there was something there that was not a part of she or I. There was a loud hissing sound and an invisible movement of SOMETHING in and around the bus that neither of us could see. It was rather like being in the arms and in front of the mouth, of an awakening dragon. It was like being on the inside of giant onion and having the layers of that onion tear themselves apart. Something in layers. Perhaps the pages of a book would be a better analogy. It was something unseen that you could not help but see, something unfelt that you could not help but feel, something unheard that you could not help but hear. The other senses - taste, touch, smell, were not involved. Something unexpected, unexplainable and incredibly powerful had apparently been disturbed. It seemed to be tearing through the fabric of time and perceptible reality as it made its way onward. Audibly, there was a
HISSSSSSWWWWWWHHHHOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH! As an author, I take comfort that the writers of Ezekiel, Revelations and other passages of The Bible had as difficult a time describing the indescribable as I am now.
Barbara (yes, she was another Barbara) staggered and sat down on the floor. I stood with adrenaline rushing and fists clenched, trying to figure out what it was that I should defend us against. There was simply nothing. It was as though we had awakened a ghost of some kind, whose leaving was as rude as its awakening. The experience was too stupefying for both of us to talk with each other about. She was frightened enough to leave without further conversation, except for a shaky "Goodbye" in hushed tones. I was shaken enough to spend the next few hours inspecting the kitchen area of my bus for electrical shorts, gas leaks or any kind of rational, physical explanation of what had happened. There simply was none.
Being human and with a definite ego, I would like to have you think of me as a courageous and brave person. I certainly have had my share of bizarre and dangerous experiences. Since you have been kind enough to join me on this journey as my reader though, I feel bound to share the intimate Truth of myself with you to the point of personal embarrassment. I must confess to you that I am not a brave person. I am a coward. I get cold and shaky from head to foot whenever I am confronted by the metaphysically unexplainable and even fights with ordinary men like myself. I do not like confrontation, I do not like to fight. I do not like pain. Similarly, I do not like dealing with things that I do not understand, particularly when I am scared by them.
What the world may seem to see in me as bravery and courage is something entirely different. It is Christian Faith. I have had other journeys with the Lord, and this story is only part of one of those. It is Christ that is my protector in these trips through what must be the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and I may seem too stupid and innocent and brave to fear any Evil of any kind. That's not the way it is. The way it really is, is that I know instinctively when I am in such situations and that I am to do nothing, save pray. Such prayers are an instant connection to my Faith and can often generate that feeling of Deja Vu' I have described. It works an instant link to the only thing that can save me. I personally, am usually helpless - on the edge of Eternity, as I confront the unknown. Don't mistake me as a brave man. I get scared, right down to the quick of my toenails.
Bonnie came up often to Sedona and we spent the night together several times. A few weeks later, I had a couple of visits from Sandy and her husband,
Mitch. I was delighted to see them, but there was that agonizing desire again and I found my lust for her almost uncontrollable. My old desire was unresolved. The trip to Colorado simply hadn't worked. Once again, it forced me to take another direction with my life. Considering my previous sins, I don't understand yet why I bothered to resist the temptation. Of course, there was no chance for privacy or seduction. Denial is such an exquisite torture where adultery is involved.
As Summer drifted by and the first cool days of Autumn closed in, I decided it was time for a change. I put gas and oil in the bus, made what repairs I could to the head on the leaking engine and headed the bus towards Phoenix. I told no one of my plans, save my hosts. The leaking engine overheated easily and used water at a rapid rate. Knowing I was going to have problems, I rigged a garden hose from the kitchen sink to the right of the drivers' seat, to the top of the radiator. When I felt things were becoming dangerously hot, I simply pulled over to the side of the road and poured water into the sink. I found myself stopping to fill my storage cans from puddles alongside the highway.
I pulled in to a truck stop at the north end of Phoenix and tried to decide what to do next. I didn't want to go back to Bonnie, I needed new directions in my life. I called an old girlfriend Candy, then an old friend Dan from KCAC, for a place to park the bus and crash. I had not paid much attention to the fact that over the years he had become bisexual, then gay. Any port in a storm. Any old storm at all.
posted by freespeak@gmail.com at 11:27 AM
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