Driving the bus can be a chore. In fact, I let Matt do most of the driving. Except for today– he’s working a random shift and I’ve been left to my own devices to get around. My heart is saying it wants to ski, but the effort and energy involved in driving the bus up the canyon is an incredible hinderance. It’s a game of tug-a-war that my cozy cup of tea is currently winning.
On my first trip in the bus down to the San Rafael Swell, Matt mentioned to me the difficulty of driving her on the highway. In his words, “Driving the bus should be the new olympic sport.” Back then I didn’t understand– three years of experience has taught me otherwise. Sometimes I worry that I will be unable to muster up the strength it takes to manage the gusts of wind that beat against the side of this non-aerodynamic vehicle. More than that, with any sort of bad weather there is minimal visibility. Our current defroster is a semi-dry washcloth and a low-powered hand dryer which can only clear a small space on the windshield.
Sometimes I wonder if the bus is the most practical vehicle to live and get around in– she leaks, breaks down, and has a max speed of 70 mph if the road is flat. Life is slow and sometimes damp, but the bus is a symbol of freedom. Living in her I feel open to soak in the raw beauty life has to offer as Matt and I learn manage any setbacks. Perhaps one day she won’t be so intimidating to drive and I will have no trouble taking her on an adventure– today I think I’ll just settle into the bench an read a good book.