It is good to be home and back amongst familiar things. Having finished Three Amigo’s and our third bus trip for the year, we feel somewhat circumspect and ready for a little rest. I have to admit, it seems a little strange, not sleeping under an air conditioning unit, howling away up there in the ceiling and keeping me cool and awake at the same time. Hearing a gentle tap on the door during a nap and a voice inquiring ….. “Hey anyone in there?” … Old Trailways veteran buses unfortunately, do not have door-bells. But I digress, it is good to be back here at our Goat Farm.
For some strange reason, I feel assured that we will survive. Kind of bittersweet in a way, putting up the old hoopie for the winter, almost like backing an old horse into the stall, giving him a bucket of oats, a quick scratch behind the ears, and then shutting the barn door.
Today as I pointed his nose west towards El Reno, Oklahoma, and the public dump-station, a part of me wanted to just fly past that exit and head on to another golden sunset on the plains somewhere west of Amarillo. Following in the tire tracks of Granville, Roger & Dan, Pete and E.J., and other Prevost notables.
But I didn’t.
This is the time of the year, when the bird houses come down, get cleaned and readied for next season. Where you hit the power switch on the bus (turn it off) and make sure all the little parasitic battery drains have nothing to munch on and create a host of problems later on.
The time of the year, when you get out the Rand McNally Atlas, while college football fills the room with background noise, and you make long imaginary trips to places unknown in the comfort of your favorite chair. If there was never a fall in my year, then I suppose I would have to invent it, because I often look forward to it with great anticipation.
That wondrous and great window of time, when you rake up a huge pile of dead leaves, and then the grandkid hits it head first at about ninety miles and hour and his little sister laughs with glee.
Life is good.
Now will come a time of short days and long cold winter nights, I can already feel it in my bones. Also, winter-time for a bus nut is the time of the year, he makes good on all the promises his brain made during the warm months. The doors that just don’t close right, get tweaked a little. The batteries in the clock get changed. A coat of paint where it is needed and some improvements (large and small) are lined up and readied for the work-bench.
There is always something to do when you own a bus, and winter time is the period where you hone your skills and improve your braggin’ rites for the next get together. Where you sit down with “old new friends” eat barbecued Alabama pig-sicles (ribs). Where you can dip out some good spicy home-made finger food that your wife labored to provide in a clean bowl.
Food that the husband has affectionately told everyone within ear-shot …. “My wife made that Road Kill, that there grub is reeeeeeeally goood.” Now comes a short time to regroup and re-generate and look forward with great anticipation to the next gathering of the Prevost Community …..
I can hardly wait.