There is a call for music to be brought up to the cassette player on the dashboard, but, Wigs warns, “I have veto powers on anything that gets played.” A long-haired, nose-ringed young man dressed all in black brings up some music he describes as rhythmic drum-sounds. It is played for some time, until Wigs flexes his veto muscle and chucks it onto the dashboard.
Melanie decides it is time to initiate this crowd of westerners to the glory of Canada’s own Tragically Hip. She is wary, however, of Wigs. She expects at any moment, her tape, her little piece of home, will receive the same treatment as the boy-in-black’s rhythmic drums. But, for the next thirty hours, the sounds of eastern Canada play, over and over, as the bus rolls down Interstate 5 towards the promised land of San Francisco.
The bus makes its first major pickup since the trip began in Portland, Oregon and a second one in Eugene, home to Ken Kesey himself. It is a wonder if any of this new breed of hippies have even heard of the man, or know that they, on this bus, are his legacy. The bus gets a little more crowded and the Canadians notice the air beginning to thin.
The Canadian girls decide it is time to split up and network. Melanie meets two brothers from South Africa, Steven and Mark, who, with their wrap-around Oakley sunglasses and fluorescent-coloured surfwear, seem as much out of place as the Canadians.
Then there is Marisol, a sweet and bubbly 23-year-old girl, who says she figures she will flit around the west coast until the fall, when she is off to join the Peace Corps. Is there really still a Peace Corps? Her infectious smile, her brightly-coloured new tattoo of a psychedelic sun, and her braless bouncings on the bumpy road to the city of love draw the attention of many on the bus.
Melanie’s Canadian travel companion encounters a small, unassuming girl named Kelly. She is wearing a white v-neck t-shirt with a hand-sewn long and flowing floral-print skirt.
“I made it myself” she proudly says, wrapping up her pale legs in it.
Kelly is an easterner, as well. She is originally from Key West, but goes to school in the wealthy community of Boulder, Colorado. From her story, she sounds further from home than Melanie and friend, but with her sandaled feet and hair-speckled legs, she blends in well with this scene.
Kelly, 21, has already been up and down the coast this summer on the bus. She visited friends in Los Angeles and decided to spread her wings on her own for a few weeks when she heard about the Green Tortoise.
Soon, Kelly says she feels bus sick and must go sit up front with Scott, Wigs’ alternate, and bus-driver-in-training.
One wonders what the attraction to the job is, considering full-time drivers can only expect to make about $55 to $65 a day.
“It’s a great way to see the country,” he says, and “meet a lot of interesting folks.”
Still, what kind of ambition is this?
“Well,” he says with a hint of a southern drawl, “I don’t really know what I want in life. I guess I’ll figure it out later on.” At least that’s $55 American.
Read all three parts of On the Bus:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
