Well, the trip has begun. I am somewhere between Chico and Sacramento, looking out at a sliver of moon as total strangers talk like childhood friends to pass the time. Me, I'm pretty quiet. It hasn't quite set in, what I'm about to attempt. Perhaps that's why I've kept to myself ... not ready to talk about it. And why I've found myself the perfect silent riding partner. He has not said one word, yet it's that pleasant silent you want when you're in your own head and riding the Greyhound. Oh yes, the Greyhound.
It's been a couple of years since I've taken the bus, but it hasn't taken long to settle back into the rhythm. See, the thing is, I kind of like this long, slow, sometimes stinky, always colorful mode of transportation. Everyone sounded appalled when I said I was taking the Greyhound down to the border. And so I explained that I could keep my pack, unsearched by airport security, under the bus where I would know exactly where it was at all times. Isn't that nice? And the train? Well, it arrives at San Diego at 1 AM. And I'm not much of a city girl let alone a city girl at the wee hours. Makes sense, right? What I don't really mention is my secret affection for the bus. Yes, I love knowing where my pack is. But I was also looking forward to being trapped with mostly my own mind for 26 hours on the same system of travel I used for years when I was first trying to figure myself out. Life has been chaotic. I might not know what I'm doing. Sitting and thinking as my PCT miles tick away in reverse is just the thing for me right now. Plus, nowadays, Greyhound has Wifi! And more leg room! But the same old half crazies. Gotta go. We're at the station, and there is some people-watching to cram in before the trail! Night.