Bus Station

I read with some sadness today, that from 31 October, Greyhound Canada will be discontinuing all routes West of Ontario. Apparently due to falling passenger numbers.

Twelve years ago I spent some fabulous months backpacking across Canada, using Greyhound buses as my major means of transport. I got into that regular rhythm of being dropped off with your fellow passengers every few hours in the middle of nowhere, with some sort of eatery close to hand (often Tim Hortons of course), and the bus would disappear for an hour to change drivers, before returning, and everyone would claim the same seat that they had before.

I took that 30+ hour route all the way from Toronto to Winnipeg, which will no longer be available since buses will now go no further than Sudbury. When I got off my bus in Winnipeg, it felt close to being born again. I had been on it so long that I felt a sense of disorientation, of not knowing what to do without that bus, that took several hours to shake.

I continued my tour, by Greyhound bus again, to Saskatoon, and then onto Edmonton, and Banff and finally into Vancouver. We travelled through the Rockies, and for hours saw nothing but highway and blue sky and cloud touching, snow capped, and beautiful mountains.

During the earlier legs, in farmlands of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, there was nothing but highway and a sky so large it is virtually impossible to imagine, when you're in a country as small and close as Britain.

I am sure that other bus companies will step in to carry on those routes in one way or another, but something will still have been lost, especially to any future backpackers. At least they will stay in my memory and in those of others before and after me.

I would like to close with a poem I wrote on this trip, inspired by the numerous hours I spent in bus stations across the country.

The Bus Station

The watching and waiting of the flickering screen

To come the departures, that arrivals have been

Quiet and hallowed is the waiting hall way

A mind numbed by hours has little to say

Friends and loved ones are met with a smile

But it's tears for the travellers who'll be gone for a while

As the chill wafts in on the ten-thirty bus

Flesh is covered up with a minimum of fuss

For a time of transition, which some would delay

Much drama is seen at each parking bay

It happens so often, and yet goes unseen

As most are fixed watching the flickering screen