The ride through the rest of the prairies got a little rough and tedious. From the scenery, I felt like I was back home, driving through a long stretch of the central valley of California. From the company, I was reminded I was in Canada. There was definitely a distinct accent in these parts.
I sat next to the 7-year-old obese Owen whom we picked up in Saskatchewan. I wanted to clobber his awful parents for feeding him Timbits and chocolate milk for lunch, and then Pepsi for a snack when we made a pit stop. A kid who looked like someone on the Maury Show and who was hard to understand because of all the fat squished around his mouth. He's a sweet kid, and really talkative. He didn't know what California was and thought it was pretty weird that I didn't have a TV and that I preferred bike riding to video games. He asked me if I had kids, and when he learned I didn't Owen was curious what their names would be. I tried reading my book to him, but it made him fall asleep. At one point he just said, "You're nice. And your hair is nice." He quickly redeemed himself by making a joke: Patrick and Spongebob were hanging out and then Spongebob Square Pants died. Cue hysterical laughter.
Halfway through Manatoba we picked up some first nations teenage boys. A man had politely asked if he could sit beside me because he didn't want to sit next to the "rough newcomers." One of the boys awkwardly tried to chat me up about books because he saw I had one, but I just gave minimal acknowledgement. He fell asleep and cursed like a sailor in his dreams. I had just gotten to the chapter about the massacre of the Red Indians of Canada.
The man I'd shared my seat was off at the next stop and while he made his way out, I noticed that my potty mouth neighbor had dropped his Winnipeg Jets cap and sunglasses. He was waking up so I handed them over to him. He looked confused then angry and flipped me off then tried to grab my hand. I quickly recoiled and gave him a scathing look. What a creep. Two guys my age who had gotten on at Calgary looked back to make sure I was okay and rolled their eyes at my now sleeping and cursing neighbor.
My new neighbor was a well-intentioned guy from Brandon, MB. I tell ya, I'm going to make a concerted effort to look crazy and totally gross when I ride the bus next. I could tell he was embarrassed when his cousin gave him a big grin and a nudge when he saw that he was sitting next to a girl. I just kept to my book but eventually he dared to ask me the time. We talked a little bit, and I found out they were taking the bus to Winnipeg because that's where they went to party. I now realized where all the teenagers were going. It was Friday night and Winnipeg was the nearest place to have a good time. Daniel told me that it was pretty wild, and as we neared Winnipeg he showed me a few of the sights: his old apartment complex, the old strip club, the mall, the women's jail. He was making a great case for himself when he told me about getting his licensed revoked for ten years for drinking and driving (hence his riding the Greyhound into town). Daniel also informed me when we passed through the stop where the famous Greyhound decapitation had occurred. He told me we should be friends on Facebook, which I laughed at and said I didn't use, and besides I wouldn't see him again anyway. But he was better than the creep, so I asked if he could let me off ahead of him so he could keep that guy away from me. Daniel puffed up saying, "Hgave you trouble?" I just laughed. I didn't want any weird defending of my honor or something. "He's a kid. I don't care." Daniel replied, "Alright, but I hate guys that talk bigger than they are."
Some people would think my way of traveling is a little absurd, but honestly, how else do you get to know a country? I hope there's a version of the Greyhound in Europe.
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