Photo Above: Lipstick contemplates the bus steps
Below: Supervisors actually laughing
I rush into the house for the abbreviated dinner break. Depending on how difficult the night has been, I either grab a sandwich... or a spoon and a large jar of Nutella to bury my flustered state. Driving in circles strapped into a seat for hours on end where the scenery remains the same is tedious, fatiguing and demands forced focus – but as the faces change it can, at times, also be fulfilling and superbly entertaining.
The Elite Fleet of Fairy Godmothers is highly trained to transport skiers, kids, tourists, the lost and the drunk up and down steep, curving icy roads in ground blizzards with negative wind chill factor while answering passengers' questions, pointing out restaurants and landmarks, and alerting the other on-duty bus navigators to potential hazards via radio. Extreme Multitasking.
Some riders get on the bus reeking of cigarettes or other herbaceous smoke, permeating the air with the fragrance of french fries or indiscreetly emitting noxious digestive airs; others choke the enclosed space with body douses of perfume so thick that half the bus goes into asthmatic shock. The driver's prayer is that the collective breath alcohol content is high enough to kill the germs of the guy directly behind the seat coughing over your shoulder.
Next to safety issues, every drivers' nightmare is the lowlander who gets on the bus having imbibed 4 white Russians chased by 3 Jim Beams and several beers only to lose it all half way around Rozman's curve... covering the closest 15 passengers with projectile biohazard that will turn the bravest of the brave green and begin a chain reaction, at which point the vehicle has to be exchanged for a less foul one.
This brings us to the dreaded of all holidays, New Year's Eve... amateur night. Although it falls far behind in its ranking compared to Butte Bash stupidity, it's the one holiday that even reasonable, well behaved adults will engage in the insanity of excess and do silly things they wouldn't normally ever do. Some of the antics are amusing, some downright annoying and some, unfortunately, quite perilous.
As I rounded the corner of Second Street onto Whiterock a few minutes into the new year, pouting about having missed auld lang syne with my buddies, there blocking the road in perfect line formation was about 20 people cheek to cheek in Crested Butte formal attire... tux trousers dropped, evening gowns and tutus hoisted, derrieres aimed. You could say it was a full moon orchestrated thoughtfully by my best friend. The fully packed bus roared hysterically. It made my night that an entire party thought to include me in the festivities.
The longer the years of servitude, the more oddities witnessed. Tuck's been on board since 1980. He could write a book of his favorites, which would include the New Year's he had finished his shift, well after midnight, parked the bus at the garage and with the interior lights still off, went to plug in the engine heater. Back then, after the shift, drivers were required to clean the bus so upon re-boarding and turning on the lights for the task, he discovered a couple in the back seat oblivious to their surrounds but determined to rock their own little new year's microcosm. They were given a courtesy trip back to the 4-way.
Another year, a group of young teen boys got on the bus and pelted Tuck in the back of his head with a snow ball. The perpetrator was promptly tossed out the door to his friends' disapproval... and the heckling continued all the way up the mountain. When they debarked, the jeering jerks were given a hefty dose of mace by an 80-year old lady who had had quite enough. The next day the boy's father apologized.
Then there was the tourist in the back of the bus who kept screaming for cowboy music... so the driver put in a tape with 20 minutes of real cows getting branded. Driver Lipstick (aka Michele) said the funniest thing she saw was when the town used sawhorses to cordon off the dangerous roof slide area at the Old Town Hall stop, “All these people were trying to climb into the corral, on top of the snow pile from the roof.” There can definitely be a herd mentality. Another driver remembered two guys giving a local Broncos' fan grief about the team. Just as the taunting grew heated, that same roof slid down to bury the two... first down for Broncos.
Crested Butte is not a prudish town and when it comes to partying and drinking, our locals are the champs. Unfortunately, those visitors not acclimated to our altitude get slammed much faster – even the experienced swiller can go numb in half their normal intake. So it was last year at Butte Bash – where large groups of youth are encouraged to drink heartily and party even harder until the bars close since the buses would be running until 2 a.m. just for them – I caught sight of a reveler staggering disoriented down the center of Gothic Road.
Dressed in black, blending into the night, I almost ran him over. It was only his erratic weaving across the road that alerted me to his presence. Even as quickly as the cops got there, the boy had disappeared into the night. He was later hit by a car, having crossed through snow fields and come out down by the cow camp curve. The accident actually saved his life because he would have frozen to death. The mother called to thank the guy that hit him. He spent the better part of his weeks' long hospital stay treated for frostbite and hypothermia, along with his other injuries. It is the ultimate driver's terror... to have anyone injured for any reason.
Bus drivers have their parties and respites as well. Several of us remember one particular New Year's party, back in the wilder days of the early 80s, when Mountain Express rented out the notorious Sunshine's Bathhouse... the local's spa where bathing suits were optional and mostly nonexistent. Since we were driving until midnight, the merrymaking began then. The white stuff was dumping heavily... people were running outside and jumping into the snow and then back into the hot tub. Half the town showed up to join in.
It's Friday night dinner break... after downing a home brewed espresso, I grab another can of Red Bull and rush back to rendezvous with my bus and carry on circling the town, a keen eye out for errant vehicles, straying dogs and the lost souls of the night. I'm not scheduled to work this New Year's... but I have extra jars of Nutella in the cupboard and a case of Red Bull in the refrig... I may just sign up for the fun of it. Happy New Year, and please… ride the bus!
“For auld lang syne, we'll take a cup 'o kindness yet, for auld lang syne...”
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