You called Ryno’s teeth “rotted”. Dude.

Aaaaah. I’m glad you remembered my Greyhound Odyssey. Well, its like this: St. Paul to Bend, OR. 2 days, 1 full layover/exchange in Billings. By the time I got to Fargo, I had this creepy 17 year old rave girl with stuffed animals on her backpack trying to squeeze her way into my seat and bore me with babble about her meaningless little orthodontic life. Made me shut off my headphones to blather at me. Ditched her at a stop in the Near Dakotas. Soon, our bus was filled with other scum and misc. derelects traveling to Lord Knows Where, and every seat was quickly taken. The kind fellow who snatched the seat next to me was a hobo of some sort and smelled of many back alleys and blackouts. He was crusty and had a funny look in his good eye. I awoke from a nap hours later to find him peeling a potato in his seat, and eating it like an apple. He didn’t offer to share.
Soon we had a stop in some god forsaken village in Dakota. Devil’s Appendix or something. I’m as I’m standing around waiting for the Death Can (bus) to be refuelled, this little angel that had been on the bus since St. Paul sneaks up by me to get friendly. We start talking about how creepy folks are on the bus, and how she keeps being approached, spoken to, coughed on by dirty men. I, having that “nice guy charm” and “face your mother will love” provided her salvation from several hundred more miles of scumbag. When we re-boarded the bus, she took over as Co. Pilot on the S.S. Ryno. We shared a blanket and shot the shit all night, talking about all the “life story” goods. She was a dance student from Edmonton, who was in St. Paul by herself to see “Rent,” a big fan. She told me all about this hit broadway musical and why she was obsessed with it. I still don’t get it, but I’ve never met a woman who understands Jay Farrar. Anyway, we had ourselves a nice little time, and I bought her breakfast at a truck stop before she had to jump ship to head back to the Frosty North. (We maintained e-lectronicmail contact for several months after that. She was constantly trying to get me to fly off to some place on the other side of the country to see Rent with her. I would have if’n I wasn’t a broke ass art student)
So back on the road and minus one little blonde-headed canadian sweetheart, it was back to the road, and many cat-calls and hi-fives from all the other shit-heap dudes that took some shots at her while she was riding. All was well until Spokane, where some creepy-ass Stevie Nicks like Mom decided I looked like a fun guy to sit with and talk to about being reborn in Christ. I learned all about her family, and her drug habit, and her awakening in the arms of Jesus, and a whole bunch of other crap I didn’t care about. I’ve never wanted so much in my life to just look someone in the eye and tell them to shut the fuck up. Sometime later, she either jumped off or went to bother someone else. The terrrain had changed drastically over the hundreds of miles (the only benefit of Gayhound travel), and we were now in the midst of Mountainous terrain. When I could see the signs instructing Runaway Trucks how to exit the highway, I knew we were getting close.
Bend was a godsend. Never before has a one-syllable word sounded in my mind like the ringing of a thousand bells and a choir of angels. I deboarded that four-wheeled nighmare as quickly as I could, rejoicing at the sight of Draplin standing there practicing his lines for the Official DDC guided tour, which you all know he was more than happy to deliver.

Part II available from Random House Books, Christmas ‘03.

Kris: If you’re out there: Don’t eat the potatoes!

Sumbitch, Ryno: I’ve never heard a finer summary of the Greyhound experience. I think the airlines should pay you a royalty to reprint that in a persuasive “Why Fly?” brochure. Thoughtful and wonderfully-crafted, the kind of prose that would make a good piece in Voice of God Issue 2. (For the unfamiliar, VoG was Ryno’s summer foray into the ‘Zine world after our freshman year at MCAD. Excellent stuff if you can get one of the rare copies).

Hoss. You take that copy of that silly little piece of 18 year old nonsense and you bury it deep. You hear me? I’ve got goods on you, too, pal.

“…she took over as Co-Pilot on the S.S. Ryno”

Oh man, you have raised the bar on this one.

It’s a wonder of evolution that one can spit out such wordmanship. Fuckin’ amazing.

Real good. Four stars.