up to boston

I wake up at the ridiculous hour of 5:30 and see snow everywhere.  I have a reservation on the 9 a.m. Bolt Bus to Boston, but decide instead to go standby for the 8 a.m.   

My cab driver is a chatty single man from Bangladesh.  I learn too much about his life and he asks too many questions about mine.  I close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep as he broaches the subject of whether or not I hang out with people who are "different" from me.  

The Bolt Bus has moved its pick up and drop off location from a convenient one in midtown, to one on 33rd Street, between 11th and 12th Avenues.  This new location is a desolate one.    

It's 7:20 when I arrive. There are people already in line, but little else in sight.  No shelter. No food trucks. No diners. No cars. Just big semis. I wonder how I'll get home when I get back on Wednesday; this is a place where cabs drop off but don't pick up, and it's a very long walk to the nearest subway. 

It's wet and cold and the line keeps growing with customers who are not going standby.  I wish I'd worn a warmer coat.

The bus arrives around 7:45, and by then, my clothes are soaked through, my newspapers and book are covered in snow, and I am freezing.  The trying-to-be-funny-but-not bus driver tells us the bus is fully booked, but we can start a line for standbys.  I can't imagine not getting on, and having to wait another hour. 

But I am in the front of the standby line and about ten of us are eventually allowed on.   It takes over an hour to get out of the city.   Visibility is low and traffic is high.  

I 95 isn't bad.  What is bad is the girl across the aisle from me who keeps taking calls.  And the woman across from me who is listening to music -- a muffled unpleasant version that I can hear through her  earbuds. And an unidentified person somewhere on the bus who is texting with the keyboard click sound on.

But despite the snow and ambient passenger noise, the drive is quite beautiful.  We arrive only an hour late.