Free Seats

After a 1000 mile journey, never knowing what to expect, I parked the 40 foot long yellow bus in Lee's driveway. The neighborhood children were in awe. They played for about a week inside the ghost like vehicle with modern childhood fantasies of the 21st century. They called it the magic bus as they pushed every button and flicked every switch but the grimy dragon finally gave way to other amusements. The child's play was over. It was time for me to get busy and dig in. This is where reality meets the fantasy. The real challenge begins. The first chore would be divesting the aged yellow beast of her seats. Seats that passed every safety issue in the world. Seats that were made to keep our precious children alive and well. Seats that were attached to the body as if it would survive an atomic bomb blast. If only I could dream them out of the bus.

After reading plenty about the rigors of seat removal and assessing my own situation plus my friend Lee had volunteered to help , I went with using an impact driver beneath the bus while he held a ratchet on the head of the bolt above. There were over 100 nuts to take off. My arm felt like rubber after six hours not to speak of the ones that were unreachable or rusted beyond the use of wrenches and sockets. It was a personal physical challenge. I was thinking: "Who needs to work out at the gym if you do work like this?" I think life was teaching me that it's better to use exercise before attacking the nuts and bolts as a means to decrease the pain and ensuing agony. I'm putting exercise on my list for tomorrow. Luckily, I have some pain meds because I know, tomorrow, my twisted back will cause me to walk like cro-magnon man . With the meds, I'll walk upright and no one will know; proud to be a bus seat remover extraordinaire.

For the incorrigible bolts, I resorted to a steel grinding tool. They didn't have a chance to defeat me. It was like rocket launcher versus stone axe. As I bared down on the heads, the sparks flew and the noise blared deafening. One time, the plywood subfloor started smoldering but in the end, "Mission Accomplished". Lee stood fire watch with hose in hand. Baton Rouge water pressure is high. It was a good backup to disaster. No really, no bullshit, mission accomplished for real. The bus seats, black with grime and dirt from a few years of life in the bus graveyard not to speak of the refuse from thousands of children who had found small secret places to stash their garbage, we emerged covered in an oily greasy film but with a sense of accomplishment as the seats were now out in front of the bus stacked neatly to attract the usual scavengers before the garbage trucks came early in the morning. Bus seats versus man; we won. We raised the flag of victory and downed 16 ounces of Gatorade. I felt like a victorious soldier of fortune. Short term goals kick ass man.

In the Beginning; May of 2009

It's a done deal. I won the auction outside of Miami and voila, I am now the owner of a big fucking 66 passenger bus. I haven't seen it yet but I have talked with the mechanic and the head of the school system about the bus. Still, I feel a little trepidation, as I should, about buying sight unseen. I need to get down to Florida soon, pay for the bus and drive it home. Its a nine hundred mile trip. It's not a vacation and I don't want to waste a penny bringing it home so I'm going to be driving like a maniac and sleeping in the aisle. Is this another fantasy? Is this some kind of dream compulsion leading to an unkind end? Or can I make this work? What the hell else is there to do better? I can't think of any alternative path at this time. What the fuck. I'm going for it.

I get to the Ft. Lauderdale airport a little after noon, grab my bags and head for a taxi. I call the head of the school transportation department and he tells me that he is going home early but there will be a mechanic out at where the bus is located so it will be ready to roll. Earlier in the week, he told me he'd probably be able to give me a lift from where I pay for the bus to where the bus is located. Unfortunately, when I arrive, he says he expected me earlier. Sheesh, I'm there before one o'clock and he says he can't take me to the bus storage. It costs me $70 for a taxi ride out to bumfuck Egypt to pick it up. Not only that, at the airport, the taxi driver takes the address of the school district office which is about a $25 dollar ride from the airport, plugs it into his GPS and proceeds to get lost as the meter goes up around $80. I call the lady at the school office and she tells me the taxi driver is way far away from the office. The mechanic who is getting the bus ready can't stick around all day. The tension rises. I get into it with the taxi driver telling him he needs to learn the city and that I'm not paying the bill. He knows he's lost and assures me we will work out a deal. I don't trust him and when we finally do get to the office, I take all my luggage and head up the stairs. I haven't paid the taxi diddley but need to find out if I'm stuck with him. I may need a ride.

I talk with Mary, I give her the money and find out if anyone can give me a ride. She says I'll have to find my own way to get there. "Is it far?" I ask. She says it's about a 40 minute drive. Shit, I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place with my ignorant taxi driver. Fortunately, she has Mapquest directions, which aren't always accurate, so I take directions in hand, strike a deal with the driver and we are off. This time, I'm watching for the signs. I tell him when to turn. He says: "That's not right", I say well, I'm paying for any mistake this time so we are turning when I say turn. After about 20 minutes of driving he admits this may be the correct way. We arrive and after paying what I owe to the taxi, I see the bus for the first time. It's purring like a kitten but is dirtyier than hell. Luckily, I brought an old towel to clean the seat but everything I touch is filthy. There are layers upon layers of greasy filmy dust and grime. It needs a good power wash for sure but I don't have time. It's getting to be late in the afternoon and I need to get on the road. My first goal is to try and reach Intersate #10, west of Jacksonville before I bed down for the night. That's about 375 miles. At first Im thinking that the bus is too dirty to sleep in but later decide not to spend close to a hundred bucks, at a hotel, for a few hours of shuteye.

The mechanic was a short Latino who talked with an accent. He was great and assured me the running gear was in good shape and mentioned that these DT360 diesel engines were incredible work horses and that even his little children could keep them running. He'd been working on the huge lot of buses for a couple of years. He was busy scavanging some parts for my bus which were probably taken for another previous bus. He made sure all my lights were working although the front turn signals were a lost cause. They will be easy to fix when I get home but for now, I'm running with rear turn signals only. Brakes lights work, interior lights are fine but the fuel gauge bulb, as I discovered later, did not work. I brought my trusty little mag lite that I've owned since 1987 whch worked out well at night to check the fuel gauge. The ammeter didn't work so I had the mechanic check the alternator which turned out to be just fine. I'd know if the batteries were actually getting charged after I had been running for a few hours at night. Diesels don't need electricity except for starting so you can turn off the key and it will still run except, of course, at night when you need lights. I was apprehensive about the charging system but all for naught because it worked perfectly. Both batteries were new, it had new fan belts, the liquid levels in everything were checked. No problems. I kept a close watch on the water temp and on the oil pressure. So far, after about 700 miles, absolutely no sign of engine problems. This engine is sort of old school; no computer so most of what can go wrong can be fixed by ME. I like that.

A few miles east of Pensacola, while driving full blast, I heard a loud bang. Shit o dear it sounded like I had run over an old VW sedan. I looked in the rear view mirror but didn't see anything. The temp was good, the oil pressure hadn't dropped and the bus didn't feel any different but I wanted to pull off at the next exit, get some fuel and check things out. I did just that and saw that one of the rear tires had lost it's tread. The tread flipped up and slammed the body. No damage to this Sherman tank of a body but I needed to get it fixed. I was in the middle of bum fuck Egypt. Just so happened, a construction looking guy in what else but a large pickup was driving through the gas station. I asked him if he knew anyone who worked on truck tires. As if Odin the surf god was watching over me, he told me to drive about a block away where I'd find a truck tire repair place. It was not a modern tire shop but a place like you'd see in rural Mexico; funky. I drove in and by chance, they had a tire that matched. One man changed the tire out by hand, no fancy tire machine, and I was on my way. He charged me $30 dollars labor plus the price of the tire. I was on the road and stoked that I had dodged the bullet.

My apprehension subsided in no time. I realized that what will happen will happen so no use getting upset and worried. I hoped for the best and that's what I got for the most part. I had a little buyers remorse but while thinking and reflecting to the drone of the diesel engine and realizing the immensity of the project, I thought what the hell, what is life all about anyway but a series of "projects". I know it's going to cost some money and a lot of hard work but it will be well thought out and take on my own artistic influence coupled with some modern technology. I'm putting all my effort into this thing. That's a good thing about anything you do. To be successful, you have to have a passion and for now, the bus will be that motivation. It's going to be cool.