IronOnline Bash 01
Doc Ray 's Bash Report

<And for me, personally lying on the grass grinning inanely at doc, a man who spent 24 hours on a bus to get there from Texas and talking as though we'd known each other forever. Og>

For me as well brother Og, for me as well. Moreover, hope I'll to carry the sight of you doing your best Doc Ray imitation with a broom handle and Dave Draper laughing to the point of tears to my grave ... like I said ya just had to be there and even if you were there was so much going on all the time you just had to miss some of it.

My thanks to Dr. Mike for the great stories, the information and help, and most of all for all your kind words. (Now to find myself a new Doctor here in El Paso who's head is not in a warm dark place.) My thanks to Dr. Ken for all the fun and sound training info, for keeping me from being the only tattooed guy there and most of all for when you walking in on me in the shower at the gym saying "Good calvess! " and not "You're even tattooed THERE!?"' Love ya both and hope to see you in 2002.

The week leading up to my departure by Greyhound had not been without its own drama. A little background: The tattoo shop I work at now is made up of independent contractors who pay a percentage of what they make to the shop for the use of the floor space. We have 2 full timers (I'm one), 2 part timers ...well 3 really, the shop owner Flaco is more or less part time. Although we are old friends and more like partners, I had, weeks before, a real name calling and yelling match with Flaco that had made it clear I was going to the Bomber Bash or I was going to pack up my toys and look for a new sand box.

The weekend had not been a good one for Flaco. The other full timer's family life was a mess so he was missing work for more hours than he was there and one of the part timers had quit Friday. Tuesday was set to be my last day... then on MondayFlaco took a bad fall I was working when he come in with his right arm in a sling; I of course asked what had happened...'' I fractured my elbow, I guess this changes everything, Doc. I know you won't let me down.'' All I could say was...''You bet, Flaco, if there's anything I can do for you in the next 24 hours feel free to ask.'' I worked late both of my last 2 days. Flaco seemed a little quiet.

There are many up sides to bus travel. There is no better way to see the country; there's time to think and read, etc. Moreover, if you wish to move freely from city to city within a state, as I had planned to do, it's the only way to go... plus it's cheap.

The other side of the coin is... well, let's just say ridin' the grey dog can get a little scary and lot weird. The sad good byes done, I settled in for the long haul on what started out as the best trip of any kind in my lif . In an almost dream like state with Beethoven , Bach, etc., in my head phones I watched the beauty and colors of New Mexico and Arizona pass by in my window. I even found a fresh chef salad in Phoenix to supplement the nuts and jerky in my carry on bag.

In was in Phoenix, however, that my luck seemed to change with the driver. Among the new passengers was a middle aged black lady in dirty jeans, a plastic bag of belongings and a small red copy of the New Testament. I knew we were for trouble when she started to yell... "What you doin' here? I said you couldn't come mother #*%$ ! Don't &%#@ with me ... don't, I mean it!" to her own reflection in the window of the bus. As the bus started down the road, she jumped up and started to spin and whirl like a Dervish in the Isle ... people ducking their heads on all sides to keep from being hit. The demons in the poor woman's head seem to be at rest for a time after this wild spinning and she was very happy for time laughing at some TRULY INSIDE joke... then she got quiet.

A pattern of mad yelling at her 'other' self and then a uneasy quiet developed that would mark the coming hours for all on the bus. I put my head phones back on but never let the woman completely out of my sight. A little over an hour away from the California state line the bus pulled over to the side of the road and come to a complete stop. A quick look around made it all too clear to me where we had stopped. It was the middle of friggen nowhere! My thoughts were "He can't put that poor woman off the bus here, she'll die" as I pulled my head phones off to the sound of a screaming child.

In fact I could not have been more wrong as to the reason for our stopping. A foolish woman had let a child who could not have been more than 3 go into the bathroom by herself and the poor baby had somehow locked the door behind her and was screaming to get out. Opening the door is no big deal really, all you have to do is slip the key in the key hole and turn the key and the handle. Well it should have been that simple, only for reasons known only to Greyhound lines the drivers carry no keys to the bathrooms.

So what should have been simple ended an hour later with the latch plate, its screws removed and bent up on both sides by the driver and a large ex-Marine. The chemical toilet somehow dumped on the side of the hiway by the driver climbing around the outside of the bus trying to get a back window open, and the top of the metal bent down at the top, bent by yours truly and that same ex-Marine who never stopped trying to get to the child. We crossed into California at sundown and even though some fool tried to sell me dope at the meal break, the mad woman had gone to sleep as we got back on the road in the evening and I thought maybe things would start to run smooth again ............

I should have known better!

Doc

To be continued...

Click here to go to the next Bash page