Monday, October 24, 2016

Please Pass the Salt

It had been a steady stream of passengers on-edge. It seemed everyone had a grudge. My attempts at humor failed miserably, and the mood was chilly.

My normal weekday run is a busy one. Each trip out of downtown is full of commuters. The trip in the opposite direction serves an entirely different clientele. A young couple boarded, and I was feeling ornery. Again.

"Two adults, please," the nice young man requested as he put a fiver in the till. I paused a moment, appreciating their cheerful demeanor. A definite departure from the rough and smelly juvenile delinquents I had recently dealt with.

"Sorry," I replied with a slight grin. "We had a couple on board, but they got off a few stops ago."


And then there's this...

Bambi's pop just had to go and get shot. Ignorant buck, to let this happen. He should have known better. Now his fawn had no father to warn him about the dangers of city life.

Operator Kay Lady warned us about this wayfaring young lad. He seems to have staked claim to a dark stretch of a winding highway. You'd think sister's near miss would have scared him to greener pastures, but that area must offer some tasty tidbits not yet laid waste by our rapidly cooling weather.

So here I was, tooling along the highway just under the speed limit. This stretch of road is a bubble in my paddle where I make up time burned downtown by pokey streetcars and errant pedestrians. I was making it up nicely as I neared a hilltop. Luckily I had my brights lighting up the distant roadway, because without them I wouldn't have seen Bambi doing La Bamba in the middle of the darkest stretch 50 yards ahead. It's also a good thing my foot was already covering the brake pedal. Instinct pressed my foot down hard, like I was stopping a downhill fall during a drunken ski run. The bus slowed. Rapidly but steadily, from 44 to 15 miles per hour as Bambi wisely skittled right. If he had trotted left, it would have been messy.

The funny thing is, I had just thought of Kay's tale of narrowly missing a deer on that stretch of road. Perhaps that's why my foot uncharacteristically moved from accelerator to brake while going uphill. I don't remember consciously doing so.

Moral of the story: if your foot mysteriously meanders from one pedal to the other, there's a higher power guiding your bus, and it's a safe bet to trust it. Otherwise, you might have Bambi Tartare splattered all over your windshield.

Thanks for the heads-up, Kay Lady. None of us need a trophy on the bike rack.

1 comment:

  1. "There's a higher power guiding your bus"