Scottish Epilogue

A Wigtown lad loved his bus!

Deke's Note: There's so much to write about! Much has happened in my extended absence. Contract negotiations have me furious, union solidarity is dangerously low (don't get too excited management... the fight is about to become more intense than you imagined), and our hours are being shortened due to an over-abundance of new operators. Still, my brother Patrick has a few more words to say about his Scotland/Ireland Adventure. I promised he could tell you all about it here, so I'll sit back and let him roll. Just as well buddy, I'm too pissed off to write at the moment. Have at it.

Patrick Sez: Wow, Deke is pissed! Just spent a while sharing some of the whisky with him I brought back from Ireland. Listening to him vent, my ears about sizzled off my head. Wouldn't hurt the one that's smaller than the other, but I'd rather warm them in a more, well, recreational manner. Anyway, he graciously backed off because he promised I could document the grand voyage Stacey and I recently returned from. "Promises are best kept," Deke said, "and furious writing could get me in trouble." Thanks buddy.

St. Andrew's Cathedral, Inverness

The trip home was exhausting. I spent my 59th birthday in two countries: Ireland and Scotland. This close to my seventh decade and I'm finally slowing down a bit. I was still able to drink bodacious amounts of fine distilled spirits though. Classic Laddie, Oban, Glenfiddich, Macallan, Jameson and a few new discoveries... I love you all! Whisk(e)y stores are abundant in the land of its birth, and I visited plenty. Even toured a few distilleries along the way. One good thing about age is the wisdom learned along the potholes of this long road: I have learned when to stop. No more praying to porcelain gods or stumbling around like a mugging target. When you're in a foreign land, it's best to keep at least a few wits about you; I'd rather be witness than witless.

It wasn't until I had been back in the seat a few days that the travel bug hit my internal windshield. SPLAT! My body shut down one afternoon as I deadheaded toward downtown. It suddenly felt like I hadn't slept in two weeks. My head weighed at least 50 pounds and my body dangerously wanted to nod off into some land I'm not ready to see. Not a good idea when you're piloting a 20-ton bus. Nearing my destination, I was afraid to go any further. We've all driven when we didn't feel good, but I felt horrible. Big difference. So for the second time in my career, I punched in "OPERATOR ILL" into the CAD. Told the kind voice on the radio I didn't feel safe driving, and they shut me down  where I pulled over.

Oban on the Bay, home of the Oban Whisky Distillery since 1794.

Within a few minutes, Sister Road Supe roused me from a half-slumber. She was genuinely-concerned, asking twice if I needed medical attention. All I wanted was to crawl into my bed for a few weeks. My nose was running faster than the Kentucky Derby, my temples pounded like hooves trying to kick their way out. It seemed those racehorses were about to cut loose and trample the rest of me in a massive stampede. Boo graciously took me back to the garage and asked if I needed someone to drive me home. Nah. My new car is a smooth roll which almost drives itself. It was at that moment I realized my phone was still in the bus, locked in the overhead and shut off per SOP. I inched back toward the bus at rush hour snail pace and found it still blinking where I left it.

Glenfinnan Viaduct

Because of that fuzzy-headed mistake, it took another 55 minutes to drive home. I slept about 26 of the next 36 hours in a hellish physiological nightmare. Finally today I was able to rouse myself. It was imperative that I make it to the funeral of a young friend. He was much, much too young to leave us, and I was duty bound to wish him a fond farewell. Emotionally drained, I collapsed into my couch for several hours. It was hard to believe just three days earlier, I had been happily ensconced in a faraway, ancient and mesmerizing land...

Sorry it took so long to get back to this point, but sometimes a little background is necessary. I would have written this for Deke days ago, but I'm finally conscious again. Without further ado, I'll try to wrap this up so the rightful writer of this righteous blog can further kick some literary transit ass.

Edinburgh, Scotland is not only mesmerizingly-beautiful, it is full of history most Americans cannot fathom. People inhabited Caledonia long before our American shores were invaded and occupied by settlers who pushed our indigenous hosts aside. Not much has changed in this city over the past few hundred years. Its people are polite and helpful, very proud of their heritage and rightfully so. There are many ancient buildings which have been restored, retaining their grand architecture. While we didn't get to tour Edinburgh Castle, which is 1,100 years old, we came close while touring Grassmarket and The Royal Mile. It was humbling to roam streets which have been teeming with residents since the second century AD. We were aliens in a land likely to have spawned some of our ancestors.

Oscar Wilde Statue, Dublin

Quickly, as to not overstay my welcome here, I must mention transit in Scotland and Ireland is not only speedy and efficient but also user-friendly yet strict about fares. I wanted to chat up a few drivers, but it seemed to always be rush hour when we boarded and you know, transit operators at that time of day are likely to be tightly-wound due to traffic. We all want our breaks. I could tell by their speech they wanted none of a Portland, Oregon operator's chat. Most likely, they were late to pee. Winding down streets much narrower than ours, they expertly guided their double-deckers through numerous roundabouts, taking no prisoners. Motorists know better than to argue with these road warriors. Ancient civilizations do not survive foolishness, and these folks know how to co-exist.

Ireland is much the same transit-wise. We didn't have a chance to ride public transit buses, but did take advantage of light rail. Dublin is more congested than Portland and it did take extra time for operators to navigate long traffic lights, but it was smooth and timely.

It was fun to give out foldup buses and MAX trains to the wee lads and lassies. Deke provided me with six books, which I distributed to readers along the way. Stacey and I visited with one of Deke's friends in Wigtown, giving them a signed copy. His book is also in the hands of a visiting literary agent along with a few innkeepers we met. Perhaps that's why he's being patient with me.

The Long Room, Trinity College Library, Dublin

Knowing our friend Mr. Blue, he's eager to get back to this blog, so it's time I buzz off. Thanks to all who followed along on our travels. We were in Edinburgh, Dalkeith and Dalhousie Castle, Wigtown, Newton-Stuart, Glasgow, Oban, Isle of Skye, Inverness, and Dublin (Ireland). It was astonishingly-beautiful, enormously-rewarding and a refreshing break. If you ever have the chance, I highly recommend visiting. While we weren't able to dip down south into England proper, we hope to revisit the United Kingdom again in the next few years. Until then, we have many sweet memories we'll treasure a lifetime.

I have more details to write, but I'll save them for my own blog, patcoomer@wordpress.com.

View from a Wigtown bookstore

Okay Deke, I'll shut up now. Get back to work, you old buzzard!

Respectfully,
Patrick