The King of the Bus

Normally I take two buses home, transferring to the second one downtown. For my second bus, I can get on a popular one that is usually packed, or else if the timing is right, I can get on an alternate bus that makes me walk a block more, but the bus is usually empty and the drive is much more scenic. This bus route is one of Winnipeg Transit's best kept secrets.

Today, my alternate bus gets to my stop first, so I jump on board. To my delight, it's completely empty (save the driver). With the fall chill morphing into a winter's nip, I sit in the middle of the very last row of seats to be closer to the engine's heat.


I stretch my arms out beside me, consuming much more space than necessary, and enjoy the rare moment of complete privacy on the city bus.

During my ride, a total of six other people get on the bus, and they all get off at stops well before mine, which is the last one on this route before the bus flips its sign and heads back the other way.

Aside from the repeated crescendo of the diesel engine, the bus is quiet. There is no chatter between the sparse passengers, no coughing, no overflowing iPod music, no ringing cell phones. Instead, the noises of the bus itself begin to fill the relative silence.

Big diesel engines vibrate a lot, and vibrations through a steel frame tend to cause everything that's threaded together to wiggle loose unless glued in place with Loctite. Including, apparently, the nuts & bolts used to hold the side panel on the seat in front of me, to my left. And when nuts loosen and fall off, the thin metal sheeting they previously held firmly in place becomes free to rattle against its frame, in perfect sync to the engine's vibrations.

It's especially loud when the bus is idling at a red light, and when it's at speed. Mercifully, when accelerating or decelerating, the vibration nearly vanishes, but this bus seems to hit a lot of red lights. RAT-AT-AT-AT-AT-ATTLE.

I stretch out with my leg and try to press against the sheet with my foot, but instead of merely accepting the pressure, the metal pops out the other direction like the lid of a Snapple bottle - with the accompanying snap/pop. I quickly draw my foot back, and catch a glimpse of the bus driver glancing up to his rear-view mirror to see what I'm doing to his bus. I try to pretend like nothing happened. Just a solo passenger, gazing out over his empty kingdom ahead.

The bus reaches the end of the route, and I rise and make my way to the front of the bus. Normally it will stop and sit for a few minutes to catch up to its schedule, and that's when I'd get off. Today, however, the driver must be behind, for he barrels right past the last stop and starts the reverse route immediately.

"I'll get off here," I tell him, gesturing at the upcoming stop.

"You've still got to pull the cord," he says.

"Sorry?" I say, somewhat confused. It's not like I interrupted another conversation with my verbal request.

"You've still got to pull the cord, so the bell rings," he repeats, oblivious to the absurdity of his comment. He stops anyway.

Here's my stop. Goodbye, my empty little kingdom.