All that is gold does not glitter; not all those who wonder are lost.  -J.R.R Tolkien

The string of Greyhound tickets is longer than I am tall. How many miles is it from Olympia, WA to Greenville, SC? Close to 3,200, I think? And five transfers means I get to haul my luggage around bus stations in Portland, Denver, St. Louis, Nashville, and Atlanta. This is the part in the blog post where I pretend to complain about having to lug my bags all over the country. Right.

So, first, a six-hour flight to Seattle, WA. Ahhh, air travel. Sometimes it seems that travelers step off the jetway still surrounded by the air from wherever they came from. There, a businessman with a bit of Rome stuck to his shoe; there, a college student carrying some Salamanca market air in his messenger bag.

Bus travel? Last time I boarded a Greyhound, I woke up in my seat at 5:45am to the sound of a twenty-something black man on my left rapping about philly cheesesteaks and the Texas. Then my luggage took a very scenic route somewhere between Birmingham and Houston. I spoke to a teenager going to see her mother, who’d just been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and to a Marine who was leaving a wife and six-month-old little girl to head out on another tour of duty in Iraq.

Tomorrow morning? Inventory of the pumps at the Cogeneration Plant. Tomorrow evening? Here’s to another trip.

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