Bus Life and the Ugly Americans

It was actually a thing to be concerned about, we were told.

People tend to be standoffish with people who drive a bus, we were told. Small towns will be guarded, the people will be rude, and expect more than your share of cop trouble. Cops don’t like people who drive Skoolies, so be prepared for some hassling/harassment.  And finding a place to park for the night? Good luck! RV parks won’t take anything older than ten years old, and often they won’t allow Skoolies at all.

We heard it all as we prepared for our adventure, January 2023.

And that was just scratching the surface of what we were told. “People won’t help you if you need it, so good luck if you break down on the road.”  And this one: “The smaller the town, the bigger your problems will be.” Or how about this gem: “Count on the cops following you and finding a reason to give you a ticket.”

Makes me wonder, as I sit here sixteen months later, why in the hell we ever left on the journey in Puddle Walker.

To borrow from the late Paul Harvey, “and now, the rest of the story.”

I suppose it is possible that, in some sections of the country, there are ugly Americans who will hassle newcomers not driving a Ford F350. But I’m here to tell ya, we did not meet a single one in sixteen months.

Not one!

The closest we came to rudeness was a woman who managed a place called Hikertown, but once she realized who we were and what we wanted, she even turned into a sweetheart. The closest we came to cop trouble? A Highway patrol officer swung into a rest stop where I had spent the night, outside of Tillamook, Oregon, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t squatting there indefinitely. He was in no way rude; just a simple question, the answer he was satisfied with, and “have a great day and safe travels.”

All told, thirteen thousand miles, seven months on the road, and nothing but warm and fuzzy feelings about it all.

What, then, did we encounter?

“Hey, are you the folks I heard about, in the white bus, been looking for you, just wanted to shake your hand.” I swear, it happened (the power of social media), in some random convenience store in California, some stranger walked up to us, hand outstretched, smiling broadly.

Or, in Paradise Valley, outside of Idyllwild, California . . .

“I just wanted to introduce myself, tell you I’ve got RV hookups at my place across the street, you are more than welcome to park there for a couple days, relax in a safe place.”

Or, on Montezuma Road, somewhere between here and there, this . . .

“So cool to finally meet you. We’ve been hoping you would stop by on your journey.”

And in Oregon, in a rest stop, random stranger in a random place . . .

“Hey, would you mind if we signed your bus.  We think it’s really cool what you’re doing.”

It turned out, who would have thunk it, that Puddle Walker was a magnet for smiles, and once we stepped outside, the two dogs, Maggie and Toby, were goodwill ambassadors, so that everywhere we went, there was someone, or many someones, who simply wanted to chat a while, shake a hand, and make a connection.

Why, then, did we manage to avoid all of the ugliness we heard about? I have a theory or two in response to that question.

Bev and I are just regular folks.  We step outside and we smile at people. We have a friendly greeting for others.  Our dogs wag their tails a lot.  We are not dressed like the homeless, we are reasonably presentable, we do not act like we are better than anyone else and, in fact, we show a keen interest in anyone we meet.

We treat people with respect.

I’m not looking for a pat on the back, but I am sending a message: kindness goes a long way towards receiving kindness in return.

Just sayin’

So, where are those ugly Americans we heard about?

I’m not some Pollyanna. I’m not trying to convince my European friends that all Americans are kind and loving.  I am fully aware had we driven through East St. Louis, or parts of Detroit, we would not have encountered good vibes. There is real ugly in this country; many times it is waving a flag; many times it is holding a Bible; and many times it is passed down from generations of ignorance and hate.  But I firmly believe, and will until they spread my ashes to the winds, that the good far outweighs the bad in the U.S., and I believe that extends to the world in general.  We don’t hear about it nearly as often as we should, simply because violence and horror and hate are more marketable than love, but don’t be fooled by the hype.

Love is there for the asking, and love is not a spectator sport.  You need to participate.