I’ve been riding on county buses for a year now, and today was the first time I didn’t think I was going to make it to my appointment. Riders are warned to be ready one and a half hours before appointment time, giving the scheduler time to fit everyone in. I was ready at 9:25, and the bus pulled in my drive at 9:30. The driver said she had a full schedule, figuring people wanted to get out and get things done before the holiday weekend. Buses will not run on Labor Day.

For the first time, the bus turned toward I-40 instead of Waynesville. The roads got progressively smaller. We headed down a twisty lane that I would have hesitated to drive a full sized car on. We were in a BUS. GPS said we had arrived at our destination, but which small trailer was it? No numbers showed. The driver honked. No one came out. She was about to go knock on the door when a woman hurried toward us. When she made her reservation for the bus, no one told her to be ready so early. We really didn’t wait long and still had plenty of time to get back to town.

Retracing our route, we passed my area, but instead of going to Waynesville, we veered off to Maggie Valley. GPS was confused. We wandered down three roads, contacted headquarters, made another wrong turn and finally were passing trailers with not three feet between them. A man laboriously climbed into the bus, pausing at each step. He advised us not to get old. I wanted to know how old is old. He said 85. I said, “Good. I’ve got five years to go.”

In silence we headed for the fourth pickup. GPS dithered. The driver had a proper address, but only a few lot numbers showed and fewer house numbers were visible. Headquarters said the house had a car parked there with lots of stuff in it. We all laughed, saying that applied to almost every car in the area. We passengers were peering out the windows trying to help the driver. The road was one-way, and we were going the wrong way. A truck came toward us and veered off to another tiny road. He evidently knew a way out. The houses were tiny house size but lacking in modern attractiveness. Small trailers were packed in so tightly that we wondered how they ever got there. GPS ( I now say short for Go Punch Something) said we were at our destination. After a couple of calls to headquarters again, the driver sighed and got out to knock on the door of a decrepit trailer. She came back, saying the back door was wide open, but no one responded. Headquarters said no one answered the phone, so we were free to go. The driver kept her cool, but the pressure was on. She knew my appointment was at 11, and we had barely enough time to make it. By this time we felt like old friends and chatted all the way to Waynesville.

Noah, the acupuncturist, was standing in the waiting room when I rushed in. He said I wasn’t late, but I’ll bet I wasn’t more than 15 seconds early. I had planned to arrived relaxed and peaceful.

Here is a video from the porch cam showing the bus gingerly backing out of my driveway. The drivers do a marvelous job of navigating our circular mountain roads, and they do it cheerfully every time.