Pittsburgh 1, or Traveling

Pittsburgh was one of the more mysterious stops on my tour; I knew who I was staying with, but had never met her, and had no idea what my accommodations would be like. I was bracing myself for something to match the worst of my touring stays: a blanket rolled out on a dirty carpet in a corner of a tiny basement apartment with flood damage. I reasoned that I am still just as resilient as I was three years ago; I could take whatever was offered.

But first, I had to get there.

I arrived at the Columbus Greyhound station a full hour early for my bus, as recommended. (Note to travelers: it is never, ever necessary to be at the Greyhound station a full hour early. Half an hour is plenty. Always.) I was thrilled to not be getting on a plane, to not deal with the ridiculousness of airports and the hours of waiting. As I weighed my duffel bag, and the clerk printed my ticket, she said, "Oh by the way, your bus is an hour late."

Great. Cool Remember all that resiliency? I've got this. A little two-hour wait for a three-hour bus ride in the Greyhound station - no problem. In fact, it'd be the perfect time to catch up on some paperwork, some budget planning, maybe edit a few poems. I set up my computer in the

corner and began to work.

Not too long after, the two and a half hours of sleep I'd had caught up with me, and all the numbers began to swirl on the screen. I closed the computer, and dragged myself to a bench, where who should I meet, but a few poets, headed home to Toronto! Comrades! Company! Their bus was also late, so the three of us sat talking until their bus showed up.

I checked the clock; my bus was an hour and half late. I noticed the clerk who sold me my ticket making the rounds among some passengers, and I thought "Lovely. Maybe she has news." I schlepped my bags to a bench closer to her, and sat down. As soon as she got near me, I looked up hopefully and asked "Ma'am, do you know when the bus to Pittsburgh might be here?"

She looked at me with knitted brows and a trace of exasperation.

"Honey, you're going to Pittsburgh? Your bus left an hour ago. On time."

This didn't quite register.

"But, didn't you say it'd be an hour late?"

"No, your bus came on time."

"But I could've sworn I heard you -"

"Ma'am, I was talking to the woman behind you."

I got rather quiet.

"So, what can I do now?"

"You can wait until the next bus. It comes in four hours."

And so I did. I waited. But at some point, I couldn't keep my eyes open for one more second, and curled up on the floor in the corner, stuffed my most important belongings under my jacket, lay on my backpack and took a nap. I'm not sure I've felt that as gross as I did when I woke up in a long time. I'd rather sleep on an airport floor any day.

The bus did eventually arrive, and I did get to Pittsburgh, though the bus took a fascinating route through West Virginia - I saw a compound flanked by an American flag, an Israeli flag, and a giant cross, among other things. And when I arrived, all my anxieties were soothed. My host picked me up and insisted on taking me out for dinner. Her house was lovely, spacious, clean and with a most comfortable couch for me to sleep on. The dog is one of those hyper-intelligent, knows-what-you-mean breeds that never sheds. I didn't even have to hide my stuffed animal from her; she used Sibelius the Seal as a pillow instead of a chew toy. And look at that face. Have you ever seen such an invisible pair of eyes?

I cooked dinner for her and her housemate the following night. We've been laughing a lot. It's Road Magic.

The concept of Road Magic is taken from the concept of Trail Magic. Trail Magic is defined by the Appalachian Trail Conservatory as "an unexpected act of kindness...a quintessential part of the Appalachian Trail experience for many long-distance hikers."

This is a pretty dry explanation of something so joyful. Trail Magic is small things done by volunteers to make the lives of hikers a bit easier. Sometimes, Trail Magic means coming across a shelter that's been freshly cleaned, or had a small mirror installed on a side wall. Often it means food, hidden in bear-proof boxes, or on the shelter wall - everything from Snickers bars to platters of fresh fried chicken. Volunteers will show up at gathering points along the trail and offer to "slack-pack" a group of hikers - drive everyone's backpacks to an agreed-upon destination, leaving everyone to walk easier, with only a water bottle to carry. Trail Magic inspires trust, builds comraderie and goodwill.

I've adopted the term Road Magic to mean something unexpected and joyful which inspires trust in strangers, or other humans. And Pittsburgh has been a bit of Road Magic; a small, cheerful dog, a lovely kitchen in which I can cook for my hosts, the comfort, the beauty, and the ability to relax and recover from WoWps.

Next stop: Washington DC. I arrive tomorrow.