Oh god...The Greyhound buses in the US.
...These aren't public transport, they are insidious means of conveying the mentally inactive between cities. They are also the method your 'umble narrator chose to convey him on a transcontinental trip some fifteen years ago...

Firstly...ALL the bus stations are located in the less salubrious areas, the LA station at 01:00AM may just be one of the scariest places a scrawny white boy might find himself. Why do strange men keep trying to talk to me through the sides of their mouths? Why is this gummy homeless man telling me a heartrending tale? Could $1 really safe his life. Am I his "Bro"?

So, onto the buses. For hours and hours of long, straight roads. We dozed. The drivers dozed. We stopped for food. At Dunkin' Donuts. At 03:00AM. The seating made Easyjet look generous, and my skinny frame would inevitably attract a larger girthed lady, a Wide Bertha, if you will, as my benchmate. No madam, I do not wish to share your week-old Shrimp, though do have my crisps, they may cause your conspiracist prattle to cease for merciful seconds.

Arriving at Albuquerque in the small hours, this leg's Bertha spots a light in the sky. Shrieking at the top of her voice to the entire bus - "Look it's onna dem oofoos, Aliens!! eeeeeh". Horrors - she's pointing at me - "He saw it too!". "Er, it's actually the light on top of a building", I venture, but she's not having it. We disembark, and she tries to hug me, telling me we've shared something spiritual that wasn't crustacean-based.

As for Texas. We are pounding through the desert at night...Driver spots the telltale glow of a cigarette at the back of the bus. Unbeknown to us, he makes a call. A few minutes later, we pull over, and two police cars are waiting for us. It's pitch black, bar the cop car lights, their rotating flashers casting an intermittent red glow on cactus and rock. Nobody has a clue what is going on. Everyone is made to leave the bus with their belongings. Cletus and Bumfuck, the cops, then proceed to search everyone and their gear. Triumphantly finding a packet of cigarettes on a Scandinavian backpacker, he is cuffed and bundled into the car, presumably to be shot in the back of the head and buried alongside Gram Parson's ashes. Can't see that happening on the National Express.

At Flagstaff bus station, I get chatting to a native American who is waiting for his ride. Without warning, two cops rush in, knock him to the floor, cuff him and lead him away, my protests invite me to purchase a big can of shut the fuck up. The bus station attendant, smiles "He won't be bothering you no more!" - he'd made the call to the cops. I am literally speechless.

After much strangeness and charm, I get to New York. I take the bus to Buffalo, and my bag, with all my clothes, photos and mementos of a year on the road gets sent somewhere else. You wouldn't believe how long I spent in Buffalo waiting for it to not arrive.
(Mousy Tongue ...Generally bemused by life..., Sat 27 Jun 2009, 18:52, 5 replies)

Actually
I found Easyjet's seating to be pretty damn generous compared to a transcontinental Delta flight. Stingy American bastards.

Sorry, off topic, do go on.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 19:31, closed)

I rode Greyhound exactly once
From Hartsfield Int'l Airport in Atlanta, GA to Auburn, AL where I go to school. Less than a four hour drive (counting all stops and other bus shenanigans). I never ever ever want to ride Greyhound again.

Ever.
(blinkin the merrily misanthropic IT gremlin, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 21:04, closed)

I feel your pain
In my case, Richmond to NYC.

Fending off the advances of some American girl going to college in Charlotte who was the size of a house, and had a similar demeanour.

"Sure I'll take your email address"

*Bins*
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sun 28 Jun 2009, 1:25, closed)

"Been there, done that..."
..As the person I got stuck next to on a similar cross American journey said repeatedly for about 18 hours.

I also went through Flagstaff, and all I can offer you is "I'm so sorry".
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 7:31, closed)

It's something about the US
Greyhound in Aus is fine. Greyhound in Canada is fine. I still think getting the bus to Seattle beats having to brave a taxi from the airport, but Greyhound in the US is not fine.

I'm standing at the bus station in Vancouver waiting for my bus to Seattle. I see all the pretty new buses and think this can't be so bad. Then I see our bus - yes, the one that looks like it's about 75 years old and probably won't even make it out of the station in one piece.
It seems that the buses within Canada are fine, but they won't let the nice ones across the border and you have to go on the US fleet. Maybe they're scared that the yankees will see what they're missing or something. Luckily most of the passengers are just there to do their patriotic duty as Canadians by shopping in the US and not declaring most of it on the way back.

I was going to say that Canadian bus passengers don't seem quite so crazy, but then I remembered about that guy who just randomly chopped off a guy's head and started eating him.

My point, of course, is that you're getting a sympathy click.
(xanthine, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 5:01, closed)