With the victory of the New York Giants over the Atlanta Falcons last Sunday, a game I attended, the Giants next opponent for this playoff round would be the Green Bay Packers at the legendary Lambeau Field. During the middle of the week I was hit with a sudden urge to go see this game as it was playoff football, and it would take place at a football field I've always wanted to see, so why not kill two birds with one stone. In addition, I also had an urge to take a short road trip during January, so after realizing (and secretly rooting for) no airlines fly anywhere near Green Bay, my only choice was a roadtrip via Greyhound bus that stops only three miles away from Lambeau Field.
I asked a few relatives, who I generally go to football games with, if they would be interested in joining me on this quest, but I guess the last minute planning of it all and the fact it was a total of thirty hours to be spent riding buses made it less appeasing, so I was off to go it alone. As mentioned in the 'Dea Sea Scrolls' blog, I haven't had a cold in a very long time. Well over six months I believe, maybe longer. With the prospect of riding buses for the next thirty hours, the last thing in the world I needed was to be sick. Not only would it be an inconveinance to me with limited access to bathrooms and tissues, but an inconveinance to other passengers as well if I start coughing or sneezing. So of course, the afternoon before I'm to depart, I start to feel like I'm coming down with something. My nose started to run, I felt feverish, weak, tired, so my first instinct was to take a nap to make it go away, which usually works. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to fall asleep, and I think the fact I wasn't able to take a nap made my body feel even sicker. That night I made sure I took NyQuil in hopes I could fight off this cold overnight, instead I woke up in the middle of the night with my shirt drenched in sweat and feeling terrible. What made it worse was I kept thinking that in a few hours I would have to get up and start my long journey.
Thoughts crossed my mind that maybe I should just cancel going, but even though I could probably resell the ticket and not lose money by terminating the hotel, or Motel 6, reservation early, at this point I couldn't get a refund on the lower-priced bus fare option I selected, so I had no choice to tough through it. I took DayQuil this time and packed my things to go. I was going to bring one carry on case and I needed to bring clothes, my laptop, and snacks for along the way to save money from vending machines. I wasn't able to fit as many items in the bag as I liked, so I simply ended up wearing the extra articles of clothing, in addition to my winter coat I was wearing to combat the predicted below twenty-degree weather Green Bay was forecasted to have. Even though New York was chilly, all this clothing on with a jacket, and carrying an annoyingly heavy bag had me sweating while still feeling feverish. The subway ride to New York's Port Authority Bus Terminal were terribly warm and overcrowded with straphangers coughing and sneezing their colds into the air as well. Luckily for me at this point, my cold was only to the extent of a runny nose, sore throat, and a slight fever.
I arrived at the Port Authority well in advance of the 10:00am departure time and lined up at my gate with other travelers. As usual, the Port Authority was filled up with seedy characters asking for money or simply sleeping on the floor. When it came time to board I was able to get a nice window seat and I studied my fellow riders as they entered the bus. A group of them were Syracuse University students heading back to school after winter break. The iternary for my ride was Binghamton, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Erie, Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Green Bay, with a few smaller stops in between. Most riders seemed normal, except for this one guy. On the surface there was nothing glaringly wrong with him, he didn't fit the usual physical profile of a terrorist or anything, but for some reason he looked nervous or perhaps that he had a very difficult morning. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he just seemed to stick out negetively amongst everyone else. Once the bus began its travel, the driver (as most bus drivers do) exherted his power by telling a group of the Syracuse University ladies to lower their voices so everyone could hear his important announcements of no smoking (including in the bathroom), no drinking alcohol, use headphones with all listening devices, turn cellphones off to vibrate, and keep calls brief as to not disturb the other passengers (I heard this speech about five times over the past two days).
I took a handful of napkins before leaving the Port Authority and they served me while during the early part of the trip. I tried to fall asleep, but the air was too stuffy in the bus and its hard to doze off when the person next to you has already dozed off with their legs spread wide open. As the bus made some of its early rest breaks or bus stops, I noticed the nervous fellow would take his carry on bag with him each time as he would exit the bus. Again, its not uncommon to be overprotective of personal belongings, so I didn't think much of it. In fact, one stop, while we were waiting to leave, another passenger was on the phone, and in a clear voice for all of us to hear, was telling someone on the other line how he has done prison stretches at Attica, Elmira, Sing-Sing, Greenhaven, which are some of New York State's most infamous correctional facilities. While the bus was nearly full and quiet while he was saying all this, it didn't faze him at all that just about everyone was listen into his conversation. In another phone conversation when the bus got moving again, he asked a friend to lend fifty-dollars to a woman who bore a child for him. So with characters like this just seats away, its not strange for someone to be protective of their bags.
It's also difficult to expect much when its comes to a toliet bowl inside a bathroom at a Greyhound bus station, but the toliets at Buffalo set the new time low-standard. Even a junkie wandering around the inside of the bathroom complained they were all disgusting. The handicapped stall was the only clean one, but the lock to the door was broken off, which made it quite useless. The rest of the stalls looked like they haven't been cleaned in a month, and whoever's job that is to clean them isn't getting paid enough. That aside, I made my connecting bus from Buffalo that took me to Cleveland, with another bus driver displaying anger for someone who left the ringer of their phone on. His warning was, "Don't test me". The Cleveland bathroom wasn't anything to look at either, but at least it wasn't as horrific as Buffalo, and one of the bathroom stalls was formally marked with ownership by the 'Westside' of Cleveland. At Cleveland, I was to get on a totally new bus and get a new driver to go to Chicago, as was the mysterious nervous-looking rider who seemed to be heading in the same exact direction I was. We were all lining up to get on the bus, the guy was a few spots ahead of me as the driver collected tickets, but when it was the guy's turn, it looked like he was having trouble. There was no yelling or anything, but I saw the guy's ticket laying on the floor for some reason, he looked upset, and the bus driver was telling another bus terminal worker to go call security. I gave my ticket to the driver and boarded the bus, the guy never made it on. I'm not sure why he wasn't allowed on the bus, but the time I first saw him twelve hours earlier, something just didn't seem right.
The bus going to Chicago wasn't as full, so I had an opportunity to lay down (crunched up that is) on both seats to finally catch some sleep. It was about a six hour ride from Cleveland to Chicago, and as I kept waking up and falling back asleep, I noticed it was snowing outside. The sleep must have done me some good because very slowly my cold symptons had gone away. By the time we arrived at the Chicago station, the snow had accumulated a few inches and my cold was basically gone. The scene inside the Chicago station could be quite intimidating. There's the same presence of seedy characters as in the New York Port Authority station, but there's also the additional threat of criminal-looking elements strolling around who look like they're seeking a victim in the early morning hours rather than waiting for a bus. There was technicaly a "security guard" there, but he looked like he might end up helping the bad guys instead. I had also been to this same Chicago station back in 2004, and it gave me the same unsettled feeling. I didn't dwell on it much as my new bus to Milwaukee was scheduled to leave shortly at 6:15am, but due to the snow, all bus schedules were cancelled, I was now stuck there. The entire station was filled with grumpy and tired passengers, and there was no bright light at the end of the tunnel as it looked like buses might not be running again for several hours. The fustraiting part was the snowfall was only a few inches, so there was no reason to stop the buses, unless more snow was in the forecast.
What was concerning me is I needed to be in Milwaukee to catch my final bus at 8:50am that was headed to Green Bay. I had hotel reservations for the afternoon and didn't need the pressure of worrying about scrambling around in the middle of the night in some town I didn't know of. What if I couldn't get a cab to the hotel from the station? What if the hotel cancelled my reservation for not showing up by a certain time and I was stuck out in the freezing Green Bay weather? What if for some reason I end up missing the game after all I had gone through already? All these thoughts crossed my mind, in addition to watching out for unsavory characters and hoping the buses would be back in action. Some of my worry was tranquilized by the annoucement that buses would be running again, but not by much as there was no affrimative time given when they would leave and which gate I needed to wait at. A few of us travelers headed towards Milwaukee banded together and formulated the best likelihoods of where we should wait. One of these travelers was a Filopino woman in her sixties. As the nervous guy a day before gave off a negative glow, she had a more positive glow for some reason. A bus terminal worker said gate thirteen was headed for Milwaukee and gate forteen was going to Minneapolis, so we lined up accordingly, but in addition to that there was a wildcard of gate number two being an express bus to Milwaukee as well. Nobody really could be sure, but I stuck with the line for gate thirteen, as it was really Friday the 13th.
Then all of a sudden around 8:05am, they call for the Minneapolis line and as they're boarding, I overhear the driver tell someone waiting on my line that he's also going to Milwaukee, and he's accepting the same 6:15am ticket I had. The Filopino lady was also going the same way, but I didn't see her anymore, so I thought she went to the "express" line at gate two. Anyways, I needed to get to Milwaukee, this driver was claiming to go to Milwaukee, so I got on that bus. The bus was quite crowded and I intially looked for a seat towards the back, but the only two seats I saw open was a hefty individual pouring onto a second seat, and then right there in the middle, the Filopino lady. It was an easy choice on which open seat to select. The bus pulled away from Chicago, and as we left I was able to get a nice view of it's famous Sears Tower, which is the tallest building in America. The lady, who is named Silvia, and I went over the clamity we experienced minutes earlier at the station and then got into discussing all sorts of topics. She was the type of person you hope you could get to sit next to on bus rides such as this as she had a treasure chest of stories about different places she's been and knowledge on different subject matters. I told her why I was headed to Green Bay and she surprised me by knowing a little about football. She talked about her life, I told her about my life, and before we knew it, the hour or so ride to Milwaukee was unfortunately complete. She had to stay on to get to Minneapolis, so I got off and she wished me luck for the game. It was too bad I wasn't on a stretch of road with her that lasted a few more hours.
The bus terminal at Milwaukee, which also serves as the Milwaukee Amtrak station, was unlike any of the bus terminals I had been at during this trip. It was large, it was modern, and most importantly, it was clean. There were no unsavory characters walking around or sleeping on the floor. The toilets inside the bathroom were absolutely spotless, and there was a janitor's office just feet away from the bathroom area who could give immediate attention. The bathroom actually had paper towels inside the paper towel dispenser, which is also something I didn't experience at any other bus stop station. The biggest surprise of the Milwaukee bathroom was that it had a bio-hazard waste unit against the wall, so in case a junkie does enter the bathroom to use a needle, they can dispose of it safely in the wall unit instead of throwing it out in the regular garbage or flushing it down the toliet. I was absolutely blown away by this bathroom in Milwaukee. It was a sterling example of what a public bathroom should look like, but now it was back to the business at hand. Since my bus left Chicago late, I missed the 8:50am to Green Bay, so I had to wait for the next bus to Green Bay leaving at 12:10pm. It was going to be about a three hour ride, and as long as the hotel wasn't as far from the station as it seemed on Google Maps, I was still in good shape. They lady at the counter said they would honor by 8:50am ticket, and they did, which let some further anxiety leave my body.
The person who sat next to me on this, my final bus ride of the journey, was a major downgrade from the Filopino lady, so I just leaned back and looked out the window as the bus drove through the rest of Wisconsin. Since snow fell the night before, there was nothing out the window but large pieces of empty land covered by snow. On occasion there would be a fireworks store or interesting anti-abortion billboard to look at, but most of the scenary was dull white snow laying on the ground. What made it more painful was there would be signs saying 120 miles to Green Bay, 113, 98, and it seemed like it was taking forever. My skin was crawling as the bus seemed to be driving slower than the posted sixty-five mile per hour speed limit, plus we had to stop off at these small towns called Appleton and Oskosh for only one or two people that made me want to smash my own head threw the window. By the time the bus was making its final destination to Green Bay, there was only about six of us passengers left. I know Green Bay isn't a big city, but I was expecting a little more than the shack of a bus station when we arrived. I saw three cabs lined up outside, wasting no time I darted out of the bus and into the first cab parked. Getting to the hotel was more important at the time than making an evaluation of the Green Bay Greyhound station bathroom.
The cab was a yellow mini-van style vehicle that was only a few years old, but the inside of it looked ravaged. The driver too looked like he's seen his better days. He was a frail looking guy, probably in his early fifties, with a ponytail and hunting vest that you would expect to see in the midwest, but he must have some breathing issues. He kept weasing and gasping for air, plus he kept leaning forward like he was trying to hold back a cough. It seemed like he might have emphysema or some sickness of that nature. There were a couple of times he would hold back a cough for some reason and his entire head would turn beat red. It prompted me to almost offer him one of the many napkins in my pockets from the "having a cold" phase of my trip, but he seemed to know what he was doing. As Google Maps said, the hotel was only about ten minutes away from the bus station, and since the driver was in bad physical shape and I was in a good mood that I finally arrived at the hotel, I gave him a generous five dollar tip. At the hotel, the lady working at the desk picked up I was from New York quite easily and told me her mother was from there, living in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Manhattan, but eventually moved out to Wisconsin. I was excited at the opportunity to have a shower for the first time in two days and to be able to lay down on bed, but before that, I needed to eat. I had basically been snacking on granola bars the whole way except for one ugly hotdog in Cleveland.
Near the place I'm staying at there's a KFC, a McDonald's(with a very old fashion sign), and a diner called Perkins. Not only is Perkins a diner, but it specializes in baking their own pies and cookies. When I arrived I was the only person in the place, the service was immediate and friendly. Though it was late afternoon, I picked the best looking item on the menu, the muffin french toast with sausage, eggs, and hash browns. All this with a raspberry ice-tea, which included free refills that came before I even asked. What stood out to me about the diner was that there were no ketchup bottles on any of the tables, maybe its not a midwest sort of thing. The food itself was great, and since they bake their pies fresh on the premesis, I couldn't leave without getting a slice. They had a number of choices that sounded good, but I wanted something I never tried before, so I selected the peanut butter silk. What is was basically is pie crust, a layer of chocolate frosting at the bottom, peanut butter ice cream in the middle, whipped cream on the top, and garnished with one Reese's mini peanut butter cup. This along with a cup of coffee, in which they leave the entire coffee container on the table for as many refills as desired, but I just kept it to one cup.
In all honesty, I was was little disappointed in the pie choice I selected. Overall it was too sweet, and maybe there's certain flavors, like peanut butter, that just weren't meant to be made into pies. Since I'm here for two more days, there's always a chance to make amends with their apple pie or coconot cream pie. As I was finishing my dessert, more people started to enter the place and I wasn't the only person there anymore. It turns out at Lambeau Field, the Green Bay Packers held a pep rally for their fans for the upcoming game against the Giants, and when it was over it seems some of them were coming to the diner to get something to warm up with. Little did anyone know the enemy was sitting in the diner with them, except for this one guy who kept looking at my table every few minutes. The waitress and the other patrons seemed to be familar with eachother, so perhaps this curious fan knew I was an outsider and didn't belong. I wasn't wearing any Giants clothing or did anything to make myself stick out, but he could tell something was wrong with me.
I must have been giving off a negative glow in his eyes...
I asked a few relatives, who I generally go to football games with, if they would be interested in joining me on this quest, but I guess the last minute planning of it all and the fact it was a total of thirty hours to be spent riding buses made it less appeasing, so I was off to go it alone. As mentioned in the 'Dea Sea Scrolls' blog, I haven't had a cold in a very long time. Well over six months I believe, maybe longer. With the prospect of riding buses for the next thirty hours, the last thing in the world I needed was to be sick. Not only would it be an inconveinance to me with limited access to bathrooms and tissues, but an inconveinance to other passengers as well if I start coughing or sneezing. So of course, the afternoon before I'm to depart, I start to feel like I'm coming down with something. My nose started to run, I felt feverish, weak, tired, so my first instinct was to take a nap to make it go away, which usually works. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to fall asleep, and I think the fact I wasn't able to take a nap made my body feel even sicker. That night I made sure I took NyQuil in hopes I could fight off this cold overnight, instead I woke up in the middle of the night with my shirt drenched in sweat and feeling terrible. What made it worse was I kept thinking that in a few hours I would have to get up and start my long journey.
Thoughts crossed my mind that maybe I should just cancel going, but even though I could probably resell the ticket and not lose money by terminating the hotel, or Motel 6, reservation early, at this point I couldn't get a refund on the lower-priced bus fare option I selected, so I had no choice to tough through it. I took DayQuil this time and packed my things to go. I was going to bring one carry on case and I needed to bring clothes, my laptop, and snacks for along the way to save money from vending machines. I wasn't able to fit as many items in the bag as I liked, so I simply ended up wearing the extra articles of clothing, in addition to my winter coat I was wearing to combat the predicted below twenty-degree weather Green Bay was forecasted to have. Even though New York was chilly, all this clothing on with a jacket, and carrying an annoyingly heavy bag had me sweating while still feeling feverish. The subway ride to New York's Port Authority Bus Terminal were terribly warm and overcrowded with straphangers coughing and sneezing their colds into the air as well. Luckily for me at this point, my cold was only to the extent of a runny nose, sore throat, and a slight fever.
I arrived at the Port Authority well in advance of the 10:00am departure time and lined up at my gate with other travelers. As usual, the Port Authority was filled up with seedy characters asking for money or simply sleeping on the floor. When it came time to board I was able to get a nice window seat and I studied my fellow riders as they entered the bus. A group of them were Syracuse University students heading back to school after winter break. The iternary for my ride was Binghamton, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Erie, Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Green Bay, with a few smaller stops in between. Most riders seemed normal, except for this one guy. On the surface there was nothing glaringly wrong with him, he didn't fit the usual physical profile of a terrorist or anything, but for some reason he looked nervous or perhaps that he had a very difficult morning. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he just seemed to stick out negetively amongst everyone else. Once the bus began its travel, the driver (as most bus drivers do) exherted his power by telling a group of the Syracuse University ladies to lower their voices so everyone could hear his important announcements of no smoking (including in the bathroom), no drinking alcohol, use headphones with all listening devices, turn cellphones off to vibrate, and keep calls brief as to not disturb the other passengers (I heard this speech about five times over the past two days).
I took a handful of napkins before leaving the Port Authority and they served me while during the early part of the trip. I tried to fall asleep, but the air was too stuffy in the bus and its hard to doze off when the person next to you has already dozed off with their legs spread wide open. As the bus made some of its early rest breaks or bus stops, I noticed the nervous fellow would take his carry on bag with him each time as he would exit the bus. Again, its not uncommon to be overprotective of personal belongings, so I didn't think much of it. In fact, one stop, while we were waiting to leave, another passenger was on the phone, and in a clear voice for all of us to hear, was telling someone on the other line how he has done prison stretches at Attica, Elmira, Sing-Sing, Greenhaven, which are some of New York State's most infamous correctional facilities. While the bus was nearly full and quiet while he was saying all this, it didn't faze him at all that just about everyone was listen into his conversation. In another phone conversation when the bus got moving again, he asked a friend to lend fifty-dollars to a woman who bore a child for him. So with characters like this just seats away, its not strange for someone to be protective of their bags.
It's also difficult to expect much when its comes to a toliet bowl inside a bathroom at a Greyhound bus station, but the toliets at Buffalo set the new time low-standard. Even a junkie wandering around the inside of the bathroom complained they were all disgusting. The handicapped stall was the only clean one, but the lock to the door was broken off, which made it quite useless. The rest of the stalls looked like they haven't been cleaned in a month, and whoever's job that is to clean them isn't getting paid enough. That aside, I made my connecting bus from Buffalo that took me to Cleveland, with another bus driver displaying anger for someone who left the ringer of their phone on. His warning was, "Don't test me". The Cleveland bathroom wasn't anything to look at either, but at least it wasn't as horrific as Buffalo, and one of the bathroom stalls was formally marked with ownership by the 'Westside' of Cleveland. At Cleveland, I was to get on a totally new bus and get a new driver to go to Chicago, as was the mysterious nervous-looking rider who seemed to be heading in the same exact direction I was. We were all lining up to get on the bus, the guy was a few spots ahead of me as the driver collected tickets, but when it was the guy's turn, it looked like he was having trouble. There was no yelling or anything, but I saw the guy's ticket laying on the floor for some reason, he looked upset, and the bus driver was telling another bus terminal worker to go call security. I gave my ticket to the driver and boarded the bus, the guy never made it on. I'm not sure why he wasn't allowed on the bus, but the time I first saw him twelve hours earlier, something just didn't seem right.
The bus going to Chicago wasn't as full, so I had an opportunity to lay down (crunched up that is) on both seats to finally catch some sleep. It was about a six hour ride from Cleveland to Chicago, and as I kept waking up and falling back asleep, I noticed it was snowing outside. The sleep must have done me some good because very slowly my cold symptons had gone away. By the time we arrived at the Chicago station, the snow had accumulated a few inches and my cold was basically gone. The scene inside the Chicago station could be quite intimidating. There's the same presence of seedy characters as in the New York Port Authority station, but there's also the additional threat of criminal-looking elements strolling around who look like they're seeking a victim in the early morning hours rather than waiting for a bus. There was technicaly a "security guard" there, but he looked like he might end up helping the bad guys instead. I had also been to this same Chicago station back in 2004, and it gave me the same unsettled feeling. I didn't dwell on it much as my new bus to Milwaukee was scheduled to leave shortly at 6:15am, but due to the snow, all bus schedules were cancelled, I was now stuck there. The entire station was filled with grumpy and tired passengers, and there was no bright light at the end of the tunnel as it looked like buses might not be running again for several hours. The fustraiting part was the snowfall was only a few inches, so there was no reason to stop the buses, unless more snow was in the forecast.
What was concerning me is I needed to be in Milwaukee to catch my final bus at 8:50am that was headed to Green Bay. I had hotel reservations for the afternoon and didn't need the pressure of worrying about scrambling around in the middle of the night in some town I didn't know of. What if I couldn't get a cab to the hotel from the station? What if the hotel cancelled my reservation for not showing up by a certain time and I was stuck out in the freezing Green Bay weather? What if for some reason I end up missing the game after all I had gone through already? All these thoughts crossed my mind, in addition to watching out for unsavory characters and hoping the buses would be back in action. Some of my worry was tranquilized by the annoucement that buses would be running again, but not by much as there was no affrimative time given when they would leave and which gate I needed to wait at. A few of us travelers headed towards Milwaukee banded together and formulated the best likelihoods of where we should wait. One of these travelers was a Filopino woman in her sixties. As the nervous guy a day before gave off a negative glow, she had a more positive glow for some reason. A bus terminal worker said gate thirteen was headed for Milwaukee and gate forteen was going to Minneapolis, so we lined up accordingly, but in addition to that there was a wildcard of gate number two being an express bus to Milwaukee as well. Nobody really could be sure, but I stuck with the line for gate thirteen, as it was really Friday the 13th.
Then all of a sudden around 8:05am, they call for the Minneapolis line and as they're boarding, I overhear the driver tell someone waiting on my line that he's also going to Milwaukee, and he's accepting the same 6:15am ticket I had. The Filopino lady was also going the same way, but I didn't see her anymore, so I thought she went to the "express" line at gate two. Anyways, I needed to get to Milwaukee, this driver was claiming to go to Milwaukee, so I got on that bus. The bus was quite crowded and I intially looked for a seat towards the back, but the only two seats I saw open was a hefty individual pouring onto a second seat, and then right there in the middle, the Filopino lady. It was an easy choice on which open seat to select. The bus pulled away from Chicago, and as we left I was able to get a nice view of it's famous Sears Tower, which is the tallest building in America. The lady, who is named Silvia, and I went over the clamity we experienced minutes earlier at the station and then got into discussing all sorts of topics. She was the type of person you hope you could get to sit next to on bus rides such as this as she had a treasure chest of stories about different places she's been and knowledge on different subject matters. I told her why I was headed to Green Bay and she surprised me by knowing a little about football. She talked about her life, I told her about my life, and before we knew it, the hour or so ride to Milwaukee was unfortunately complete. She had to stay on to get to Minneapolis, so I got off and she wished me luck for the game. It was too bad I wasn't on a stretch of road with her that lasted a few more hours.
The bus terminal at Milwaukee, which also serves as the Milwaukee Amtrak station, was unlike any of the bus terminals I had been at during this trip. It was large, it was modern, and most importantly, it was clean. There were no unsavory characters walking around or sleeping on the floor. The toilets inside the bathroom were absolutely spotless, and there was a janitor's office just feet away from the bathroom area who could give immediate attention. The bathroom actually had paper towels inside the paper towel dispenser, which is also something I didn't experience at any other bus stop station. The biggest surprise of the Milwaukee bathroom was that it had a bio-hazard waste unit against the wall, so in case a junkie does enter the bathroom to use a needle, they can dispose of it safely in the wall unit instead of throwing it out in the regular garbage or flushing it down the toliet. I was absolutely blown away by this bathroom in Milwaukee. It was a sterling example of what a public bathroom should look like, but now it was back to the business at hand. Since my bus left Chicago late, I missed the 8:50am to Green Bay, so I had to wait for the next bus to Green Bay leaving at 12:10pm. It was going to be about a three hour ride, and as long as the hotel wasn't as far from the station as it seemed on Google Maps, I was still in good shape. They lady at the counter said they would honor by 8:50am ticket, and they did, which let some further anxiety leave my body.
The person who sat next to me on this, my final bus ride of the journey, was a major downgrade from the Filopino lady, so I just leaned back and looked out the window as the bus drove through the rest of Wisconsin. Since snow fell the night before, there was nothing out the window but large pieces of empty land covered by snow. On occasion there would be a fireworks store or interesting anti-abortion billboard to look at, but most of the scenary was dull white snow laying on the ground. What made it more painful was there would be signs saying 120 miles to Green Bay, 113, 98, and it seemed like it was taking forever. My skin was crawling as the bus seemed to be driving slower than the posted sixty-five mile per hour speed limit, plus we had to stop off at these small towns called Appleton and Oskosh for only one or two people that made me want to smash my own head threw the window. By the time the bus was making its final destination to Green Bay, there was only about six of us passengers left. I know Green Bay isn't a big city, but I was expecting a little more than the shack of a bus station when we arrived. I saw three cabs lined up outside, wasting no time I darted out of the bus and into the first cab parked. Getting to the hotel was more important at the time than making an evaluation of the Green Bay Greyhound station bathroom.
The cab was a yellow mini-van style vehicle that was only a few years old, but the inside of it looked ravaged. The driver too looked like he's seen his better days. He was a frail looking guy, probably in his early fifties, with a ponytail and hunting vest that you would expect to see in the midwest, but he must have some breathing issues. He kept weasing and gasping for air, plus he kept leaning forward like he was trying to hold back a cough. It seemed like he might have emphysema or some sickness of that nature. There were a couple of times he would hold back a cough for some reason and his entire head would turn beat red. It prompted me to almost offer him one of the many napkins in my pockets from the "having a cold" phase of my trip, but he seemed to know what he was doing. As Google Maps said, the hotel was only about ten minutes away from the bus station, and since the driver was in bad physical shape and I was in a good mood that I finally arrived at the hotel, I gave him a generous five dollar tip. At the hotel, the lady working at the desk picked up I was from New York quite easily and told me her mother was from there, living in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Manhattan, but eventually moved out to Wisconsin. I was excited at the opportunity to have a shower for the first time in two days and to be able to lay down on bed, but before that, I needed to eat. I had basically been snacking on granola bars the whole way except for one ugly hotdog in Cleveland.
Near the place I'm staying at there's a KFC, a McDonald's(with a very old fashion sign), and a diner called Perkins. Not only is Perkins a diner, but it specializes in baking their own pies and cookies. When I arrived I was the only person in the place, the service was immediate and friendly. Though it was late afternoon, I picked the best looking item on the menu, the muffin french toast with sausage, eggs, and hash browns. All this with a raspberry ice-tea, which included free refills that came before I even asked. What stood out to me about the diner was that there were no ketchup bottles on any of the tables, maybe its not a midwest sort of thing. The food itself was great, and since they bake their pies fresh on the premesis, I couldn't leave without getting a slice. They had a number of choices that sounded good, but I wanted something I never tried before, so I selected the peanut butter silk. What is was basically is pie crust, a layer of chocolate frosting at the bottom, peanut butter ice cream in the middle, whipped cream on the top, and garnished with one Reese's mini peanut butter cup. This along with a cup of coffee, in which they leave the entire coffee container on the table for as many refills as desired, but I just kept it to one cup.
In all honesty, I was was little disappointed in the pie choice I selected. Overall it was too sweet, and maybe there's certain flavors, like peanut butter, that just weren't meant to be made into pies. Since I'm here for two more days, there's always a chance to make amends with their apple pie or coconot cream pie. As I was finishing my dessert, more people started to enter the place and I wasn't the only person there anymore. It turns out at Lambeau Field, the Green Bay Packers held a pep rally for their fans for the upcoming game against the Giants, and when it was over it seems some of them were coming to the diner to get something to warm up with. Little did anyone know the enemy was sitting in the diner with them, except for this one guy who kept looking at my table every few minutes. The waitress and the other patrons seemed to be familar with eachother, so perhaps this curious fan knew I was an outsider and didn't belong. I wasn't wearing any Giants clothing or did anything to make myself stick out, but he could tell something was wrong with me.
I must have been giving off a negative glow in his eyes...
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