When the National Socialist Movement announced that our annual national meeting was going to be held in Frankfort, Kentucky, I immediately began to wonder how I was going to get there. I didn't want to deal with the high cost and aggravations associated with air travel and Frankfort was certainly too far to drive. Gasoline was approaching $4.00/gallon and would also be cost prohibitive. I finally decided on the Greyhound Bus.
Using the internet and my credit card, I purchased a round trip ticket from Phoenix, Arizona to Frankfort, Kentucky. My fare was only $220. I was pleased with this price and all I had to do, at this point, was pack and wait for my departure date.
On Tuesday, April 18, 2012, I arrived at the bus terminal in Phoenix, AZ, checked my bag and boarded the bus. I was on my way to Kentucky. This trip would take two full days with only a few stops, including three transfers, along the way.
The bus that departed Phoenix would conclude its' route in St. Louis, Missouri. I would be switching buses in Oklahoma City. My bus was full. Many of my "fellow passengers" were Negroes. I soon learned that bus travel in no way, shape or form resembled air travel. I soon discovered that an entirely different and often unpleasant class of people ride the bus.
I learned that having so much "diversity" sitting behind me was not a good thing. I had to constantly remain alert of my surroundings. I never let my cameras or backpack out of my sight. The bus driver, Eddie, had to constantly remind the black passengers to turn down their rap music, refrain from using profanities and not disturb the other passengers. Eddie had to do this every hour or two. I was under the impression that the Negroes thought the rules of conduct did not apply to them.
Knowing that I was going to be on the road for a couple of days, I prepared for that reality. I packed several 32 oz. bottles of Powerade and a large zip lock bag containing granola bars, crackers and beef jerky in my carry on bag. I also brought enough cash to buy a couple of sandwiches. It became obvious to me by the time we got through the Texas Panhandle that my fellow non-white passengers did not come prepared, at all.
Our bus made a rest stop in Sallisaw, Oklahoma and I purchased a box of chicken nuggets. I returned to the bus and ate them without incident. Not long after, one of the Negroes behind me introduced himself to me as "Charles". I immediately thought of a colorful character from Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Charles didn't really want to be my friend. He was sizing me up. Prior to the next rest stop, Charles was asking me for money. Being economically challenged myself, I could not afford to feed everyone on the bus.
I was certainly glad when I reached Oklahoma City, parted company with the annoying Negro Charles and boarded my next bus, which was bound for Memphis, Tennessee. This bus was newer, had electrical outlets and free internet. This was certainly a step up. I removed my laptop from my backpack and went online. I spent quite a bit of time chatting with ST Thora Jaeger, who was watching my home and dogs while I was on the road. I also took this time to download and edit photographs from my camera.
I got off the bus in Memphis and had a couple of hours to kill before the bus bound for Nashville was scheduled to depart. When it came close to my departure time, I went to the gate and got in line. A rather heavy fellow wearing bib overalls was there with a very large box that emitted an unpleasant odor. I told the woman behind me that whatever was in that box was probably going to hatch and run loose on the bus. I thought we would have to kill it like on some Alien movie with Sigourney Weaver (Ellen Ripley). Everybody around me laughed.
By departure time, there was about 50 people in line. Many of them were very tired looking Blacks. The bus did not come and no announcements were ever made as to the status of the bus. There was not one White employee at the Memphis terminal. Many of the passengers were becoming visibly agitated. After nearly an hour (behind schedule), I went to the ticket counter and learned that the bus broke down and would be late. It looked to me that the Negroes in line behind me were on the verge of "chimping out". Finally, after waiting over 90 minutes, the bus arrived and I boarded. I was on my way to Nashville, then on to Louisville, Kentucky.
My final transfer was in Louisville. There were only three passengers on the bus to Frankfort, which was less than an hour away. My final stop was at the Walmart in Frankfort. In the transnational corporation controlled world, all roads lead to Walmart.
On my return trip home, I traveled the southern route through Texas. Once again, the various drivers had to constantly remind the annoying Negroes to turn their rap music down and not disturb the other passengers. I was also frequently annoyed by my fellow passengers begging for money. Keep in mind, I'm a low income person that was taking the bus to avoid the high cost of air travel. I honestly thought that the bus driver should throw these beggars off the bus. Buses and bus stations are magnets for scummy parasites. When I arrived in El Paso, Texas, another beggar approached me. Soon after, a Mexican tried to sell me a fake gold chain for $24. The black security guard at the terminal milled about, doing nothing resembling his job.
I'm finally on Interstate 10 passing through New Mexico. I only have a few hours left to go. The bus stopped at a Border Patrol check point and agents boarded the bus and check passengers, while a canine checked the outside of the coach. To my surprise, nobody tried to run away.
I learned that bus travel is economical, but very challenging to my patience. I had to exercise restraint on multiple occasions. I lost count of how many times I wanted to. . . Well, you fill in that part. Video
“I'm a 9th generation American and patriot (1737). My forefathers served in the Pennsylvania Militia. On June 27, 1781, they were called to perform a tour of duty. I'm still protecting freedom and securing the border, 275 years later.” --Harry L Hughes III
Sounds like when I rode the bus as a fifteen year old kid. Not a fun experience. Luckily, there was a forty-something year old man who took it upon himself to help (and watch over) me for most of the trip.
ReplyDeleteA few years later, traveling on the bus in an Army uniform, I had quite a few less issues.
That was almost 20 years ago, though.
AP
How was the security? I've been contemplating taking a bus a thousand miles or so to check out some property but if they search you when you get on then I'll just forget it and drive. I'll never travel without a firearm.
ReplyDeleteSecurity was nothing like the airport. There are no TSA agents at the bus terminals. According to the Greyhound website, weapons are prohibited and bags are subject to search. Only once, did I see a security guard search an unattended bag.
ReplyDelete