In this excerpt of her new book, Greyhound: A Memoir, Joanna Pocock reflects on bus travel as a communal and environmentally friendly option over personal vehicles, one that, in a small way, defies an America that is designed for and prizes the privacy and freedom of cars and trucks above public transportation.
Greyhound buses feel like part of an overlooked ecosystem. One that uses less fuel and spews less CO2 into the air than individual cars. The space they create is a rare one: an environment where strangers are connected by the simple need to get somewhere. You can’t buy anything on a bus (like you can on a plane or train), you can’t upgrade either – you’re all in it together. As more and more public places become privatized, I feel there is a fragility to this sort of space. The Greyhound is more library than shopping mall, more community centre than curated retail space. In our post-Covid world, these vehicles also remind us of a before-time when we could sit maskless in our Greyhound bubbles, rubbing shoulders with strangers, safely breathing alongside each other without fear. They might yet become symbols for a way we once lived in each other’s presence.
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