Back in the Big F

On Friday I checked out of the Governors Inn in Sacramento and caught a Greyhound bus to Fresno.

The Sacramento bus station is no longer where it was in 1984, when I first came through here. Instead it has been moved up to Richards, on the north edge of the city, just a few blocks from the hotel where I was staying, and also right next to the new police station.

The bus station is shiny and new, with a pleasant waiting area and a decent snackbar and grill. I'd bought my ticket the night before on the web, and used the machine inside the station to print out my ticket, and well as a luggage tag for my backpack.

My bus was an express with only one stop, in Stockton. In 2014, the wifi is pretty good on Greyhound, and there was even a power outlet.

I can't imagine going a long distance on a bus like this, but for a few hours, I could even sink into work, despite the jostling of the highway.

I didn't even mind when, after our sole stop in Stockton, we ran into abysmal traffic on California State Highway 99. The section around Modesto is probably among the most miserable driving experiences in the nation right now. After crawling past Manteca, the driver announced on the intercom that we would be detouring all the way to I-5.

The scenery over on that side of the valley is more dramatic. The coastal hills are golden and nearly featureless, in a very appealing way.

The driver got lost a little in the valley, taking the wrong exit off I-5 near Los Banos. I could tell he was making a mistake while it was happening, and wondered why he was taking the road he did. Turns out he didn't know either, and he got back on I-5 until the next exit.

We finally got to Fresno about a half hour late. The bus station there is the same one from the 1980s.

It was still daylight. I walked out of the station with my backpack. I'd researched the local bus line that I was going to take, to get up to the Tower District.

I walked half a block in the sun, on the way to the bus stop in downtown Fresno. Then I said screw it and walked back partway to the bus station and went up to a cab.

Driver was a Mexican guy, middle age---longtime resident.

"You free?" He was.

I got in the cab.

"I'm going to Olive Street," I said. "Corner of Echo..."