Steve Dilbeck: Baby can I drive your bus
There is this odd bus hub for media staying up in Alps for mountain events. It is next to no venue, yet is the centerpiece of mountain travel.
You get on one bus (or in my case, two) to get to the Oulx hub and then wait in the freezing weather for another bus to take you where you really want to go. It’s the Olympics.
The other night upon my arrival at Oulx, I was directed to a bus No.4, which is actually in bay No.10. It’s the Olympics.
But when I got there, the bus was off and the door close. The transportation guy sees me standing outside the bus a few minutes, comes over and raps on the bus.
The driver is sleeping in the back.
He opens the door, takes his seat and bends over, head down on folded arms resting on the steering wheel.
Before I sit down, he’s snoring. I look at the digital clock on the bus and it says 11:50 p.m. I figure the bus must be scheduled to leave at midnight and I’ll let him go until then.
A few minutes before the bewitching hour, he wakes up, turns on the bus, the head lights, folds his arms across his chest … and in moments his head is bowed and he’s asleep again.
I figure this should be an interesting mountain drive. He wakes up at midnight and drives like he’d just taken the greatest power nap of all time.
Drops me off in Cesana, where I now have to wait an hour and half for the next bus, or in this case, van. This is the same van that never showed up the night I hiked up 4½ miles.
This time he not only shows up, he shows up 40 minutes early. The local transportation guy tried to convince him to take me and five others now getting snowed upon, up the mountain and then come back for his schedule run.
He’ll have none of it. He parks the van, turns on a light and reads a book. For 35 minutes, just sits there and reads his book.
At the scheduled time, he starts the van and we’re finally sliding up the mountain.
It’s the Olympics.
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