I'm of course lying, as I wouldn't be celebrating that anniversary under any circumstances, and don't have the money to take a bus trip for the fun of it. My girlfriend and I had planned on visiting her family in Georgia for some time now and it was purely coincidental that the Falcons had clinched the top seed the weekend before. It's a good thing the Bears clinched a first round bye as well. I spent the last playoff trips watching them in Wisconsin, and was not about to spend this year watching them in Georgia.
Anyway, smooth sailing up until our first stop in Indianapolis at about 3:30 in the morning (we left Chicago at 11:00 PM, and lost an hour when we arrived in Indiana).
Little known fact about Indianapolis: the city is composed entirely of Lucas Oil Stadium. There's seriously nothing else there besides a couple bars and a rubber stamp factory. I was hoping to spot Marvin Harrison incognito sipping from a brown paper bag on a park bench somewhere -- but no such luck.
I slept the next few hours and luckily woke up as we approached Louisville. Louisville may be the most slept on American city, especially during the night. The downtown area sits right on the Ohio River and is lit up at night and I must say, looks spectacular.
I also spotted the KFC Yum! Center, which excited me greatly to see in person. Just a few days before I was watching the always entertaining college basketball rivalry, Kentucky versus Louisville. Louisville was the home team playing at the KFC Yum! Center, a venue I hadn't heard of because it just opened this year. Not only did the name throw me off, but Louisville's student section spent the better part of the first half with KFC buckets on their heads banging at the sides of them. I was convinced I'd been zapped into some alternate reality hell-bent on emphasizing every Southern stereotype that's existed since the mid-1800s. That student section was real, and the stadium was too, as I'd now found out.
If Louisville was the high point of the trip, then what shortly followed was most definitely the low point. We'd stopped in Louisville, got out and stretched for a few minutes and immediately took our seats back on the bus. Bad decision that didn't seem so bad at the time.
Turns out that a drunk guy who'd been making his rounds around the bus since Chicago and making semi-coherent comments under his breath decided to sit behind us. I'd recently layed my bag containing the laptop I'm typing on, my iPod, and a couple books and DVDs under my seat. Bad decision that didn't seem so bad at the time.
I heard the sound again and put two and two together. The guy behind us was vomiting -- right on the floor. I reached for the bag first, inspected it and managed so save it from damage. My girlfriend kicked her legs up to the fetal position and remained that way for quite some time.
Even though she was directly in the line of fire, I had no sympathy. She wanted the window seat. One thing that any guy in a relationship knows is that under no circumstances whatsoever will you be riding in the window seat for a prolonged trip. Well, sometimes situations like this one arise, and that window seat with the great view isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I went out to notify our bus driver of the accident. He was a towering presence. Probably 6'2 to 6'4, 250 pounds or so. He had an outline of Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising their fists on the 1968 Olympic podium tattooed on his inner arm.
"Excuse me Tommie," I said. "A man is throwing up on the bus."
"My bus?"
"Yes."
"Ah hell no."
We made our way out to the bus and I realized I'd just called him Tommie. I'm sure he didn't appreciate that. The guilty party had just stepped off the bus with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. He'd apparently tried to throw up in that and failed miserably. The bus driver knew immediately he was the guy.
"Hey Chief, what happened? Too much to drink?"
"Me? Nope. Just ate something funny."
You should have seen my face.
The bus driver summoned one of the station workers. He looked young, carried a mop, wore some cheap glasses, and was not thrilled about his job. Evidently, he was not accustomed to cleaning up vomit at six in the morning.
"They don't pay me enough for this shit," he said. He didn't have to tell me twice.
After the young station worker mopped the floor, the bus driver sprayed some Lysol and we were off shortly thereafter.
Next stop was Nashville. I also spent much of this time sleeping. I did manage to finish Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut during this leg of the trip. I wouldn't recommend anyone read a book about time travel while traveling on a trip you're sure to lose track of time on.
When we reached the Nashville bus station I encountered three Redskins fans. This was the most depressed three-some I'd ever seen, and "depressed" and "three-some" don't often find themselves in the same sentence. They were from Richmond, Virginia and took great pride in the franchise. It's amazing how a bad season can take the life out of some people, or at least compound the stress they're already living with.
"We only have one person getting off in Manchester, so we'll only be here for five minutes," the driver said. "If you steal from the store or buy alcohol, you will become a resident of Manchester, Tennessee."
Everyone laughed.
Two people weren't laughing six minutes later. The bus driver began to take off and a lone voice in the back shouted, "We still got two people in the store."
"They will now be residents of Manchester, Tennessee," the bus driver responded.
If it wasn't for a particularly difficult left turn, that required the driver to wait until a few cars passed, the two stragglers would have been stranded in Manchester, Tennessee, six months until Bonnaroo.
"Y'all owe we the name of your first born child," the lone voice said to the couple as they got back on.
I've now been in Marietta, fifteen miles outside of Atlanta, for two and a half days and have seen one article of Falcons clothing. I've also seen one article of Bulls clothing. This is why I couldn't live in a transplant town. No collective sports identity, excitement, or do-or-die attitude come playoff time. This is the city the NFC Championship will go through.
All this drama and the playoffs haven't even started yet. Much like our bus trip, we have no idea what we're in store for in a conference that is wide open.
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