Years ago a wiseman once stated, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” However, my trek of nearly 2,200 miles would begin with a thirty hour, dirty bus ride.

After a wonderful late evening meal with my gracious hosts, Sandra and her husband Eric, I arrived at the Tulsa Greyhound station in time for the 3:40 AM bus to Dallas. While I was on time, the bus was unfortunately fifty minutes late.

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Boarding the crowded bus, it instantly became apparent that nearly the entire city of Tulsa decided that it was a good day to flee to Texas. The only available seat was in the back next to the odoriferous toilet. Gagging on the fumes wafting from the toilet, I did my best to sleep, while enjoying the scenic, barren prairie wonders of Oklahoma. Eventually I had to brave the confines of the restroom. Upon opening the door to this tiny cubicle, I noticed the floor and walls were wet with urine. I quickly backed out of there, wrapped some plastic grocery bags over my shoes and re-entered the stall to do my business.

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Greyhound’s new motto: Leave the driving to us, while you enjoy our combination toilet and indoor swimming pool.

I reached Dallas just in time to transfer to the bus which would would take me all the way to Atlanta. Passing through several small northeastern Texas towns was an interesting cultural experience. Each town had an abundance of BBQ joints, gun shops, strip clubs, firework stands, liquor stores, check cashing and payday loan places, storefront Baptist churches, and several bail bond shops on every city block. From this observation I concluded two things:
1. The favorite pastime in Texas was going to jail and getting bailed out.
2. Texans have taken sinning to a whole new level: Sin all week, go to jail, and get bailed in time to attend church on Sunday. Or to put it simply, it’s an endless cycle of sin, repent and then repeat the sins.

Soon after sunset my bleary eyes were assaulted by huge, flashing neon signs announcing, “The Loosest Slots in Louisiana.” I had finally traded the sins of Texas, for Louisiana’s decadent pleasures. This was too much for my exhausted mind and body to handle, so I slept through the rest of the state.

Waking up at the next stop, I found myself in Jackson, Mississippi. There was not much happening in Jackson on a Tuesday night. The bus stop was sandwiched between a Fast, Easy Pizza shop and an adult store named, X-Mart. A bright flashing neon sign at X-Mart announced, “Y’all cum again!” It was Southern hospitality at it’s finest. The best thing about Jackson was that the bus left there in ten minutes.

Around 3 AM, we rolled into Birmingham, Alabama for an one hour layover and a new driver. After subsisting solely on various sawdust bars for the past 24 hours, I made the decision to flirt with death. I ordered a greasy Greyhound double cheeseburger. Surprisingly it was a good burger. Amazingly, I managed to survive the experience.

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Shortly after sunrise we made it to the Peach Tree state. No peaches were in sight, but I was happy to be almost to Atlanta. Nothing notable happened in Atlanta. Soon I was on my final bus to Gainseville, where my friend Tom would pick me up and drive me to the trail. I was looking forward to hitting the trail. The first thing I planned to do, was to find a mud puddle to roll in to clean off thirty hours of bus grim and stench.