On the 4th of July, I drove my mother and her husband from Madison, WI to their Cincinnati home. Mom's hubby wasn't thrilled that I'd spend a day driving them back in their car, but I insisted. I let him relieve me for a couple of segments; his highway driving was OK, but his driving on city streets made me nervous. Mom, who is definitely through being behind the wheel, appreciated my driving. Arrived in time to have supper, shower, change clothes and watch a bit of Yankee Doodle Dandy before turning back to Madison.
This was my final foreseeable Cincinnati trip. In a few weeks, Mom and her husband are moving to a retirement complex near me. (Little brother is driving them up.) Over the last few years, I have traveled the Cardinal enough that some of the crew recognize me. I usually set up my laptop in the cafe-diner, put in a few hours of work on the CHI-IND segment and head to the coach for a couple hours of sleep IND-CIN; I do the reverse on the way back.
With last week's storms crippling WV's infrastructure, the Cardinal wasn't running. As I write one week later, it's still not running. So back to the world of long distance buses, something I hadn't experienced since my last year of college, after Jimmy Carter took away the Floridian.
Megabus runs a bus from Cincinnati at 1:25 AM, arriving Chicago 6:20 AM, but it only runs F, Sa, Su and M. Greyhound has a 12:30 AM departure, arriving Chicago 7:40 AM. The difference in running time: Greyhound's long layover in Indianapolis and a couple extra minor stops.
So it's off to the Cincinnati Greyhound station, on the east edge of downtown, next to a big hole in the ground destined to be a casino. It's a long rectangular building with bus bays on either side, restrooms and snack shop at the front and ticket counter in the back. Floors have a day's worth of grime, the lighting is harsh, and Greyhound has followed the practice of airports in having a television blaring CNN. No schedules or gate assignments are posted; you ask at the ticket counter or wait for announcements over the PA system.
(By contrast, on the west side of downtown lies Cincinnati Union Terminal in its art-deco glory. Amtrak passengers walk through the quiet, dimmed great hall, which held crowds of museum-goers during the day, and into the beautiful Amtrak waiting room, once the men's lounge. It's like entering a cathedral.)
The bus boards, the driver runs through the usual announcements as we head for I-74. It's one of the older white coaches, with none of the frills of the blue "express" buses. Upholstery is stained and torn, and I search for a seat with an operable recliner. Seat pitch is tight, and the footrests in either up or down position keep me from stretching out my legs. On the morning of the 5th of July, its not terribly crowded, and I have a pair of seats to myself. At least the air conditioning works, and cigarette smoke is a thing of the past.
As we approach Indianapolis, the bus driver runs through more announcements regarding connections. This bus runs through to Chicago, but it must be vacated during the layover between 2:30 and 4:00 in the morning. Indianapolis Amtrak/Greyhound station is the south side of Union Station's elevated track structure. Again, a TV blares CNN near the Greyhound bays. The wooden benches taken from Union Station and then left to deteriorate have been replaced by generic airport-style seats. It's a practical adaptation of an existing structure into an intermodal station, although it has none of the grace of Union Station's Richardsonian headhouse to the north of the trainshed. Maintenance seems to be at a minimum, however, and nobody has thought to scrub several years of pigeon droppings off the sidewalks outside. There's no air conditioning.
With an hour and a half to kill, I walk kitty-corner to the White Castle to get my slider fix. Now for something totally unexpected: a friendly, cheerful person behind the counter, probably the shift manager. I give my real first name, an unusual one, when asked, and she's intrigued, repeating it over and over until my order is ready. I find a seat and eat my sliders, listening to her cheerful banter with customers and co-workers.
Back outside, I decide to risk a walk in the neighborhood. The Crowne Plaza takes up the northern part of the track structure and trainshed, as well as the Union Station headhouse. I couldn't see how the headhouse is being presently used. Walking up Illinois Ave., someone across the street asks for either a light or the time. I wasn't about to ask for clarification, and I step up my pace to to follow 50 feet behind a man in a suit, as he walks north, then east, then south, and finally into the entrance of the Omni Severin Hotel. Hotel security, making a periodic walk around around the block.
Back in the station, I sit down and discreetly monitor a shabby man having a one-sided conversation with an Amish mother with two sleepy kids. I pass by them a couple of times, looking for any signs of discomfort from her, but it looks like he hasn't crossed any boundaries.
My bus is called, and I reboard. A couple of boys are playing electronic games with audible noises, but just before I had enough of it, they quieted down. I must have slept, because I don't recall the stop in Lafayette.
Chicago's Greyhound station is a bit more graceful and a lot cleaner than those in Indianapolis and Cincinnati. It's only a couple of blocks from Union Station. I catch breakfast at a Dunkin Donuts and take a walk down to Roosevelt Road, something I've never done in 30 years of traveling through Chicago. Good views of incoming and outgoing Amtrak and Metra trains, and also a slow parade of Metra trains going through the wash rack on their way to the coach yard. Not enough time to check out La Salle St. Station or the Electric lines.
Megabus boards on Clinton Street, a block south of Union Station. The double-decker is clean, seat pitch is slightly more generous, and there are no footrests to get in the way. Electrical outlets and wi-fi are available, although I didn't bring my laptop for this trip. At least one table was on the lower level. Again, not very many people on this trip back to Madison.
This was my final foreseeable Cincinnati trip. In a few weeks, Mom and her husband are moving to a retirement complex near me. (Little brother is driving them up.) Over the last few years, I have traveled the Cardinal enough that some of the crew recognize me. I usually set up my laptop in the cafe-diner, put in a few hours of work on the CHI-IND segment and head to the coach for a couple hours of sleep IND-CIN; I do the reverse on the way back.
With last week's storms crippling WV's infrastructure, the Cardinal wasn't running. As I write one week later, it's still not running. So back to the world of long distance buses, something I hadn't experienced since my last year of college, after Jimmy Carter took away the Floridian.
Megabus runs a bus from Cincinnati at 1:25 AM, arriving Chicago 6:20 AM, but it only runs F, Sa, Su and M. Greyhound has a 12:30 AM departure, arriving Chicago 7:40 AM. The difference in running time: Greyhound's long layover in Indianapolis and a couple extra minor stops.
So it's off to the Cincinnati Greyhound station, on the east edge of downtown, next to a big hole in the ground destined to be a casino. It's a long rectangular building with bus bays on either side, restrooms and snack shop at the front and ticket counter in the back. Floors have a day's worth of grime, the lighting is harsh, and Greyhound has followed the practice of airports in having a television blaring CNN. No schedules or gate assignments are posted; you ask at the ticket counter or wait for announcements over the PA system.
(By contrast, on the west side of downtown lies Cincinnati Union Terminal in its art-deco glory. Amtrak passengers walk through the quiet, dimmed great hall, which held crowds of museum-goers during the day, and into the beautiful Amtrak waiting room, once the men's lounge. It's like entering a cathedral.)
The bus boards, the driver runs through the usual announcements as we head for I-74. It's one of the older white coaches, with none of the frills of the blue "express" buses. Upholstery is stained and torn, and I search for a seat with an operable recliner. Seat pitch is tight, and the footrests in either up or down position keep me from stretching out my legs. On the morning of the 5th of July, its not terribly crowded, and I have a pair of seats to myself. At least the air conditioning works, and cigarette smoke is a thing of the past.
As we approach Indianapolis, the bus driver runs through more announcements regarding connections. This bus runs through to Chicago, but it must be vacated during the layover between 2:30 and 4:00 in the morning. Indianapolis Amtrak/Greyhound station is the south side of Union Station's elevated track structure. Again, a TV blares CNN near the Greyhound bays. The wooden benches taken from Union Station and then left to deteriorate have been replaced by generic airport-style seats. It's a practical adaptation of an existing structure into an intermodal station, although it has none of the grace of Union Station's Richardsonian headhouse to the north of the trainshed. Maintenance seems to be at a minimum, however, and nobody has thought to scrub several years of pigeon droppings off the sidewalks outside. There's no air conditioning.
With an hour and a half to kill, I walk kitty-corner to the White Castle to get my slider fix. Now for something totally unexpected: a friendly, cheerful person behind the counter, probably the shift manager. I give my real first name, an unusual one, when asked, and she's intrigued, repeating it over and over until my order is ready. I find a seat and eat my sliders, listening to her cheerful banter with customers and co-workers.
Back outside, I decide to risk a walk in the neighborhood. The Crowne Plaza takes up the northern part of the track structure and trainshed, as well as the Union Station headhouse. I couldn't see how the headhouse is being presently used. Walking up Illinois Ave., someone across the street asks for either a light or the time. I wasn't about to ask for clarification, and I step up my pace to to follow 50 feet behind a man in a suit, as he walks north, then east, then south, and finally into the entrance of the Omni Severin Hotel. Hotel security, making a periodic walk around around the block.
Back in the station, I sit down and discreetly monitor a shabby man having a one-sided conversation with an Amish mother with two sleepy kids. I pass by them a couple of times, looking for any signs of discomfort from her, but it looks like he hasn't crossed any boundaries.
My bus is called, and I reboard. A couple of boys are playing electronic games with audible noises, but just before I had enough of it, they quieted down. I must have slept, because I don't recall the stop in Lafayette.
Chicago's Greyhound station is a bit more graceful and a lot cleaner than those in Indianapolis and Cincinnati. It's only a couple of blocks from Union Station. I catch breakfast at a Dunkin Donuts and take a walk down to Roosevelt Road, something I've never done in 30 years of traveling through Chicago. Good views of incoming and outgoing Amtrak and Metra trains, and also a slow parade of Metra trains going through the wash rack on their way to the coach yard. Not enough time to check out La Salle St. Station or the Electric lines.
Megabus boards on Clinton Street, a block south of Union Station. The double-decker is clean, seat pitch is slightly more generous, and there are no footrests to get in the way. Electrical outlets and wi-fi are available, although I didn't bring my laptop for this trip. At least one table was on the lower level. Again, not very many people on this trip back to Madison.
