Bus-ted?

One thing that generally comes with moving is the learning of a new route to work. For those of us who commute by transit, that’s learning a new bus route.

Of the very few things I’m missing about the old place (along with being mere steps from Tatlows, the Naam and the Flying Tiger) is the fact that we were on a pretty major transit crossing of routes. The buses there were such that we could get to and from downtown – without transferring – on 6 major bus routes, all going slightly different ways.

We didn’t really bother learning when exactly the buses were showing up, because we knew there would always be another one coming within 5 or 6 minutes.

That abundance of transit options has now been reduced to one. The formidable #17.

In the mornings it really isn’t a problem, since we have a pretty good handle on when it comes by (every 10 minutes on the 7’s).

Going home is an entirely different matter.

Not only is the closest downtown stop a good 3 block walk for each of us (instead of the 1/2 block or directly outside options we had before), but we seem to be experts at showing up exactly when the latest bus home for us is pulling away – meaning a 10-15 minute wait in not entirely pleasant weather for the next one.

We went through the same song and dance again today, and stood outside in the cold as we watched The #17 pull away when we were too far to catch it, and hung around waiting for the next one.

Finally another bus came by, and Neil and I walked up to get on it.

And somehow broke the time-space-continuum.

We both saw the #17 turn the corner.

We both watched it pull up to the stop.

We both walked up to the bus and got on.

Then about halfway through the ride, realized we were on the #4.

Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot?

We have no idea where the hell our brains/that bus went, but somehow we managed to get on the wrong bus. I’m assuming it pulled up to the stop around the same time as the #17 and we just walked up to the wrong one – but that’s a bit boneheaded, even for us.

We didn’t even realize it right away, since all the buses from that stop take the same path out of town, so it was really 2/3 of the way through the ride that we clued in we were going the wrong way.

Dude in red toque, standing toward the front of the bus: I’m glad you got a snicker out of our brainfart. If I were you, I’d have laughed at me too.

Anyhow, it wasn’t completely tragic, since the #4 happens to stop about 5 blocks from our place (and across the street from our favourite butcher, helloooo dinner), but I suppose that’s our sign to actually learn a little more about our new chauffeured coach and make more of an effort to get on the right bus from now on.

It’s either that, or invest in some far more comfortable shoes to stand and wait in, then endure the 5+ block hike.