Slow Ride

I mentioned my bus, the hulking soviet era beast, in my last entry, and I want to describe what it’s like to ride. It’s unlike any vehicle I’ve ever been in before. First impression is that it’s homemade, as the handholds look like melded water piping and the seats are inconsistently bolted to the floor. In fact the seats in the back seem placed randomly, far removed from their intended use. The batteries, half-exposed under a carpet cover, are under one of these seats. Bewilderingly, the exhaust pipe sits next to the batteries inside the vehicle; the exhaust has to exit a window in the back.

The 14 kilometer trip feels like a sailing on a sinking ship. Run by a crew of two, the driver and his assistant, the bus begins its journey with the assistant attaching the batteries to the engine (whoever’s sitting in that seat has to move their legs to give him room). As engine rumbles to life, the windows’ rattle and the exhaust pours into the back of the bus.

Once the bus hits the dirt road, every passing kilometer feels like a monumental achievement. It groans and protests up hills and the driver shuts off the engine as we rumble down them, ostensibly to save fuel. The bus tosses left and right on the uneven ground as if being hit by waves in the ocean. And throughout the trip the driver’s assistant runs back and forth, pouring water into the radiator access behind the back seat.

Luckily the bus has never broken down during the journey when I’ve been a passenger, *knock on wood*, although I’m pretty sure it’s come close. I have no idea for how long that bus has been making this trip. It’s a feat of mechanical engineering that it still does.

Here’s some footage of the bus I took a while back. I wish I had more but my camera was stolen.