Grenada. Grenville. The usual bus stop near the corner of Gladstone & Trenchville roads. Those cramped little minivans come and go almost all day. Some even have quirky bumper stickers on their windshields, perhaps to match the personality of their drivers. It was a typical Tuesday. I was on my way across the island to St. George's for whatever reason. As usual, the now nauseous beat of the city filled my head and I was looking forward to my escape to meet my friends. Unfortunately, that meant a full hour ride like no other. It was a white bus named Destiny that became my unwelcome chariot on my trek through the tropical jungle hills.

Climbing in, the only seat available was makeshift by a thin cushion in a gap between two other seats near a speaker pounding out the very noise I was attempting to escape. Someone's knee in my back provided additional support with searing pain from a dislocated vertebra to come later. Cramped in this traveling flea circus between Jabba-the-hut and the bearded woman, I quickly heated up to join the ranks of foul odors in humid heat that would make a Mona Monkey flee.

Glancing at the rotten teeth and mole spattered complexion of the troll-driver, I was eager to get this voyage through never-never land over with. After several honks of the horn and someone breaking wind, we were on our way with a screech of the tires and smell of exhaust fumes. The wheels continued to spin as the wind whipped the dreadlocks of the guy in front of me in my face. Dreadlocks, of course, are an excuse to not wash your hair for months. Regardless, we were on our way.

As usual, the driver flew around every bend with the audacity of a racecar driver high on marijuana. The overloaded van was typical of the greed ensued by the people on this particular island. The wheels skidded more on the hill tops from the added weight and lead foot of the driver who was eager to get to his destination to do it all again for a few bucks more on the way back. Looking around at my predicament, I will always find it amazing anyone could sleep in these conditions while the driver plays chicken at 50mph on narrow mountain roads, swerving often enough make a window seat a hazard area for anyone without a helmet. Today was no exception.

I dreamt of watching Pirates of the Caribbean with one eye open in anticipation of my early demise. As we bobbed and swayed, for no apparent reason, a fellow troll who sped by waved the driver down. No one got off and restrained like a lunatic in a straightjacket, we couldn't see what he was holding as he got out of the hell on wheels. He kicked the back tires; First the right, then the left. Perhaps it was one of those suicidal dogs he was wedging off the left tire before returning inside. It wasn't more than a sneeze and scratch from the polluted air flowing in my face before the journey continued with us non-the-wiser.

A short time later, another stop. He had a tire iron in his hand as I strained to see, probably causing myself permanent muscle damage. Kicking and turning once again, I could tell he was tightening the bolts on the wheels with special attention to the back left. My stomach tightened in response. I later learned these smog-spewing rust buckets were all left-hand drive vehicles. I suddenly found myself contemplating the decision to leave in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a by-chance ride from an empty bus and ticking off about two dozen passengers to squeeze my way out from the back of the pile. To risk one's life on every ride becomes as commonplace as brushing one's teeth... Well, in some cases at least.

With a spit and grunt of the driver, we were on our way again, meandering through snail-paced construction vehicles holding up traffic and spewing an A-bomb cloud of coal-black poison. Only 12 miles wide, I can't help but wonder if a raven had taken measure of this island. It was three quarters distance to my destination and my concerns began to fade. Suddenly, BAM! The bus screeches to a stop. Sparks fly. As we grab onto whatever is in front of us, I look out the corner of my eye to see a wheel bounce merrily down the road and over the hillside. A flash of vision surely came over us as we hoped not to tip over the hill ourselves or get hit by another crazed diver from behind. As we scurried out of the death trap, another scantly filled bus stopped by chance. It was a first come, first serve basis. I took a look behind. The axial was a mangled mess of metal with the driver scratching his head next to it, no doubt wondering how to continue on and still get paid. It was a bus named destiny that never made it to its destination.

Once settled in a second bus, we were almost on our way. Now I sat at ease thinking of the odds of repeating the same disaster. A crank of the transmission and we will be on our way once again. Suddenly to our surprise, we turned to see the first driver having run to us in urgency. Had someone left something behind? Had he wanted a ride himself? I wasn't too eager to know. With as much expectation as a child has during Christmas, he holds out a chapped hand and says, " You forgot to pay! "