Do the math! So, 3300 miles in 7 days = 471.43 miles per day, divided by an average speed of 55 mph, that comes to 8.57 hours driving time each day. Eight-hour sleep, one hour each of lunch and dinner, and four 20-minute restroom breaks add up to 19.9 hours. It wouldn’t be bad to have 4.1 hours of destination sightseeing time.
David the tour guide knew better, that half of the 4.1 hours
will be used up waiting for strayed passengers at every stop. He began when the bus was cutting through the
desert on I-15. He assured us that all
of the sights indicated on the glossy colorful flyer will be delivered, but we
should not harbor any delusions of fun or adventure for the nominal price we
paid. For a real vacation, he said, we
should hire private escorts. A few days
later, in a moment of repose, he disclosed that this year alone he had lead
this tour six times.
Both he and the driver were sturdy men in physique and in
demeanor. Both looked like Chinese drill
sergeants or athletic coaches. In his
role, David spoke distinctly with deliberate suppressed tone, so that his every
word would not need to be repeated. In
this partnership, Kevin the driver, was seen and not heard, until Mr. Leung,
the 80 year old solo traveler, failed to board the bus on time at a Yellowstone
stop. Kevin charged at Mr. Leung like a
bulldog. Before I could feel bad for the
old guy, he hollered back about Kevin’s lack of service attitude. 
As David prepared us that a trip is not necessarily a
vacation, we listened in a hush.
From Nevada into Utah, we adapted to filing out every two hours to use
the restroom at fill-up stations. Before
long, everyone realized that even with a strong bladder, urination was priority
and focal over all other activities on this trip.
A good strategy of beating others to the stalls when
executed with good luck meant added minutes to snapping photographs or gift shop
time. How the tall young woman
with pretty long hair always managed to reach the install before most of us was a
mystery at first. Her tactic was to slip
sideway through the bus aisle before folks even got up from our seats—as
simple as that. The motivation was
practical rather than malicious, but an unspoken knowingness was later
developed among female passengers to block this young woman from sprinting
ahead. She also had a pattern of holding up a
stall as she pleased, with no regard for the one-minute or less etiquette
silently in effect due to the long line.
After the initial rhythm of McDonald’s and Chinese buffets,
we abandoned all hope of fine dining. We ate to abate hunger. Although the bus drove by no shortage of
other choices, we were in the grip of the tour guide, whom we owed a mandatory
tip. One evening,
we were told to stock up on Cup-of-Noodles, because there will be no cheap eats
ahead. I had only hoped the Red Lion
Hotel in Denver offered hot water, when a small miracle appeared! There was a shiny and glorious bar in the
lobby. There were people eating and drinking!
My sister in law and I enjoyed cocktails and quesadillas in
desperate joy. 
The bus kept going with a mission, which was to hit all the
places on the brochure. Outside Motel
Super 8, Julie took a smoke. Around the
corner, under a well-lit Arby’s sign, two local young men loitered into the
night. It was Mid-Autumn; the roundest
moon hung brightly above the desert town of Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Mount Rushmore was good, but did not measure up to IMAX or
Disneyland’s Circle Vision. Ironically,
the presidents’ faces looked more youthful, having been buffed by the
weather through time.
Jellystone Park was just huge with lots of pine
trees. I was happy to see plenty of bisons,
elks, and Yogi Bears. The surprise of the
trip was the Grand Teton Mountains.
These mountains were majestic to the truest meaning of the word. Their edgy crispy jagged ginormous presence
matched my vision of Creation, such that I had never felt before looking at any
mountains from all of my travels. No
photo, film, or even IMAX could capture the breath and span of these grand
mountains seen live.
If dining was McDonald’s and Chinese, if sleeping was 3-star
inns, if sightseeing was snapping a photo, why did we take this trip? For seventeen Filipinos, it was a reunion
outing. Thanks to this group who came on
every day with smiles and greetings, and who kept up the notion that they were
nevertheless on "vacation."
For a trio whom the Filipinos called "Spice Girls," it was
their own road party. Their glamour
poses and their jackets and leggings in fluorescent yellow and pink brightened
our days. For the many Overseas Chinese
visitors who slept off miles and miles of desert, their payoff was the last
stop--the outlet stores. For Mr. Leung, it
was better to see more of America than watching life on television. For David and Kevin, it was business. I expected nothing and experienced all of the
above—loved it.
