The interior was not quite dim, but hardly as bright as outside. The top row of windows had been frosted or something; light came in, which was nice, but we couldn’t see out. I was relieved to see that everything was clean and that the seats, if worn, looked comfortable enough. The air conditioner seemed to work and that was a blessing.
While not apparent from outside, the back end of the vehicle had been extensively modified. On the driver’s side was a door with the standard international symbol for a toilet. I hate them, but am always glad they’re there when I need one.
A second, unlabelled, door was at the very end of the aisle, facing the front of the bus. It appeared to open into a small compartment of some sort. A third door was on the curb side, just about where the rear exit doors would be. This one bore the stylized symbol of a wire coat hanger.
There had already been some people on the bus when our lot got on, but there was enough room for everybody. The driver closed the front door, then turned to face us. I could see his forefinger move back and forth as he counted us one last time.
“Anybody up for a last-minute change of heart?” he asked. We looked at each other. Not likely!
He looked at us for a few seconds, then flatly announced, “We’ll be about half an hour to the first drop-off.”
He obviously wasn’t one for excess chatter.
With that, he turned and pulled a heavy curtain across the front of the bus, blocking any view we might have had out the windshield.
+
“There’s no chance to study the ground in advance or cache stuff,” Erin had said. “Everybody’s on an equal footing.”
+
The bus started up, paused, then sped up sharply as if turning into traffic.
I was excited, but wasn’t sure of Sun-Chaser etiquette and, as a first-time newb, figured I should keep quiet until somebody else said something. It turned into a long wait and I spent my time examining my fellow participants.
Most were fairly young, in their 20s or 30s. There were some middle-aged people and the one very old woman. There were a few more men than women. All of them looked fit enough and most had the kind of tan you don’t get in a booth. Clothes were uniformly light and casual — except for footwear. There were no cheap shoes on the bus, not that I could see. I wiggled my toes in my own special Inov-8s and smiled inwardly.
The bus slowed, turned, then drove on at a somewhat lessened speed. After a while, it turned again. We were moving slower now; the road seemed to have more curves in it and I could hear the crunch of gravel under our tires. A slight smell of dust became apparent.
I wondered how we decided who got out where. Nobody had said so far and I’d been saving my questions for Erin.
The road became bumpier, less comfortable for us. One of the other women gave a slight shriek as the bus hit a fair bump. Everyone began holding on tight to whatever they could.
Maybe twenty minutes after that, the bus ground slowly to a halt. I could hear the parking brake being engaged, then the driver swept his way through the curtain. I caught a momentary glimpse of conifers and dirt road ahead.
“OK, who’s first?” he asked. I realized that there wasn’t a protocol. We looked back and forth at each other, nobody jumping up to volunteer.
“The routes are all about the same length and difficulty,” he said. “You might as well take one as another.”
He waited for a few more seconds, then pointed at one of the men in the front seats. I got the feeling his choice was almost random.
“OK, chum. You’re it.” He pointed at the door with the coat hanger sign. “You’ve got three minutes before the rest of us take off.”
The man looked a little uncertain, but stood up and headed to the back of the bus. A couple of people spoke for the first time, soft mutters of “Good luck!” He paused with his hand on the doorknob, then stepped inside. The door closed behind him and the driver slipped up front.
I could feel the bus shift as the man moved around inside the change room. A few minutes later, I could hear the rear doors open. There was a short pause, then they closed again. The driver re-emerged, looked at the rest of us.
“Next?” he said. “No? OK, we’ll do it in order of seating.
“You,” he said, pointing at a blonde woman sitting in another front seat. “You’re next. Go now, please, get started. I really don’t want to have to come back here every stop.”
She nodded somewhat hesitantly, rose and moved back. The driver pointed at the man across the aisle from her.
“Then you, right?”
The man nodded. The driver looked at the rest of us. The expectation was clear enough.
He smiled, slipped through the curtain. I looked at the blonde woman he’d chosen standing outside the change room. She swayed a little as the bus began to move and I could sense her trying to work up her nerve. She took a deep breath, went inside and closed the door behind her.
I wondered to myself if all the other people were as turned on as I was.
Maybe ten minutes later, the bus slowed, stopped. The light through the top windows was very bright now.
I could hear the back doors open almost as soon as we had coasted to a halt. A few seconds later, they closed and I felt the bus begin to move. The man in the front aisle was already outside the change room door; he looked confident and stepped inside without hesitation.
Another man was already moving to take his place. He was solid, this one, with wide shoulders, a just-there beard and curly brown hair.
I was surprised to find myself blushing a little.
OK, I’ll admit to my having a fantasy moment about the two of us, but no, that’s not why I blushed.
I’d just realized that the first one to get to the finish point would be alone, event organizers and staff excepted perhaps. She’d be able to get dressed almost in private, but would be able to watch as the second showed up robed only in shoes, sunblock and dust. Together, they’d then be able to watch Number Three, and so on.
Call me silly, but it was suddenly very important to me that I get to the finish point before this handsome boy…
The bus crawled to a stop, the doors opened and closed, then he stepped inside and shut the door.
It wasn’t so much about him not seeing me. I suddenly wanted to see him coming into the finish wearing just sneakers and a tan.
I suddenly wanted that so much that it hurt.
Maybe I could offer him a cool drink or something…
There was already a woman moving down the aisle, but I stood, held my hand up towards her.
“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to go next. Please?”
She shrugged, nodded. Instead of returning to her seat, she stood in the aisle, swaying with her hand in a strap above her.
The bus again started to slow down. It stopped.
I heard the exit doors close, heard a whispered, “Good luck!” from someone.
I don’t know now why I was surprised, but the cubicle was much smaller than I would have thought; I could easily have touched opposite walls with my elbows, let alone my fingertips and half the floor was taken up by the steps down to the exit doors. There was an opening in one wall at floor-level, at the back. One end of a metal box was already protruding from it.