Riding the Dog: Cross-Country by Greyhound

Day 2: Knoxville, Tenn., To Little Rock, Ark.

Knoxville is home to the Women's Basketball Hall of Fame and the War Dog Memorial, which honors canines who have fought for their country. But no time for these attractions. After rumbling in after midnight and trying to grab some sleep in a motel, we've got a bus to catch. Dennis Brown is our new driver, an elderly man wearing a black fur-lined hunting cap with ear flaps that fold down.

"What do you call three blondes stuck in a refrigerator?" he asks over the PA system as we pull out. Nobody has a clue. "Frosted flakes" is the punch line, and there's an amplified chuckle as Brown signs off to concentrate on the road.

At a gas station rest stop, Judy points out displays of Goo Goo Clusters and Goody's Headache Powders, sure signs that we're in the South. We get a few minutes in Nashville to scurry around and look at sights like the BellSouth Building, with its sky-high pair of pointy horns. Reboarding, I bring some peanuts and a can of beer and realize that despite warnings of "tightened security," no one has bothered to take even a quick peek into our bags.

On the road to Memphis, the land flattens out and, since it's evening, we are squinting into an electric sunset. Bus windows are huge and square -- unlike the plastic portholes on a plane. I feel as if I am in a movable greenhouse. We passengers are like sleepy plants, potted in our chairs and stuck in cycles of dozing, waking, listening to headphones -- always leaning in the direction of the light no matter where the front of the bus is pointing.

The bus station in smart-looking Jackson, Tenn., is a shrunken version of Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall, but there's no movie on the marquee and instead of signs for the Rockettes you see only ads for Greyhound and a coat of peeling powder-blue paint. I ask another passenger, Sunrae O'Neil, why she's taking the bus and find out she's going all the way to San Francisco. "I'll be honest," she says. "It's the only way you can go 3,000 miles for 150 bucks."

Day 3: Little Rock to El Paso

Little Rock boasts surprisingly tall downtown towers and strange looking semitropical trees that are spring green even though it's February. No motel night this time -- we're sleeping on the bus to make up time. But when we try to wash up and brush our teeth, I find there's no soap in the bus station men's room. The fast-food restaurant we go to is out as well. Could it be that people in this town wash up with only water?

Back on the bus, Judy grabs me a handful of moist towelettes, though I find that most of them are bone dry inside the foil wrapper. I'm getting worried about her. She keeps pointing out what she tells me are "rivers," but when I turn and look, I see only fields and dust. I don't know whether these are actual mirages, but it does seem, at times, as if we are crossing the country by camel. Our sense of distance is intimate. We get to know every mile and measure our progress bounce by bounce.

Dallas in the dark looks like an out-of-control corporate park: Buildings have weird neon outlines, the street lights are embedded in slabs and flagpoles narrow sharply toward the top, like fresh pencils. Greyhound company headquarters is here, but the bus station itself is confusing and extremely small. As we wait in line trying to squeeze onto our 6 a.m. bus after a night "sleeping" on board, the baggage guy cracks, "I'd wait till the 8:30 if I was you." I'm wondering if I detect a smirk, since the bus door has just slammed shut.

More trouble: When I try to get a printout for buses between El Paso and Flagstaff, Ariz., the machine spits out pages of nonsensical numbers, mathematical symbols and black squares. "That's because Greyhound doesn't go there," explains the clerk. But when I protest that Flagstaff's a big town, she gives me a look and says to "spell the name of it, and slowly." We try again, getting some info this time, and Judy and I are on our way.

The landscape west of Fort Worth is like a safari theme park where the animals refuse to come near. If you look carefully you can see specks along the horizon, and sometimes groups of specks that Judy says have to be herds. Abilene, Tex., is a much more close-up surprise. It appears to have the widest streets in Texas and its buildings are colorful square blocks of brick. Plus, the town looks mysterious, since there's hardly a soul around.

When we get near Midland, Tex., the bus driver tells us to look left, and fingers point as we roar past a family of prairie dogs sitting up by the side of the road. Wildlife at last.

Day 4: El Paso To Flagstaff, Ariz.

The lights of El Paso are spread out in front of the bus, and since it's the Star City, we're welcomed by a cheerful, electrically powered starfish set up on a hill overlooking town. Judy and I are busy trying to figure out how we can cross the border to Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, before our bus to Flagstaff departs the next afternoon.