Chool Bus

The Chool Bus (ch7)

Chapter 7: After a successful initial run, the Forks return home, Mr. Wellstone’s application is approved and he joins the gang for a long push through the Western States.

Now, as we have yet to describe Professor T. to any satisfying detail, please indulge this brief meta moment as we more properly introduce this slightly enigmatic character. Mork J. (Jehosiphat) Thompson was born in a Kansas small town, a little over 20 miles due South of Junction City, training ground for the U.S. Army’s oldest active-duty infantry division, “The Big Red One”. Council Grove was named after an agreement between American settlers and the native Osage Nation allowing settlers’ wagon trains to pass westward through the area on the Santa Fe Trail. Pioneers from the established Eastern states gathered at a grove of trees so that wagons could band together for their trip west. Council Grove’s first post office was established in 1855, several decades ahead of the remaining soon to be established Western townships.

Many a cross-country sojourner East and West can testify, and joke about the flat, treeless landscape that characterizes the western two thirds of the Sunflower State. But Council Grove is nestled in the fabled “Flint Hills”, some of the more interesting topography in a mostly flat landscape where natives jokingly claim the state tree is the telephone pole. Due to its rocky soil, the early settlers were unable to plow the area, resulting in the prevalence of cattle ranches as opposed to the crop land more typical of the Great Plains.

And like his Flint Hills birthplace, Mork J.Thompson is a flinty soul. Almost preternaturally averse to conformist sentiments, Mork Thompson will go out of his way to defy popular trends. Short in stature, stout in constitution and bodily girth, he exudes a stern, almost severe, yet melancholy countenance. His olive skin browns fast and easy in the warmer months, rendering him fairly dark in the summer and walnut olive in the colder months. An avid reader, this habit serves well in the profession that claimed him after the “Great Recession (2007-09)” cratered the Internet enterprise he went to work for after the Forks gave up the ghostly rock star dream. Although accidentally landing in the halls of higher-ed, he adapted, and his voracious reading habits served him well contributing to the larger discipline through multiple published research papers and essays, as well as his unique brand of mentorship provided to the student population.

With this latest funding grant and burning question, he was able to reassemble his favorite team for a year long expedition exploring public sentiments on politics and culture in the United States of America. Where the data leads is still a big mystery, but The Forks have the means of nimble travel, and subsistence through the generous research grant. Professor Thompson is confident the eventual publications will shed illumination on the origin of the nation’s “fibrillating heart”. If voters and policy makers can use the results to make positive changes for the sake of the nation’s health… success!

And so, we pick up where The Forks left off, conspiring to add a fourth teammate in the person of Buck Wellstone. They say timing is everything, and with Mr. Wellstone, he was between gigs. Recently earning his undergrad degree and ready to continue in higher-ed, at least for a Master’s Degree as his undergrad advisor told him the master’s degree was statistically the best choice for “return on investment” potential. Lifetime income stats showed a rather large gap between those with a high school diploma and those with a master’s degree. His serendipitous encounter with the Forks and their research mission looked to be a perfect opportunity for facilitating his transition.

In the short time he had known The Forks he had grown quite fond and attached.

Professor T. impressed him as honest, true and genuinely committed to the American experiment. For some reason, Jack Dean was reserving his normally suspicious tendencies after watching Mr. Wellstone effortlessly defuse the potentially volatile situation in Fort Collins, and his unhurried Southern Gentleman countenance. But, if Mr. Wellstone was truly honest, he would tell you it was Billie that attracted him to the Forks most earnestly.

Billie notwithstanding, he saw Professor T. as brilliant, if innocent, a slightly vulnerable soul in need of a loyal aid de camp. Mr. Wellstone understood and believed in the mission depending on this tight-knit team and the Chool Bus on which they rode. When he saw that Professor T. failed to see danger brewing in Fort Collins, he intervened to the satisfaction of all involved, the suspicious locals went back to drowning their sorrows, and Professor T. retired his rather conspicuous recording rig. “Wow, that could have gone sideways in a hurry,” Jack had mused as Professor T. dismantled the recording rig.

“Ah, ‘twern’t nuthin’. That feller weren’t no Curly Wolf,” Buck drawled with his thickest cowboy affect. This, he did every once in while, never failing to produce a grin on Billie’s secretly admiring countenance. Later that evening, Professor T. received clearance to process Mr. Wellstone’s application. Just a couple more hurdles to clear. Mr. Wellstone would sit for an interview with a department search committee, and his references would be contacted. The processed would be completed in a couple weeks, then The Forks +1 would resume the Westward push, first stop, Salt Lake City.

NEXT WEEK:
The Forks prepare for a long swing through the western states. Professor T. ponders a vivid dream and Abigail Weiser takes advantage of his unsuspecting nature.

GO BACK => (Preface & Chapter links)

The Chool Bus (ch05)

Chapter 5: Where The Forks recruit another member. Buck Wellstone applies for graduate assistantship and joins the project as Professor T.’s aid de camp.

The crisp morning air in Fort Collins was a refreshing difference for the Forks as each performed their morning necessaries preparing for the next stop. Larimie, Wyoming was but a short jaunt away, but no one was feeling rushed as the events of the previous night were still ringing in their collective gizzards. Billie couldn’t remember the name of the good natured southern gentleman that had intervened in the misunderstanding triggered by Professor T.’s silly looking recording rig. But Jack did, and he also recalled inviting Buck Wellstone to join the forks at a popular Larimie brew-pub once the focus group interviews were conducted and the Forks were ready to relax for the evening.

“Buck Wellstone is his name, and he’s interested in applying for a graduate assistantship in our department. He wants to join us on the tour,” said Jack.

“I don’t know if we can get through the application process quick enough for next semester, but we do have an opening,” said Professor T. “Did you say he was meeting us in Laramie?”

“Indeed he is,” Jack responded.

“Good. I can check on his eligibility on the road, and i’ll give him the standard interview while in Laramie. If his references check out, maybe…” Professor T. was secretly hoping this would work out as Mr. Wellstone had a refreshing positive vibe. Smart, funny, physically imposing, and genuinely interested in the research the Forks were conducting and the tight-knit camaraderie displayed by this motley collection of humanity.

The Chool Bus rolled into Larimie in time for the gang to grab some lunch and get freshened up before gathering participants for the focus group interviews. And, as expected, the room was divided as the nation’s fibrillating heart seemed to be in this culturally-fraught era. But, the session was conducted professionally, and participants behaved respectfully. As soon as they got started, it was over. Participants went their separate ways and the Forks pointed the Chool Bus toward the brew-pub designated for rendezvous with Mr. Wellstone.

Now, the Forks had plenty of experience in Wyoming, and after everyone was settled into a pleather-cushened booth, each their own chosen libation working its social-lubrication magic, Professor T. mused about a two-week engagement the band played in Riverton, Wyoming in the early 90s. In Professor T.’s recounting, the gig felt like a lifetime trapped in a malfunctioning deep freeze. December in that desolate outpost was a symphony of howling wind and sub-zero temperatures, a perfect recipe for laryngitis. Professor T., at the time, known as “Mork T.” (Mork T. and The Forks… get it?), fueled by a steady diet of codeine cough syrup and still clinging to his delusional dream of rock stardom, chased those nonexistent high notes across a well lit stage in a room full of barely interested strangers. Needless to say, it went about as well as a fleshy juke box in a howling sauna.

As is often the case, one anecdote leads to another with this group so Jack, musing about post-Forks times, recalled a highly-unlikely story where he, partnered with a gonzo ski-resort co-worker, someone that went by the alias, “Fozzy” (for the sake of anonymity).

Now, this Fozzy character, a Laramie-educated electrical engineering savant with a graduate school acceptance letter burning a hole in his pocket, held a peculiar belief: That Laramie Wyoming, was a magical land where cops were blind to the transgressions of the gloriously intoxicated. This, of course, was a theory ripe for testing by these two nihilistic souls clinging desperately to the wreckage of their semi-feral animal-house-esque existence.

Imagine, if you will, a “borrowed” car (ownership and registration a fiction at best), fueled by cold beer (courtesy of the nearest liquor store), hurtling towards Laramie like a pair of wobbly missiles. The speedometer, a mere suggestion, registered a healthy too-damn-fast, a testament to their utter disregard for both the law and their own mortality.

Several beers and a vanished sunset later, they rolled into Laramie like banshees on Adderall. To their utter disappointment, the flashing blue lights they so richly deserved remained stubbornly absent. Finally, in a moment of glorious absurdity, Fozzy managed to run a red light, narrowly missing a cop car pulling out of a parking lot.

“Well, this is it,” Jack chuckled, fresh with i told you so energy dancing in his eyes. “Busted! Hauled off to the drunk tank, a glorious, self-inflicted martyrdom!”

The officer, a woman with a withering gaze that could curdle milk, approached Fozzy’s window. The story Fozzy concocted to explain their lack of documentation was a masterpiece of nonsensical bravado, worthy of a Bugs Bunny episode. Miraculously, it worked. The officer, perhaps amused by the sheer audacity of it all, subjected Fozzy to a “sobriety dance” (how he passed remains a mystery). Deemed sufficiently non-threatening, they were banished from her sight with a stern warning and a $25 fine, payable through a conveniently located “after hours” slot at the courthouse.

And so Fozzy’s theory was field-tested and determined factually sound. Or perhaps, the officer had simply taken pity on these two hapless fools.

As Jack recounted this delicious slice of youthful debauchery, Mr. Wellstone’s countenance danced between mild astonishment to dubiousness as he wasn’t sure how much of this was exaggeration and how much was outright fabrication. As Jack was winding down, Mr. Wellstone’s expression softened as he seemed to recall his academic advisor complaining about drunk drivers skating by with impunity in their wild-west college town. Jack swore the story was mostly true to a detail, and since the rest of the Forks had already heard the story (several times), they vouched for Jack because they knew this “Fozzy” character, and the story tracked.

As the evening progressed, Mr. Wellstone made a strong impression on Professor T. that he was serious about joining the Forks on their tour, applying for the open graduate assistantship, and eventually earning an “informatics/new media” master’s degree from their University. “I can’t promise anything at this time,” said Professor T., but we have room for one more on the Chool Bus, and your assistance was greatly appreciated in Fort Collins. If Jack And Billie, agree, we’d be honored to have you aboard.”

“I vote, eye,” said Billie, with a sly grin.

“And i concur,” said Jack lifting his glass for a toast. With that, all raised their glasses, and so it was settled. The Forks had a new roadie, and Professor T. gained a loyal aid de camp.

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 6: Where The Forks begin their time in Montana with a relaxing day in the steamy drink at Chico and Jack calls Bullshit on a wild Park Ranger’s story.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch04)

Chapter 04: The Forks embark, and Professor T. learns
the perceived value of privacy in a “social media” world.

The day was winding down to a spectacular Kansas golden hour. Neighbors could be heard mowing lawns and trimming bushes with their various landscaping tools. In the distance hot shots in their hot rods were peppering the soundscape with impressive mechanical blats and varooms. Billie Schmidt was tending to last minute service details for the Chool Bus, Professor T. was packing a go bag to accommodate a few weeks on the road, and Jack Dean was enjoying some Netflix and Chill with his current squeeze, Jackie Blue. Somewhere in the distance, neighborhood dogs were playing the “telephone game”. Billie surmised one of them was yelling at a back yard squirrel, and the rest were simply egging him on.

All was well in the Forks’ sleepy college town, once a wild frontier outpost for the U.S. Cavalry, now home to their Alma Mater. Similar to The Forks, once a wild nihilistic post-punk grunge metal band, now reunited for a year-long odyssey pursuing the “fibrillating heart of the divided nation”, a research project led by Professor T., and faithfully aided by Jack Dean, Assistant Professor on the tenure track, and Billie Schmidt, designer and builder of the finest touring bus this side of anywhere. The Forks were prepped, stocked and ready to tackle the first leg of their tour, the mountain west states of Colorado, Wyoming and Montana. First stop, Fort Collins, Colorado.

Having played every venue open to post-punk grunge along the i70 corridor between Kansas City and Grand Junction, the Forks had seen this stretch of Dwight David Eisenhower’s interstate highway system enough times to nearly make the trip half asleep, and so the hours flowed by in a blur till rolling into Aurora after passing the distant teepees of the Denver International Airport (DIA). Driving duties were to be shared on stretches too long for one person, but Billie handled most of the driving duties herself as the gang agreed six or seven hours was plenty of road time for one day. The GPS unit was a custom piece cobbled together by Jack Dean, but Billie was adept with these things so didn’t need assistance. The gang enjoyed listening to Billie with the vocabulary of a sailer and the GPS in the voice of Samuel L. Jackson.

“I told you to take the mutha fukkin 270 exit through Commerce City,” SDS barked.

“You can shove the 270 exit up your USB hole,” shouted Billie! “That chemical plant in Commerce City stinks, and besides, i rather like navigating the ‘mouse trap.’” Mouse trap is what the locals called the cloverleaf at the junction of i70 East/West and i25, the Valley Highway, North/South. “We can go by the old Mile-High stadium site and jeer the Denver Donkeys.” Billie was a die-hard Kansas City Chiefs fan.

“Hey hey hey, there will be no blasphemy in Broncos Country,” extolled Jack Dean. “I won’t trash the Chumps if you’ll refrain from disparaging the Donkeys.” It was agreed, Jack would cheer for the Chiefs as long as they weren’t playing the Broncos, and Billie vowed the same.

“Don’t miss your goddamn i25 exit,” grumbled Sam jackson via SDS.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Billie mumbled as the Chool Bus glided around the Mouse Trap heading North along the front range, past Longmont, then Boulder, then Loveland, then approaching Fort Collins city limits. Billie steered the Chool Bus to their designated campground on the outskirts and the gang scattered on each individual’s exploring method. Professor T., to his pedometer, Billie on her electric bike, and Jack ducking into the nearest watering hole to get some tips from the local patrons.

After Billie and Professor T. finished their explorings, they joined Jack who was now a couple libations ahead of his companions. Now, Professor T.’s research was a combination of survey data and scheduled focus group interviews. But he also wanted to get up close and intimate with the locals, so he put together a rig for recording conversations and getting what radio and podcast producers call “nat sound”. This rig consisted of clipping a pair of condenser microphones on either side of a pair of half-open studio headphones. This allowed Professor T. to hear what was happening in the environment, and with the mics placed where they were, capture what is known as an “ambisonic” image of the natural sound as well as the conversation voices. One couldn’t really regard this rig inconspicuous, as the microphones were fitted with fur coverings. These coverings guard against breezes that can ruin the recording at worst, create a time consuming noise mitigation measure at best. So Professor T. looked like some sort of Star Wars alien with his head covered in headphones like those Princess Lea cinnamon rolls and furry protruding ears like Chewbacca.

Billie and Jack were at the bar enjoying locally crafted ale when Professor T. Arrived, saddled up to a bar stool, and began striking up conversation with patrons nearby. It appeared to Professor T. as if the people were shy because everyone he approached made as quick a social exit as possible. That is until a patron sitting at a table nearby approached Professor T. and, only slightly slurring his words, basically gave notice that he was willing to throw hands over Professor T.’s brazen violation of his and everyone else’s privacy. Evidently, this fella had been involved in some embarrassing viral social media moments causing him a fair amount of grief. He saw Professor T.’s audio recording as yet another round with the hoards of cancel happy social justice activists.

Of course, Professor T. was not one to engage in alcohol-fueled violence. Granted, he was the leader of a grunge metal band in the 90s, but the violence was mostly restricted to the mosh pit. It was often said their gig’s success could be measured by the “blood on the dance floor”. If ever there was a direct threat to the band, their roadies would take care of the matter, outside. Anyway, Professor T. was not used to having pissed off drunken bar patrons breathing down his own neck. He tried to reason with the fella, but he wasn’t to be placated, and fists began to fly with Jack, Billie, and a couple strangers all mixed up in a rain of blows. Finally, a voice attached to a rather imposing figure cut in and broke up the mayhem. This is where we meet Buck Wellstone, a recent graduate of the University of Wyoming from Corpus Christi, Texas. His imposing figure got everyone’s attention, but it was his cheerful, good natured southern gentleman countenance that resonated with the members of The Forks.

Once an equitable compromise had been struck starting with the understanding that Professor T. was not there to involve unsuspecting bar patrons in compromising “gotcha” moments, and the slightly inebriated bar patron confident he would remain anonymous, Professor T. took his ridiculous recording rig back to the Chool Bus and the angry bar patron went back to killing liver cells across the room with his equally marinated companions. The rest of the evening passed uneventful as each member of the troupe faded in his or her time. They were done documenting their interviews in Colorado. Next stop, Laramie Wyoming. Professor T. yawned as he typed out final details into his personal journal, crawled into his Chool Bus sleeping birth, and drifted under sleep’s dark and silent gate.

NEXT WEEK
Chapter 5: Where The Forks recruit another member. Buck Wellstone applies for graduate assistantship and joins the project as Professor T.’s aid de camp.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch03)

Chapter 3: Jack Dean makes paranoia a viable career path

By the wall clock, it was 9:15pm. Jack Dean had no plan to still be on campus after celebrating accomplishments and attending end of semester ceremonies for faculty and staff, but he had grades to turn in and he needed to have that task completed before Monday at noon. Normally, he would have saved some of that work for Saturday, but since he was scheduled to hit the road with his former band mates and long-time friends Mork Thompson and Billie Schmidt, he needed Saturday and Sunday for attending personal tasks preparing to accompany his friends on the first of many road trips supporting Thompson’s research project searching for the fibrillating heart of our divided nation. Fortunately, he was able to click “submit” on the final class roster before 10:00pm. Now he could head home, get some sleep, and get his bizniz done in time to check in with the gang Sunday afternoon.

Back in the day, Jack played a crucial role in the Grunge band (The Forks) with Billie and Professor Thompson, stage name “Mork T.”. Jack was not just a perfectly serviceable bass player, he was also the glue that kept Mork T., primary songwriter and the group’s center of gravity and Billie Schmidt, their kinetic hot-headed drummer from flying apart. A bit of a paranoia case, Jack could sense when trouble was brewing. Not only between his mercurial companions but also with promoters, venue owners, and fans. Like… he had a 6th sense antenna for trouble. Fortunately, these proclivities served him well after the band broke up and each member saught their own post rock-n-roll life.

Again, Jack was a bit of a paranoid, not pathological, but enough to make sleep a bit of a challenge. His nighttime MO consisted of a couple hits of primo weed and a beer or two on weekends. On this occasion, he skipped the beer and hit the hay after packing his ganja back in it’s “safe” place. Tomorrow would be dedicated to making preparations for weeks on the road conducting focus group interviews and tending to logistics with the assistance of a US road atlas and a new GPS app sporting various celebrity personalities for voices. Jack called the app, “Siri’s Drunk Sister (SDS)” because it had led him astray a couple times, and he felt he needed to cross-reference questionable “back road” routes with the “official” road atlas. No worries, the extra vigilance was worth the trouble because the newest build had Samuel L. Jackson and Roseanne Barr among others giving voice instructions. Colorful remonstrations issued forth whenever a driver made turns not aligned with SDS instructions… often hilarious.

And like Billie, Jack was excited to be part of Professor Thompson’s team as he was also on the university’s “tenure track” and so needed publication credits for his curriculum vitae. More importantly, he was excited to be traveling with his old band mates, older, wiser, no longer dealing with youthful angst and drunken drama that marked many of the “good ol’ days”.

One reason the gang’s checkered past was even more colorful than most was Jack’s hapless talent for attracting trouble. And though he was no longer soliciting extra-curricular rendezvous with young admirers of that rock-steady bootie-movin’ groove for which he was regionally famous, he still possessed an animal magnetism that had to be judiciously regulated on campus. Jack was damn good at repelling amorous advances by the many young students populating the campus. But, as a cyber-security specialist, not many of his direct charges were of the female persuasion. And, for some odd reason, his male LGBT students weren’t susceptible to his particular brand of pheromone.

And so, the gang was reunited, Billie had taken the Chool Bus on a maiden voyage over one of the more challenging mountain passes on a pilgrimage to visit Owl Farm in Woody Creek Colorado, the home and redoubt sanctuary of her favorite cultural critic Hunter S. Thompson. So, with the Chool Bus road-tested from the High Plains to the top of the world, the Forks were ready to take the nation’s temperature, coast to coast.

First stop, Fort Collins Colorado. Professor T.’s research included survey questionnaires, the type used by political pollsters, where participants are drawn from college towns and rural working-class communities with strong religious identifications. This data would be juxtaposed with the face-to-face focus-group work conducted by the reunited Forks making their way from state to state in a rolling home converted for traveling rock and roll refugees, the Chool Bus. Appointments with off-the beaten path communities as well as inner-city diverse-demographic groups are made and the tentative itinerary was crafted to be flexible enough to have alternate destinations in case any of the original appointments proved unworkable for whatever reason. Jack Dean, the paranoid tenure-track cyber-security instructor with a history of attracting trouble and a terrific bass player with tons of soul. No way Billie and Professor T. would trade Jack in for a less troublesome model, the Forks loved their mildly paranoid groovelicious partner.

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 4: The Forks embark, and Professor T. learns the perceived value of privacy in a “social media” world.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch02)

Chapter 2: Billie Schmidt and the “Chool Bus”

Billie picked up her phone and opened the email around 3:00am. Normally fast asleep this time of night, but for some reason her eyes popped open automatically. She knew Professor Thompson had applied for a grant to conduct a year-long series of road trips aimed at visiting every one of the lower 48 states, meeting and interviewing people about their awareness and relative engagement with popular culture and politics. Billie really wasn’t all that interested in the details, but she knew she was on the list of companions and was looking forward to going on this coast-to-coast tour with her friends on the bus she had lovingly spent the last several months customizing. Inspecting all points of potential failure, preparing for brutal miles over scorching hot pavement, vicious cross winds and punishing steep mountain grades. She was more than up for the challenge. And now, so was the vehicle the gang had christened, the “Chool Bus”.

The Chool Bus was a solid rolling apartment, designed to accommodate four people comfortably with kitchenette and full restroom facilities in back. Now, bedding in the Chool Bus resembled that of bunks in a submarine. A little tight, but each pod had privacy curtains, reading lights, and the kind of high-tech mattress that delivers real comfort with a small footprint. Billie was a tomboy through and through, but she was in possession of impeccable taste and the Chool Bus interior reflected that taste in spades. The floor, ceiling, and side panels were covered in cedar paneling with plenty of wool insulation for holding in the heat on cold days or the cool air conditioning for the dawg days. Cabinetry finished with ebony composite material, light weight, but strong and resilient, ready for the many thousands of miles their journey would take them.

She gazed across the shop floor at her father, the owner/operator of a used car dealership where she worked. “Hey, Dad, can you help me with this belt install,” called Billie?

“Sure, Pumpkin,” said Billie’s father.

“Please… don’t call me that. I’m not a little girl, anymore, in fact, i’m not a girl at all… call me ‘Bruno’, cause i’m one badass bitch of a Chool Bus mechanic.”

“Ok, Bruno,” her father was all smiles. He really loved this little firecracker of a human being. She was by all conventional western standards, strikingly beautiful, statuesque, radiant skin, smiling eyes and a spunky countenance that variably beamed with mischievous energy. Precocious as a child, musically inclined and mechanically adept. In younger years, she played the drums in Professor Thompson’s grunge metal band, but was glad to leave that lifestyle behind as MTV had grown less and less inclined to play music, and more inclined to those barely “reality” shows. She had other reasons as well, as someone with unconventional gender inclinations, she grew tired of the drunken advances of guys who mistook her conventional beauty and good natured mischievousness for invitations to amore. “Good lord,” she would often exclaim. “Is this all guys ever think about?”

Billie adjusted to her gender contradictions early on. She had to mature even faster than her female classmates as it’s not easy being this kind of different. But her parents, being rainbow hippies from way back, refused to hard-sell gender roles so she was able to reach adulthood relatively well adjusted.

She had been anxiously waiting to hear from Professor Thompson about the grant. Would they be off on their first sojourn after graduation, or back to the normal routine working in her dad’s auto repair shop? The application had been submitted all the way back in January, and Billie had been frantically mapping out routes for favorable weather. She was driving Professor Thompson crazy with endless questions about who he wanted to interview and could they plan the route for not only meeting the interviewees where they live but also hitting some of the best destinations for sightseeing. Making bucket-list suggestions, leaning in, barely able to think of anything else.

Professor Thompson had always loved this endless spring of nervous energy. He was aware of her personal challenges, she was mildly introverted and deeply empathetic, never brooding or sinking into depression funks. She always came alive around her friends, fiercely protective, she could be a bit of a hot-head. Many a time when folks mistook her fair appearance for being a push-over, they quickly learned, Billie could peel paint from the walls with her sharp tongue and buccaneer’s vocabulary. So now, when Billie opened that email to see that the grant had been approved, she nearly woke the neighbors with her whoops of celebration. “Game on…! WOO HOO,” she exclaimed! The gang and the Chool Bus were going on tour, sea to shining sea!

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 3: Jack Dean makes paranoia a viable career path

GO BACK => (Preface & Chapter links)

The Chool Bus (ch01)

Chapter 1: Professor Thompson’s Roadtrip Sabbatical

The rhythmic cha-click of his office door felt somehow symbolic as Professor Thompson made his way into the department’s hallway. He was running late for an “end of semester” convocation and awards ceremony. He broke into a light jog to reach his colleagues heading for the university’s grand auditorium, an annual review attended faithfully over the last fourteen years as a member of the “informatics/new media” faculty at a mid-western state university.

Catching up, between panting breaths, Professor Thompson asked anyone inclined to respond, “Do we have a new theme?”

“Yeah, but it’s the exact wording used by one of those networking technology companies,” said Jack Dean, long-time friend and department colleague.

“Damn! The least they can do is come up with their own idea,” said Janice, a marketing specialist, beloved by students for her exceptional creative flair. “I don’t know why they do that,” speaking of the university president’s promotions team. “They recently hired a couple of my students for internships. Surely, they were able to come up with something original.”

“Nah… they always seem to mail the ‘theme’ in,” said Jack. “Maybe they’re overwhelmed by the latest funding cuts.”

“Who knows?” Professor Thompson wasn’t interested in the regular end of semester gossip. “I’m just glad this week is over.” He had a frantic final week as some big changes were on the horizon… exciting changes. He finally nailed that lucrative new media grant guaranteed to keep him busy for the full year of his earned sabbatical.

And it was a perfect day… the campus was in full springtime bloom. The smell of lilac and freshly cut grass filled Professor Thompson with a sense of well being and gladness as the group made their way along impeccably groomed sidewalk landscaping. Workers busy with graduation preparations made their way to and fro in golf carts from the sports coliseum. Students had long since retreated to their dorms, off campus housing, and local restaurants. The air was electric, as if any moment the party of newly minted university graduates would break out with a vengeance. Professor Thompson was intimately familiar with the scene as his undergrad years were spent right here.

“Lovely day for a great escape,” asked the interim department chair? “I bet you’re itching to get out there on the road.”

Professor Thompson was deep in reverie. He had dreamed of exploring the country, sea to shining sea. With the new media grant, he was not only free to do it, he was getting paid to do it with companions. Meeting people across the nation, asking them about the recent descent into fractious national politics. The nation had been clearly divided by tribal identities. Policies to address the problems were no longer a matter of good-faith negotiation and reasoned compromise. It was now all about which jersey you were wearing.

Professor Thompson called this phenomenon, “the fibrillating heart of our divided nation” and he was determined to get his arms around the dysfunction. Though not delusional enough to believe his research could cure the problem, he knows sunlight is the best disinfectant. And so, he was excited to get the process started. As an added bonus, he would be traveling with friends, Jack Dean and Billie Schmidt. Jack, Billie and Professor Thompson shared a long and eventful history as they were band mates in the 1990s… Grunge Metal band mates, in the Soungarden, Nirvana mold. All of this was in a previous life. The band broke up around the time they realized no one was gonna put up sufficient cash to get a video up on MTV. And besides, MTV seemed more into so-called “reality” anyway. Jack followed Professor Thompson into academe and Billie went to work for her father in the ever more technical world of auto mechanics.

As the convocation rambled through various department accomplishments, individual faculty and staff awards, and notable student accomplishments, Professor Thompson beamed with pride when he was called up to the stage to accept the grant award. His colleagues could be heard over the general applause with whistles and cat calls. The moment was sweet and all over as fast as it began. His portrait was flashed on the jumbo screen along with the title of his research and a photo of his department’s building. And with that, the adventure was about to begin. Just a few logistical matters, such as routing and interview appointment schedules. As well, Billie was still working on the vehicle that would take this motley crew on their journey. A luxuriously converted bus recently acquired from the local school district. The gang christened it the “Chool Bus” (the H is silent). Somehow, the “S” had been removed or worn away and rather than spend more money branding the vehicle, the gang agreed to leave well enough alone.

Stay tuned… next week…
Chapter 2: Billie Schmidt and the “Chool Bus”

Preface and chapter links => Click Me

Loopcircus

Loopcircus

Chool Bus

The Chool Bus (ch7)

The Chool Bus (ch05)

The Chool Bus (ch03)

The Chool Bus (ch02)

The Chool Bus (ch01)