巴士獨享我時光

As a traveler， my competitive advantage is laziness. I truly do not mind sitting still in one spot for hours on end1） with nothing to do but read or listen to music. In fact those are three of my favorite things—music， reading， sitting. And I cherish when circumstances give me an excuse to spend my time that way， rather than worrying that I could be being more active， or productive. Because I am doing something productive—I’m going somewhere.

This sort of me-time can be achieved on many forms of transportation—planes， trains， and automobiles （ones I’m not driving anyway） but the one I most enjoy is the bus. Earlier this week， at The Billfold， Ester Bloom wrote that she enjoys the bus （Megabus2）， to be exact） the least of all methods of transportation， ranking it below “being dragged by the hair.” That’s okay. Life， and travel preferences， are a beautiful potpourri3） of differences.

But I like the bus. I like the city bus—especially as opposed to the subway， how it takes you through the streets instead of below them—and I like the long-distance bus. The bus to me is a meditative space， a safe place， a bubble out of time and away from life that moves me gently from one place to another.

Maybe it’s because I used to live much closer to my childhood home， so the bus was the most logical and economical option. Most of my trips during college and a couple years after were shuttling between my old home and my new on that blue and yellow bus， stopping at the Love’s rest stop in Marshall， Michigan， with its odd assortment of snacks， clothing， and holographic4） religious posters for sale. I have to fly to visit my family now. The bus is better.

It’s cheaper. You can bring liquids. There’s no security. You just get on， and get off. The cost is more one of time （though depending where you’re going， if you factor in5） the time you spend getting to the airport and going through security， you may end up breaking even6））. And it’s time， I think， worth spending.

I don’t want to be all “modern conveniences have alienated us from the process of living” about it， but there is something about travel as a process that a wheels-up， wheels-down airplane ride dilutes7） somewhat. We can’t teleport8）， not yet， but if you think about it， a plane is the closest the average plebe9） is going to get right now. Get in a contraption10）， and move from one place to another much faster than you’d otherwise be able to.

Though we’re usually seated on our butts for it， going somewhere is still an act. And there’s a pace at which I can fully take in the act of going somewhere and it’s not 500 miles per hour. I guess walking would be the natural， ideal pace for that. （It just clicked11） with me that maybe this is why people like hiking.） But a driving pace seems a good compromise. The scenery might blur around you， but you’re still touching the ground.

There is an economic concept called Jevons Paradox12） that basically says： The more efficiently you are able to use a resource， the higher the demand for it will be， so more of the resource ends up being consumed， rather than saved. William Stanley Jevons was talking about natural resources—coal， specifically—but I feel like a similar paradox exists for time. The more efficiently we use our time， the more demands are placed on our time. There’s something to be said for a forced slowdown. That’s what the bus does for me.

Far be it from me to eschew13） convenience—I’m hardly advocating we all spend three weeks on a ship dry heaving into the sea just to go to London. But it’s nice to take your time when it’s reasonable to do so. Because travel， to me， always feels significant. You’re leaving something behind， you’re going toward something else， but at the moment of actual traveling， you are neither where you came from nor where you are going， and on the way， you’re not where you are either， not for long.

So the vehicle feels a little outside of reality， especially if you’re traveling alone. It isolates and insulates14） you from the churn and entropy15） of life， for a little bit. （This is amplified by the Megabus wi-fi， which is like Bigfoot16）—much discussed， rarely seen， probably not real. People complain about this， but I think of it as just another way the bus is protecting me from the stressors17） of the real world.） It facilitates quiet reflection by trapping you alone with your thoughts.

It does not seem like there’s science out there on this. A Google Scholar search for “processing emotions on the bus” did not yield fruit. The only data I could find that even comes close to what I’m talking about is a survey by Virgin Atlantic airlines that found 55 percent of people reported “heightened emotions” while flying. And I think， anecdotally， many people would agree there’s a strong emotional component in traveling—not what happens when you’re in a place that’s not your home （though that， too）， but in the actual act of moving from place to place. See： the extensive body of road-trip-based films and literature.

The reasons Bloom cites for her distaste toward the bus are various travel-centric “indignities18）”—smelly fellow passengers， breakdowns on the highway， gas-station food. All valid. All possible with other methods of transportation. If you travel， indignities will follow， and I’ve found that there are two main ways I am capable of responding to them—tearful， barely restrained rage or a sort of chill nihilism. Though I may be perhaps dispositionally19） predisposed20） to the former， the latter has served me better. There’s a certain kind of zen in just letting yourself be flung about by the cruel and merciless winds of the travel industry. It’s like swaddling21） a baby—there’s comfort to be found in restraints.

I can see how the upsides of the bus I appreciate， like having nothing to do for a really long time， could be downsides to other people. But what can I say？ I like subsisting22） on beef jerky23） and Dr. Pepper24） every once in a while. And my personal worst travel woes have been plane and train-based—nights spent stuck on the tarmac25） with screaming infants or waiting for an interminable train full of coal to pass by， or being pulled off a flight with no help and no apologies because of “weight issues.” They stick out like flashbulbs of horror in my memory， while all my bus rides blend together in a soothing blur of books and snacks and resting my head on a rumbling window while raindrops race by.

Anyway， you can love things that are flawed. In fact， you have no choice.

作為一個旅行者，我最大的優(yōu)勢就是懶惰。要我靜靜地坐在一個地方連續(xù)幾個小時，除了讀書或者聽音樂，別的什么都不做，我真的不覺得有什么不好。事實上，我最喜歡做的三件事就是：聽音樂、讀書和靜坐。一旦條件允許，我能有個理由這樣打發(fā)時光，我就會很珍惜，而不會懊惱地想我本來可以更活躍一些，或者做些更有成效的事情。因為我正在做的事就頗有成效——去旅行。

這種自我獨享的時光可以在許多交通工具上實現(xiàn)——飛機、火車、汽車（反正不是我開的車），但我最喜歡的還是公共汽車。本周早些時候（編注：英文原文發(fā)表于2015年7月24日），伊斯特·布魯姆在“皮夾子”網(wǎng)站上撰文說，在所有的交通方式中，她最不喜歡的是公共汽車（確切地說是長途大巴），在劃分等級時，她認(rèn)為坐大巴還不如“被人拽著頭發(fā)走”。這也沒什么。人生以及旅行偏好原本就是各種差異的美麗薈萃。

但我喜歡公共汽車。我喜歡城市公交車，尤其是和地鐵相對而言，我喜歡公交車帶著我從街道上穿過，而不是走地下。我也喜歡長途大巴。對我來說，公共汽車是一個可以沉思的場所，一個安全之地，一個超越時光、遠(yuǎn)離嘈雜塵世的世外桃源，溫柔地將我從一個地方載到另一個地方。

或許這是因為我以前住的地方離我兒時的家近得多的緣故，所以公共汽車就成了我最合理而又經(jīng)濟的選擇。在大學(xué)及之后的幾年里，我常常往返于老家與新家之間，乘坐的就是那輛藍(lán)黃相間的大巴，途中停在密歇根州馬歇爾市羅維的路旁停車處，那里出售各式各樣奇特的小吃、服裝和純手繪的宗教海報。現(xiàn)在我要去看望家人必須乘飛機。還是大巴更好。

大巴更便宜。還可以攜帶液體。沒有安檢。徑直上車，到站就下。要說花費，主要是費時（不過這要看你去哪兒，如果算上去機場以及安檢的時間，到頭來乘飛機所花的時間也差不多）。而我認(rèn)為它所花費的時間是值得的。

我并不想就此說“現(xiàn)代便捷的生活設(shè)施已經(jīng)把我們同正常的生活過程隔離開來”之類的話，但就飛機而言，輪子一升一降，旅途就結(jié)束了，它確實或多或少地淡化了旅行作為一個過程所應(yīng)有的某些東西。我們還無法做到瞬間傳送，目前還不行，但不難想象，對于一個普通的大一學(xué)生來說，乘坐飛機是目前最接近瞬間傳送的旅行方式了。只需登上某個新奇的裝置，你就能以比其他方式快得多的速度從一個地方到達(dá)另一個地方。

雖說我們旅行時通常都是坐著的，但旅行仍然是一種行動。在旅行行動中，有一種速度是我完全可以接受的，但那不是每小時500英里。我想步行會是自然而又完美的速度。（我突然想到，或許這就是人們喜歡徒步旅行的原因吧。）但汽車的速度似乎是一種很好的折中。身邊的景色或許會變得模糊起來，但至少你還是在地面上。

有一種經(jīng)濟理念叫“杰文斯悖論”，大致是說：使用資源的效率越高，對該資源的需求就越大，結(jié)果所消耗的資源就越多，而不是更少。威廉·斯坦利·杰文斯說的是自然資源，確切地說是煤炭，但我覺得在時間方面也存在一個類似的悖論。我們利用時間的效率越高，對時間的需求就越大。所以，迫使速度慢下來也是值得稱道的。大巴之于我正是如此。

我并非是在逃避便捷的生活設(shè)施，遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)不是—我并不提倡我們都花三個星期的時間乘船出行，一路干嘔，就為了去趟倫敦。但在適當(dāng)?shù)臅r候從容不迫地旅行是一件愜意之事。因為旅行對我來說總是頗有意義的。將某些東西拋諸腦后，又將某些東西作為目標(biāo)，但在實際旅行的某一時刻，你既非出發(fā)地的你，也非目的地的你，而且，在旅途中，你也并非長時間屬于彼時彼地的你。

因此，汽車給人的感覺是有點兒隔離于現(xiàn)實之外的，尤其是你獨自旅行時。在一定程度上，它將你同熙熙攘攘、紛繁蕪雜的生活隔離開來。（長途大巴上的無線網(wǎng)絡(luò)使這種感覺變得更加明顯，就像傳說中的大腳怪一樣——很多人都在談?wù)撍珔s很少有人見到，或許它根本不存在。人們對此也有抱怨，但我覺得這正是大巴保護(hù)我避開現(xiàn)實世界種種壓力的又一種方式。）待在車?yán)铮挥兴枷肱c你為伴，最利于靜靜沉思。

在這一點上，似乎沒有多少人進(jìn)行過科學(xué)研究。在谷歌學(xué)術(shù)上搜索“大巴上的情緒處理”得不到任何結(jié)果。唯一能夠找到的接近于我所說的問題的數(shù)據(jù)來自于英國維珍大西洋航空公司的一份調(diào)查。該調(diào)查發(fā)現(xiàn)，55%的人報告說在飛行途中“情緒高漲”。我覺得，有趣的是，許多人都會認(rèn)同旅行時會產(chǎn)生強烈的情緒因素——這并非是指在家以外的地方所表現(xiàn)出的情緒（盡管也有這樣的表現(xiàn)），而是指真正地從一地到另一地的旅行行為所具有的表現(xiàn)。不信請參照：大量以旅途為素材的電影和文學(xué)作品。

布魯姆所列舉的不喜歡大巴的原因都是和旅行有關(guān)的種種“不端行為”——滿身臭氣的乘客、半路上拋錨、加油站的食物等等。這些都沒錯。但其他交通工具也都可能有同樣的問題。只要旅行，就會遇到種種麻煩，我發(fā)現(xiàn)我有兩種主要方法可以應(yīng)對這些麻煩：一是幾乎不控制自己的情緒，哭鼻子抹淚，大發(fā)雷霆；一是超級冷靜，就當(dāng)什么都沒發(fā)生。盡管從性情上來說我似乎天生就喜歡第一種方式，但還是第二種方式的效果更好。任憑旅游業(yè)冷酷無情的狂風(fēng)將你吹來吹去，你自巋然不動，這也是一種禪意。就像將嬰兒裹在襁褓里一樣—約束之中自有舒適。

我明白，我所欣賞的大巴的優(yōu)點，比如在很長的一段時間里無事可做，在別人看來可能是缺點。但我又能說什么呢？每隔一段時間，我就喜歡靠吃牛肉干、喝胡椒博士飲料來過活。而我個人最糟糕的旅行噩夢都發(fā)生在飛機和火車上：伴隨著嬰兒尖厲的哭喊在碎石跑道上度過漫漫長夜；或者等待一列似乎永無盡頭的運煤車從身邊經(jīng)過；又或者因為“超重問題”被拉下飛機，無人幫忙也無人道歉。這些場景在我的記憶里像恐怖的閃光燈一樣醒目，而我乘坐大巴的記憶則讓人平靜，混雜著各種書籍和小吃，我將頭倚在隆隆作響的車窗上，窗外雨點飄然而過。

不管怎樣，有些東西雖有瑕疵，卻仍不乏喜愛之人。事實上，你別無選擇。

1. on end：連續(xù)地

2. Megabus：美國的廉價長途巴士

3. potpourri [?p??p??ri] n. 混雜物

4. holographic [?h?l??ɡr?f?k] adj. 全部親筆書寫的

5. factor in：把……作為因素計入

6. break even：不盈不虧，得失相等

7. dilute [da??lu?t] vt. 稀釋；沖淡；削弱；減輕

8. teleport [?telip??（r）t] vt.（常用于科幻小說）瞬間傳送物體或人

9. plebe [pli?b] n. 〈美口〉（美國陸軍或海軍學(xué)校的）一年級新生

10. contraption [k?n?tr?p?（?）n] n. 古怪的機械裝置