#322 Wonder Bus

What America ought to do is start a new sport. Bus racing. It’s a natural. First of all, urban bus drivers have developed reaction times as good as any astronaut. I’m surprised someone hasn’t caught on yet and started staging full on bus races. I’m sure you could recruit the crankiest urban bus drivers, used to cutting into traffic and squashing Subarus, completely inured to the hazards of barreling across three lanes of oncoming traffic to left turn into a shopping mall—while only bouncing off a couple of Goth skateboarders and a pigeon flock. There is a whole talent pool of aggressive behemoth drivers out there just waiting to be drafted for the bus racing circuit. These are the stuff of legend. The city bus driver, used to claiming the right of way no matter whose front fender he sheers. And not everyone could do it. Bus drivers are a rare breed indeed, sitting over the top of their giant steering wheel, tuning out the meaningless jibber-jabber of well-meaning oldsters who think the cure for his sourpuss visage is just a little conversation and understanding. Those old biddies have no idea that secretly he’s a road warrior, Mad Max on his way to piloting his whale on wheels down the center of the boulevard, his own natural adversary others of his kind. These are the drivers who poo-poo the straight ahead power humping of the monster truck competition. No, these drivers know that real driving is being able to maneuver your giant to the curb into a slender sliver of space left by two Harleys on one end and a soccer mom minivan on the other, nose in and discharge a pierced punk and a eco-cyclist in record time and nudge back into traffic before the cyclist even has his bike completely unhooked. Nothing funnier than seeing a bicyclist have to run in those funny clip on shoe thingies while he tries to unhook his non-gas guzzler from the skewering hook of the transit terminator. And talk about enormous potential for advertising. Already every urban bus worth its entrepreneurial soul has prostituted its pristine panels for bank and hospital and check-and-cash broadsides. When the bus races start it’ll be easy to cover those same sides with the brands and logos of the racing world—Schlitz and Fritos and Redman chaw. And talk about a built in fan base. A big group that Nascar draws are RV people. They travel all over the country to camp outside of Nascar events. Modern day gypsies, Winnebagos and Airstreamers replacing the 3-mule cart, living off the processed fat of the land. Portable refrigerators stuffed with Velveeta, Slim Jims and Ranch dip. These fans would fiercely relate to bus drivers and have a more personal empathy for their travails. Some of them even drive RVs that are, in fact, converted greyhounds. A great sport opportunity. Now what to name it? Nascar is taken, how about Nasbus?
America, ya gotta love it.