Skoolie Editorial: A Letter to Cheech

Dear Cheech the School Bus Driver,

I am on my own bus journey. Unlike yours, it hasn’t included outer space or even any tunnels. Nonetheless, the journey has been one of careful planning, big dreams and crazy synchronicity that started long before the bus was even purchased. I could never fully peg when or where it all began, the goal to convert a school bus into a home. My first drive in the 25 foot, 1991 Ford diesel bus was from Indianapolis, IN to it’s temporary home in Baroda, MI. This is when I finally began to piece, or peace, it together.

Love, Alycia

In 1992, Cheech Marin released a children album called, “My Name is Cheech the School Bus Driver.” The album featured songs about courage and how to speak Spanish.  It taught how to share by yes, trading lunches. This album would teach my brother and I everything we know about anything. To this day, I couldn’t tell you blue and yellow make green without singing to myself, Red tries to swallow blue … It will turn purple … And if blue eats up all the yellow … It will turn green

In 2005, I was 10 and watched Christmas with The Kranks with my family, on DVD, with hot chocolate and cookies for the first of many Christmases to come. My father turned to me and asked, “You know who that is, right? It’s Cheech!” One cop sounded fairly familiar but, my pre-teen self couldn’t place it.

“Like, Cheech the School Bus Driver or like, Cheech and Chong?” I replied.

“Well, both,” he said.

In 2011 I was 18, I convinced my parents I could drive from Mankato, Minnesota to Midlothian, Texas by myself and loved it. In 2013 I was 19 and I worked at Walt Disney World. Life was full of pixie dust and magic, but I wanted to see more than central Florida. In 2014, I was 20 years old and had read “The Electric Kool-aid Test” by Tom Wolfe along with every other piece of literature I could get my hands on about the counterculture of the 70’s.

In 2017, I was 23 and moved to Chicago, IL. The plan was to hustle in Babylon until I made enough money to buy a bus and hit the road to Zion. I had no clue how big of a role the time spent here would impact the future of myself and the bus.

In 2019, I set out on the crisp morning of Tuesday, April 2 to pick up my bus. The only person crazy enough to accompany me on this journey was my co-bartender at Eris Brewery and Cider House, Heather. Little did I know, she was exactly who I needed on this trip. Nothing phases this woman, at least that she lets you know.

The Megabus set out at 8:20 a.m. sharp and we watched for wind turbines and sent out thoughts and prayers that we didn’t get cancer as we drifted off to sleep. We awoke at 12:30, our usual morning hour, in Indianapolis

The trip was full of many firsts. First time using a blinker in a bus, first time changing lanes in a bus and first time listening to the playlist I started in 2016 titled “Bus Songs” in the bus. You get the point. With a broken speedometer, the first stop in the bus was to fill it up (for the first time). We tried three gas stations before we came upon one with diesel. It then took an hour of wondering what was wrong with the gas station to realize that Darrell had filled up the tank along with fixing the blinker, prior to picking it up.

In a car, the trip is projected to take 3 hours. In a bus unable to top 60 mph, we calculated a 4 to 5 hour drive. With half the trip done, we pulled into the first truck stop and had our first meal in the bus. It was glorious. It was Subway.

Once the bus hit the road again, it seemed to struggle hitting even 50 mph. It being my first time driving a bus, it seemed logical that I just didn’t let it warm up long enough and kept pushing at my slow pace. It was about 7 p.m. The playlist finished, the sun started to set and Heather had taken photos from every angle for this post. Friends and fellow beer enthusiasts, Brittney and Matt were set to arrive at the farm with in minutes of us, everything was going smoothly and … thump.

Had I hit an animal? Did my bumper fall off? It definitely wasn’t a pothole. I caught a quick glimpse of the car in the left lane swerving yet, nothing was behind me.

“Pull over, Alycia” said Heather.

I had no clue to what was really going on, I pulled over to the outer shoulder and looked for my flashers, for the first time. I opened the doors and went to check for the bumper. All the while, she sat silent. I saw the bumper still in tact, got back in the bus and sat in the driver seat. “I don’t know what happened,” I said. Heather pointed out the front window and sitting in the medium of Highway 31, going through South Bend, Indianna was one big, ol’ bus tire.

The tire had popped and popped off.

It was time for my first tow. The unsung hero of the open road, arrived in only thirty minutes and took us the remaining 30 miles to Hop Head Farms. He lectured on the difficulty of changing split tires and really got our moral up for the last leg of the trip.  

Upon arrival to the farm, the tow truck backs the bus partially into a grassy spot next to a barn. I hand over the $300 for the driver and go to start the engine up.

Click. Click. Click. The bus wouldn’t start. It was a little harder to laugh off the set back this time. The bus had been purchased for $2,000 cash.  But, I still felt like I had come out on top. It made the trip, mostly on its own.

Our ride back to the Windy City had gotten lost on the back roads of Wine Country so we spent some time tapping the starter and guessing the possible reasons it wouldn’t start. Once they arrived, we gave up and we begun the hour and a half trek back to Chicago. Naturally, we stopped at the Bridgman, MI Haymarket location to cheers to the success and failures of the trip.

It was hard to pinpoint what I was felt as we drove away from my beloved, broken down bus. My heart lingered somewhere between exhausted, relieved, shocked, happy and “What in Cheech-the-School-Bus-Driver’s name did I get myself into?” I mostly just wanted to scream. It could have been much worse. I mean, there were smiles rather than smoke coming out of that bus.

Engine smoke, that is.

My travelin’ and writin’ dream have begun to take physical shape.  The goal is to create an eco-friendly home that will serve as a creative space and transportation as we cover positive musicians, innovative artists and sustainable communities. If you’d like to keep up with the journey follow @thisisaskoolie on Instagram! I will continue to publish editorials and DIY articles as the bus transforms into a Skoolie.

This bus is for you, Cheech.

 

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