For Dean “Sasquatch” Wheat.
May The Bus now provide you with endless amounts of glorious whitewater in your afterlife. You are loved and missed. Avon, my boater. Avon.
Matthew stands on top of an old, broken-down school bus emblazoned with a peeling “River Runners” logo and eyes the land that The Bus watches over. He is waiting for a fellow river guide to pass by, an errant soul, someone who needs saving.
Inside The Bus are storage lockers for river guides filled with musty, dusty gear; ashtrays overflowing with stale cigarette butts; and carpet stained from years of wear, tear, and spilled beer. In the front half of The Bus, some of the original seats have been arranged along the walls, forming a circle. The ceiling, now faded to a pale yellow, is crowded with bumper stickers slapped on by river guides each summer.
Outside The Bus is a long, wooden picnic table, with scores of splinters just waiting to happen, where family dinners are eaten. Beyond that is an open-air, dirt-floor, rat-ridden kitchen named “The Hootch,” where cooking is done on camp stoves. Store your food in a bin if you don’t want the rats to get to it before you do. The rest of the surrounding space consists of a dusty gravel parking lot, the River Runners office, resembling a small, wooden cabin, a parking area for still-in-service buses, The Holy Gear Shed, and the boat shed, which contains The Board, a whiteboard scribbled with schedules and river guides’ names, and a beautiful fleet of Avon Rafts. Avons, arguably the best whitewater rafts ever made, are no longer manufactured, so guides at River Runners praise these rafts. Some even believe the Avons know their way down the river — no help needed.
Behind The Bus is the seemingly endless high chaparral desert and the jagged Rocky Mountains of Colorado. If you look closely, beneath clumps of juniper, you will occasionally find a tent — the home of a raft guide.
Matthew is surveying all of this, watching and waiting for a fellow guide to pass by. When one does, he will yell from the top of The Bus, hoping to spread The Good Word. This is his daily ritual.
Finally, an unsuspecting river guide walks by, a nonbeliever, and Matthew makes his presence known.
Hello, my boater! Have you heard the good word of The Bus? Well, then I shall enlighten you with the scripture, my boater, of The Bus, The Board, and The Holy Gear Shed — The Holy Trinity.
The Bus — our God — The Bus is from which it all sprang forth. Always remember, my boater, what The Bus provideth, The Bus may also taketh. What doth The Bus provide? Everything you know, my boater! The Bus provideth The Holy Gear Shed and The Board…and The Board, well, as you know, my boater, The Board is what provides us with work. Every evening, as if by magic, our names appear upon The Board, indicating when we shall work the next sun. But do not be fooled, my boater, this is not magic! This is The Bus providing!
Standing over by the boat shed, Dean hears Matt speaking The Good Word, and runs over to The Bus, hands in the air, shouting, “Avon, my boater, Avon!” The others crowded around the boat shed chuckle as Dean runs away; they are familiar with this scene. The gospel of The Bus is something they hear about every day.
As Dean arrives, the nonbeliever begins to express doubt. “The Holy Gear Shed? What’s so holy about the gear shed?”
Matthew and Dean will not have this. From atop this faded orange bus, which is missing a few tires and has sunken into the ground upon which it sits, Matthew continues proselytizing.
The Holy Gear Shed? No, we do not know all of what The Holy Gear shed does — for The Bus works in mysterious ways and we cannot understand all of these ways, my boater. What we do know is that The Holy Gear Shed provides our custies with personal floatation devices that will rise them to the river’s surface, may they chunder-
“May they chunder!” Dean chimes in, hands towards the sky, head hanging, swinging back and forth. The nonbeliever looks up at Matthew, still standing on top of the bus, the sun forming a halo-like circle around his head. Matthew lights and takes a drag from his cigarette. Exhales as he speaks.
Yes! We must never scorn The Bus, my boaters, for if you do, The Board will scorn you, and The Bus shall punish you with low water and custies who cannot paddle or swim! You will suffer for your sins, my boater, if you do not respect The Holy Trinity and submit to The Bus!
Hands still up, Dean yells, “Avon, my boater! Avon!”
A few members of the congregation have begun to crowd around The Bus, Dean, and the nonbeliever, listening to their daily sermon and helping to spread The Good Word. “Avon, my boater! Avon!” they yell in unison with Dean. From the ground, they look back up to Matthew.
Avon. We must submit to The Bus and praise The Bus, for The Bus has brought us our peak—our high water—and the second peak is coming, my boaters! The water shall rise again!
The small crowd cheers excitedly; they are patiently waiting for the second coming.
Dean’s face is radiant as he smiles, hands still up, once again yelling, “Avon, my boater! Believe that what he says is true! Trust me—I have been saved! And The Bus hath provided for me…provided me with day after day of Royal Gorge trips, high water, custies with strong arms that can paddle and do not fall out and get scrapey-bleedies.” Dean speaks these words, towering over his fellow River Runner, the nonbeliever, hand now on his shoulder. He is a man you believe, a good spokesman for The Bus, because he is already a mythic creature that stands over seven feet tall. The formed crowd knows that what Dean speaks is true; they nod their heads and give an Avon here and there.
By this point, Matthew has climbed the ladder down from the top of The Bus, discarded his cigarette, entered the crowd, and is standing on the other side of this unsuspecting nonbeliever. Matthew places his left hand on the nonbeliever’s other shoulder, while his right holds a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The nonbeliever now stands between both Matthew and Dean, each of their hands on a shoulder of his, surrounded by a circle of believers. Matthew looks deeply into his eyes.
You must believe, my boater. For if you do not, the custies… they will crawl from their R.V.s, fast-food in hand, and wish to be in your boat on the lowest of water days. Believe me, my boater. And trust me when I say, if you do believe, The Bus will provide for you in this life and the afterlife as well.
Together, Matthew and Dean walk away, Avon-ing one another, speaking, dreaming of the second coming. The crowd dissipates, and the unsuspecting boater is left in the dust, standing, staring at The Bus. The Bus where a locker is home to his belongings, where he spends his nights drinking beer and playing cards; the same Bus he sits atop each evening to watch Sunset TV in the surrounding mountains… Staring at all of this, that man is now a believer. He has been saved.
