If you pick up the 8 JACKSON bus on Third and Pine downtown - you won't wait long, fifteen minutes at the max - it will take you due south for a few blocks and then jog right, continuing on Broadway through the middle of PSU; underneath the brick walkway, past the parking garage and post office and then at Jackson Blvd, it'll bend left again; over the freeway towards Duniway Park to begin the steep ascent towards Oregon's Health & Science University (OHSU). The north side of Marquam Hill - where I live - is given over to the Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU), whose buildings rise up out of the pines like a city of gleaming honeycombs. The future is in there. Chrome windows stretch along the east wall of the main hospital, ending smartly at a brightly lit staircase that stretches up to meet America's longest skybridge; another gargantuan marvel that reaches out for 660 feet across two roads and a parking garage to the veterans hospital. The 8 is the only bus to service OHSU regularly. It chugs up through the veterans hospital, along a small residential zone above the complex, and then swoops back down the other side to the main exit, collecting everyone who would rather be downtown. I live on the northern fringe of uppermost housing cluster, and get off at the Plaid Pantry stop. (which Plaid being the only commercial building around. An outpost of sorts.) As you might imagine, there is an entirely different crowd going in to town than there is coming out, and by living at the peak of the a loop I get to see them both. On it's route along 3rd Ave, the number 8 stops at the corners of Stark, Yamhill and Madison, picking up every stripe of veteran you can imagine, and they're usually a pretty lively bunch. The ones out of wheelchairs give advice to the bus driver, the ones in em' will chat amicably with anyone nearby, and those who have spent the afternoon muttering to themselves along the waterfront huddle near the back next to newfound friends (who soon remember that they still need something downtown and get off at the next stop). The other direction is different though. It is, I suppose, as you'd expect the departure from a hospital to be - if you've no one to take you home. At mid-afternoon, when there aren't any doctors commuting, it's quiet. The passengers appear distracted, and those same veterans that were so boisterous just a few stops ago, now seem to be gearing up for re-entry. I wouldn't say it's despair that's lingering in the air, but something is there and it's a palpable weight that keeps people reading their book or staring out the window. I often wonder what each person is carrying around inside behind that stare, and I'll get off at my stop a bit bewildered; momentarily detached from whatever put me on the bus in the first place.

Comments

Carla
Try riding the 20. the Mexican day labor crowd stare at me like I am some kind of Behemouth. (trans: un-naturaly large female) Until I earn a seat. Soon to be sat next to by one of the following: Obese ans curiously musky, Urine smelling overly friendly and touchy old man, Person in some kind of sports team apparel who reeks of cigarettes and booze, and sometimes even the kid who I refuse to buy cigarettes for at "the plaid" where I get on the 20. It is too bad that there is something about being in close proximity to these strong smells, in motion, for an hour, makes me want to throw up. Hi

Maura
Thank you! In addition, I am assuming you've listened to the Joe Pug Daytrotter Session but if you haven't then you need to drop what you're doing and listen to Hymn #101 immediately. It's very you.