But then he did it again!  Even though I was now flagging the bus down in a much more aggressive manner exactly as he’d demanded, one day a while later when I boarded the bus, instead of getting a “good afternoon” from the driver, I heard him say my name and -- boom! -- he started to go off on me with another one of his whiny complaints about how I was invisible and how I’d better try harder to flag him down in the future if I expected him to stop the bus for me.  Since I was doing exactly what he’d asked, there was now no question in my mind that he was lying about not being able to see me.

And the thing was, since I was doing exactly what he’d asked me to do, my guard was completely down that day and I wasn’t expecting to be scolded and before I could stop myself I just automatically confronted him on his unfair reprimand.

“Uh, Cal,” he started to say, “could you be more aggressive --”

And that’s when I broke in and defended myself.

“You keep saying this to me,” I said, interrupting him.  “You keep telling me how I’m invisible on the side of the road.  You must have said this to me at least half a dozen times now.  But it’s your problem and there’s nothing I can do to help you with it.  I’m flagging the bus down the only way I know how to.  There’s nothing more I can do.  And I’ve seen that I’m the only person you ever complain to like this.  Everybody else gets on the bus without hassle.  You don’t say anything to anyone else and I resent that.  Look, I’ve put my prepaid ticket into the slot, I’ve purchased something from you, the transaction to ride the bus has been executed.  As such, I’m entitled to get on the bus without getting any lip from you.”

As I was speaking the driver had been trying to interrupt me, impatiently repeating my name.  I stopped speaking and allowed him to talk.

“Cal,” he said humbly.  “I hear you.  I’m sorry.”

Fortunately he seemed to have gotten my message.  He permitted me to board the bus and take a seat and that was the last time he ever complained about not being able to see me on the side of the road.  After that I stayed away from the bus for a while, as I always did after he gave me a hard time.  Then I started taking it again.  And things were okay for a while.  But then a few months later, in the beginning of 2014, the service began going downhill big time, culminating with a bewildering incident in which he took the harassment to a new level in a shocking display of total disrespect.

One example of the unusual things I observed on the bus during this period was that the driver would park at bus stops when there was no one waiting to be picked up.  He’d halt the bus at all the stops, whether there was someone there or not, and in most cases there wasn’t anyone there, and he’d park it on the road at the location.  Then he’d pull out a clipboard and a pen and write something down and once he’d finished writing he’d put the items down and resume driving.

That was strange.  Then the other thing that happened during this period was that, while the bus was generally a little behind schedule when I took it, the lateness started getting worse and worse.  The pattern was easy to observe.  On Monday it would usually be relatively close to showing up at its scheduled one o’clock arrival time, but every subsequent day of the week it fell further and further behind to the point where by Friday it could be as much as half an hour late or not even show up at all.  Sticking to my vow of non-confrontation, I never once complained to the driver about his lateness or no-shows or about anything else.  I felt that by letting it go I was showing him major respect and I hoped that similar respect would be sent my way in return.  And the vast majority of the time it was.  But, as I’ve recounted in this article, there were these periodic lapses in the driver’s courtesy that were utterly inexplicable.

I remember one time in the early days when things were more pleasant with the driver I’d been sitting in a front seat chatting with him and he confided to me that he was of Dutch heritage.  I have good friends who are Dutch and I’ve found them to be the most wonderful people around.  But I also remember him warning me that one of the traits of the Dutch is that they hold longstanding grudges against those they believe have crossed them.  I don’t know if this is a genuine Dutch trait or not, probably not, but this was what he told me.  Now I was beginning to wonder if maybe the driver held a grudge against me for challenging him on his invisibility crap.  As it turned out, it seems he did.

Confirming my fear that he was indeed holding a grudge against me, the driver concocted a brand new trick with which to harass me -- he started using my bike as a way to make my boarding an issue.

One day in February I was waiting for the one o’clock bus and it was ten after one and it still hadn’t appeared and I absolutely had to get into town right away for an appointment.  So, not having the option of waiting any longer since he might not show up at all, I hopped on my bike and started peddling down the highway as hard as I could towards town.  However, as I rode down the highway I continuously looked backward over my shoulder in the hopes that the bus might appear.  And yes, ten minutes later, at one twenty, when I arrived at Gaudet Road I saw the bus lumbering up the hill behind me.  So I hopped off my bike and stood on the side of the highway and attempted to flag him down.

Thankfully the driver saw me and stopped and pulled over on the side of the highway, stopping directly beside me just a few feet away from me.  But when I approached the bus to unclasp the bike rack to mount my bike on it I heard someone yelling.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!” the person was shouting.  “GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!”

I looked up at the windshield and through the reflection of the glass I saw that it was the driver who was yelling.  He was waving his arm at me frantically as he did so.  He’d lost control of himself and was having a stress fit.  Trying to ignore his boorish yelling, I politely gestured for permission to load my bike onto the bus rack.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!” he yelled at me again.

So I moved away from the bus and the driver took his foot off the brake and lurched the vehicle forward a mere few inches and came to a stop again.  I then loaded my bike onto the bus rack and boarded the bus.

Had I been any other cyclist the driver probably would’ve allowed me to mount my bike and get on the bus.  And if I had just been an individual without a bike, he simply would’ve opened up the doors and allowed me to board the bus immediately.  But since it was me, the driver used my bike as an excuse to obstruct me from getting on.  And considering that he was already at least twenty minutes behind schedule and there might’ve been other people waiting for him further on, his decision to delay the bus even more by fucking around with me speaks to the extent of the loss of emotional control he sometimes had when he saw me.  But sticking to my vow, I still refrained from complaining to him about anything.

The next thing that began happening was they took away the bike rack entirely.  While this did happen occasionally in the past, it became a regular occurrence.  And I felt this was a snub against me in particular because I was usually the only cyclist who took the bus; sometimes I wouldn’t see another cyclist on the bus for months.  To the driver’s credit though, he did allow me to take my bike inside the bus itself when there wasn’t a bike rack and I’m tremendously grateful for that.

One day when the lack of a bike rack had become a recurrent thing I said something to him about it.

“You know, I could register a complaint about the lack of a bike rack,” I mentioned amiably.

“Oh yes you could,” he concurred with earnest.  “In fact, there should be a rack because they advertise that they accommodate cyclists in the bus schedule.”

“Well, how about I just lodge a complaint with you,” I suggested.

“No, I’m just the driver,” he replied.  “I don’t take complaints.”

The driver explained that he had no authority over the tools he was given to work with and wasn’t the public interface of the bus company in any way.  I see that a little differently.  As the only employee the public deals with directly regarding the bus service for that route I’d consider him to be the primary representative of BC Transit for taking complaints.

But then came the big shocker that totally capped the degeneration of the bus service during this period, at least for me anyway.

On Wednesday, May 14, 2014 I was waiting for the one o’clock bus at my usual boarding location of Palmer Road and it was late as always.  I remember I wasn’t in a great mood that day because I had a really bad headache.  If you’ve ever had a hangover you’ll know how I felt.  Finally at about 1:15 the bus appeared.  So I flagged it down and it stopped as usual and I approached it to fit my bike on the rack and board the vehicle as I’d done countless times before.

As I stood directly in front of the bus I reached out to take hold of the bike rack’s unclasping mechanism, but when I did I heard the driver tap the bus’s horn.  HONK!  Did the driver actually honk his horn at me? I asked myself.  Surprised as hell, I pulled my hand back from the rack and paused curiously for a second, not knowing what to make of the driver’s use of the horn on me.  Then, returning to the task of trying to mount my bike on the rack, I went to take hold of the handle once again.  But when I went to grasp the handle a second time -- HONK!!! -- the horn sounded again.  And it was even louder in this instance, being held longer than the first time.

Unbelievable!!! I thought to myself.  He actually IS honking his horn at me!!!

The sound startled me and made me jump.  Part of my shock came from the realization of what the driver was doing.  In all my years of riding the bus I’d never once seen him or any other driver use the horn in ANY circumstance.  Not once!  Not in traffic, not on a pedestrian, not anywhere.  AND HERE HE WAS USING IT ON ME???  I was stunned.

The driver then opened the passenger door and I walked my bike over to the door to find out what was going on.

“The bus isn’t working properly,” he said.  “The route has changed.  I’m taking the bus to the garage.  I’m going as far as the 7-Eleven.  Is that okay with you?”

I considered the data I was getting hit with.  Then I responded.  “Yes,” I said.

I just wanted a ride into town, as I always do, and since the 7-Eleven is in town and I can get around on my bike, the exact destination of the bus was inconsequential to me.

So, my mood and my headache now ten times worse having had someone toot their horn at me (twice!), I returned to the task of mounting my bike on the bus, which the driver allowed me to do this time.

However, I was rattled by the driver’s use of the horn to get my attention and prevent me from boarding.  I was extremely concerned that he considered such a thing acceptable to do.  Right away I began worrying that he might start honking his horn at me on a regular basis from now on when I flagged him down.  Such a level of disrespect was not something I’d be able to tolerate.  And on top of that, the use of the horn came across as another harassment tactic, like his invisibility bullshit and the removal of the bike rack.  My suspicion that he was singling me out for harassment had been confirmed yet again.  This scared me.  Seeing someone’s dislike for you demonstrated overtly before your eyes is disturbing as hell.  As such, I knew I had to say something to him about it.

So when I’d stepped onto the bus and was standing next to the driver I politely said to him, “Please don’t honk the horn at me in the future.”

“I needed to tell you something,” he replied.

“Please don’t honk the horn at me,” I repeated calmly.  “If you do it again I’m going to report you.”

I then walked down the aisle and took a seat at the rear of the bus for the trip into town.  Unfortunately, though, the driver still wasn’t finished with me that day in May.