My Jonathan Livingston Seagulls

by Annie Vieira

On a beautiful sunny day in June 2005, Brooks Robert Thompson, Kent Hamilton Metcalf, and Ann Robert Vieira, each took their turn crossing the stage of the Memorial Coliseum, accepting their diplomas, and graduating from high school. The summer that followed I will always remember as one of the most magical times in my budding life. It was the summer we were eighteen, it was our last months before we would leave for our respective colleges, and our entire lives seemed to stretch out before us in an eternity of infinite possibilities. At the time, I was the paragon of youthful optimism: I bravely anticipated the beginning of a new adventure in the big city of Washington, D.C., and I had never felt more alive, more sure of myself, or more confident of my place in the world. For me, that summer will forever exist in time as a period of untouchable perfection, the last calm of hopeful expectation before entering the storm that is reality and––to put it simply––life. 

I have thought of that summer often over the last five years. This is not to say that the half-decade since has been terrible, in fact, quite the opposite; however, those of you that know me well understand that life has also not been without its perils. Like everyone, I have experienced my share of grief, heartache, and difficult times. Without rehashing the unimportant details, I guess what I am trying to say is that at a certain point simply surviving began to feel like a full time job. Somewhere along the line I began to lose touch with that self-assured girl that saw the world as the generous benefactor of endless opportunity, the one who was lovingly raised to believe that she could do anything, that she could be anything. In other words, at some point, while I was perfecting the skill of merely enduring on this planet, I began to forget that it is also my right to allow myself the opportunity to succeed, to be great, and to shine. 

I thought about all of this recently as I was re-reading the novella, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, by Richard Bach: Most gulls don’t bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight––how to get from shore to food and back again. For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating. For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight. More than anything else, Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly. As I became absorbed again in Bach’s fable about this idealistic seagull yearning to glean more from life than merely the everyday task of survival, surprisingly, I began to think of Brooks and Kent. 

As the story goes, at first Jonathan struggles with perfecting his ability to fly high and soar as the falcon can––during his initial attempts he loses control, he is unstable, and he falters. But Jonathan is steadfast in his belief that even as a seagull, he, too, is entitled to pursue a loftier dream and that he, too, has the right to attempt greatness. In the beginning, the other seagulls don’t understand Jonathan’s desire to fly and he becomes ostracized from his flock. Soon, however, he is approached by a furtive group of like-minded seagulls who take him in and help him nurture his prowess. The trick, Bach writes, was for Jonathan to stop seeing himself as trapped inside a limited body that had a forty-two-inch wingspan and performance that could be plotted on a chart. The trick was to know that his true nature lived, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once across space and time. 

Today, on July 1st, 2010, Brooks and Kent will finally take flight. At 5:00 p.m. at Urban Studio in NW Portland, Double Decker PDX will celebrate its official launch, complete with friends, family, well-wishers, music, and libation. Over the last eight months, I have had the opportunity––nay, the privilege––to watch Brooks and Kent prepare themselves for this very day. I have been a spectator, an attentive observer, as they have endeavored to teach themselves the art of flying––doing so (not unlike Bach’s seagull) with the odds stacked against them. I have watched them as they’ve faltered and stumbled, but I have also watched them pick themselves up each time and work harder and fight harder for themselves, for each other, and for their dream. I could not be prouder of these two men, and I could not be more honored to have played a part, no matter how small, in supporting their dream and success. But more than anything, I want to thank them for the gift they have given me––and perhaps many others out there who have followed the development of Double Decker PDX. 

As the fable continues, the seagull eventually chooses to return to his original flock in order to teach the others about the limitless joys that can be achieved when you disregard the so-called rules and preconceived expectations––when you realize your true nature lives, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once across space and time. Two and a half weeks ago, I graduated from college. It only took me one trip around the world, two schools, and five years, but I did it. And thanks to the admirable courage of Brooks and Kent and their willingness to unshrinkingly pursue their dreams and happiness, I feel like I have regained a piece of that hopeful girl who walked across the Coliseum stage five years ago. 

So, to the handsome and accomplished Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf: 

Thank you for being my Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Thank you for reminding us all that it is right for a gull to fly, that freedom is the very nature of his being, that whatever stands against that freedom must be set aside, be it ritual or superstition or limitation in any form. Thank you for being two of my best friends––I can think of nothing that will make me happier than to raise a glass to both of you tonight, to your hard work, to Candy in all her glory, to Double Decker PDX, and to many wonderful things and exciting adventures to come. 

The utmost congratulations on everything you have accomplished. 

I love you both. 

Portland party bus. Party bus portland. Double decker bus portland. Portland’s party bus. Party bus. Limo portland. Portland limo.

"Drive Thy Business, Let Not That Drive Thee"

by Annie Vieira

In 1759, Benjamin Franklin published, “The Way to Wealth,” which summarized much of his own advice pulled from the first 25 years of Poor Richard’s Almanac. The essay was more or less a condensed treatise of how to succeed in business––and in turn, how to succeed in life. In fact, many frequently recited American proverbs such as, There are no gains without pains; Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise; and There will be sleeping enough in the grave, all originated as Franklin adages. Although his piece is saturated with valuable platitudes, one in particular seemed applicably antithetical to the development of Double Decker PDX: Drive thy business, Franklin wrote, let not that drive thee. 

Overlooking the obvious and predictable bus trope (“drive thy business”), Franklin’s aphorism speaks to the general notion of control in business as well as in life. We are an odd species, us humans. Yes, at our core we are driven by the same desires that motivate all animals––sustenance, pleasure, survival––yet we have the added challenge of operating as beings forced to endure the burden of cognition. Our motivation is not simply derived from how to survive on this planet but is supplemented by a yearning to understand our relationship to the world beyond our corporeal existence. Social constructs like religion, politics, and philosophy are all abstract concepts conceived by this very human need to explain the things we cannot understand and exert control in a world where no tangible order exists. In other words, we are a species obsessed with control––obsessed with acquiring it, obsessed with keeping it, and oftentimes obsessed with the fact that we have none. So while I wouldn’t presume to know better than one of history’s most celebrated polymaths––the great Benjamin Franklin––my own history has taught me that the aim to control is an ambition pursued in vain. Rather, the sooner we realize we have none, the better off we will be. Granted, I have never attempted to run my own business and my life experience is admittedly limited in comparison, so if you’re reading this, ghost of Ben Franklin, feel free to shoot me an email and justifiably tell me off. Nonetheless, as Double Decker PDX finds itself months past their initially projected launch date, I’m fairly sure I could garner at least the support of Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf in this supposition. 

“The final week lasted a month,” Kent told me, referring to the time estimation given to them by their mechanic John. “He would tell us ‘it’ll be done next Tuesday,’ then it was ‘next Tuesday,’ and then it was ‘ok, one more week,’ then ‘one more week.’ Then it was down to days, and finally days went to hours, and it just dragged on and on.” Yet, despite the frustration of perpetual anticlimax, Brooks and Kent are assuredly not ungrateful to the man they refer to as “the mastermind” behind Candy’s complete overhauling. “What John did is actually pretty insane,” Brooks said in allusion to the fact that Double Decker PDX commissioned a 100% custom rebuilding of the bus, the likes of which delved into largely uncharted territory. Borrowing an analogy from John, Brooks explained it to me in comparison to restoring a car: “For example, someone says ‘I want you to restore this Mustang.’ Then you can call up this guy and buy the fenders, and then you can call up that other guy and get the engine or get those motor mounts; But with this,” he said, indicating their bus, “for every panel you can’t just call up Bristol ‘cause they don’t make these busses anymore––everything down to every mount has to be custom made.” 

On account of such high demands, John earned himself the appropriately self-appointed epithet of “Engineer” rather than “Mechanic.” However, after hearing the inventory of complex labor accrued by the end of the reconstruction, I would venture more to regard him as a consummate artist and perhaps even a pioneer. Yet, like any creative mind, the gift of vision and artistry often comes at the hefty price of skills like the ability focus or the capacity to successfully manage time and resources. Thus, for Brooks and Kent, those months spent with John were not only an exercise in hard work but a humbling lesson in patience and trust. Despite being there every day (sometimes even putting in a full 12-14 hours), the reality was that they lacked the knowledge and technical expertise needed to accomplish the majority of work. Even with the aid of another mechanic, a talented welder, and a transmission specialist, John was the proverbial brains of the operation––the pivotal center around which all things revolved. For lesser men, the idea of relinquishing complete control and placing the future of their business into someone else’s hands might sound like an unthinkable undertaking; but Brooks and Kent understood that in the long run swallowing their pride would prove more valuable than asserting dominance over things someone else could simply do better than they. With Double Decker PDX there is no “next time,” no “do-overs”––all they have is here and now. There is no margin for error, no backup plan, no safety net in case they fall. For better or for worse, Brooks and Kent have gone all in––betting their money, their reputations, and their livelihoods on each other, on this company, and on John. 

They say hindsight is 20/20, and while I am fairly sure this particular idiom cannot be attributed to Ben Franklin, Brooks and Kent are certainly seeing clearly now that the mechanical renovation of their bus is complete. Without a doubt, John was the right man for the job. Brooks and Kent took a chance by choosing to attempt the unprecedented and the risk has certainly come with its share of additional labor. The unexpected complications included: shifting the leaf springs over the x amount of inches needed to mount the rear axel, making entirely custom suspension bearings, rebuilding the steering gear to incorporate a power steering pump (no other Bristol Lodekka has ever had power-steering capabilities), a custom renovation of the fuel line system in order to turn on and run the engine correctly, a strategically placed engine, transmission and computer unit, an all new drive shaft, not to mention countless other parts all imagined and created by John and his aides. 

Today, as I sit here reviewing the notes from my last conversation with Brooks and Kent, I can think of a multitude of questions about each particular issue, custom part, and the technicalities of it all. In retrospect, however, it all seems rather unimportant. Instead, my only real question at this point would be: “Was it worth it?” Truthfully––after all the anxiety, all the delays, all the unforeseen problems, after going well over time and over budget––was it worth it? Would it have been better for Brooks and Kent to have clung to control and, as Franklin said, drive thy business? They could have listened to all those mechanics before John who suggested they take the easier, less time consuming route of modestly fixing up the bus they had rather than forging blindly and bravely into the unknown world of modern conversions. 

In the end, Brooks and Kent may have respectively shaved 5 years off their lives and perhaps will find themselves going gray at an inordinately young age––but after all is said and done, Double Decker PDX has created a service and business of enduring quality. Brooks once told me that his ultimate goal was to never have to tell a potential customer, “I’m sorry, our bus isn’t capable of that.” No matter what the job, the route, or the destination, Brooks wanted he and Kent to be able to proudly stand behind their business and say, “Of course, Double Decker PDX can do that for you.” So I imagine if I were to ask Brooks and Kent, “Was it worth it?” Without hesitation or uncertainty, the answer would assuredly be: “Absolutely.” 

Portland party bus. Party bus portland. Double decker bus portland. Portland’s party bus. Party bus. Limo portland. Portland limo.

A Change is Gonna Come

by Annie Vieira

Sometimes I fear that Brooks and Kent may have been in a beer-happy state when they hired me. I have spent countless hours scrapping ideas, editing, re-writing, and self-consciously criticizing each word I commit to paper. When I first started writing for Double Decker PDX, I was given very little direction. Brooks and Kent had always intended to keep a chronicle of their progress, but planned on writing it themselves and had little idea of where or even how to begin. Then, after that fateful beer-laden evening when I stepped in as their writer, it became me that had little idea of where or even how to begin. Just as Brooks and Kent had to structure and develop the company with cursory experience and only a vague, hopeful vision to guide them, I similarly had never written a blog before––moreover, I had never really written anything of consequence before and certainly nothing that could effect much beyond my own immediate reality. Writing for Double Decker PDX is a task I do not take lightly. While I was raised to approach any job with the proper reverence and hard work, this situation is augmented by the fact that Brooks and Kent are two of my dearest friends. I have an emotional stake in the future of this business that stems from the unassuming desire to simply see the people you love succeed in what they love. I wanted this blog to be about more than merely a business or a bus––I wanted the world to know my friends, to truly believe in the people steering the (literal and figurative) Double Decker PDX wheel, and to root for their success as much as I will continue to do. 

My first objective for the blog was to introduce Brooks and Kent as co-owners as well as people and individuals. I had no idea how to describe my friends or where I should begin, until one day I walked to a coffee shop, bought myself a latte, and told myself to just sit down and write whatever came to mind. Some of what I wrote that afternoon ended up in the blog and some of it will remain nothing more than barely legible thoughts jotted down in a notebook; however, what that exercise did was force me to really consider my friends in a way one doesn’t normally appraise their buddies. I thought about how I saw Brooks and Kent after years of knowing them, but also how someone else might see them––be it a client, a vendor, a financier, or even another employee. It occurred to me that not everyone would see them through my eyes, as hard-workers, loyal friends, and as two people with genuinely good hearts and the best of intentions. It is an unfortunate truth but we live in society where each of is susceptible to judgment and scrutiny based on little more than our appearance. As reprehensible as this may sound, we are all guilty of it and no one is impervious to it––including Brooks and Kent. 

Allow me to paint you a picture to illustrate my point. Imagine, for a moment, that you are a hard-laboring, long-hour working auto-mechanic, your capable hands are protectively sheathed with an indelible layer of calluses, you have dirt under your nails, your boots are worn, and your pants are covered in grease. You are sweating under the hood of whatever car you have been diligently working on all morning when in walk Brooks Thompson and Kent Metcalf. You look at them with their young faces and confident smiles. “What can I do for you?” you ask, and they launch into some long-winded story about doing a full restoration and renovation of a double decker bus. These spoiled kids have no clue the amount of Daddy’s money this will cost and how many hours I would have to invest into their little hobby, you think as they ramble through their list of ideas. “You guys are in way over your heads,” you tell them with zero effort to disguise the contempt in your voice, “I think you boys are in the wrong place.”

Now take that scene and replay it––in some variation––about 12 times over and you might have a small idea of what Brooks and Kent experienced in their search for a mechanic. From workman to investors to clients, the effort to appear professional but not pretentious, young and fun but not naive, and innovative but not untrustworthy, could render even the most experienced businessmen rather ineffectual in the endeavor to please everybody. It wasn’t long before Brooks and Kent registered this inescapable fact and quickly realized that if they were to succeed as professionals all they could do was remain committed to the values, image, and standards they decided upon for themselves––the rest, they hoped, would follow as fate intended. 

After returning from Boise and seeing a double decker bus up close and in person, they had a clearer picture of what work their bus would ultimately require and a stronger vision of what they, in turn, wanted to do. Their initial plan was to maintain as much of the original bus as possible. Through online searches they came into contact with Mark Golding, the head of the British Bus Club, who advised them to use the original engine with new modern brakes––an avenue which seemed most economical and was really the only way they knew how to get the bus into working condition. Time and again, the boys would find a mechanic who sounded encouraging on the phone, then visit the shop a few days later where said mechanic would take one look at these two young men, hear the copious amount of work they wanted done and the time frame they wanted it done in, and waste no time sending them on their way with an explicit and resolute “no.” Each time they entered a shop it seemed as though the decision had already been made. Few mechanics were willing to give them the 5 minutes to hear their pitch, much less the 5 months it would take to do the actual work. As to why they were continuously turned away, I can only speculate; however, words like entitled or yuppies come to mind. Whether it was indeed the result of an underlying prejudice toward their age and fictitious perception based on their customary attire or people truly just did not have the time, one thing was clear––if the world of Portland auto-mechanics was an exclusive club, Brooks and Kent had certainly been blackballed. 

Eventually, however, while browsing double decker internet forums, Brooks and Kent found a photo of a bus owned by Mike Hale, owner and founder of Hale’s Ales, a Seattle based brewery and pub. From the picture, Brooks noticed a difference in the wheels and decided to contact Mike for any inventive recommendations. Mike told them that rather than keeping many of the original parts, he instead had done a complete modern conversion of his bus with an International DT466 engine, as well as modern air brakes, axels, and transmission. In the meantime, just when they were acclimating to feelings of rejection, Brooks and Kent finally found a mechanic who’s enthusiastic British ex-business partner encouraged him to take the job. Soon after, the two men met Brooks and Kent at NW Auto Works where the bus was parked at that time. The mechanics toured the vehicle and listened to the alternate approach suggested by Mike Hale. Yet, despite their initial interest, they were quickly intimidated from accepting such a substantial undertaking. “You boys are crazy––that is just way too much work,” they told them. “How about we just rebuild the original motor and then teach you how to drive it?”

Now, while this may sound like a kind offer––if I may interject for a moment––I would like to expound on how this proposal left both Brooks and Kent feeling slightly indignant. Primarily, for those who don’t know him, if I was asked to describe Brooks Thompson, the first things that would likely come to mind are (a) Brooks Thompson could sell ice to an eskimo––granted that eskimo might walk away wondering what the hell hit him, but happily with ice in hand nonetheless. And (b) Brooks Thompson can drive just about anything. Seriously. You could probably put some wheels on a lump of dirt and Brooks would figure out a way to drive it. In other words, Brooks is a maestro of vehicles. Put that man behind the wheel of even the most recalcitrant or temperamental of cars and he will find a way to coerce it into submission. To assume otherwise is akin to the assumption that one could teach Beethoven to play the piano or instruct Vince Carter on how to dunk a basketball... well, maybe not quite... but you get the point. 

Kent’s indignation, on the other hand, was precipitated by an entirely different supposition. If I were subsequently asked to describe Kent Metcalf, the first thing that might come to mind are the many ways in which Kent is dad-like. Not only would it not be terribly far-fetched to mistake Kent and Brooks as a babysitter diligently caring for his charge, but the guy also dresses better than any 23 year-old I know. That said, beyond the scruff and the dapper threads, even in spirit Kent seems wiser than most––an old soul perhaps. And the notion that he would allow factors like time and cost to weigh out over safety and reliability, is not only contrary to his very nature but overlooks the crucial fact that providing a service of the safest and highest quality has always been and will continue to be the highest priority for Double Decker PDX. 

In the end, Brooks and Kent stood by their principles. They ultimately found a mechanic who specialized in the custom building of cars rather than a standard repair mechanic. Shortly after finding their mechanic John online, Brooks and Kent pulled up to NW Auto Works to find John already crawling under, over, and around every inch of their bus. John embraced the concept of a modern conversion and eagerly welcomed the complexity and hard work it would surly necessitate. Most importantly, he understood the ethos prompting the renovation––that it wasn’t about perverting the heart and soul of the bus, but rather preserving the historic beauty while adding the security and reliability of a newer vehicle. From there, things began to fall into place. Within days, Brooks, Kent, and John drove up to Seattle to take a closer look at Mike Hale’s bus. A week later they purchased a pristine condition International 4700 donor truck that matched perfectly. And now, nearly every day, Brooks and Kent make the drive out to Troutdale where Candy continues to be lovingly renovated by John and his protégé Hilario while patiently awaiting her public debut. 

Portland party bus. Party bus portland. Double decker bus portland. Portland’s party bus. Party bus. Limo portland. Portland limo.

They Work Hard For The Money

by Annie Vieira

For any young, fledgling entrepreneur, there is no greater movie than 1999’s made for T.V. Pirates of Silicon Valley. The film––which documents the creation of the personal computer and the inception of Apple and Microsoft––depicts how, according to an Apollo Guide review, “over less than 30 years, a band of shaggy nerds rose to become the richest people on earth.” Who can forget the scene in which a long-haired, bearded Steve Jobs, dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and threadbare cutoff jeans, presents his business plan to a doughy, bald, suit-wearing Monument Bank executive who stares back at him managing to look incredulous, bored, and constipated all at once? As The Guess Who’s rousing 1970 kiss-off anthem, “No Time,” plays in the background, the bank montage then cuts to a retrospective interview with Steve Wozniak who laments, “Whenever Steve went to a bank to get a loan, it was like they were Eskimos and we had a refrigerator to sell them.” Finally, after a demoralized Jobs leaves District Savings & Loans once again empty handed, the audience sees him emerge from a contemplative bathroom moment subsequently sporting no more than a mustache to keep him warm.

“Where is your beard?” a younger Wozniak asks him with disbelief.

“In the bathroom. I shaved it off,” Jobs deadpans.

“Well, how come?”

“‘Cause banks don’t like beards.”

It is a piece of cinematic poetry––the ultimate sell-out moment. One can just imagine that with each stroke of his razor, Jobs not only pares down his hair but is simultaneously shaving off tiny pieces of his soul. And, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, a similar moment of clarity is likely experienced by every idealistic entrepreneur at some point in their budding careers. Remaining loyal to ones individuality and vision is unquestionably a significant part of cultivating a new business; however, in reality there are times when playing the game can be equally as crucial. According to the Small Business Administration, half of all small businesses fail within the first five years––as such, it is foreseeable that a certain amount of compromise will become necessary in order to achieve enduring success.

For Double Decker PDX, this compromise did not involve a physical transformation, yet, their quest for financing nonetheless taught them a similar lesson in flexibility. In the last year, SBA loans hit a failure rate of 12%, making bank lending to small businesses extremely risky and––consequently––infrequent. Furthermore (like Steve Jobs before them), Brooks and Kent faced understandable prejudice regarding their age, making an already inauspicious fiscal climate increasingly inhospitable. Although their initial funds came from leftover T.M. Endeavors revenue, by the time Brooks and Kent took possession of their bus in December 2009, the money well had run dry while the laundry list of expenses merely continued to grow.

“Kent had gray hair for like a month and a half,” Brooks joked, when we sat down to discuss this phase in their company. “It’s true,” Kent laughed, “I had to dye it back.” Although they reminisced on those not-so-long-past days with good humor––with a payroll including mechanics, a lawyer, a P.R. firm, painters, window installers, upholsterers, an electronics vendor, and a website developer––the pressure to obtain financing weighed heavily on Brooks and Kent. Despite their efforts to make light of the experience, the stress of watching their financing resolve itself then fall apart again on multiple occasions was difficult to endure.

For months, even while still looking to simply purchase a bus, Brooks and Kent labored diligently on perfecting the Double Decker PDX business plan. When it was finally complete they started by shopping it around to the big banks. They suited up and headed out to Bank of America, Umpqua, Key Bank, and West Coast Bank looking professional and prepared, but were sent away each time with the same response: “We’re not lending right now,” they were told; Or sometimes even, “We like you guys, but you’re young and have almost no credit history––I’m just not sure there is much we can do for you right now.” Refusing to be discouraged, Kent took to the phone book and made calls to every credit union in the city of Portland until they eventually caught a much needed break.

After being refered to one of the executives at Wells Fargo, who all but promised them an SBA Express Line of Credit, they waited diligently by the phone for details or directions toward the next step. When no reply ever came, they began making daily calls only to be told, “Oh, Ms. So-and-So is in a meeting, she will have to get back to you,” or, “I’m sorry, she just stepped out of the office.” Whether they merely experienced a stream of bad luck or it was their age that made the quest for financing difficult, Brooks and Kent realized that in order to reach their ultimate goal they might have to become more flexible in their vision of how to get there.

Ultimately, after exploring nearly every financial recourse imaginable, and what felt like a life-time’s worth of false hopes and disappointments––like most things in life––the funding for Double Decker PDX seems to have worked out the way it was meant to. Eventually, Brooks and Kent found two personal lenders who saw their youth as a virtue rather than a liability. These unnamed benefactors have chosen to lend to Double Decker PDX for reasons that go beyond the aim of economic turnaround, but because they support the cause and were able to see the potential in Brooks and Kent as individuals.

For two guys fresh out of college with no credit history to speak of, it is no small feat that Double Decker PDX was able to secure adequate funding. Despite the overwhelming stress of financing their business, Brooks and Kent learned an invaluable lesson in compromise and the notion that––if you can let go of how you think things should be or how you thought they would be––sometimes, if you’re really lucky, things will work out better than you initially imagined. 

Portland party bus. Party bus portland. Double decker bus portland. Portland’s party bus. Party bus. Limo portland. Portland limo.

Missouri Part II

by Annie Vieira

Last week, the Double Decker PDX blog left its readers undoubtedly on the edge of their seats waiting for an answer to one of the most pressing questions this blogger has faced thus far––the state of Brooks Thompson’s cajones.

But, before we address such a crucial topic, let us take a moment to imagine and appreciate the overwhelming exultation that Brooks and Kent likely experienced as they drove off the McNally Properties’ lot that cold December morning in Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. After all the planning, disappointments, and hard-learned lessons, the boys pulled away in a double decker bus... and not just any double decker bus––their double decker bus.

Although Brooks and Kent both verbalized retrospective feelings of excitement, I have mostly speculation as I attempt to recount their experience. I have to imagine that the feelings surpassed mere enthusiasm and crossed into the realm of elation or perhaps even flirted with pure, euphoric bliss. At 22, as a student on the cusp of graduation, I still have yet to understand that feeling of accomplishment––that unequivocal sense of personal pride that accompanies one’s first significant purchase. Be it a car, a house, a double decker bus––I suppose there are few things in this world that can be so effectively emblematic of one’s personal achievements and, dare I say, individual worth. My intended implication is not that a person cannot achieve self worth in the absence of material property; however, it is my hope that one day, if I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to make a purchase of consequence, that I will allow the weight of such responsibility to manifest itself as a triumph rather than a heavy burden indicative of a future in encumbered adulthood.

On that account, it is perhaps this moment––more so than any other pivotal event in their young lives––that Brooks and Kent truly became men. This bus was theirs. The engine was theirs, the four wheels were theirs, the frame was theirs, their names were on that title; and as such, the responsibility was theirs, the payments, the insurance, the safety––all theirs. So, to return once again to the issue at hand: maybe even more than his ability to navigate the streets in a giant bus, it is Brooks’ willingness and capacity to shoulder this responsibility that reflects on the state and existence of his cajones. If I had been sitting across from Mac McNally that morning, my response might have been, “I’d say Brooks definitely has balls, and you know what? I’d say his buddy Kent over here has a pair too.”

And so began Candy’s maiden voyage as a member of the Double Decker PDX family. The boys rolled off that lot with Brooks at the helm and Kent as his first mate. Quickly, however, that initial excitement was eclipsed by the realization that they were to drive the 200 miles from Lake of the Ozarks to the train station in Kansas City in nearly freezing weather aboard a bus that––at the time––was without heat. But as the trip continued, if the boys (bundled up in long underwear, ski socks, jeans, multiple shirts, sweatshirts, coats, hats, gloves, and hand-warmers) had any lingering doubts about their purchase, it quickly dissipated as signs seemingly began to appear. First, it was the abandoned double decker bus they saw in a parking lot as they drove through Harrisonville. Then later, it just so happened that the cab driver who picked them up from the train yard coincidentally had recently started his own charter company after renovating a school bus. It was as though the stars had finally aligned. Yet, as we have learned, nothing is quite that simple when it comes to Brooks and Kent. When they arrived at the airport and sat down to eat a pre-flight lunch, they thought they were finally home free; however, mid meal the boys received a phone call from the train yard. “Guys, we’ve already used up the entire can of starter fluid and we still can’t get the bus started, ” they were told. With only 35 minutes before their flight was to take off, Kent found himself negotiating with the airlines about the possibility of a later flight, while Brooks stayed on the phone racking his brain for any way possible to get the bus started. Ultimately, with only 15 minutes to takeoff and before they had even begun the security process, Brooks and Kent got the call that Candy was up and running and had made it onto the train. One week and a whole new set of mishaps later, Brooks and Kent’s very own double decker bus arrived in Portland.

Portland party bus. Party bus portland. Double decker bus portland. Portland’s party bus. Party bus. Limo portland. Portland limo.