Double Decker PDX does Boise

by Annie Vieira

Forevermore, I will remember Christmas Eve 2009 as the day Candy was born. Although technically the old gal has been up and running since 1959, December 25th will always be the day Candy became a part of the Double Decker PDX family. Before that inaugural Portland journey out of the train yard, through St. John’s, and to the mechanic’s garage where she will reside for next month or two, Candy seemed like little more than a hypothetical––an ivory-towered figment of a future reality. But that morning, that distant hypothetical transformed into a tangible present and it became entirely evident that this bus was so much more than four wheels, two decks, and an engine. To properly describe the emotions of that morning feels like a near impossibility, like mere words couldn’t begin to do justice to the true joyousness and total sense of pride emanating from those moments. As I watched Brooks painstakingly maneuver her through traffic with Kent by his side, it only seemed proper that this new family member receive a name. And henceforth, because of her cherry red exterior and her bodacious set of double Ds (decks that is), she became lovingly known as Candy.

 While Brooks and Kent continue to pour their time and devotion into Candy, all the while learning her special quirks and each idiosyncrasy that is unique to her, it hardly seems feasible that they nearly ended up with a different bus––yet that indeed was initially going to be the case. In fact, the bus they were originally interested in purchasing necessitated a visit to Boise, Idaho, a trip that now symbolizes Double Decker PDX’s first encounter with those infamous “learning experiences” our parents are always harping on about.

Three days subsequent to finding this particular bus online for an outrageous bargain, Brooks and Kent had booked one way tickets and were on a plane fully equipped with an envelope of neatly stacked $100 bills just begging to be spent, and their sights set on driving back to Oregon the following morning in their new double decker. After landing in Boise, they met Mark, the seller, who intended to drive them directly from the airport to the bus. Mark was an older British man with thinning gray hair and a well groomed mustache. He was kind and well dressed in dark slacks and a neatly tucked in oxford shirt. He seemed normal enough, so Brooks and Kent loaded their luggage into his car and off they went.

En route, however, while stopped at a light, Mark’s car sputtered to an abrupt and untimely death. With no other options, he rolled them into a nearby gas station. “Just leave your stuff here,” he told the boys, “it’s not far, we’ll walk the rest of the way.” So against their better judgment Brooks and Kent left their bags, their computers, and all of their belongings to began the mile hike through the streets of Boise.

As they walked, Mark filled the time with an incessant stream of words––probably finding it easier to share the intimate details of his life with two, polite young men he would likely never see again. The real reason for the low price, as it turned out, was simply that Mark needed the money. Although he was a self-professed former millionaire, he had fallen on hard times and was living on the bus parked in a friend’s side yard with his 22 year old daughter, 15 year old son, and their menagerie of dogs, cats, and even a couple of fish. Mark’s primary career had been as a moderately successful mystery writer, but most recently had been running a local company that threw Murder Mystery parties around the nearby Treasure Valley. Unfortunately, due to an ongoing battle with an unspecified mental disorder, he had found it difficult as of late to maintain steady employment. And to make matters worse, he was also embroiled in a bitter custody battle with his ex-wife of whom was a diagnosed manic depressive.

Despite his troubles, Mark was a difficult man to dislike. He was good-natured and honest, and expressed significant concern about Brooks and Kent’s plan to drive the bus back to Oregon in its current shape. Their strategy was to drive it as far as they could despite its dilapidated condition––they crossed their fingers that if it were to break down they would be within 100 miles of Portland so that they could use Kent’s AAA membership to have it towed the rest of the way, and worst case scenario if they made it at least half-way home they could pay an extra $50 to have it towed twice as far. But like only a father would, Mark continued to express significant concern about the trip. He worried about many of the dangerous roads between Boise and Portland, particularly that they wouldn’t make it past the legendary Dead Man’s Pass (also known as the “Oh Shit!” Pass) just outside of Hermiston. The more Mark talked, the more Brooks and Kent wanted to buy the bus from him. Not only did they want to return from their trip with a successful purchase, but they liked Mark and it was clear he needed the world to cut him a bit of a break.

By the time they turned the corner onto Mark’s street and the big, red bus came into view, Brooks and Kent had fallen completely in love with the idea of buying this bus. The incredibly low price coupled with the unbearable anticipation and their genuine fondness for Mark, had them running on pure emotion as they were given the official tour.

“Seriously Annie,” Brooks said with a laugh as he and Kent recounted their adventure over lunch a few weeks later, “looking back at this, I honestly don’t know what the hell we were thinking.” From the moment Brooks and Kent stepped onto Mark’s bus, it was obvious that this particular vehicle was not that ivory-towered figment of their future reality. With three people living there, the bus was crammed with stuff––there was a queen sized bed upstairs where Mark’s daughter slept, and the downstairs was packed with computers, a television, and piles of clothes (some of which belonged to the inhabitants and some of which were clearly the moth-eaten legacy of long past Murder Mystery parties). The entire interior reeked of animals and a fine layer of hair was working its’ way over nearly every object, surface, and square inch of naked floor.

With each ding and crack that was uncovered, Mark’s demeanor slowly began to change and he started to push the sale with more and more force. Suddenly, the perilousness of the roads was merely a trivial consideration, and of course after some contemplation it occurred to him that Dead Man’s Pass probably wouldn’t be an issue... Finally, when he revealed to Brooks and Kent that he needed a $200 deposit from them to simply close out the storage unit where he was keeping the spare parts, it became inescapably clear that Mark hadn’t just fallen on hard times but that he literally no longer had a dime to his name. So there they were: stranded 400 miles away from home, no car, no bags, no computers––nothing but a crisp pile of $100 bills burning a hole in their pockets, and the pleading eyes of a man on the verge of desperation staring back at them.....

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