When Giselle Whiteaker boarded a Greyhound from Nashville to Memphis, she ignored the rumours her peers peddled about bus people. She pictured herself as the heroine in one of the multitude of Hollywood movies that show the lead alighting in a new town from a dusty bus, a guitar slung on their back or a valise in their hand. Things didn't go according to plan.Instead, she criss-crossed the States for months, dragging an oversized rucksack in her wake. She filled the void created by the collapse of her high-flying career by chewing up the miles, developing a fascination with all things American, including those who journey on her highways. Whim and impulse guided her travels and Greyhound became her constant: the only place that drew her back. The buses may not be the fastest way to get anywhere, nor the most comfortable, but they're certainly the most interesting. That's what kept her coming back for more, filling the gaps on the map and learning to embrace the unexpected. Somehow, she found a niche in a community of misfits.This is not a romantic story of bus travel like that presented in the 1934 rom-com It Happened One Night, where Claudette Colbert falls asleep on Clark Gable's shoulder on a Greyhound bus from Florida to New York City. That doesn't represent Greyhound today, in the same way that Hollywood doesn't show the real America. It is, however, a love story of a different kind.Giselle may not have set out to become a bus buff, but the people she met on Greyhound, from hobos to ex-cons and a man run over by a train, got under her skin. From Boise, Idaho to Beaufort, South Carolina she immersed herself in the country to the soundtrack of those who 'ride the dog', finding good in the most unexpected places.
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