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On a cold, dreary Sunday in January 2002, Tim dragged me to an RV show in Denver. Even though he had already been tainted by Bus Conversions, he was still thinking we should just buy some sort of trailer to live in. So, we trekked for hours and hours, up and down, in and out, through the various rigs. Class As, Bs and Cs, fifth wheels, pop-ups and, Lord help me, camper vans. I suspected he started with the latter, just to get me to the point where I’d be begging to live on a bigger rig. The very last booth of the day, the one we nearly skipped (my Manolos were killing me) was that of Vanture Coach Manufacturing. The owner, Chris Brown and his associate, John Frank, jovially entertained prospective clients, proudly displaying examples of their craft -- the conversion of various types of vehicles, which unfortunately, included buses, into motorhomes.

While Chris took another poor deluded man aside, John explained to us why converting a bus was a much better idea than buying a ready-made RV.

“For about the same price as buying one new, you can get a bus made to your very own specifications!” John enthused. Tim nodded, transfixed by the wall of pictures lining the Vanture booth. John continued, “and they’re so much safer than an RV, which is basically nothing more than a plywood box on wheels.” Tim licked his lips. Images of converted school buses, double-decker buses, flexible buses all paving a one-way road to my misery deep into his psyche. I needed to find a detour. Fast.

“A bus, on the other hand,” John confidently intoned, “is made to carry the most precious and expensive cargo in the world. People.” Drool dribbled down the side of Tim’s mouth. As I sized up the rapidly deteriorating situation, John sensed he had to win me over. I was just about to sink to the depths of desperation with a demure, “honey, let’s go. I have cramps,” when John seemed to figure he had me figured out.

“With a bus,” he eagerly turned my way, “you can have exactly the kind of kitchen you want…” I cut him off with a withering look. What was I worried about? This was going to be too easy.

“I don’t cook.” Undaunted, he narrowed his eyes, studying me.

“In a bus,” he said evenly, hands on his hips, “you can design a washer dryer combina…” I nodded toward my husband, who was by now studying the pictures with the same rapt attention he’d used preparing for his medical board exams.

“He does the laundry,” I said, challenging John to up the ante. He took a deep breath, pursed his lips and dropped his eyes to the floor. Slowly, his gaze rose as he took in my designer shoes, stuffed with swollen feet unaccustomed to a full day of walking, their twin cousins, Righty and Lefty Love Handles flowing over my jeans and finally, the trace of an afternoon bonbon lingering on my lips. A smile crept over his face. He folded his hands on his chest and looked me right in the eyes with all the confidence of Ahab if he had ever been able to harpoon that obstinate whale.

“In motion satellite TV,” was all he said.

“I …” My hesitation sealed my fate. While most people would assume the man is the vide-it in the family, in ours, Tim hardly ever watches TV. He’s too busy outside, doing stuff. Me, on the other hand… John continued with a rush of words, circling in for the road kill.

“Your husband can be up front doin’ all the driving, while you lay in bed, all nice and cozy… in your pajamas… snuggling with your…” he noted the trace of white fluffy hair stuck to my black Gucci purse.

“…Cat?” He shot me a questioning look. My eyes widened. John stepped back and beamed at me, triumphant.

“Tim,” I let out a weak cry. He seemed not to hear me, as he stood before the display of buses in various stages of being stripped down to their skins. All that was missing were the front-end pasties, fishnet hubcaps and tantalizing glimpses under the hoods. This called for my favorite whine: full-bodied, sassy, with more than a hint of provocation.
“Ti-im!” Still nothing. Forget the finesse.

“TIM!” He, and the rest of humanity, turned toward me. He could see how shaken I was, but still had trouble peeling his eyes from the bus porn before coming over.

“Take me away from the bad man,” I whimpered. He gave John a quizzical look. John gave him a barely perceptible wink and a nod. Tim steered me away, as he slipped a Vanture card into his pocket.

Comments (2)



I am a bus
commuting people far and wide
and carrying charters on the side

I am a bus
retired now but sturdy in my years of gold
with plenty of the stamina of old

I am a bus
restored and ready now to venture
at our new and thrilled adventure

I am a bus
converted to a house on wheels and home
for people's quest to range and roam

I WAS a bus
but now I join my partners D & T
in our new jaunt of life a proud RV

-by Henry, Doreen's Dad

Ziva & Nachum:

Good luck, enjoy the new adventure.
Love Ziva & Nachum

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on June 12, 2004 5:34 PM.

The previous post in this blog was The Persuaders.

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