I'm in Evansville, Indiana. If you've ever been there, you know how unremarkable that is: it's not my place, I don't really belong here, so except for the nifty friends of Mona, nothing holds me here. We're leaving on Saturday, and thankfully we can take trains for the rest of our trip. Greyhound sucks. Don't take it cross-country if you can help it.
Don't mistake Greyhound for Mexican buses. Mexican buses are nice. Greyhound stops every 2 hours and makes you take all your stuff off the bus so they can clean it, and the seats are small and cramped. Also, Mexican buses show movies, which importance you may understand only if you've tried to ride a bus for more than 8 hours.
What is it about the American West that makes big things seem small? As we rumbled on through Utah and Colorado, I saw what looked like some hills off to the side of the road; when I looked closer I saw a building I could use to scale things, and discovered that the "hills" were (a) 5 to 10 miles away, and (b) at least 1500 feet high. It reminded me of the drive when I moved, when I tried to climb a small rise in the landscape that, up until the point I was halfway up, looked about 200 feet high (it was more like 600).
Enh. Bah.