It's 283 miles from Las Vegas, Nevada to Marysvale, Utah. That's less than four hours by car, according to Google Maps.
Not so for the bus. Try double that time, if you're lucky.
My bus is a 2000 Gulf Stream Sun Voyager. It's 35 feet of glory, with two slide-outs, a v10 under the hood, and only 25,000 miles on the odometer. Its SERVICE ENGINE SOON light is perpetually illuminated. I ripped the interior apart and had it put back together to my specifications, and it's ready to roll, but it doesn't roll fast.
The bus needs about a mile to achieve its near-peak cruising speed of 65 mph, give or take. Down a hill or with a nice tailwind, it can hit 75-80 no problem, but every last piece of the bus vibrates and rattles at that speed. Trust me -- you don't want lean into a hill or a tailwind with the bus.
Let's say you're cruising on a nice highway at about 55mph. What's tough about that? Actually, a lot of things.
The whole bus moans and groans, squeaks and grinds, even at 55. The engine roars and gurgles and occasionally screams, and the generator sounds like a semi-muffled jackhammer. The air conditioners blow, the suspension augments every imperfection in the road (potholes sound like cannon reports), and the only thing that's silent is the motorcycle that may or may not still be on the flimsy hitch attached (hopefully, still) to the rear of the bus. The slide-out behind the driver's seat squeaks so urgently that you'd go crazy if you focused on it for two straight minutes. The brakes make all kinds of noises, some of which sound like birds. The chassis itself seems to bellow at you without warning or reason.
And the wind. A refreshing breeze hits my billboard-sized flanks like a gut punch. Go under a bridge and you'll zag five feet left or right without any warning on the other side. (Wind, it turns out, is invisible.) A 15 mph wind moves you violently across lane dividers no matter how vigilant you are. And any semi truck that passes you will lurch the bus four feet away from it -- or right toward it -- depending on the direction and severity of the gust.
The steering wheel is big and loose. You constantly correct it a few inches in either direction, by instinct, but when the wind is really blowing, you have to yank that wheel to the side, as though you're banking through a curve -- just to stay straight.
The brakes work, but you can't be in a hurry to stop. Keep an eye on the speedometer, because if you're above 30mph, stopping soon is out of the question. Even from 30, you'd better hope you're going up a hill. I've shamefully cruised into the very middle of an intersection because I lost track and was going 35 when I mashed the brakes.
My driving instructor also gave me brilliant advice for stopping at intersections when you're going pretty fast: Lay on the horn and punch it. You can't stop, so don't try. Keep an eye on the crosswalk signs and either begin to stop a half-mile out -- or crank that horn and floor it.
The bus is enormous, so you can't drive it like a car. If you do, you'll be straddling two lanes. You need to feel certain that you, the driver, are actually plowing through the white line you're supposed to be inside. Only then will the far side of your bus actually be in your lane.
My driving instructor said that I should check both side-view mirrors (there is no rear-view mirror because I'm driving a house) every six seconds. It's good advice, but every time I fully divert my attention from the road to a mirror, I swerve into another lane. With my sensitive steering wheel and the other factors at play, there's no margin for error, and no hope for quick mirror checks.
Back to the highway. Add in a nonstop stream of cars and trucks passing you on both sides while going at least 25-50mph faster than you, and that's why 283 miles can wear you the hell out.
Not so for the bus. Try double that time, if you're lucky.
My bus is a 2000 Gulf Stream Sun Voyager. It's 35 feet of glory, with two slide-outs, a v10 under the hood, and only 25,000 miles on the odometer. Its SERVICE ENGINE SOON light is perpetually illuminated. I ripped the interior apart and had it put back together to my specifications, and it's ready to roll, but it doesn't roll fast.
The bus needs about a mile to achieve its near-peak cruising speed of 65 mph, give or take. Down a hill or with a nice tailwind, it can hit 75-80 no problem, but every last piece of the bus vibrates and rattles at that speed. Trust me -- you don't want lean into a hill or a tailwind with the bus.
Let's say you're cruising on a nice highway at about 55mph. What's tough about that? Actually, a lot of things.
The whole bus moans and groans, squeaks and grinds, even at 55. The engine roars and gurgles and occasionally screams, and the generator sounds like a semi-muffled jackhammer. The air conditioners blow, the suspension augments every imperfection in the road (potholes sound like cannon reports), and the only thing that's silent is the motorcycle that may or may not still be on the flimsy hitch attached (hopefully, still) to the rear of the bus. The slide-out behind the driver's seat squeaks so urgently that you'd go crazy if you focused on it for two straight minutes. The brakes make all kinds of noises, some of which sound like birds. The chassis itself seems to bellow at you without warning or reason.
And the wind. A refreshing breeze hits my billboard-sized flanks like a gut punch. Go under a bridge and you'll zag five feet left or right without any warning on the other side. (Wind, it turns out, is invisible.) A 15 mph wind moves you violently across lane dividers no matter how vigilant you are. And any semi truck that passes you will lurch the bus four feet away from it -- or right toward it -- depending on the direction and severity of the gust.
The steering wheel is big and loose. You constantly correct it a few inches in either direction, by instinct, but when the wind is really blowing, you have to yank that wheel to the side, as though you're banking through a curve -- just to stay straight.
The brakes work, but you can't be in a hurry to stop. Keep an eye on the speedometer, because if you're above 30mph, stopping soon is out of the question. Even from 30, you'd better hope you're going up a hill. I've shamefully cruised into the very middle of an intersection because I lost track and was going 35 when I mashed the brakes.
My driving instructor also gave me brilliant advice for stopping at intersections when you're going pretty fast: Lay on the horn and punch it. You can't stop, so don't try. Keep an eye on the crosswalk signs and either begin to stop a half-mile out -- or crank that horn and floor it.
The bus is enormous, so you can't drive it like a car. If you do, you'll be straddling two lanes. You need to feel certain that you, the driver, are actually plowing through the white line you're supposed to be inside. Only then will the far side of your bus actually be in your lane.
My driving instructor said that I should check both side-view mirrors (there is no rear-view mirror because I'm driving a house) every six seconds. It's good advice, but every time I fully divert my attention from the road to a mirror, I swerve into another lane. With my sensitive steering wheel and the other factors at play, there's no margin for error, and no hope for quick mirror checks.
Back to the highway. Add in a nonstop stream of cars and trucks passing you on both sides while going at least 25-50mph faster than you, and that's why 283 miles can wear you the hell out.
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