I hear them talking about jail sentences they have served, or are scheduled to serve, about arrests and how they lost their licenses. They have a kinship, a brotherhood, in their problems and in their stories of how they all ended up bouncing down the highway on this bus together.

The reason I am on the bus is because I get to read (for hours in just a single week), and relax, and because I hate traffic, and maybe because I am too stubborn and cheap to give up my 1971 classic American auto. If I drove it too much it could wear out.

All are good reasons for me to take public transportation, and yet there is another: Taking the bus causes me to walk more; to the bus stop in the morning (running on some days), up the hill to work, to the bagel store and back at lunchtime, through downtown after work over to the Tattered Cover bookstore. (one of the treasures of this city).

I have come to understand that walking is as good for the soul as it is for the body. It gives one time to think and sort things out, and to see things that might otherwise be missed.

So I endure the occasional rowdies at the back of the bus, including the one who entertained himself by throwing paper at me while I read (a hard stare got him to stop). These are human problems I deal with, rather than the problems of congestion and pollution caused by hundreds of thousands of single driver cars clogging the highways, sitting in line waiting to get on and off the freeway, waiting for the light to change, waiting for the accident to be cleared.

A person wouldn't be honest to say that riding on the bus day through week through month does not get boring. This is the burden of the working person, the repetition of doing what one must, all the while knowing that there are unforgettable days to be had in the mountains, in places like Yellowstone or beyond. Instead here we sit on this bus, or worse, in a car stuck in this darn traffic.

It takes more romanticism than I can muster sometimes to see this ride as anything but dull and long.

(proof of how dull it becomes is that narratives like this come out of it (the 'fruit of my commute'?).

But occasionally one gets glimpses of honest and true humanity that are not forgotten.

A month or so ago a young lady got on the bus, checked her pockets, and realized she had lost her billfold. She was so upset she cursed loud a few times then slumped in the seat and broke into tears. Her girlfriend talked quietly and tried to calm her down. The girl said all the money her mom had given her was in the billfold, and that she probably dropped it on the street somewhere.

A few stops later some more of her young friends got on the bus. One with green military pants and chains hanging near to his knees also sat and consoled her, while she leaned against him in the seat.

Once upon leaving the bus terminal, a person who must have felt we had a kinship in that we both shouldered backpacks stepped in beside me (mine was full of books). He commented on how cold it was last night and asked were I got the ear warmer I had on, on this cold november evening. He asked where was I going (to Wendy's to get a salad), and what I did for a living. I told him, and commented that I won't get rich in my job.

His reply was 'I guess the h___ not, you ride a bus and are on the way to Wendy's to have a salad for dinner.'

He was a likable character, and would have liked to give him something for his dinner but did not want to insult him. Instead I make a point to pass on whatever I have to homeless people wanting a helping hand.

This morning a tall, tidy lady with dark brown hair and a long fur-collar coat got on the bus, holding the hand of her little six or seven year old daughter. A heavy lady over on the other row of seats said loudly 'You left your bear on the bench.' The mom said 'oh no' and rushed off the bus, her daughter in tow in her hand. They retrieved the brown teddy bear and got back on.

A kind-hearted man said 'Can't leave without all the passengers!'.

The little girl walked down the isle in her purple coat and light blue denim skirt and green tennis shoes. She had light brown hair, tied back in a pony tail with a yellow hair band. She had thick-lensed glasses, and was holding her almost-left-behind Teddy Bear. A little smile of Teddy Bear reconciliation was on her face, and as she went by she hugged her Teddy tight and jumped into the seat, with her green tennies dangling off the edge.

It seems not too long ago that my own kids were little and would ride with me on the bus downtown for a day of adventure exploring the city and the museum and city park and the botanic gardens, or maybe climbing the 93 steps in the circular staircase up the Capital dome.

I have always had a soft spot for the pure and innocent spirit of dogs and little kids, which is why I start my day on a long walk with my border collies, to christen the new day in walking with the truest friends a man could have.

Along with beautiful sunrises, perhaps smiling kids and good dogs are God's reward for those who have lived long enough to understand how special such things are.