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The sun, constellation Capricorn, and Mercury. Picture made with SkyView app for iPhone.

As the sun moves across the sky a terrible thing happens to drivers going down, or rather up, since they’re climbing a hill, a particular stretch of road. The sun’s position is such that it’s right there at the peak of the hill and it hits us right in the face, blinding us. It’s a temporary phenomenon. Even during the times of year when it’s in just the right position, or rather just the wrong position, it’s there less than an hour because, when you think about it, the sun moves pretty quickly, even relatively speaking, or rather the Earth moves pretty quickly, turning so the horizon rises up to meet the sun, but during that time it creates a dangerous condition. The builders of ancient monuments like the pyramids or Stonehenge thought about the positions of the sun and stars. The Mayan temple of Kukulkan at Chichen Itza has a famous “serpent” effect during the spring equinox, all developed because the position of the sun was important to people and they also had a lot of time on their hands because they weren’t driving anywhere. Whoever decided where the road should go didn’t seem to think about this, and they probably didn’t have much choice because roads go everywhere so it’s unavoidable that some of them are going to face straight into the sun.

Since my stop was coming up I had moved to a seat near the driver.

“That sun is brutal,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said, “and I’ve got a sun shade here, but it’s but it’s broken so I can’t pull it down.”

I’d noticed that. Bus drivers don’t have a sun shade like most cars but a fabric screen they can pull down part of the way to block the sun. When the sun is low enough, though, when it’s right in the middle of your field of vision, no shade helps.

“At least it’ll be behind me when I turn around and head back,” she said.

And I remembered something I learned as a kid, an Irish blessing.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face…

Obviously the Irish didn’t drive a lot.

What’s the best way to deal with sun right in your face? I can think of a couple of ideas: pull off the road, turn another way and go somewhere else for a bit until the sun is in a different part of the sky, and, if you’re riding a bus, don’t talk to the driver while they’re trying to concentrate on the road.

It was a Saturday. I was taking the bus somewhere, possibly to a movie or just gadding about. There had obviously been a wreck on the interstate because the main road was bumper-to-bumper with people trying to get somewhere, or just gadding about. On Saturdays only half as many buses run as on weekdays and the sudden surge of traffic had already put it well behind schedule, meaning I’d been standing on the side of the road for half an hour. And then a car pulled up next to me and stopped. The tinted window rolled down.

“Chris! What are you doing out here?”

It was my sister-in-law. In a weird coincidence she’d been on her way somewhere–she’s not usually one for gadding about–and the stop-and-go traffic had brought her to a halt right next to me. And maybe it was because I’d just been standing out in the sun inhaling auto fumes for so long that I didn’t hesitate. I climbed right into her car and closed the door. I gabbled away about how I’d been waiting for the bus, it looked like it was never going to come, had there been a wreck on the interstate? And I was so glad to her for offering me a ride.

It was only after she’d dropped me off at an intersection a couple of miles down the road, where two bus routes intersected, basically doubling my chances of catching a bus even on a day when the wait times were twice as long, that I realized she’d never really offered me a ride. It was sort of okay because she was headed to that intersection. Just beyond it was an interstate on-ramp that she was hoping would get her past the accident and back up to speed, but she still had to pause to drop me off. And I felt guilty about it although I’ve never thought to apologize and it’s been so many years now she’s probably forgotten about it entirely.

Anyway “don’t take rides from strangers” is a good rule of thumb, unless you’re hitchhiking in which case you use your thumb, but that’s another story. Another good rule, though, might be that you shouldn’t take rides from people you know either–at least not unless they explicitly offer a ride.

I like to talk to people. Yes, I’m one of those who’ll happily engage in small talk with just about anyone, although most of the time I have a problem starting conversations with strangers. I get that small talk bothers a lot of people and I respect that. The last thing I want to do is impose on someone who’d rather be alone with their own thoughts. There’s nothing wrong with silence. There are a couple of guys I see regularly on the bus who always sit together. Sometimes they’re talking; sometimes they’ll have extensive discussions that draw in three or four other regular riders, the conversation only dropping off as everybody gets dropped off at their regular stops. And sometimes these two guys just sit together, side by side, one with a thick book, the other with a newspaper, in total silence.

I always feel a little awkward when I’m the only rider on the bus. Does the driver want to talk? How do I know? If the driver’s been laughing and talking with other riders who then got off that’s a pretty good sign that, yes, the driver does want to talk, that they’re one of those drivers who really likes to talk. Most of the time if they’re that type they’ll start up the conversation with me which takes some of the pressure off, but until that happens I’m not sure. Bus drivers run the spectrum. Some want to talk, some want to be left alone, and some are okay with talking but have trouble starting conversations.

There were only three of us on the bus: the driver, an older guy dressed in jeans and a ragged flannel shirt, and me. There’d also been a teenage boy, but he’d gotten off at the last stop.

“Did you have a good day, Jim?” the driver asked loudly.

The older guy didn’t respond. He just sat in his seat staring at his hands.

I’m not sure how long the silence went on but then the driver said, “I guess it’s a ‘don’t talk to Cathy’ kind of day.”

She chuckled, and I said, “Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

The driver didn’t say anything. I felt really awkward, like I’d accidentally intruded on a private conversation. Either that or for some reason the driver thought I was Jim.