Well, that escalated quickly. Katie and I made it to Colorado Springs, but with little help from Greyhound. Here's the story:
An hour after posting my previous update (Katie's plans for summer, fun times on the bus, etc.), we pulled into little more than a parking lot in Buffalo, WY, where we were to meet up with another bus that would take us and two others to Denver, where Katie and I would board our final bus to Colorado Springs.
Problem: the other bus didn't show up. No one knew why; it just didn't. So, our driver called us back onto the bus and said that we'd figure it out in Gillette, WY, which was our next stop in another hour. Like lemmings, Katie and I got back on the bus and didn't think too much about it.
Until, that is, 15 minutes later, when it dawned on me that Gillette was not along I25, but 70 miles east of I25 on I90. Once again, my coveted Geography degree from the University of Missouri saved my locational bacon, as I cleverly discerned that this would mean we would not be heading south to Denver as previously planned. This bus was going east.
It was at this point that I started making phone calls, but between western Wyoming's sparse cell coverage, unending answering wait times on hold when I did get through, and Greyhound's recent decision (last week, officially) to handle all customer service issues via email rather than by phone, by the time we reached Gillette, here's what we were told:
To get to Denver via Greyhound, we were going to have to take the bus we were on east across South Dakota to Sioux Falls, down to Omaha and/or (probably) Kansas City, and then back across Kansas to Denver to catch a bus (probably the same one, only 24 hours later) to Colorado Springs. (The map below illustrates said proposed route, though our driver was quick to point out that this was best-case scenario.)
If this was how Greyhound was going to play it, game on.
Katie and I got off the bus again along with the other two Denver passengers (Cesar and Antonio - two young Mexican brethren whose English was about as good as our Spanish) and together we formulated a plan. There were four rental car agencies in town, but three were closed on Saturdays; that left local Priceless Rental, which was two miles down the road from the Gillette bus stop/gas station. I asked the Greyhound driver if he could drop us off before turning the other direction and heading for Sioux Falls, but he said he could not deviate from his route, so Katie and I left our stuff with Cesar and Antonio and got our steps in for the day.
Priceless had told us by phone that we had our pick between a 12- or 15-passenger van (both of which got 10 miles to the gallon), or there might be a small Kia available at 1 p.m. (it was 9:45 a.m.). Upon arrival, we saw the vans, but were happily surprised that since our last conversation at mile marker one, they had tracked down the Kia at the airport and were making plans to get it for us - literally, the only available rental car in Guillotine (as Katie mistakenly but accurately called it), WY - and a welcome break from recent developments.
It was 10:45 a.m. when we got the car and drove back to pick up Cesar and Antonio, who were sitting on the pavement in the midst of all the luggage. We shoehorned everyone and everything in, backtracked to I25, grabbed lunch, enjoyed hours of Spanish soap operas and skits on YouTube, and headed south for Denver, where we would later spend the better part of an hour-and-a-half delivering Cesar and Antonio to their respective doorsteps in Greeley and Aurora, two bedroom communities on Denver's sprawling north and east sides.
Having gone the extra mile(s) for our Mexican muchachos (they were great, even giving each of us a bracelet as a heartfelt sign of thanks), Katie navigated us flawlessly back to I25 and spun the wax for a killer road trip soundtrack to the Springs, making it through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru (since Colorado restaurants can only serve drive-thru or curbside because of COVID-19) and to our friends' beautiful home in Crystal Park for a patio campfire and much-needed showers.
If you made it this far, you have a sense of the same relief we had when we fell into bed. After a day of rest (and perhaps therapy) tomorrow, Katie begins day camp orientation on Monday, while I have to have the car back to Priceless in Gillette and catch whatever bus might be headed back Bozeman way.
I have a few bones to pick with Greyhound, but am thankful that they have invited the conversation by way of their email (see below), which came 90 minutes after we had disembarked the bus, rented the car, listened to the first of several hot mariachi mixes, and hit the road. I also have a new twist on a familiar marketing slogan for them:
#GoGreyhound, and leave the driving to me.