Before the advent of automobiles necessitated the extension of paved roads upon land, most people in America got around by boat on this fertile country's vast network of rivers, lakes, and other waterways. Say you are Aaron Burr, it is 1804, and you have just gunned down Alexander Hamilton in Weehawken, New Jersey. Your political life is over, and President Jefferson, who has had it in for you since you became his vice president four years ago, will now actively seek your execution for murder and treason. You need to get out of town. St. Louis looks appealing, and the exotic port town of New Orleans even more so. But how do you, living in the early 19th century, travel all that way in a hurry? You take the rivers. Hop on the Ohio, which carries you through the Old Northwest, then transfer to the mighty Mississippi, and float South through the American frontier.
In the 21st century, roads are our rivers, and buses our watercraft. Now without a vehicle of my own, I must take the bus. To get to KEXP from my house, I swim down 155th, which feeds into the grand and heavily trafficked Aurora river, where I board the 358 ship down to Seattle.
There were two dogs riding the bus; one was a young golden lab, all grinning teeth and fidgeting feet. The other was an older guide dog, very stoic and observant. It was interesting to notice the disparities in behavior and how they regarded one another. It is a strange thing that seeing animals of the same species interact with each other helps to humanize them.
