The bus whizzed by my feet while I was standing there, then the driver decisively applied the brakes and it ground to a halt. It was my first morning of catching Island Transit, and already I was in trouble.

No one else was on the road that time of day. Even the two ladies who walk at sunrise every morning were still at home hunting for their shoes. Just me, the mailboxes and the trees under the moon, partially hidden by a cloud. No wonder the bus driver had trouble seeing me when I meekly held my hand up like a chump in the night.

The bus driver was a bit peeved, but spared me a long lecture about how to flag down a bus on a dark morning. She figured it is better to shed a little light than curse the darkness, so she handed me my personal Island Transit beacon. It’s a pocket-sized light you squeeze and in the dark you light up like a cut-rate version of the Statue of Liberty. The driver said she was concerned for my safety, but I secretly suspected she figured the beacon would make it easier to run me over the next morning.

I stashed the beacon in my pocket and prepared for my first northbound bus ride. I started on a little bus and then transferred to a bigger one, which even at 6:12 a.m. was pretty full. I worried that I might have to share my seat with someone before we reached Coupeville. The seats are made to provide ample space for those who trace their ancestry back to the Lilliputians.

At each stop the number of vacant seats dwindled until it was inevitable that someone was bound to plop down beside me. It turned out to be a high school kid who wasn’t much bigger than a Lilliputian, so it wasn’t so bad. Besides, the kid sat on the edge of the seat and turned toward the aisle, apparently thinking the older person sitting next to him had leprosy. Instinctively, I checked my fingers and nose.

After stops at the school and hospital in Coupeville, the ranks in the bus thinned out. Now there was room to stretch one’s legs and open up the newspaper, or maybe enjoy the view. There’s much more to see out the bus window than a car window. Water views where there weren’t any before, and sunrises a few seconds earlier than before.

During the work day I found myself looking forward to the bus ride home. No stress, no clutch to push, no watching the gas gauge dive like a merganser going after a herring. The trip back was nice, except for all the kids who got on in Coupeville. Apparently it’s not cool to ride the school bus, so they ride the Island Transit bus which follows the school bus down the road. If the transit buses ever get too full of commuters due to $3 a gallon gas, we’ll have to kick the kids off. Moving the bus stops two blocks from the schools would probably deter them, as that would mean walking.

I hopped off the big bus at the appointed station and waited for the little bus. Then I waited some more. Eventually, I realized the little bus had already left. The skies were darkening, the wind was whipping up, and I was more than seven miles from home. It was a long walk, but I wasn’t afraid. I still had my Island Transit beacon . . .

That would have been a fine place to end this column, but in fact I called my wife and she came and picked me up. I later learned that all I have to do to make the little bus wait is to ask the driver of the big bus to radio ahead and let them know I’m coming. Like the other problems in my life, it was all my fault.