The Orange Night Bus Pt. II



To read Part 1, click here



Portland is a massive, and often beautiful city, filled with hidden glens and parks and neighborhoods of all styles and eras. And like its home city, Trimet—our transit system—has its own nooks and crannies. One of these is Line 291, the “Orange Night Bus”, which follows the Orange Line MAX train from downtown Portland to Milwaukie, almost 7 miles as the crow flies from where I stood, in Portland’s Old Town district. I had made the decision, for better or worse, that I wanted to ride this bus, and had set out on Monday evening taking an eventful ride on the Orange Line into Portland, hoping to intercept this mysterious bus, and praying that I hadn’t somehow miscalculated something. So far my plan seemed to be working out.


I rounded the corner, and found a bus stop just down the street from the Amtrak station. The upcoming arrivals made no mention of the 291, but I thought nothing of it. I had done some research the previous day, and the only evidence I had been able to find that the night bus existed at all was a revised system map, a photo, and an online schedule, so not seeing it listed here didn’t surprise me. A few buses waited out the chilly night in a small lot across the light rail tracks from my stop, but none of them advertised themselves as the 291.

One of Trimet's new articulated buses on the FX-2--similar
to one which assisted me--passes through Portland's Old Town
District on its way east in the early morning hours of Feb. 21

I wasn’t waiting long before one of the green articulated buses running the new FX-2 line picked me up. A heavy rain began to fall as the bus pulled away from the curb, dumping buckets on the bus’ windshield. I asked the driver how to catch the 291. The driver assumed I was trying to get home as efficiently as possible, and to his credit, did his best to get me back to Milwaukie the easy way. The FX-2, he explained, could get me across Tilikum Crossing—the transit bridge I had crossed an hour and a half earlier—without having to wait. I thanked him for his offer, and explained my goal. He shrugged, and offered to take me a few stops up the street instead. 


As the driver let me off, I asked “So it will stop here? You’re sure?”


“Yes,” he said, “well, not here. It will act like a MAX. It will stop there.” He pointed to the MAX stop a block away. I thanked him again, and got off the bus to resume my quest. I had assumed that buses stopped at bus stops; had the green bus not picked me up, I would have been waiting at the wrong stop. Things just work out some times. 


Though I got off the bus a mere three blocks from where I had started, it was Tuesday now, and the torrent had given way to a gentle mist: the downpour moments earlier could easily have been a dream. I walked back from whence I had come, to the first stop on the eastbound Orange Line. When I checked the upcoming arrivals list, I was relieved to see an ETA for the 291.


Around 12:10 AM, a bus in Trimet’s new paint scheme rounded the corner and settled into the waiting area, its display board flashing the number 291. I was relieved seeing it waiting there: it was real, and it would take me home.


I still had a half hour to wait, so I left the bus stop and climbed the darkened staircase beside Portland’s Union Station to watch the Amtrak trains standing by for their morning departures. I couldn’t enjoy the scenery though; each time I heard a diesel bus engine start up, my heart caught in my throat, certain that the 291 was leaving without me. Eventually, I decided that I would be better off if I spent the layover at the stop instead. So I returned across the rainy street, past the village of dirty tents, to the MAX station. A few of the inhabitants of these tent came out to get some fresh air. I nodded when they saw me, and they nodded back.


A cool breeze blew in from the north. It was calm and quiet, save for a strange squeaking sound from behind the bushes lining the sidewalk: rats, probably. Once upon a time, they would have been scared away by idling greyhound buses waiting for passengers of their own. A well-dressed lady approached the bus stop, and stood about five feet away. She waited for the bus with me for about 20 minutes, bogged down with at least four shopping bags. Shortly before the bus arrived, she began to pack up her thngs. I was sure she too was waiting for the night bus, and would get on with me, but when I looked behind me as I boarded, she had vanished. 

For the first several blocks, the 291 was completely empty: just me and the driver. We rolled along the sleeping transit mall, heading southbound. Even this far out from Christmas, trees were still lit, and gold and silver stars hung from trees in parks.

Trimet's Line 291 beginning its route at the 
"Union Station/NW 5th & Glisan" station
at 12:43am

As the 291 continued, a few other people boarded: working folks, in slacks and polos, some with headphones, another with a book. I had run into plenty of people on the MAX itself, people in soiled clothes with nowhere to go, carrying on with no one in particular and trying to dissect the train’s seats. I had expected these to be the primary clientele for the night bus as well, but the passengers on the 291 itself weren’t very interesting, just late commuters heading home. No one said much as the bus rolled on through the darkness. 

Unlike so many other bus lines I had ridden, the bus didn’t call its name when it stopped at the Max stations. No “Line 291, Orange Night Bus, to Milwaukie.” The only sounds on board were the sound of the engine, and the hissing of compressed air as the doors opened and closed. The Night Bus dutifully stopped at each MAX station, pausing for a brief moment, going about the motions. The 291 continued on like this, tiptoeing through the darkened suburbs, passing its sleeping comrades at the Powell Garage, and continuing south. We never picked up many passengers--even by the last stop, there were only three of us. Not surprising, I suppose, for the early morning hours.


The 291 only went as far as the final MAX stop, but the bus itself continued on under a different line number. So when we arrived at the station where I had left my car the previous evening, I disembarked not a 291, but a humble Line 33 to Clackamas. To anyone waiting down the line, the mysterious “Orange Night Bus” may as well have never existed. Several people got on to continue south as I got off, and as I walked up the hill toward my car, I heard the bus doors hiss closed. A diesel engine roared, and the Line 33 to Clackamas departed, carrying its passengers—and its secret identity—away, into the night.


~


©2023, All rights reserved - KP Vol. LXXX

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