Barbecue in Grosse Pointe? No car? It can be done. Easily, as long as you have patience.

You can't do mass-transit if you don't have patience, which is, and I truly believe this, a virtue (I'm talking about patience. Unless you're stranded in Brooklyn with no money expecting a check from the company you work for (not The Citizen) but it's "two days late" and you get an email two days late telling you it's gonna be "two days late." When that happens, throw patience out the darm window.)

Anyway, Ferndale to Grosse Pointe on the SMART bus. It's $1.50 to ride the bus. Throw in a handful of change, or slide a couple bucks in the console, and you're on.

I grabbed the bus on 9 mile, in front of that god-awful Monkey Bar place (or whatever it's called these days). It was about 25 minutes late.

"You know, the bus broke down coming from Eastpointe earlier today," this guy said. He reminded me of Chris Cooper's character in Adaptation. Long, greasy, stringy hair under a sweaty ball cap. He was wearing cutoff shorts and a black tank top.

"Oh yeah," I said, leaning on my bike.

"Yep." Then there was a pause while we both looked on, hoping to see the bus. "I got a ten-speed. It's old. The bike shop in Eastpointe wouldn't work on it though."

I told him it was a bummer. I don't know a lot about bikes, so, I didn't really have any advice.

"Yep," he said. Another pause. "Man, it's hot. Too hot to have sex... huh?!" He laughed. I half hoped he was missing his front teeth like the character from Adaptation but he wasn't.

"To hot for me," I said.

I'm not sure if he was coming on to me, or what. But the bus showed up just in time.

The SMART buses have bike racks that hold two bikes. If it is filled, you're out of luck. You can't take the bikes on the bus - it is forbidden. I was lucky, one free spot. I researched how to put the bike on the rack on the SMART website. I didn't want to look like some rookie - though I am. But, actually, it's pretty self explanatory "Put front wheel here," "Pull up lock," "Get in the bus."

I threw a bunch of nickels and dimes into the slot and took the 9 Mile/Crosstown bus from Woodward to Greater Mack. It was about a 35 minute drive, filled with bumps but no bruises.

There was a old white lady with white hair wearing white gloves. I imagined, to myself, that she was insane about germs. She rustled through one of her bags when she sat down and pulled out a purple, long-sleeved shirt and wrapped it around her neck. The Chris Cooper guy, when he jumped on, got in the back. I sat in the middle. Another man was sitting behind me. When that guy got off, The Chris Cooper guy moved right behind me. I can't get pretty girls to follow me, but I have no trouble with middle-aged dudes from Eastpointe, apparently.

The bus was fairly empty, moving further east. Just a few of us. Maybe a mile from my stop, everyone got off and I was alone. For a second, since I'm new to riding, I thought maybe I messed up and this was the last stop. I didn't get off though, I stayed, hoping for the best. Chris Cooper, however, got off and started to walk away. At which time the bus drive blared the horn, "YOUR BIKE! YOU FORGOT YOUR BIKE!"

"It's not mine, dude," he said, or I hope he said. He just moved his lips and shrugged.

"Actually, that's my bike," I told the bus driver.

"My bad, sorry."

"No prob."

And then Greater Mack showed up. Grabbed my bike and rode to the shindig.

I'm not gonna bore you with the details of the barbecue. I will say that I was deterred from riding my bike back to Ferndale at 2 a.m. with no reflectors on my bike and wearing a black t-shirt. The bus, my bus, stopped running from Greater Mack at 10:23 p.m.

Woke up to my hosts' kids screaming/crying/laughing/playing.

I never saw a bus stop with signage. Or, better said, never noticed a bus stop with signage. But the stop I left from Grosse Pointe had a sign. Of course it didn't matter. The bus was late. Well, technically, it wasn't, I suppose. The sign on the stop said something along the lines of: Between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.: every 45 minutes. What the heck does that even mean?


So, I waited 35 minutes, watching some lady hit a million tennis balls from a machine in a cage - at least that's what it looked like.

It was earlier, about 9:30, 10 maybe. The bus on the way back bumped more than the one on the way there. We picked up workers the entire way. I pulled the cord to stop the bus when we passed Woodward.

I gotta get a bus pass.