-- Tintown here... with many of my stories, look for links to my iAimoo Album for pictures of main (female adult) story character(s), external links to similar pictures of the vehicle(s) involved, and links for a location if needbe. And here's my list of other stories if you like what you read.

(about 2700 words)

A sequel to a 100% humanly written story in 2024: The Afternoon SNAFU Aboard Bus C, but said sequel below is 99% AI: Toolbaz.com and Gemini 2.5 Flash! I admit it!

The Morning Boot Camp Aboard Bus C

    The air on this late November 1946 Saturday morning in Elmwood, Kansas, had that crisp, clean smell of drying leaves and lingering wood smoke. Sunlight, still low in the sky, cast long shadows across the schoolyard, highlighting the dust motes dancing around the two hulking shapes parked near the maintenance shed: the school buses. Slightly dented, relics from the late 1930s, they looked more like tired old farm equipment than vehicles meant to transport children. My father, bless his grease-stained hands, called them "temperamental beasts."

    I, Betty Graham, eighteen, a senior at Elmwood Junior and High, knew a thing or two about temperamental beasts. I have ridden in them for years. And have watched them being driven twice every‍‍ weekday, observing the motions. The timings. The rhythms. And my dad has his surplus military jeep... a Willys MB, that he tinkered with constantly. I’d learned to drive on that jeep – clutch, stick shift, the whole noisy, bouncy nine yards. So, when Mr. Henderson, the principal, had cornered me after assembly Friday, his brow furrowed, and asked if I might be willing to help out Miss Ashworth on Saturday morning, I hadn’t hesitated.

    Miss Virginia "Ginny" Ashworth. The school office secretary. Late twenties, blonde, always perfectly put together even in the early hours. She drove a nice, sensible Chevy sedan that she gave me a ride home in once. What, I’d wondered, did she really need my help with related to driving? Well, she did try substituting for Mr. Francis to drive Bus C one afternoon... and I drove Bus C instead. And she drove me home not in Bus C, but her Chevy that afternoon...

    I found her standing a polite distance from the Bus C, looking a little like a nervous bird contemplating a very large, very yellow nest. She wore sensible trousers and a cardigan, her usual office neatness slightly ruffled by the morning breeze.

    "Morning, Miss Ashworth," I said, trying to sound capable and not like I was about to show someone much older than me something basic.

    She turned, offering a small, slightly strained smile. "Good morning, Betty. Thank you so much for agreeing to this. I… well, Mr. Henderson explained?"

    "Yes, ma'am. Learning the buses better. He said you need to get more qualified as a backup driver?" And asked me.

    "That's right," she confirmed with the key to the bus in her hand, her gaze flicking back to the bus. "It's… it's quite a bit larger than I'm used to."

    "They are," I agreed cheerfully, walking towards the bus. "Let's climb on in."

--- 2 ---

    She followed me up the high steps into the worn interior. The seats smelled as always of old vinyl and dust. The steering wheel is big and thin. And then there were the pedals. Three of them on the floor, accelerator, brake, and clutch. And down on the floor lay the starter pedal.

    "Okay," I began, taking the driver's seat myself for a moment. "So, this old bus are a bit different from modern cars, or…" I paused, remembering something Mr. Henderson had mentioned, something about her service. "…or even the jeeps you drove during the war, I imagine?"

    Miss Ashworth’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise. "Oh! Mr. Henderson told you more?" Her expression softened, losing some of its tension. "Yes, I drove a jeep for a time. In England. Transporting supplies, mostly." She gave a short, humorless laugh. "They were certainly… rugged. But this…" She gestured around the bus cab. "This seems almost prehistoric."

    "Well, these are from the Thirties," I conceded. "But the basics are the same as your jeep was, mostly. Manual transmission. Clutch, gears. Only difference is the size, and a few quirks."

    "Quirks?" she asked, looking apprehensive again.

    "Like this," I pointed to the small floor pedal. "The starter. When you turn the key,  the engine doesn't kick over until you press the pedal down."

    "Yes, I know," she murmured.

    "Was the times I guess," I shrugged. "Okay, so, ignition key goes here." I put in the slot. "Turn it to 'on', make sure she's in neutral." I wiggled the gear shift lever, a long metal rod sticking out of the floor (not column shift like this era). "Like so," I said, letting the lever flop side to side loosely. "Then, foot on the clutch, down to the floor."

    She nodded, watching intently.

    "And then you press the starter pedal," I demonstrated, pushing it down. Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUN..

    The engine, a big, rumbling inline-six, coughed and sputtered, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, BBRRUUMM!
and caught with a roar that shook the whole bus. It seemed that rained down from the ceiling. Miss Ashworth jumped slightly.

-- 3 --

    "It’s sorta loud," I said over the engine noise. "Alright, engine's running. Now, the gear pattern is pretty standard for a three-speed." I pointed to the shift knob, which likely had the diagram on it, maybe worn away. "First is over and down here," I moved the lever to the lower left position. "Second is straight up from first. Third is over and up, like where first would be if it was a four-speed, sort of. Reverse is over and down from neutral, opposite of first." I moved the lever through the pattern slowly. "Neutral is just the middle, like you saw."

    She watched my hand, her brow furrowed in concentration.

    "My jeep was a four-speed," she said. "And reverse was… oh, I can barely remember now. It's been a while."

    "Well, just focus on these three and reverse," I told her. "Biggest thing with the bus, the transmission isn't synchronized like some newer cars. I’ve seen you pretty much have to be stopped to get it into first without grinding. And when you shift while moving, you need to be firm but not rough. Once you get going, upshifting from second to third is the easiest."

    "Right," she said, though she still looked a little lost.

    "Okay, my turn's over," I said, sliding out of the driver's seat. "Your turn. Come on."

    She hesitated for a split second, then climbed behind the wheel. She adjusted the seat, which probably didn't adjust much. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, looking small against its size.

    "Alright," I said, standing beside the open door.

    She pushed and pulled the gear lever tentatively. "Neutral."

    "Okay. Ignition key to 'on'."

    She turned the key. A few dashboard lights glowed faintly.

    "Now, clutch down."

    She pressed the left pedal. It looked stiff under her foot.

    "Yep, it’s heavy," I commented. "Okay, now find the starter pedal with your other foot and press it."

    She located the smaller pedal by her right foot – you had to kind of stretch your foot sideways from the accelerator position. She pressed it. Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA...

    "Hold on," I said. "Might need gas this morning. Or just try again, sometimes you gotta be firm. Make sure the clutch is all the way down!"

    She tried again, pressing both the accelerator lightly and the starter pedal.  Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA...

    The engine stuttered, coughed, and died.

-- 4 --

    "Alright, that's normal," I said, trying to keep my voice encouraging. "Try again. Clutch down, ignition on, little gas, press the starter."

    Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA... ... BBRRUUMM!  On the third try, the big engine roared to life again. Miss Ashworth flinched but managed a small smile. "Success!" Run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run...

    "There you go," I grinned. "Now, keep that clutch down. We're going to try and find first gear. Over and down, remember?"

    She nudged the lever to the left, then tried to pull it down. PPAADDUNNK It scraped against something and wouldn't go in. run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run...

    "No, no, sorry," I corrected gently. "You gotta pull it towards you first, then straight down." I reached in and guided her hand briefly. "Like that. Hear that little click?"

    "Oh. Yes." She tried it herself. This time the lever slid into place with a solid THUNK! "Got it." run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run...

    "Okay," I said, feeling a flicker of hope. "Now comes the tricky part. Getting moving. You need to slowly, slowly, slowly let that clutch up. At the same time, just as you feel it start to want to move, add a little gas with your right foot. It's a balance."

    "Alright." She took a deep breath. run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run.

    She started lifting her foot from the clutch. Too fast. The engine chugged angrily and died with a jolt that rocked the bus. PPAADDUNNK!

    "Too fast," I said calmly. "You dumped the clutch, Pop says. Think of it like letting out a rope. Smooth and steady. Not a sudden drop."

    She slumped slightly, looking disheartened. "It's so different from the jeep. That clutch felt… quicker, somehow. And the gears seemed to slot in more easily."

    "Likely was lighter," I speculated, thinking of my dad's jeep. "This clutch on the bus takes muscle and finesse. Let's try again. Neutral first."

    She wiggled the lever back to neutral. Then put the clutch down and started the engine again. Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA. Miss Ashworth released her left leg. RUNK, arunk, runk... nothing. She sent her left leg downward again. “Come on now.” Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA, Rruuna-RRUUNA... BBRRUUMM! She got it on the second try. "Okay. First gear. Got it?"

    "Yes." THUNK!

    "Now, slow motion on the clutch. Imagine you're trying to sneak up on a cat. Real slow."  run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run..

    She concentrated, lifting her foot millimeter by millimeter. I watched her face, tense with effort. The bus shuddered slightly, then began to roll forward, just a tiny bit.  run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run...

    "Gas!" I prompted softly. "Just a little. Like you're feeding a baby bird."

    She pressed the accelerator. The engine responded, the bus picked up a little speed, rolling slowly across the dusty lot. run-a-run-a-RUN-A-RUN-A-RUUUUN !

    "That's it!" I exclaimed. "See? You got it!"

-- 5 --

    She managed a small, nervous smile, her eyes fixed straight ahead. "It moved."

    "It sure did," I said. "Okay, now clutch down, brakes on. Stop."

    She slammed the brake pedal, and the bus stopped abruptly. The engine stalled. PPAADDUNNK!

    "Well, you stopped," I said. "Just… don't forget the clutch when you brake hard. Or if you're stopping slowly, press the clutch just before you come to a complete stop, otherwise the engine will die."

    We spent the next hour practicing just starting and stopping. Starting and stalling. Starting and lurching forward. Her foot seemed to have a mind of its own, eager to just lift off the clutch like she might in her automatic Chevy, or maybe like the quicker clutch of the jeep. The floor starter pedal provided its own challenge; sometimes she'd press the brake instead, or miss it entirely. The bus would rumble and die. Rumble and die.

    But slowly, gradually, something started to click. The lurches became less violent. The stalls fewer. The moment she added throttle as the clutch started to engage became more intuitive.

    "Okay," I said, feeling a breakthrough coming. "Let's try driving a little loop around the edge of the lot. Just in first gear. Practice controlling your speed with the gas and clutch."

    She guided the bus in a wide, wobbly circle. First gear in the bus wasn't fast, maybe ten miles an hour flat out, but it was enough to feel the weight and the steering. She gripped the wheel tightly, navigating around.

    "Good," I encouraged. "See? You're maneuvering. You're controlling it."

    After a couple of laps, she was getting more confident. The turns were smoother. She even managed to stop and restart without stalling once.

    "Alright," I said, feeling bold. "Ready to try shifting to second?" run-run-run-run, run-run-run-run...

    She looked doubtful. "Should I?"

    "You need to practice it," I said. "Okay, so, get moving in first. Once you're going steady, maybe ten, fifteen miles an hour, press the clutch down, lift your foot off the gas, pull the lever straight back from first to second. Then slowly let the clutch up again, adding a little gas."

    This took several tries. The first few times resulted in that awful grinding sound. KKKHHUNNKK! KKKHHUNNKK!

    "Oh dear," she'd wince. "That sounds expensive."

    "Sounds normal for learning," I reassured her. "You're just not quite getting the timing right. You gotta pull it into second firmly once the clutch is down, and be ready to let the clutch up again."

    We worked on it. The grind lessened, replaced by a clunk as the gears meshed. Then, finally, a smooth shift.

-- 6 --

    "There!" I cheered. "Hear that? No grind! You did it!"

    A genuine smile, wide and bright, spread across Miss Ashworth's face. "Goodness! I actually did it!"

    "You did," I confirmed. "Now, let's try a loop where you shift into second and back down to first before you stop." Downshifting proved harder. It required a bit more coordination and feel for the engine speed. More grinding ensued. KKKHHUNNKK! KKKHHUNNKK!

    Finally, after another hour, she was managing smooth shifts between first and second, both up and down, most of the time. She could start, stop, and restart on command. She was even getting the hang of the floor starter, her foot finding the pedal with less fumbling.

    "Okay," I said, checking my watch. It was getting towards eleven. The sun was higher, warming the metal of the bus. "One last thing. Let's take it out of the lot. Just onto the quiet street here. We'll go down to the corner and back. You can try shifting into third."

    Taking the bus onto a public street, even a deserted one on a Saturday, felt like a big step. She was visibly nervous again.

    "Are you sure?" she asked.

    "Plenty sure," I said. "You're doing great. Just take it easy. No one's on this street."

    She steered the massive vehicle out of the dusty lot and onto the paved road. The bus handled differently on pavement, smoother but still heavy. She shifted into second successfully as we rolled along at maybe fifteen miles an hour.

    "Okay, speed up a little and grab third," I instructed. "Same drill. Clutch down, gas off, lever over and up. Be firm."

    She accelerated, the old engine rumbling. Clutch down. Gas off. She wrestled the lever. It didn't want to go into third.

    "Try again," I said. "Sometimes you gotta find the spot. Might need a little more speed first."

    She sped up slightly, tried again. Success! The lever slid home, and the bus settled into a steadier, less frantic pace in third gear. We cruised down the block.

    "See?" I said, beaming. "You're driving the school bus!"

    She gripped the wheel, a look of intense concentration mixed with genuine satisfaction on her face. "I really am."

-- 7 --

    We reached the empty intersection. "Okay, clutch down early, brake smoothly," I instructed. "We'll stop completely, then make the turn and head back."

    She managed the stop without stalling, remembering the clutch just in time. She found first gear. Made the wide turn competently, the bus lumbering around the corner. We headed back the way we came. She shifted back into second, then third.

    Pulling back into the school lot felt like completing a long journey. She steered the bus towards where we had started and brought it to a smooth stop. She remembered the clutch pedal and the engine stayed running.

    She let out a long breath, slumping slightly against the seat back. Her hands relaxed their death grip on the wheel.

    "Oh my," she said, a little breathless. "That was… quite an experience."

    "You did it, though," I said proudly. "You handled it. You got the hang of that clutch and the shifting."

    She turned to me, her eyes shining. "Betty, thank you. Truly. I was dreading this. That jeep felt manageable, but this… this felt impossible. You were so patient."

    "Just takes practice," I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. It felt good to have helped. "The old bus has its quirks, but once you get the feel for them, they're reliable enough."

    She reached over and turned off the ignition key. The big engine shuddered to silence. The sudden quiet felt immense. RUNK, arunk, runk...

    "This bus," she mused, looking down at her feet. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this contraption."

    "Just remember 'clutch, ignition, neutral check, then press its nose'," I grinned, quoting something my dad always said about finicky engines.

    She laughed, a clear, lovely sound that cut through the bus's musty air. "Press its nose. I'll remember that."

(Yes, aged 18)

--- Miss Elizabeth "Betty" Graham

For pedalpusher. His idea Thank you.

A sequel to a humanly written story in 2024: The Afternoon SNAFU Aboard Bus C, but said sequel is 98% AI: Toolbaz.com and Gemini 2.5 Flash! I admit it! Fed the setting "Saturday morning, late 1946, Elmwood, Kansas", the characters "Elizabeth "Betty" Graham, 18, high school senior, father owns an military jeep. Miss Virginia Ashworth, late 20s, blonde, works in school office, has only driven a military jeep before in the war, now owns a Chevy." and the plot "Betty is showing Miss Ashworth how to drive better their schools late 1930s Ford school buses that have three-speed manual transmissions with clutch pedals and also have floor-mounted pedals for engaging the starter on the engine." I just quickly changed tidbits and details  to make the AI story flow from the first one. And the engine sounds were added by me.