It was just a little before 6 AM, and the city was waking up under a fresh blanket of snow. The early March snowstorm had left its mark, coating everything in a thick layer of white. As I stood at the bus stop, the cold air biting at my face, I watched the bus approach through the early morning haze. The usual crowd was there, each of us climbing aboard with a customary “good morning” to our bus driver, Cheryl. She was a familiar face now, though I had only recently moved to the area. I still remembered our first meeting—exchanging pleasantries, and how I had mentioned being the new kid on the block

Today, as I settled into my usual front seat, I asked her how the roads were. “Not good,” she replied, her voice tinged with the weight of experience. “Did you see the bus at the last stop? It slid right up to the curb just as it stopped.” Her words carried the tension of the morning—Monday, fresh snow, and the kind of conditions that could turn a routine commute into a challenge.

My bus ride was typically a short one, only about seven minutes, with the last seven blocks descending a steep hill. As we cruised along, an SUV sped past us in the left lane, cutting through the snow as if it were a clear summer day. “Look at that guy,” I exclaimed, my concern obvious. Cheryl glanced at me, her eyes calm and steady. “Safety first,” she said with quiet authority. “Conditions like these mean you drive slower.” I nodded in agreement as we rolled to a stop at the red light, watching the SUV recklessly turn right.

The light turned green, and we began our cautious descent down the hill. But as we hit the first block, the bus suddenly betrayed the treacherous conditions. The back end began to slide, drifting into the center lane. I glanced back, my stomach tightening as I saw the bus angled awkwardly with respect to the curb. The other passengers' faces reflected my own concern. But then I looked forward and saw Cheryl, her hands firm on the wheel, turning into the skid with practiced precision. The bus straightened momentarily before the back end slid out the other way. But Cheryl remained unflustered, expertly guiding the bus back and forth, tapping the brakes with a delicate touch that slowed our descent without sending us into a full-blown skid.

For two blocks, she danced with the bus, her skill evident in every calculated movement. It was like watching a master at work—she knew exactly how to keep the massive vehicle from sliding into oncoming traffic, how to coax it back under control. The tension in the bus eased as we realized we were safe, thanks to her remarkable handling of the situation. I, along with several other passengers, couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly she had navigated what could have been a disastrous situation.

As we approached my stop, Cheryl gave me her usual “Courtesy Stop,” dropping me off right at the door of my workplace. It was a small gesture, but one that exemplified the level of service and care she brought to her job every day. Today, though, was bittersweet—this was Cheryl’s last day on her current route. I would miss the warmth of her morning smiles and the assurance of her skilled hands on the wheel.

I don’t want this story to make you anxious about taking the bus. In fact, statistics show that taking the bus is 67 times safer than driving your own car. And it’s drivers like Cheryl who make that possible. Her skill, her calm under pressure, and her dedication to our safety are things I’ll always be grateful for. That day, Cheryl didn’t just drive a bus—she steered us all away from danger with a level of expertise that truly made a difference. I firmly believe that her quick thinking and mastery of the road saved us from what could have been a very different outcome. Thank you, Calgary Transit, for hiring such incredible drivers. And thank you, Cheryl, for keeping us safe.