Skip to main content

Learning the No. 26: Homework Before My First Drive (No Guesswork Allowed)

So, I haven’t driven the 26 yet, not a single stop behind the wheel. Instead, I’m doing what sensible drivers do: hitting the books (or in this case, Google Maps and Street View) to get ahead of the game before the big day.

This route stretches from Drum Brae Gardens, a place so quiet you could hear a squirrel sneeze, all the way to Seton Sands, where holidaymakers outnumber the pigeons. Over 80 stops, five distinct sections, and enough variety to keep me on my toes for a while.

An origami city map folded into a starting line, with paperclip figures lined up, symbolising the meticulous prep before tackling a complex route.

Section 1: Drum Brae to Haymarket, Where the Suburbs Whisper (And Parked Cars Plot)

We kick off at Templeland Road, an area so residential that the biggest challenge might be convincing parked cars to share the road. Seriously, it’s like they hold secret meetings on who’ll fold in their wing mirror next.

The Edinburgh Zoo stop looks like a highlight, where kids hyped on sugar and excitement take over the pavement like a small, energetic stampede. I’m bracing myself for the chaos before it even starts.

Past Murrayfield Stadium, I’m told match days turn the roads into a test of patience that would try even a saint. I’m already practicing my deep breathing, although my lungs could do with a break before I’ve even started.

By the time the bus reaches Haymarket Station, the city is fully awake, and I’ll need to switch from suburban cruise to “alert and slightly caffeinated” mode.

Driver Tip: At Murrayfield, assume any delay is part of the day’s entertainment, just smile like you meant to pause there.

Section 2: City Centre, The Art of Going Nowhere Fast (With Style)

West Maitland Street onwards, the bus lanes narrow and patience becomes your closest ally. Pedestrians multiply as if on command, and your average 20-second stop turns into an interpretive dance of ‘wait, can you pass? No, you go first.’

Shandwick Place and Princes Street demand all your attention, and your ability to maintain a zen-like calm under pressure. Pro tip: if you don’t find yourself people-watching for entertainment, you’re probably not human.

Waverley Steps is the psychological halfway checkpoint, if you’re still upright and unshaken here, you officially earn your city centre driver badge.

Driver Tip: Master the slow crawl here, it’s less about speed and more about convincing yourself you’re moving.

Section 3: Abbeyhill to Portobello, When the City Lets You Breathe (Briefly)

Dropping down Carlton Terrace Brae, the city noise starts to fade, replaced by the sounds of local life, the odd dog bark, and maybe a stubborn traffic light that refuses to change.

Stops like Meadowbank and Piershill feel like the calm after the storm, but don’t get complacent, those corners have been known to catch the unwary out.

Portobello’s charm is hard to miss, the seaside shops, the faint smell of fish and chips, and beachgoers so eager they’d probably board the bus with sand in their shoes if you let them.

Driver Tip: Around Piershill, check those mirrors twice, there’s always one passenger who treats catching the bus like it’s an Olympic sprint.

Section 4: Joppa to Musselburgh, The Scenic Distraction Zone

This stretch hugs the coast, so don’t be surprised if you catch yourself admiring the sea views a bit too long. The waves have a sneaky way of stealing your attention when you should really be scanning for the next stop.

Fisherrow Harbour and Brunton Theatre stand out as landmarks, but the narrow streets in Musselburgh remind you this isn’t your average Sunday drive, more like threading a needle with a double-decker.

Driver Tip: Approach the Brunton Theatre stop with the gentle precision of someone handling a fragile teapot. 

Section 5: Prestonpans to Seton Sands, The Quiet Close (Before The Next Day’s Madness)

The last leg feels like a well-earned breather, more rural, more spaced out, but still enough parked cars and tight lanes to keep you on your toes.

Seton Sands itself is a breath of fresh air, literally, with quiet roads, friendly faces, and a turning circle that feels positively royal after the twists and turns of the day.

Driver Tip: The quiet here is deceptive, stay alert, especially for the occasional seagull that seems to think you’re a moving perch.

How I’m Preparing

  • Breaking the route into five manageable chunks, small wins all the way.
  • Flashcards with stops and landmarks (yes, I’m that person).
  • Google Street View marathons, virtual driving with none of the honking.
  • Planning a passenger ride-along to soak up the flow from the other side of the glass.
  • Testing my stop recall backwards, forwards, and diagonally, because you never know.

Final Thoughts

The 26 isn’t just a list of stops, it’s a journey through quiet streets, busy city squares, and breezy seaside lanes. I haven’t driven it yet, but I’m already halfway there mentally, armed with maps, notes, and a healthy dose of patience.

When I finally take the wheel, I’ll be ready to tackle whatever the route throws at me, parked cars, eager beachgoers, and all.

Until then, it’s homework time. Because nobody wants to be that driver who learns on the job.

_

Meta Description: Prepping to drive Service 26: A dry, witty look at learning Edinburgh’s long and varied route before the first shift.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Hidden Risk Behind That Extra Shift You’re Asked to Take

Once you’ve clocked 9 hours in uniform, even the vending machine starts judging you. It’s not just driving time that drags, it’s everything in between. Here’s why I stick to 39 hours and refuse overtime, no matter the pressure. Introduction I’m three months into a 12-month rethink of my overtime habits. After a steady drip of minor incidents, not enough to make headlines, but enough to make me think twice, I’ve realised piling on extra hours isn’t just about padding the pay packet. It’s about keeping my focus sharp, my sanity intact, and most importantly, everyone on the road safe. I know the desk staff might be throwing me the occasional side-eye, wondering why I’m not jumping at every chance to work overtime. If only money grew on trees, I’d be first in line. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. What does grow (or at least what I’m fiercely guarding) is my peace of mind, and a scrap of sanity after years of long shifts and minimal downtime. I’m at that point in life where I’d rather enjoy ...

How to Herd Tourists Without a Stick (and Other Summer Bus Survival Tips)

The weather’s warm, the schools are out, and everyone’s forgotten how doors work. Here’s how to keep your bus moving (mostly) forward. Top Tips for Managing Summer Crowds on the Bus Summer brings out the best in people, by which I mean their full volume, their worst planning, and their complete inability to stand behind a yellow line. If winter is for head-down commuting, summer is a circus, and the bus is the main tent. Here's how I survive the season without combusting or being mistaken for a tour guide. 1. Open the doors like you mean it, but only when you’ve assessed the species outside Approach the stop with caution. Not for traffic, for what’s waiting. You've got the dad who's already pointing where everyone should sit. The kid who's mid-meltdown about a dropped Calippo. The teenager pretending not to know the rest of them. And hovering off to one side, the wild card: the preboarder. You know the one. Does a wee side-step shuffle as if they're going to let oth...

The Shadow on the Seat: When a Split-Second Decision Becomes a Public Story

It started, as these things often do, with something small. A mark. A smell. A hesitation no louder than a breath. The kind of moment you barely register, until it turns into something else entirely.  By the time the bus pulled away, the story had already begun to write itself. Just not the one anyone meant to tell. Three seconds. One shadow. A hundred headlines. There are moments on this job that last no longer than a blink, but echo for weeks. A pensioner's awkward glance. A hesitation at the step. A mark on the seat that might be nothing, or might be something. You weigh it. In real time. With forty people behind you. No script. No time to consult the manual (because there isn’t one). Just a quiet flicker of dread and the question no driver wants to ask:  If I’m wrong, what happens next? I wasn’t there. But I’ve been there. I’ve seen shadows that looked like stains, and stains that looked like shadows. I’ve had the smell of spilled cider haunt a bus for a whole shift, only ...