Why would an Islander choose to ride our VTA bus system to circumnavigate the whole Island? Well, why did David Niven take a hot air balloon as part of his Around the World in 80 Days tour? Because there would have been no story if he hadn’t.

But there’s more to it than that, as far as riding the bus around the Island is concerned.

I’ve been living here car-free for the past nine years. Part of the apparatus to make this work is the annual bus pass. It costs $100 and it’s not pro-rated, so if you buy it in June — which I’ve done out of pure cheapness of not wanting to spend the hundred bucks in the dead of winter — you’re wasting a precious resource. Obviously it makes more sense to buy the pass when it goes on sale January 1. This year I did purchase it early, although rough weather and a schedule that parcels out rides between towns like the Wells Fargo wagon in the Old West, kept me from using it enough to amortize the fee, at least initially.

But then, come April 30 through October 10, the schedule fairly shouts, “Come on! Get on the bus!” It’s even better in the summer, but this is terrific for now. I decided to take a holiday last week, Tuesday, to zip that little lavender annual pass through the VTA meters, and to make a full gavotte around the Vineyard.

Here are some starting tips: Before you leave the house, you’ve got to plan. You could consult the schedule as you go, but why be a klutz about it? Better to know exactly what’s ahead of you, like a good strategic battle campaign. Also, it’s beneficial to pack a bag with all the sundries your mother would have selected for an excursion to the zoo or the planetarium: a bottle of water, sunscreen, a foldable jacket (I ended up wearing it all day; you know New England spring times), an umbrella (same climate applies), reading material in case you’re caught in a long wait, and your own preplanned schedule, cross-outs, scribbled changes and all.

I left Oak Bluffs heading for Edgartown at 9 a.m. My driver was Jason Chalifoux, whose late father also used to drive the bus — it was a profession they enjoyed sharing. Mr. Chalifoux moved here in 1984 as he entered the fifth grade. He grew up in West Tisbury and nowadays will also put in time driving taxis, willing to take the graveyard shift.

My intention was to travel next to West Tisbury. If I took the bus schedule literally, I would have missed the #6 by three minutes (it didn’t matter; I had errands in Edgartown). But had I needed to travel straight forward, the VTA does a cool thing: Its drivers will call the bus you require and ask the driver to wait the two or three minutes necessary; in fact Mr. Chalifoux did just that for a young man seated behind me.

I noticed as I stepped off the bus at 9:15 that my brown tights were ripped at the knee-line. I took a quick stroll around town to look for a store to provide tights, stockings, leggings, heck, anything short of rubber waders. Nothing would be opening until ten. We’ll, I’d look like a schlub for the rest of the trip. . .

I dropped in on the newspaper, dropped a book off at the Gazette, and picked up the company of photographer Ivy Ashe who’d be accompanying me for the ED–WT leg of the journey, leaving at 10:12. On the bus, she snapped pictures of driver Kevin Nichols, veteran of 13 years (one week less than the top senior, Cindy LaMay). He traded places with Ms. LaMay at the bus station near the airport. She in turn told us that another driver reported near-misses with six — count ‘em, six! — deer that morning. One deer had been hit by a bus a year before in Aquinnah, the oldest stag on the Island, judging by the thickness of its antlers. Hunters had lowered their rifles when they saw him, in respect for his age (a little like those people last summer who bought a 10-pound lobster and tossed it back in the bay).

A tricky thing happens with the VTA: Some buses change numbers, so you’ll find that the one you’re riding is magically morphing into the next one you need (the driver changes the digital signage on the front of the bus). That’s exactly what happened to Ms. LaMay’s #6; she let Ivy Ashe out at the Grange Hall, then turned the bus into the #5 to haul me and a nice man from Chelmsford up to Aquinnah.

My friend, Dee Mollin of Aquinnah and Santa Monica, greeted me when I alighted at 11:02. We proceeded to the Aquinnah Restaurant where we met up with our pal, Lisa Vanderhoop. The coolest thing you can do on the cliffs is to hook up with a Vanderhoop: Her mother in law, Anne Vanderhoop Madison, who owns the restaurant, was very gracious to us, and Charlotte Coveney, our waitress, was so kind and helpful, she alone made the trip worthwhile.

Lisa introduced us to Jessie Little Doe Baird, who had recently won the MacArthur Fellowship, the so-called genius award — be still my heart! — for reclaiming the Wôpanâak language and translating between the tongue of the Wampanoag and the English. “It was the only written language, with its own alphabet, of all the Native groups,” she explained. We also met her beautiful daughter, six-year-old May, who’s the first child, at least in a long while, to be bilingual in both English and Wôpanâak.

We laughed a lot, we savored the ocean view, we ate voraciously (or at least I did), and Lisa told us about the time Buddy bought a demobilized ambulance and fire truck, and stationed them in their front yard.

After lunch, Dee and Lisa walked me to the bus stop just down the hill where I caught the #5 at 1:12 p.m. back to West Tisbury. Jack Butynski was driving, an amiable man who worked for 34 years for United Airlines.

At 1:34 p.m. I stopped off at the library for an hour to soak up the home and hearth atmosphere and riffle through some magazines. I grabbed the #3 at 2:36, with Cindy LaMay showing up again behind the wheel, then I hailed the #13 at 3:15 to Oak Bluffs. Walter was driving (“Walter, no last name, will do,” he said, but he was just as cheerful and talkative as the others).

We rolled into town at 3:30 p.m. I was a little bus-lagged, but all in all, if you pack the trip with a few fun activities, it’s well worth doing.

So that was the wind-up and here comes the pitch: We can live on Martha’s Vineyard without cars, my friends. Get a bike, take the bus and leave the driving to Walter, Cindy, Jason et al, walk a lot, get caught in the rain, live, laugh, love. Sneer at the gas pump. Sell your car and spend the money on a bicycle trip through the Loire Valley. I promise you your life will be richer, happier, whether you live in a shack or a trophy home with a five-car garage (which you’ve hopefully emptied).

And don’t forget to buy your annual bus pass.