At first, traveling illegally is electrifying; even the dullest journeys become thrilling, suspenseful, dangerous.

I’m not suggesting everyone sell their Buick for a bus pass, or that buses are a far superior way of traveling. But once upon a time, I had to sell my car to pay off some traffic tickets and ended up having to rely on Kansas City's public transportation system to get around.

Mike: Last night, I returned from Dallas and landed at LaGuardia airport. I thought I'd take the bus to the nearest subway station, and then take the subway back to my apartment, so I went to the bus stop and waited. And waited. A half hour went by, and a bunch of buses showed up, but not the one I needed. I was very tempted to get into a cab and pay $65 (including tip), but I just didn't want to spend that money. What would you have done?

Someone I used to work with who attended MIT once told me he used liquid nitrogen to break a lock and steal his bike back when he discovered another student had stolen it and locked it somewhere else on campus.

The car sharing model is perfect for my situation. I don't like driving, so I don't miss it. I live in the urban core of a small, pedestrian-friendly city (Halifax, Nova Scotia). I don't have kids to travel with, and I don't have to leave the city very often.

Netflix brought movies to your house, and a Seattle-based startup named TRED would like to bring cars you’re interested in buying to your house for you to test-drive, to see how it fits in your garage, etc. This is fine! But is it really necessary? It seems to solve a non-problem, which is having to go to a dealership to test out a car and see if you like it, but I suppose if you don’t have a ride to get to a dealership in the first place, this could be your answer.

Early last spring, my friends told me to call my car insurance company and negotiate a discount when my rates shot up by 85 percent. I thought about calling some customer service department and asking for that, or worse: shopping around, getting multiple quotes, really optimizing my deal. Instead, I sold my car.

When the meeting is over, I return to move my car (there's a one-hour parking limit, of course), and see two gigantic disability signs on both sides of my car, pointing directly to it. I'm screwed—there's a ticket on my windshield.

Authorities in Dubai are trying to make their roads safer by offering drivers prizes and points for avoiding traffic violations for extended periods of time, including the ability to use their points to negate any "black points" accrued on their record, and the chance to win a new car.

By my own crude estimates, I’ve spent nearly 140 hours riding back and forth on busses between New York and Boston for the past four years. That’s almost six days, for those of you keeping score at home. Any way you cut it, I’ve spent some serious time glancing out of windows at blighted cities in Connecticut and at never-ending stretches of snow-covered Harlem boulevards.

I’ve seen a lot during my time on these “motorcoaches,” which the more professional, less “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” drivers call their noble steeds. I’ve been offered drugs and alcohol by seatmates (I accepted the whiskey, not the painkillers), been shown naked pictures of girlfriends (not-so-surprisingly by the same guy who offered me the pills and booze), and witnessed complete strangers strike up a conversation with one another and spend the latter half of the trip cuddling and making out.

I’ve also spent a miserable 4.5 hours acting as a human pillow for a girl I knew from school who was more into me than I was into her, and was unfortunately traveling to Boston the same day I was. On other trips, I’ve pissed all over my shorts in the gyrating rollercoaster bathroom (if you can pee straight in there, you deserve a gold medal), broken out in hives from eating fennel the day before, and drooled all over my cashmere sweater attempting to sleep.