I’m sure you’ve heard the horror stories about Greyhound buses – that they’re full of weirdos, junkies, runaways and perverts. Or worse – a bloke with a guitar who’s written 19 songs just for you.

I first rode “the hound” many years ago after working in a summer camp in Tennessee. It was a long, cramped, uncomfortable journey to New York, memorable only for the stench that emanated from the on-board toilet and my constant peering out of the window every time we stopped, terrified that someone would liberate my rucksack from the hold.

Greyhound’s image hasn’t changed much over the years – until now. In a bid to add a little snazz to its operation, Greyhound is biting back, unleashing its secret weapon – a new luxury service called the BoltBus that operates between New York and Washington, Boston and Philadelphia.

So, what’s so special about this BoltBus, you may ask. Well, apart from a paint job that makes it look like Ziggy Stardust’s tour bus, its two big draws are extra legroom and free on-board WiFi.

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Prices are also slashed to enable its slogan of “Bolt for a Buck” (which explains the terrible name), with at least one seat available on each bus for the princely sum of $1. You’ll have to bag it well in advance, though, as fares increase as the bus fills up.

Book a week before you want to travel, on www.boltbus.com, and prices from New York to Washington come in at $15, which is still $10 less than Vamoose (www.vamoosebus.com), which also operates a NY-DC service, and $5 cheaper than other bus lines, such as New Century Travel (www.2000coach.com) and Washington Deluxe (www.washny.com). The NY-DC fare on Greyhound (www.greyhound.com) is $39.

There’s always the train, of course, which is quicker (from 3 hours 12 minutes, compared with about four hours on BoltBus), but Amtrak will set you back $69. And there’s no WiFi.

ALL THINGS considered, what’s not to like? For your American fix, you can now get two sexy cities for pretty much the price of one – twice the restaurants, twice the shops, twice the culture; all that and free porn, sorry, e-mails, too. Let’s just hope you’re not sitting next to a nutter. Or a singer.

So off I go to DC, my old Greyhound prejudices packed neatly alongside a toothbrush in my overnight bag. My designated pickup spot in Manhattan (there are two) is on 33rd and 7th, outside a Sharro’s Italian deli. Disappointingly, an initial scan for weirdos, junkies, runaways and perverts among those shivering in line at the bus stop proves inconclusive, but if I know anything about Greyhound’s clientele it’s that the fun ones don’t like to reveal themselves too early.

BoltBus operates an “ABC” boarding policy, splitting the passengers into groups, much like EasyJet does. This, though, is roundly ignored, and the usual bus bundle is won by a sprightly little Chinese lady who is at least 101, who throws her e-mail confirmation, marked with a big “C”, at the driver and hurdles the opposition to get on board.

“Hey, Cs are supposed to wait,” yells a guy waving his “B” paper, but his heart’s not in it.

In the end, the bus is only half full, so I’m able to stretch out and start surfing. A quick glance around proves that WiFi is a big draw – practically everyone is online.

Everyone, that is, apart from the driver. That would be silly – he’s far too busy with his new toy. For the past half-hour, he has been talking on what looks like a walkie-talkie, switching from holding it to his mouth to his ear. And, judging from the loud, growling sounds coming out of it, he’s talking to Animal from the Muppets. They clearly haven’t spoken for a while, as the conversation stretches on. And I know the roads are straight out here and one hand will probably do, but still ...

The greens and the greys of motorway travel, identical in practically every western country, flit past my window. After a while, I venture back to check out the facilities. It’s also an excuse to have a good nose at the other passengers. Nobody is sharpening a knife on a boot heel, cutting heads from photographs or snipping hair from a sleeping stranger. They’re all writing e-mails.

The toilet is practically on top of the bloke on the back row, who, as there are spare seats available, seems to have actively chosen to sit there. I try not to think about what that might mean as I step inside the cubicle and shut the door. It’s pitch black. I pat the walls, searching for the switch. Nothing. This’ll be fun. I give myself a 15% chance of hitting the bowl in the dark, the way Animal and his mate are driving. Suddenly, the door swings open and, as I turn to shut it again, I see a sign saying “Lock for light”. I do, and am illuminated. My odds rise instantly to 90%. Aaaah, that’s better. The bus lurches and I pee on my shoes.

There’s no sink, but there is a dispenser of waterless detergent, the kind you get in hospitals, which feels strangely tingly on my hands. As that’s the only nod to hygiene, though, and it’s not bolted down, it might be an idea to pack some wet-wipes. Just in case. As I settle back into my seat, we plough on south, down Interstate 95, and signs for Delaware and New Jersey slip past.

We’re set down in Washington at Grand Central station, which is just two stops on the metro from the Smithsonian and the National Mall. The Lincoln Memorial and Capitol Hill are suitably grandiose, so with that lot ticked off, it’s time to hit the boutiques and bars of Georgetown. Washington is a blast, a different pace entirely from New York, but just as intriguing, especially on a lightning-quick stay.

The next morning, the bus is waiting for me. It’s about half full with the same sort of people as yesterday – perfectly pleasant and normal, all with laptop bags rather than guitar cases. On the evidence of a quick straw poll of those sitting near me, BoltBus has gained a following.

The driver gets behind the wheel, looking as if he’s fresh out of college. “Thank you for choosing BoltBus,” he says over the tannoy. “Just reelaax, sit back and enjoy the riiiide.”

Paul Croughton was a guest of the Westin Grand hotel, in Washington (00800 325 95959, www.westin.com; doubles from £75), and Virgin Atlantic (0870 380 2007, www.virgin-atlantic.com), which flies from Heathrow to both JFK and Newark in New York, as well as Boston and Washington, with fares starting at about £300. Other airlines flying to the northeastern USA include British Airways (0844 493 0787, www.ba.com), American Airlines (020 7365 0777, www.americanairlines.co.uk) and Aer Lingus (0870 876 5000, www.aerlingus.com)

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