According to Greek mythology, the gods punished Sisyphus after his death by making him constantly push a heavy stone up a hill. Whenever Sisyphus neared the top, the stone would escape his grasp and roll down to the bottom of the hill, condemning the ancient king to another painful trip up.

Sisyphus would have felt at home on the Wellesley Senate Bus.

During weekends, the bus travels a nearly continous triangular trade route: Wellseley, Harvard's Johnston Gate, and two stops at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT).

For women who study all week in the single-sex environment of Wellesley College--where the nearby Coffee Connection closes at 8:30 p.m. on Friday nights--the bus represents the only means of escape. With its leaky windows, pervasive smell of car exhaust, and "fuck truck" image, the bus is a frustrating but necessary ordeal that women must endure during the four years they attend school if they want to leave campus, according to passengers.

At 7:30 p.m. this Friday, a dark curly-haired woman sits on one of the bus' blue and red plastic seats. Eventually she is joined by 11 other women. No men are present.

The women on the bus mention a couple explanations for the lack of men on the bus last Friday night. There is "nothing going on" at Wellesley this weekend, they say. Women looking for parties have no choice but to try their luck at MIT fraternities.

And, more importantly, the Wellesley women say, the bus gives them access to the cultural offerings of Boston and Cambridge--the restaurants and concerts, museums and movie theaters, clubs and colleges. Shipping party-goers from Wellesley to Harvard and MIT, and back and forth, is, one of the things the bus does, but not the most important.

Five of the women get off at the MIT stops. The rest, who are joined by two men, are heading home. The five or so women who sit down seem to be just getting back from a library or a class.

The buzz of chatter permeates the overheated bus. The conversations change topics with amazing speed. A pair of women, one of them the dark-curly haired women, discuss a mysterious stain on someone's scalp, then start talking about a math problem they couldn't solve--something about substituting theta for x. A few minutes later, the dark-curly haired woman exclaims, inexplicably, "But he's a married man, with kids!"

Although they are going home and not out on the town, the women on this bus are decked out in stylish clothes, the kind of clothes that a manager at a Boston department store might wear. Matching purses and shoes are everywhere. Even the women who are not wearing stockings and heels look "fashionable." One woman combines the low-rent fashion of ripped blue jeans with an immaculate yellow blouse and matching flats.

The bus drives down the Mass Turnpike at an agonizingly slow pace. The ride would be comfortable, if not for the leaky windows. Drips of rain collect insidiously on the green tinted window panes of the bus, and hit passengers in the face when the bus turns a corner.

Everyone seems to be in a separate little world. Up front two women intently munch on chicken wings. Two others gesture with the hands, making points in a conversation drowned out by the groan of the wheels. Someone else reads an MIT newspaper, The Tech.

This sort of peaceful ride is only a precursor for the evening's busiest run, which leaves Wellesley's Founders Lot at 9 p.m.

The students start lining up at 8:40 p.m. for the 9 p.m. bus. Standing 12 feet away, the smell of perfume fills the air. The clothes the women wear seem like nightime versions of the ones worn by the earlier bus passengers. Above-the-knees skirts have taken the place of cotton-slacks, and silver evening bags now hang where functional purses did earlier in the day. As they get on the bus, their high heeled shoes tap against the metal stairs.

The bus has about 30 seats but about 30 women have to stand. They do not seem too worried; the 9 p.m. is always crowded, they say.