Friday, October 06, 2006
sights, sounds, stories and smells
From COTA, the Central Ohio Transit Authority.
Without rising to the cache of being an undercover reporter, my recent automotive troubles gave me a wonderful opportunity to experience what it means to ride the bus.
Decades after buses stopped playing a voice in national debates on race, and years after the debate between public and private transportation had effectively been settled, I found myself visiting this foreign land.
From the reactions of my colleagues and friends, it is clear that few people take the bus because they want to. The people on the bus are apparently there because they want to get somewhere, and there is no other way for them to get there. The bus is the last resort. Judging by the reactions of my colleagues, they must either have no car, have no license, have no money for gas, or... their car must be in the shop.
So I got up yesterday morning a bit early. I had showered before going to bed to buy myself a little more sleep, because I knew to get to work in a timely fashion I would need a pretty good head start. I set out from the house about 30 minutes earlier than usual and had a brisk 1/2 mile walk to the bus stop. There was a drizzle coming down, hard enough to make me wish I had thrown on a fleece, but gentle enough to keep me from turning back. My wife had offered to take me to work, I mean, I could have bailed out at any time.
By some twist of Murphy's law, call it Muffy's law, I got there within a minute of the last bus. I sat down with my Wall Street Journal and read deeper into the paper than on any of my "car days." I even turned the page to read the "continued on ..." part of a story. Turns out there really isn't that much to the continuation.
The bus came, I boarded. I deposited $1.50 in the automated $1.50 accepter. It is interesting to me that they automate a task that automatically happens only at a time when the bus driver is otherwise unoccupied. Perhaps its for security.
I rode in peace for a while before being jolted from my relaxed reading to find the bus turning off its route into a residential neighborhood. I had been a little astonished to see the bus empty out completely, and had even seen one passenger get on, talk to the bus driver, take a transfer pass and exit. So I ran to the front of the bus flapping my arms for the bus driver to stop. Without saying,
"Where the hell do you think you are going?" I think I conveyed the message. He explained that the bus was a local and to go furhter North, I'd need to get off, wait in the rain for 10 minutes and take the next bus.
Which I did.
Except that I waited in the eave of a building and pondered the possible consequence of so blatantly loitering outside a closed barbershop. Then when the bus came I ran out (arms flapping) to make sure I didn't miss 'my ride.'
So I made it to my stop, did a quick and graceful 'frogger crossing' of the 5 lane road and trudged through the grass. A few knee wrenching foot stomps in the parking lot shook loose most of the fresh grass clippings from my shoes. I went in and after a handful of minutes at my desk I was mostly dry.
For an 8 mile journey, I was only doing a little better than an average runner. A day of work.. and I would have a chance to improve on my record high 55 minute commute. ¶ 3:01 PM
From COTA, the Central Ohio Transit Authority.
Without rising to the cache of being an undercover reporter, my recent automotive troubles gave me a wonderful opportunity to experience what it means to ride the bus.
Decades after buses stopped playing a voice in national debates on race, and years after the debate between public and private transportation had effectively been settled, I found myself visiting this foreign land.
From the reactions of my colleagues and friends, it is clear that few people take the bus because they want to. The people on the bus are apparently there because they want to get somewhere, and there is no other way for them to get there. The bus is the last resort. Judging by the reactions of my colleagues, they must either have no car, have no license, have no money for gas, or... their car must be in the shop.
So I got up yesterday morning a bit early. I had showered before going to bed to buy myself a little more sleep, because I knew to get to work in a timely fashion I would need a pretty good head start. I set out from the house about 30 minutes earlier than usual and had a brisk 1/2 mile walk to the bus stop. There was a drizzle coming down, hard enough to make me wish I had thrown on a fleece, but gentle enough to keep me from turning back. My wife had offered to take me to work, I mean, I could have bailed out at any time.
By some twist of Murphy's law, call it Muffy's law, I got there within a minute of the last bus. I sat down with my Wall Street Journal and read deeper into the paper than on any of my "car days." I even turned the page to read the "continued on ..." part of a story. Turns out there really isn't that much to the continuation.
The bus came, I boarded. I deposited $1.50 in the automated $1.50 accepter. It is interesting to me that they automate a task that automatically happens only at a time when the bus driver is otherwise unoccupied. Perhaps its for security.
I rode in peace for a while before being jolted from my relaxed reading to find the bus turning off its route into a residential neighborhood. I had been a little astonished to see the bus empty out completely, and had even seen one passenger get on, talk to the bus driver, take a transfer pass and exit. So I ran to the front of the bus flapping my arms for the bus driver to stop. Without saying,
"Where the hell do you think you are going?" I think I conveyed the message. He explained that the bus was a local and to go furhter North, I'd need to get off, wait in the rain for 10 minutes and take the next bus.
Which I did.
Except that I waited in the eave of a building and pondered the possible consequence of so blatantly loitering outside a closed barbershop. Then when the bus came I ran out (arms flapping) to make sure I didn't miss 'my ride.'
So I made it to my stop, did a quick and graceful 'frogger crossing' of the 5 lane road and trudged through the grass. A few knee wrenching foot stomps in the parking lot shook loose most of the fresh grass clippings from my shoes. I went in and after a handful of minutes at my desk I was mostly dry.
For an 8 mile journey, I was only doing a little better than an average runner. A day of work.. and I would have a chance to improve on my record high 55 minute commute. ¶ 3:01 PM
