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Category: commuting

More for Less

More for Less

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Two days ago Metro raised its fares and its parking rates. I now shell out an extra 30 cents for the worst ride in town. Why pay more for less? Why not find another way to get to work?

Truth is, I have. I’ve shrunk the Metro portion of my trip as much as I can, catching a bus six stops earlier than I used to get off, trudging up an escalator and spending the last 10 minutes of my commute above ground.

I could give up Metro entirely, but that would mean either full-time telework (not likely!) or driving every day. And as much as I dread the “Orange Crush” (a fizzy moniker for what happens on the Orange Line from 5-6 p.m.) at least I can read or write when I have a seat.

In commuting, as in life, compromises are made. I like the passive voice there. It suits the situation.

(Besides, I would miss the architecture.)

Civilized Pace

Civilized Pace

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Pre-dawn walks are becoming a habit. Made possible by early light, they remind me of early-morning runs when I lived in Manhattan. If I woke by 6:50 I could dash around the reservoir and be in the shower by 7:30 and on my way out the door at 8:00. By 9:00 or a little after I would be in my office sipping tea, nibbling a bagel and reading the Times.

No one arrived at McCall’s before 9:00 or 9:15 and no one bothered you while you read the newspaper — we were “looking for trends,” after all, so it was considered part of the workday. Ah, what a reasonable hour and civilized pace.

No one forces me to get in early now. It’s just the way I roll. But I like to remember a time when commuting meant hoofing it through Central Park, down Fifth, across 47th and over to Park.  Now that’s a walk!

(What I saw on the way to the office.)

Stairmaster

Stairmaster

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My eyes are still half closed when I see it looming. It’s not the longest escalator in D.C.’s Metro system. In fact, it’s not even in the top 10. But it’s long enough. And it’s my morning challenge.

No standing on the right. I start on the left and move myself up those moving steps.  Some mornings at a plodding pace; others a bit more briskly. I’m usually winded when I reach the summit, and my legs are shaky. But I’m at the top. And sorta kinda on my own steam.

There could be worse ways to start a day. I could be walking up the Wheaton escalator, the longest in the Western Hemisphere. 


It’s a Stairmaster, courtesy of Metro. 
When Minutes Fly

When Minutes Fly

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I’ve had many commutes in my life. The easiest was a stroll down the hall. The most inspiring was a walk through Central Park from the Upper West Side to Midtown Manhattan.

The one I have now involves a drive, Metro trip, bus ride and walk. I might be in as many as four vehicles on the way home, since I switch from one line to the other to avoid being squeezed in what is known here as the “Orange Crush” (for the Orange Line to Vienna, where I park my car).

All of which is to say, I have a disjointed commute. What’s consistent about it is that, unless I’m standing up and it’s too crowded to breathe, I have a book, journal or newspaper in hand. What stitches together the minutes and hours is … ( no surprise!) … the written word.

It’s amazing how quickly this makes time pass, how easy it is to miss my stop. So today I’m grateful for the words that make the minutes fly. Don’t know what I’d do without them.

Shadow Commuters

Shadow Commuters

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Since Friday, we have been in the deep freeze, with temperatures in the teens or lower. I’m remembering all over again why I no longer live in Chicago. There, the deep freeze was the norm. Here it’s the exception.

Working in Crystal City, though, I have a secret weapon: the Underground. One of its passageways leads from Metro to the building across the street from my office. It’s a little longer as the crow flies, but ever so much warmer.

I notice now a definite uptick in the number of Underground pedestrians, people like me, scampering in the warmth, eschewing the wind and cold.

There we were, dressed for the chill in boots, scarves and gloves — walking down what is essentially a hallway. Are we shadow commuters, or the real thing?

Back to …

Back to …

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I was going to say “the grind.” But my job is too new to be a grind, and the commute is so variable these days that it can be called many things (many of them unprintable) but grind doesn’t quite capture that either.

It’s more accurate today to say back to…  the routine. I’ve not been in the office since December 22, and what a luscious time it’s been: sleeping late, writing long, spending a couple of days away from home and century.

I’m not a big fan of routine, don’t move easily in its placid waters, would rather be done with it. Even though I’ll admit that routine is necessary and sometimes my salvation. But it is more anchor than prod — and today I re-enter it willingly … but not eagerly.

Bustopia

Bustopia

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Should we coin a word for the way it feels to run to a bus stop only to find no one there and the next bus not due for  30 minutes?  Shall we add in early darkness and a brisk north wind? Shall we also include the uncertainty of whether there even is a next bus?

Lonely doesn’t do it. Bereft … maybe. Some combination of tired and cold and anxious and angry. Bustopia? Like the gloomy imaginings of a dystopian novel only it’s actually happening.

Let’s add a ray of hope, though. The other commuters, when they finally show up, are proof that there will be another bus. They bring gallows humor and crazy stories.

The bus stop is no longer a cold, lonely, windswept place. Now it’s just cold and windswept. Brave New Bustopia.

Vienna Waits

Vienna Waits

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At first I wasn’t going to chance it today, the first day the Orange Line would be running straight through from Vienna to Ballston again. Forty-two days of track work had made me a Silver Line refugee.

Sure, I got used to it. The station is a little closer to my house, and there are these funky pop-up stores on the plaza. But the pop-up stores aren’t open at 6:30 a.m., and there is the basic fact that I’m driving away from the city to get into it.

So today I threw caution to the wind. I drove that familiar route, the rolling Fox Mill, the many-curved Vale. And I parked in one of those ample spots and passed through that familiar turnstile.

What can I say except to channel Billy Joel:

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You’re gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you …


Cue the accordions. It’s my stop, and it’s back in business.

See How They Run

See How They Run

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Washington, D.C.’s Metro system has been much maligned lately, both here and, frankly, all over the media. But here’s one advantage that is seldom mentioned: Metro keeps us in shape.

I thought about this today while running for a train. D.C. strap hangers know how long it will be until another train appears, so when they see one coming — especially at the end of the Silver Line, where the tracks are visible across a vast stretch of elevated sidewalk — they take off.

This is in addition to the escalator and stair-climbing (systems are often broken so you’ll be climbing no matter which you take), the balance improved by frequent standing in crowded cars, and, of course, hanging on for dear life (great for upper body strength).

The commuting life is a healthy life, as long as you ignore the stress levels. Take those out of the equation and you have the perfect fitness opportunity. Puts a whole new spin on the words “in training.” Why join a gym when you have Metro?

Week Without Metro

Week Without Metro

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It wasn’t planned, it just worked out that way, but as of yesterday, I’ve had one week without Metro. And yes, it’s been nice! It won’t last, of course. I can’t pull off a drive everyday. But if nothing else I will appreciate the reading time more next week when I jump back on the much reviled public transportation system.

In general, a train or bus is a good place for walkers to be. You hoof it to the bus stop or the subway. You make it work.

But time is a factor, too. And with daylight hours dwindling, walkers need every minute they can find.

So let’s hear it for a week without Metro … and more Metro-less weeks to come!