Wednesday, July 30, 2003
SPELLBOUND On a tangent, if there's anyone else out there who happens to be interested in both transportation and words, as I am, be sure to look out for a new suspense-filled real-life drama about the latter at your local movie theater: Spellbound, a documentary about eight kids competing for the title at the 1999 National Spelling Bee. Aptly named on so many levels, Spellbound kept the four of us on the edges of our seats for the entire 97 minutes.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
THE VISCERAL APPEAL OF PUBLIC TRANSIT...? In a recent blog entry, my friend Raymond describes a "60 minutes" interview with a psychologist whose job is to "help car manufacturers to sell cars to us by tapping into the deepest recesses of our subconscious minds." This psychologist talks about how SUVs appeal directly to our most basic instinct--the survival instinct--and how, regardless of whether it's true that a larger car corresponds to higher chance of survival (it probably doesn't, and may do the opposite), our instinct can't let go of the belief that it does.
Raymond asks the question, "Is stopping Americans from driving SUVs like trying to stop them from eating, drinking, and having sex?...Is the appeal to public transit always a 'higher brain' appeal [or does it have a visceral appeal that can compete with the appeal of the SUV]?"
Raymond's question is, I think, one of the central questions in the problem of car-dependency. I'm not sure our nation's love-affair with the car is as much about true freedom of mobility as it is about a gut desire for power and control over our lives and destinies--power and control that ever eludes us. (Of course, because the car is so entrenched in our culture, it does become a question of freedom of mobility, even for those who can see through the "lower appeals" of the auto industry to power, self-esteem, and sex appeal.)
The fact is, public transit actually does appeal to me on a visceral level (as do bicycling and walking)--and that's something that I wish I could convey better to others. The absolute luxury of having someone else deal with the driving and traffic (not to mention maintenance and liability) while I read, write, sleep, pay bills, or talk to a friend--sometimes seems like a kind of miracle. My survival instinct also kicks in here--I feel a lot safer in a train, on a track, than amidst hundreds of unpredictable independently moving high-speed vehicles (not to mention my own car's mechanical unpredictability)--and statistics bear out this instinct. The exhiliration of riding a bicycle, the relaxed pace of walking--these things also appeal to me on a deep emotional and physical level.
If I could have two wishes (besides world peace and other such long-longed-for passions in the history of humankind), they would be to (1) Stimulate people's desire for a life full of public transit, bicycling, and walking, the way car commercials stimulate people's desire for big cars (or little cars), and (2) See those options (public transit, bicycling, and walking) become more and more appealing--easier and safer and more convenient to use and enjoy. If we put as much effort and money into building alternative systems as we do stimulating our desires for cars, I think the freedom and mobility and improved quality of life would certainly be beyond what we're currently experiencing in our car-driven lifestyles.
So, in an attempt to make an appeal to the visceral side, I'd like to take up Raymond's analogy to eating and drinking (I'll skip sex for now, though that analogy has all kinds of interesting potential...): Our body's basic need is for food that will meet its nutritional requirements; many of us, though, crave junk food. But you can in fact train your body to crave the things that are good for it, "detox" from junk food. When you learn how to prepare healthy foods to bring out their full flavor, you discover that they actually taste better--the flavors are richer and more complex and satisfying--than junk food. Your body starts to feel better, healthier, and in turn responds to hunger by craving the green leafy vegetables, proteins, whole grains, etc., it needs.
Having a big car is like eating junk food: It may give you a rush--but it doesn't really satisfy your deeper needs, and can even hurt you. You have a feeling of power and control as you're speeding along, but it soon goes away when you're thwarted by a traffic jam, where your "need" for power and control becomes a source of tension among you and other drivers. The feeling of disruption of human relationship (and threat to survival) when someone cuts you off, tailgates, honks impatiently, or gives you the finger--can carry over into the rest of your day. The illusion of power and control in our lives is in fact just that--an illusion; car ownership--perhaps especially big-car-ownership--can have a tendency to reinforce that illusion, with disastrous consequences when it's thwarted--from daily accumulation of stress to road rage to, worst of all, accidents that are the the direct result of someone thinking they're in control when they're not.
Here are three reasons I don't own a car:
Financial freedom. I love the freedom that not owning a car represents for my bank account. Since I'm partly self-employed right now, it really does represent the freedom to take time some time off each week to play with my friends' kids in the park, to go for long walks, to play in the garden, to make soup, to have people over, to write letters, to catch up with old friends, to travel. Most significantly, perhaps, it represents the freedom to keep doing work that I love doing that is not yet financially stable--it buys me time, so I'm not forced to go out and find a "regular" job, which could very likely be at a large corporation whose values and interests are different from mine. The fact is, many people spend one full day each week working to pay for their car. Some people live in a vicious cycle: because of their dependence on their car, and the need to support that dependence, they may be forced to take a higher-paying job they don't like as much, further away from home, reinforcing their dependence on a car.
Hassle mitigation. I love that I don't have a big hunk of metal in front of my house that I'm responsible for. I love that I don't have to keep track of when was the last time the oil was changed or the tires rotated. I love that I don't have to wonder anxiously about the knocking, rattling, clicking, squeaking, and slapping sounds coming from various unseen locations in the car. I love that I don't have to plan and save for the next time my car breaks down with a bill of $500. I love that repairs to my bicycle are simple and inexpensive and very rarely necessary.
Forcing myself into a better way of life. I don't bring cookies home from the store; I don't keep soda and chips in my house (OK, this is only partly true--but for the sake of argument...)--that way, in general, I eat healthier, feel better, have more energy, enjoy life more. The same is true for me of owning a car--if I owned a car, I would use it--and then I would miss out on all the wonderful things about walking, bicycling, and taking public transportation. I would stop planning ahead. I would have the illusion of control and freedom to go where I want, when I want. I would stop being forced to slow down and live life at a more liveable pace. I would stop getting exercise. My life would become more complicated, less simple. So yes, I suppose that's the higher brain taking over--but at some point the higher brain and the visceral begin to feed each other--and the visceral desire to not own a car becomes stronger than the desire to own a car. I start to imagine myself trapped inside four walls of metal, missing out on my walks, my bike rides, my quiet life, and it feels confining, it feels like a restricted life, it feels like a life that moves too fast and goes by in a blur. A life that has less of myself in it.
I don't want to pretend that living without a car is perfect. It can be downright inconvenient. I don't want to pretend that human nature doesn't rear its ugly head on public transportation or among bicyclists. But I do want to suggest that, in a world that is imperfect no matter how you cut it, there is a better way of life than the direction our culture is headed.
Raymond asks the question, "Is stopping Americans from driving SUVs like trying to stop them from eating, drinking, and having sex?...Is the appeal to public transit always a 'higher brain' appeal [or does it have a visceral appeal that can compete with the appeal of the SUV]?"
Raymond's question is, I think, one of the central questions in the problem of car-dependency. I'm not sure our nation's love-affair with the car is as much about true freedom of mobility as it is about a gut desire for power and control over our lives and destinies--power and control that ever eludes us. (Of course, because the car is so entrenched in our culture, it does become a question of freedom of mobility, even for those who can see through the "lower appeals" of the auto industry to power, self-esteem, and sex appeal.)
The fact is, public transit actually does appeal to me on a visceral level (as do bicycling and walking)--and that's something that I wish I could convey better to others. The absolute luxury of having someone else deal with the driving and traffic (not to mention maintenance and liability) while I read, write, sleep, pay bills, or talk to a friend--sometimes seems like a kind of miracle. My survival instinct also kicks in here--I feel a lot safer in a train, on a track, than amidst hundreds of unpredictable independently moving high-speed vehicles (not to mention my own car's mechanical unpredictability)--and statistics bear out this instinct. The exhiliration of riding a bicycle, the relaxed pace of walking--these things also appeal to me on a deep emotional and physical level.
If I could have two wishes (besides world peace and other such long-longed-for passions in the history of humankind), they would be to (1) Stimulate people's desire for a life full of public transit, bicycling, and walking, the way car commercials stimulate people's desire for big cars (or little cars), and (2) See those options (public transit, bicycling, and walking) become more and more appealing--easier and safer and more convenient to use and enjoy. If we put as much effort and money into building alternative systems as we do stimulating our desires for cars, I think the freedom and mobility and improved quality of life would certainly be beyond what we're currently experiencing in our car-driven lifestyles.
So, in an attempt to make an appeal to the visceral side, I'd like to take up Raymond's analogy to eating and drinking (I'll skip sex for now, though that analogy has all kinds of interesting potential...): Our body's basic need is for food that will meet its nutritional requirements; many of us, though, crave junk food. But you can in fact train your body to crave the things that are good for it, "detox" from junk food. When you learn how to prepare healthy foods to bring out their full flavor, you discover that they actually taste better--the flavors are richer and more complex and satisfying--than junk food. Your body starts to feel better, healthier, and in turn responds to hunger by craving the green leafy vegetables, proteins, whole grains, etc., it needs.
Having a big car is like eating junk food: It may give you a rush--but it doesn't really satisfy your deeper needs, and can even hurt you. You have a feeling of power and control as you're speeding along, but it soon goes away when you're thwarted by a traffic jam, where your "need" for power and control becomes a source of tension among you and other drivers. The feeling of disruption of human relationship (and threat to survival) when someone cuts you off, tailgates, honks impatiently, or gives you the finger--can carry over into the rest of your day. The illusion of power and control in our lives is in fact just that--an illusion; car ownership--perhaps especially big-car-ownership--can have a tendency to reinforce that illusion, with disastrous consequences when it's thwarted--from daily accumulation of stress to road rage to, worst of all, accidents that are the the direct result of someone thinking they're in control when they're not.
Here are three reasons I don't own a car:
Financial freedom. I love the freedom that not owning a car represents for my bank account. Since I'm partly self-employed right now, it really does represent the freedom to take time some time off each week to play with my friends' kids in the park, to go for long walks, to play in the garden, to make soup, to have people over, to write letters, to catch up with old friends, to travel. Most significantly, perhaps, it represents the freedom to keep doing work that I love doing that is not yet financially stable--it buys me time, so I'm not forced to go out and find a "regular" job, which could very likely be at a large corporation whose values and interests are different from mine. The fact is, many people spend one full day each week working to pay for their car. Some people live in a vicious cycle: because of their dependence on their car, and the need to support that dependence, they may be forced to take a higher-paying job they don't like as much, further away from home, reinforcing their dependence on a car.
Hassle mitigation. I love that I don't have a big hunk of metal in front of my house that I'm responsible for. I love that I don't have to keep track of when was the last time the oil was changed or the tires rotated. I love that I don't have to wonder anxiously about the knocking, rattling, clicking, squeaking, and slapping sounds coming from various unseen locations in the car. I love that I don't have to plan and save for the next time my car breaks down with a bill of $500. I love that repairs to my bicycle are simple and inexpensive and very rarely necessary.
Forcing myself into a better way of life. I don't bring cookies home from the store; I don't keep soda and chips in my house (OK, this is only partly true--but for the sake of argument...)--that way, in general, I eat healthier, feel better, have more energy, enjoy life more. The same is true for me of owning a car--if I owned a car, I would use it--and then I would miss out on all the wonderful things about walking, bicycling, and taking public transportation. I would stop planning ahead. I would have the illusion of control and freedom to go where I want, when I want. I would stop being forced to slow down and live life at a more liveable pace. I would stop getting exercise. My life would become more complicated, less simple. So yes, I suppose that's the higher brain taking over--but at some point the higher brain and the visceral begin to feed each other--and the visceral desire to not own a car becomes stronger than the desire to own a car. I start to imagine myself trapped inside four walls of metal, missing out on my walks, my bike rides, my quiet life, and it feels confining, it feels like a restricted life, it feels like a life that moves too fast and goes by in a blur. A life that has less of myself in it.
I don't want to pretend that living without a car is perfect. It can be downright inconvenient. I don't want to pretend that human nature doesn't rear its ugly head on public transportation or among bicyclists. But I do want to suggest that, in a world that is imperfect no matter how you cut it, there is a better way of life than the direction our culture is headed.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
THE SUV INSTINCT My friend Raymond wrote some thought-provoking comments and questions in his blog about the embeddedness of the SUV in our cultural psyche. I want to respond (mostly to the fact that he raises most articulately the basic questions of whether we can ever escape from car-dependency as a culture) soon, but for now I wanted to point you to his blog and ask for your thoughts (send to kfaries@earthlink.net).
Friday, July 11, 2003
BURLINGAME P.S. In thinking about the question "Would it be easier if I could just drive to Burlingame?" I think of a friend's comment on why he sometimes takes BART: "On BART, I can do all the things I probably shouldn't be doing while driving, like sleeping, reading, grading papers..."
CAN YOU TELL ME HOW TO GET...TO BURLINGAME? At the end of July, I am going to a seminar for work, in Burlingame (on the peninsula, south of San Francisco). When I first heard "Burlingame," I panicked a little--since my only memory of Burlingame was going to a job interview 8 years ago that involved an hour and a half drive ending up in a beautiful but seemingly remote area south of San Francisco with rugged hills and long stretching roads. I was sure getting there without a car would involve getting up at 4:00 in the morning, at least. After about a half hour of research, I'm more encouraged.
Finding a way to get somewhere without a car requires a lot of perseverance--informal research skills, knowing where to look and who to ask, and knowing, especially, when to doubt your source--you have to pay attention to the little clues that tell you whether the person has traveled this route frequently themselves or is just repeating something they might have heard, somewhere; and where the details might be misleading or incomplete. Two or three sources, and creative interviewing techniques, are often necessary to get a complete picture. No one's holding your hand through it. The process is in no way efficient--I probably wouldn't bother if it hadn't become, by now, a game for me.
Not having the phone number for my destination and my Internet access down, I thought I would first try 511 again. I've had mixed success in the past getting the information I've needed from the new "Bay Area Traveler Information" hotline--admittedly, it's still in its early stages. As per my usual, on my first call I got "lost" in the voice-activated menu system and had to call back. I finally managed to figure out that the transit agency for Burlingame was "SamTrans." When I got through to a SamTrans customer service agent, I learned that, from the new Millbrae BART station, I could take a #390 or 391 bus (coming every fifteen minutes) six blocks toward my destination--then I would have to walk the remaining seven blocks. We had a little bit of a hard time figuring that out, since I only had an address--not a cross street. Fortunately, she was extremely helpful, pulling out a Burlingame local map (which I didn't have) and managing to figure it out. I thought out loud that maybe I could just walk, or ride my bike. She seemed to think biking was a good idea. I asked if the roads were OK for biking--were they flat? Were they safe? Were there bike lanes? She said there was a lot of traffic on El Camino Real, but it was straight and flat.
Later, I went to Yahoo maps to get directions from the BART station to my destination. I first had to find the address of the Millbrae BART station. The station is new, and it turned out the BART information on www.transitinfo.org hadn't been updated yet with the Millbrae station information. Stymied for a few minutes, I remembered that the station was intermodal--it linked up to Caltrain; so I looked up Caltrain on the www.transitinfo.org Web site and--bingo!--they had the address. I typed it into Yahoo! Maps and it came out looking simple enough--turn left, turn right, 1.5 miles from door to door.
As an afterthought, I decided to get the phone number for my destination (from the seminar instructor in Atlanta, Georgia) so I could confirm the directions and get a sense for whether the roads were really safe for bicycles. As the woman who answered the phone was giving me directions, I suddenly registered something she had said two sentences back "...then you turn right and go up the hill..." [emphasis mine]--"Wait, did you just say 'up the hill'?" "Oh, yes, it's uphill." The way she said it made me think this wasn't a hill to be taken lightly, not that I am in any position to take any hill lightly. I don't mind small hills--as long as I'm on my way home; but I don't want to arrive at a conference panting, breathless, "glowing," and wondering if my deoderant is going to make it through the next hour, more or less an eight-hour day.
Then she remembered something--"You know, maybe you could take the shuttle..." I started asking questions about the shuttle. It goes from BART directly there? What are the times? She was looking at something that was telling her the last shuttle was at 8:50. "How will I recognize the shuttle? Does it say [the name of their organization] on it?" "Just ask someone," she said, "an attendant or something--when you get to the BART station."
I didn't feel quite comfortable with that answer--I needed more details. I went online and typed "[name of organization] Burlingame shuttle schedule" into google. After following a few links, and scanning a few pages of information, I managed to ferret out that the shuttle I wanted was the North Burlingame Area shuttle (Burlingame had three different shuttles); that it had 5 or 6 scheduled runs in the morning, about a half hour apart, the last one being at 8:45; and that it could be found at Shuttle Stop #1 "at the east end closest to the parking lot." I am assuming the shuttle is free, because the word "shuttle" implies free to me for some reason, but I actually have no idea--I didn't see the answer to that question anywhere. I guess the safest thing is to make sure I have ones and change with me that day. (All this information was at www.commute.org: "Working Together to Improve Your San Mateo County Commute.")
Ahh--I found it: "This BART & Caltrain Employer Shuttle is funded in part by the San Mateo City/County Association of Governments and the participating employers listed above. The shuttle is free to ride and open to the general public."
Finally, to figure out what time I needed to get on BART, I went to the BART Web site (www.bart.gov; I usually go to www.transitinfo.org but the quick-schedule-finder applet is no longer there for some reason--they instead make you browse through the complete schedule to find your information). I have two options: the "safe" option and the "cutting it close" option: To be "safe," I would have to leave my house at 6:45, depart El Cerrito Plaza on the 7:01 train to arrive at Millbrae (one transfer involved) at 8:10, then wait for the 8:23 shuttle to arrive at my destination by 8:32 (the workshop starts at 9:00). In the "cutting it close" scenario, I leave my house at 7:18, run for the 7:31 train, arriving at Millbrae at 8:40, and hopefully locate the shuttle stop before 8:45 when the last shuttle leaves. The round-trip cost is $7.80. I noted (from the icon of a bicycle with an X through it on the schedule) that bicycles aren't actually allowed on the trains that time of the morning (I had forgotten about that), so the bicycle question was moot. To take my bicycle, I would have to leave at 6:00 in the morning and twiddle my thumbs when I got there.
So I think I'm armed and ready. The one remaining question is whether I should have a backup plan, in case something goes wrong. If there is a problem, I am hoping there are cabs available--there are often cabs outside BART stations, though not always. Last resort would be walking.
Finding a way to get somewhere without a car requires a lot of perseverance--informal research skills, knowing where to look and who to ask, and knowing, especially, when to doubt your source--you have to pay attention to the little clues that tell you whether the person has traveled this route frequently themselves or is just repeating something they might have heard, somewhere; and where the details might be misleading or incomplete. Two or three sources, and creative interviewing techniques, are often necessary to get a complete picture. No one's holding your hand through it. The process is in no way efficient--I probably wouldn't bother if it hadn't become, by now, a game for me.
Not having the phone number for my destination and my Internet access down, I thought I would first try 511 again. I've had mixed success in the past getting the information I've needed from the new "Bay Area Traveler Information" hotline--admittedly, it's still in its early stages. As per my usual, on my first call I got "lost" in the voice-activated menu system and had to call back. I finally managed to figure out that the transit agency for Burlingame was "SamTrans." When I got through to a SamTrans customer service agent, I learned that, from the new Millbrae BART station, I could take a #390 or 391 bus (coming every fifteen minutes) six blocks toward my destination--then I would have to walk the remaining seven blocks. We had a little bit of a hard time figuring that out, since I only had an address--not a cross street. Fortunately, she was extremely helpful, pulling out a Burlingame local map (which I didn't have) and managing to figure it out. I thought out loud that maybe I could just walk, or ride my bike. She seemed to think biking was a good idea. I asked if the roads were OK for biking--were they flat? Were they safe? Were there bike lanes? She said there was a lot of traffic on El Camino Real, but it was straight and flat.
Later, I went to Yahoo maps to get directions from the BART station to my destination. I first had to find the address of the Millbrae BART station. The station is new, and it turned out the BART information on www.transitinfo.org hadn't been updated yet with the Millbrae station information. Stymied for a few minutes, I remembered that the station was intermodal--it linked up to Caltrain; so I looked up Caltrain on the www.transitinfo.org Web site and--bingo!--they had the address. I typed it into Yahoo! Maps and it came out looking simple enough--turn left, turn right, 1.5 miles from door to door.
As an afterthought, I decided to get the phone number for my destination (from the seminar instructor in Atlanta, Georgia) so I could confirm the directions and get a sense for whether the roads were really safe for bicycles. As the woman who answered the phone was giving me directions, I suddenly registered something she had said two sentences back "...then you turn right and go up the hill..." [emphasis mine]--"Wait, did you just say 'up the hill'?" "Oh, yes, it's uphill." The way she said it made me think this wasn't a hill to be taken lightly, not that I am in any position to take any hill lightly. I don't mind small hills--as long as I'm on my way home; but I don't want to arrive at a conference panting, breathless, "glowing," and wondering if my deoderant is going to make it through the next hour, more or less an eight-hour day.
Then she remembered something--"You know, maybe you could take the shuttle..." I started asking questions about the shuttle. It goes from BART directly there? What are the times? She was looking at something that was telling her the last shuttle was at 8:50. "How will I recognize the shuttle? Does it say [the name of their organization] on it?" "Just ask someone," she said, "an attendant or something--when you get to the BART station."
I didn't feel quite comfortable with that answer--I needed more details. I went online and typed "[name of organization] Burlingame shuttle schedule" into google. After following a few links, and scanning a few pages of information, I managed to ferret out that the shuttle I wanted was the North Burlingame Area shuttle (Burlingame had three different shuttles); that it had 5 or 6 scheduled runs in the morning, about a half hour apart, the last one being at 8:45; and that it could be found at Shuttle Stop #1 "at the east end closest to the parking lot." I am assuming the shuttle is free, because the word "shuttle" implies free to me for some reason, but I actually have no idea--I didn't see the answer to that question anywhere. I guess the safest thing is to make sure I have ones and change with me that day. (All this information was at www.commute.org: "Working Together to Improve Your San Mateo County Commute.")
Ahh--I found it: "This BART & Caltrain Employer Shuttle is funded in part by the San Mateo City/County Association of Governments and the participating employers listed above. The shuttle is free to ride and open to the general public."
Finally, to figure out what time I needed to get on BART, I went to the BART Web site (www.bart.gov; I usually go to www.transitinfo.org but the quick-schedule-finder applet is no longer there for some reason--they instead make you browse through the complete schedule to find your information). I have two options: the "safe" option and the "cutting it close" option: To be "safe," I would have to leave my house at 6:45, depart El Cerrito Plaza on the 7:01 train to arrive at Millbrae (one transfer involved) at 8:10, then wait for the 8:23 shuttle to arrive at my destination by 8:32 (the workshop starts at 9:00). In the "cutting it close" scenario, I leave my house at 7:18, run for the 7:31 train, arriving at Millbrae at 8:40, and hopefully locate the shuttle stop before 8:45 when the last shuttle leaves. The round-trip cost is $7.80. I noted (from the icon of a bicycle with an X through it on the schedule) that bicycles aren't actually allowed on the trains that time of the morning (I had forgotten about that), so the bicycle question was moot. To take my bicycle, I would have to leave at 6:00 in the morning and twiddle my thumbs when I got there.
So I think I'm armed and ready. The one remaining question is whether I should have a backup plan, in case something goes wrong. If there is a problem, I am hoping there are cabs available--there are often cabs outside BART stations, though not always. Last resort would be walking.
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
UPDATE ON 10-RIDE PASS Apparently the bus driver was misinformed (see Monday, July 7)--according to AC Transit customer service (who were quick and helpful in responding to the question Jennie sent in from the Web site's customer feedback page), you are allowed to use the pass to pay for more than one person.
THE AC TRANSIT BLUES ... My friend Jennie called me from the front lines this morning--she was on Broadway in Oakland trying to catch a #51 bus--so far, two 51 buses had passed her up--they wouldn't let her on because they were too full. She finally realized that the buses were full of Oakland Tech High School students, and that if she walked up to 45th and Broadway where the students got off she could probably get on a bus--she was walking that way when she called me. When I hung up with her she was chasing after a third bus.
It seems like there could be a reasonable solution to such a problem--other than leaving dozens of people who need to get to work, school, and dentist appointments (like Jennie) out in the cold (metaphorically speaking). It seems that AC Transit used to have special buses (with three-digit numbers), that ran during school-commute hours, and were purely for the purpose of transporting students to and from local schools. Sure, some students might still get on the 51, but it would relieve at least some of the burden. I'm guessing that the basic problem comes down to the root of all AC Transit's problems--$$.
Then there's the solution I encountered in Beijing, China--which not only involves dramatically redefining one's notions of personal space, but probably involves rewriting the laws of physics. I was on a rush-hour bus in Beijing one day, where we were packed in like sardines, with (I thought) not an inch to spare. I saw 20-30 people waiting at the next bus stop; for a brief moment I felt sorry for them, that they would have to wait for the next bus--but within two seconds they had all, somehow, gotten on our bus. In retrospect, the only explanation I can come up with is that the extra inches might have been obtained from square inches of air expressed from people's lungs and stomachs. Later I read somewhere (Sustainability and Cities, by Peter Newman and Jeffrey Kenworthy) that rush-hour buses in Beijing hold up to 12 persons per square meter. I don't remember how I eventually made my way off that bus, but I do remember that I focused on a space of open air above my head to ward off a panic attack and that I lost a lot of weight that trip because I did a lot more walking after that. I could have taken a taxi for $1, but one dollar had begun to seem ridiculously expensive by then (a bus ride was 6 cents)--and felt like cheating somehow.
It seems like there could be a reasonable solution to such a problem--other than leaving dozens of people who need to get to work, school, and dentist appointments (like Jennie) out in the cold (metaphorically speaking). It seems that AC Transit used to have special buses (with three-digit numbers), that ran during school-commute hours, and were purely for the purpose of transporting students to and from local schools. Sure, some students might still get on the 51, but it would relieve at least some of the burden. I'm guessing that the basic problem comes down to the root of all AC Transit's problems--$$.
Then there's the solution I encountered in Beijing, China--which not only involves dramatically redefining one's notions of personal space, but probably involves rewriting the laws of physics. I was on a rush-hour bus in Beijing one day, where we were packed in like sardines, with (I thought) not an inch to spare. I saw 20-30 people waiting at the next bus stop; for a brief moment I felt sorry for them, that they would have to wait for the next bus--but within two seconds they had all, somehow, gotten on our bus. In retrospect, the only explanation I can come up with is that the extra inches might have been obtained from square inches of air expressed from people's lungs and stomachs. Later I read somewhere (Sustainability and Cities, by Peter Newman and Jeffrey Kenworthy) that rush-hour buses in Beijing hold up to 12 persons per square meter. I don't remember how I eventually made my way off that bus, but I do remember that I focused on a space of open air above my head to ward off a panic attack and that I lost a lot of weight that trip because I did a lot more walking after that. I could have taken a taxi for $1, but one dollar had begun to seem ridiculously expensive by then (a bus ride was 6 cents)--and felt like cheating somehow.
Monday, July 07, 2003
NEW AC TRANSIT 10-RIDE PASS My friend Jennie pointed out that the new AC Transit 10-ride pass doesn't allow "double-dipping." That is, if she wants to pay for a friend, she can't do it. The old 10-pass books worked much better for a lot of purposes: you could pay for a Transbay ride with two tickets (which add up to the value of a Transbay ride), you can pay for more than one person, and they're good for giving a ticket to someone who's asking for "spare change for the bus." I noticed this when my parents were here--I wanted to buy a 10-pass book to get around and found they were no longer for sale. We ended up scrounging everyday for ones and change.
Anyway, Jennie wants to know why she can't double-dip (I'm curious too). I assume it has something to do with the way the electronic pass system is set up, but I didn't really have a good answer for her. Anyone?
Anyway, Jennie wants to know why she can't double-dip (I'm curious too). I assume it has something to do with the way the electronic pass system is set up, but I didn't really have a good answer for her. Anyone?
BLOG ADS I've been noticing that the ads appearing at the top of the blog seem to "match" the content of the day--when I was writing about biking to work, ads for bicycles and exercycles appeared. When I wrote about Dorothy Day, ads for the American Red Cross, Peace Corps, and Habitat for Humanity appeared. Yesterday there was an ad for a company that makes bus stop shelters. Interesting. I don't so much mind that way of doing ads. It's not for cars or B movies or magic weight loss pills--although, now that I've used these key words, maybe today's ads will be.
Re. Sunday's blog about riding to church in a dress and high heels, I've been wondering if maybe I should include some kind of "do not try this at home" disclaimer. Re. shoes--it is important to make sure you are stable in whatever shoes you wear to ride a bike and that your shoes aren't slipping on the pedals. A couple of helpful hints for riding a bike in a dress: Watch out for overly long or flowing dresses that might get caught in the spokes. Likewise, short tight skirts that restrict the movement of the knees won't work. I find dresses that are knee-length or thereabouts work best. I always wear bicycle shorts or short leggings under my dress for modesty. It works best for short distances; for long distances I carry a change of clothes with me.
Re. Sunday's blog about riding to church in a dress and high heels, I've been wondering if maybe I should include some kind of "do not try this at home" disclaimer. Re. shoes--it is important to make sure you are stable in whatever shoes you wear to ride a bike and that your shoes aren't slipping on the pedals. A couple of helpful hints for riding a bike in a dress: Watch out for overly long or flowing dresses that might get caught in the spokes. Likewise, short tight skirts that restrict the movement of the knees won't work. I find dresses that are knee-length or thereabouts work best. I always wear bicycle shorts or short leggings under my dress for modesty. It works best for short distances; for long distances I carry a change of clothes with me.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
BIKING TO CHURCH I rode my bike to church this morning, as I do most Sundays. Ten minutes, a little under two miles. (So simple, but somehow I always manage to be late.) I start out on the BART path near my house in Albany, go to Gilman Street, over to Hopkins, and from there it's a couple more blocks on Hopkins to church. The only real (minor) annoyance is the stoplight at Marin--which takes forever (at least a full 60 seconds) to change after I press the crossing button; sometimes when traffic is light on Sunday morning, I'm tempted to cross against the light. Along the path a scattering of people are walking their dogs, jogging, taking Sunday morning strolls, riding bicycles and tricycles, sitting on the benches.
I was surprised to discover a few months ago how easy it is to ride a bike in a dress and high heels--certainly much easier than walking in heels. So now I can pretty much dress up as much as I want--I used to restrict myself to things that I thought were "bikeable," practical, like pedal pushers and tennis shoes. Today's shoes were a little slippery on the sole, inspiring caution on the mount and dismount, but once they were firmly on the pedals they were fine. Some shoes don't work--like slip-ons (which tend to slip-off)--so I pack them in the saddle bag and wear my Tevas on the bike. I've also found that it's helpful to get a haircut that works with my bike helmet, not against it; e.g. a flip is good, because the ends sticking out of the bicycle helmet are going to do that anyway. Poofy hairspray hair doesn't work, and in-between lengths that are actually supposed to do something bouncy or interesting on the top or sides don't really work either.
I was surprised to discover a few months ago how easy it is to ride a bike in a dress and high heels--certainly much easier than walking in heels. So now I can pretty much dress up as much as I want--I used to restrict myself to things that I thought were "bikeable," practical, like pedal pushers and tennis shoes. Today's shoes were a little slippery on the sole, inspiring caution on the mount and dismount, but once they were firmly on the pedals they were fine. Some shoes don't work--like slip-ons (which tend to slip-off)--so I pack them in the saddle bag and wear my Tevas on the bike. I've also found that it's helpful to get a haircut that works with my bike helmet, not against it; e.g. a flip is good, because the ends sticking out of the bicycle helmet are going to do that anyway. Poofy hairspray hair doesn't work, and in-between lengths that are actually supposed to do something bouncy or interesting on the top or sides don't really work either.
Saturday, July 05, 2003
DOROTHY DAY I've just been reading Dorothy Day's Loaves and Fishes, the history of the Catholic Worker movement that she founded. She tends to give the impression that the movement "found" her, that once they started publishing The Catholic Worker paper, people started showing up at their offices, homeless and hungry, expecting them to follow the ideals they were writing about. What is always striking in Dorothy Day is the combination of the awareness of her own inadequacies, her own impatience with people and inability to love "enough," and an unqualified persistence nonetheless. She has a very matter-of-fact tone. From the book: "I condemn poverty and I advocate it...We need always to be thinking and writing about it, for if we are not among its victims its reality fades from us....people insulated by their own comfort lose sight of it." And: "It is too easy to forget that all we give is given to us to give. Nothing is ours. All we have to give is our time and patience, our love. How often we have failed in our love..."
I don't agree with everything in her writing--she advocated (and pursued) an absolute, no exceptions, "turn the other cheek" pacifism--protesting the U.S.'s involvement in WWII--and was jailed for refusing to participate in civilian air raid drills. (I think war is a horrible thing, but I do think that there have been times in history--not all instances--when it has been necessary and meaningful to fight for justice and protection of human rights--of course it's often hard to tell the difference at the time between a just and necessary war and an unjust war.) Even when I disagree with Day, it's hard not to be impressed by her persistence in following her ideals, no matter what the cost.
I don't agree with everything in her writing--she advocated (and pursued) an absolute, no exceptions, "turn the other cheek" pacifism--protesting the U.S.'s involvement in WWII--and was jailed for refusing to participate in civilian air raid drills. (I think war is a horrible thing, but I do think that there have been times in history--not all instances--when it has been necessary and meaningful to fight for justice and protection of human rights--of course it's often hard to tell the difference at the time between a just and necessary war and an unjust war.) Even when I disagree with Day, it's hard not to be impressed by her persistence in following her ideals, no matter what the cost.
Friday, July 04, 2003
BIKING TO WORK I work at Harbor House in the afternoons, so I avoid the commute-hour crunch when it is awkward to be on BART with a bicycle--always having to adjust the position of my bicycle so people can get through, always guiltily apologizing whenever someone getting on or off the train goes shin or elbow-first into one of the protruding parts of my bicycle--the pedals or the handlebars or the kickstand.
It's a quick 6-7 minute ride from my house to the El Cerrito Plaza BART station, where I catch one of the Fremont trains that come every 15 minutes (on the :11, :26, :41, :56) and go to the Oakland Lake Merritt station (22 minutes--enough time to read a few pages in my book). From there it's a 10-minute (~20 blocks) ride to Harbor House (which is about 10 blocks east-southeast of the Lake) on relatively flat surface streets. There must be some uphill in there somewhere (since we have a little view) but I haven't really felt it. I've been experimenting with different routes; none are really so bad, but I know there must be one that's the most perfect. I have endless days to experiment now to find that perfect route. In the meantime, I'll get to explore the neighborhood, trying a different route every day.
I know from my first few weeks of reading the literature at Harbor House that the San Antonio neighborhood is home to several immigrant and refugee populations, and that more than 35 languages are spoken within a small radius. On my first ride I ended up on E. 12th Street, a wide somewhat busy street lined with auto repair shops punctuated by the occasional Vietnamese grocery or corner store. In the neighborhoods between the major thoroughfares (International Blvd, E. 18th, Foothill Blvd.) stately Victorians alternate with boxy 4-8 unit apartment buildings. Some of the Victorians have been lovingly and carefully restored in exquisite detail. Some of the Victorians are barely recognizable, looking something like overgrown shacks which have been subdivided and sub-subdivided into apartments, windows and porches often encased with heavy black bars to discourage break-ins. Much of the housing is in-between, maintaining a face of solid perseverance.
It's a quick 6-7 minute ride from my house to the El Cerrito Plaza BART station, where I catch one of the Fremont trains that come every 15 minutes (on the :11, :26, :41, :56) and go to the Oakland Lake Merritt station (22 minutes--enough time to read a few pages in my book). From there it's a 10-minute (~20 blocks) ride to Harbor House (which is about 10 blocks east-southeast of the Lake) on relatively flat surface streets. There must be some uphill in there somewhere (since we have a little view) but I haven't really felt it. I've been experimenting with different routes; none are really so bad, but I know there must be one that's the most perfect. I have endless days to experiment now to find that perfect route. In the meantime, I'll get to explore the neighborhood, trying a different route every day.
I know from my first few weeks of reading the literature at Harbor House that the San Antonio neighborhood is home to several immigrant and refugee populations, and that more than 35 languages are spoken within a small radius. On my first ride I ended up on E. 12th Street, a wide somewhat busy street lined with auto repair shops punctuated by the occasional Vietnamese grocery or corner store. In the neighborhoods between the major thoroughfares (International Blvd, E. 18th, Foothill Blvd.) stately Victorians alternate with boxy 4-8 unit apartment buildings. Some of the Victorians have been lovingly and carefully restored in exquisite detail. Some of the Victorians are barely recognizable, looking something like overgrown shacks which have been subdivided and sub-subdivided into apartments, windows and porches often encased with heavy black bars to discourage break-ins. Much of the housing is in-between, maintaining a face of solid perseverance.
Thursday, July 03, 2003
BIKING TO WORK The commute to Harbor House is working out surprisingly well. I've tried to commute by bicycle to a lot of jobs before and it's never really been than great. I tend to rate bicycle routes, roughly, according to the number of times I fear for my life en route. With previous jobs, I've never been able to find a route to work that didn't involve some kind of perilous crossing in front of a freeway entrance preceded by a blind curve; riding on roads with single lanes, no shoulders, and lots of speeding wide wide SUVs; construction, or roads made up entirely of basketball-sized potholes; mad taxi drivers; eerily deserted warehouse districts with views of the 880 freeway; or my favorite: streets with embedded streetcar rails, in which I once caught my bicycle tire, going down chin-first in front of a Muni bus in rush-hour Market Street traffic.
This ride is bliss. Three trips so far, and not once did I feel afraid. Defensive bicycling is still called for (of course). But none of those random unpredictable events that are so, uh, predictable in the typical bicycle commute through Oakland.
This ride is bliss. Three trips so far, and not once did I feel afraid. Defensive bicycling is still called for (of course). But none of those random unpredictable events that are so, uh, predictable in the typical bicycle commute through Oakland.
