The Car Commute

Recently, I've done a little bit of car-commuting. I am part of a committee that included 4 days of training at the District Office. There isn't a direct bus route to the district office, though I have made it there without a car on several occasions. Generally, the carless commute includes a couple miles of running to get to the DO, a different bus line, and a couple miles of walking home. I've enjoyed these commutes even though they require much more time and planning. However, I decided to give myself a break and do some car-commuting. This allowed me to pack a lunch and carry my books. It also allowed me to arrive home especially early since I didn't have to engage in the usual duties that are required of me after the school day ends.

The commute is an easy one: about 8 miles, mostly highway miles, and mostly opposite of traffic. I welcomed the change. What I find about car-commuting is that from the instant I start driving to the instant I stop driving, I feel like I should already be home. Every minute that I sit in the car feels like a wasted minute. Even though my bus-commute adds 5-10 minutes to my daily commute, these minutes don't feel wasted. They are minutes where I am walking outside, eavesdropping on nearby conversations, reading a book, or chatting with the bus driver. For me, these are leisure minutes that are planned into every one of my bus-commute days. Car-commuting may get me to where I'm going with greater speed, but every minute feels wasted.

So, by the fourth day of car-commuting, the change had overstayed its welcome. I hit a few consecutive lights trying to get on the highway. By this time I had already zoned out and detached myself from the driving experience. My zone-out was interrupted by a truck that stopped next to me. The truck rumbled with bass, louder than I have heard in a dance club. The driver had his window open but seemed oblivious to the world around him. As I sat at the light, I realized that my car and I were physically vibrating along with the truck. I was so angered by this inconsiderate driver and felt that his actions were on par with the smoker who blows secondhand smoke directly into another's face. The red light seemed to go on endlessly until I finally shouted at the driver. If the music wasn't present, he would have been in earshot, and for some reason I believed he might hear me. He didn't. Even worse, I realized that the driver mindset had returned. It crept up so suddenly that I didn't see it coming. I refocused myself to get home safe and sound, in the mental sense. I went for a run to cleanse myself of my driving life.

I loved my bus-commute to work this morning.

Take Your Bike for a Ride

Something I love about riding the bus is becoming part of the bus culture. Did you know that Valley Metro makes music videos? As a member of the bus-clique, I will happily expose you to the little known wonders of the bus.

Enjoy.

Valley Metro | Valley Metro Notes

The Kidnapping

As I've mentioned, many of my coworkers seem to think I'm a little strange because I ride the bus by choice. One coworker offered to start picking me up on her way to work. On another occasion, I watched a woman pass me, turn around, park, and get out of her car. She walked over to me just to offer a ride home. Some refer to me as the Green Lady, because apparently riding the bus makes me an environmentalist. Imagine how shocked some were when they found out that I don't recycle. Being a new employee at this school, many of the initial conversations I have had with people have focused on offering me other ways to get to school other than taking the bus. All of these people have been quite friendly. In truth, I often feel bad about constantly turning people down. I know that people feel more connected to others when they can help them out. Still, I don't want everyone to think I am in need of help. Hopefully, I will be able to build relationships based on things outside of transportation, but I guess that takes time. Slowly people have come to accept me for who I am, but recently, one coworker took it too far.

In addition to riding the bus, I also like to get off one stop early. At first this was because the crosswalk closest to my school is specialized for the school. It's not at a stoplight, but when the pedestrian button is pushed, lights flash and cars are supposed to stop. That doesn't mean they do stop. So, unless I'm running late, I get off a half mile early and use a crosswalk by a stoplight. The crosswalk isn't the most pedestrian-friendly either. If I don't hit the pedestrian button before the light turns red, I don't get the walk signal and I have to wait for another round of light changes. I start many mornings by leaping off the bus and racing to the pedestrian crosswalk in hopes of making it to the button before the light begins to change. If the light is yellow, I pat myself on the back for such perfect timing. This morning routine may seem silly, but I love my race to the pedestrian button and I have found that my short walk to school each morning is a great way to wake up before stepping into my workday.

As I ran to the pedestrian button one morning, I noticed a car getting ready to make a right turn. I have to keep an eye on these cars, because they sometimes decide it is not worth their trouble to look right and end up driving where I am about to walk. I made eye contact with the driver and noticed it was one of my coworkers. She pulled over and rolled down the window. I figured this would be another time where I could give a simple no-thank-you and be on my merry way. No such luck. “Get-in-get-in-get-in!” she exclaimed, managing to turn six words into one utterance. No thank you. I'm okay. “Get-in-get-in-get-in!” she repeated. I'm really fine. Really. “Get-in-get-in-get-in!” By this time, I feared that she wouldn't give up until she got side-swiped by a passing car, so I complied and took a seat in the car. We made small talk and she was actually quite pleasant for a kidnapper. So I did my best to enjoy the short car ride instead of longing to be back outside for my morning walk. Then I became aware of the worst part of my kidnapping experience. She must have been trained in acts of torture because there, seeping out of the radio speakers, was morning radio. Not only that, but it was Elvis Duran on morning radio. I moved thousand of miles from my home town to escape many of the distresses of Long Island, and one of those things was the overrated, overplayed Elvis Duran and the Z morning zoo on Z100. There are so many other things I would have welcomed to follow me to Phoenix. Family members, friends, bagels, pizza, the ocean, and the teaching pay scale are just a few things that could have joined me here. Instead, I sat in a car being subjected to Phoenix's equivalent of Z100. Thankfully, the car ride lasted no more than five minutes before I was free to be away from talk radio and into the fresh air. I hope never to be kidnapped again.

Why I Ride

When I first told people I ride the bus to and from work, I received a lot of shocked looks and surprised laughter. “You have a car, don't you?” Well yes I do, but I had an awful commute last year and I am just so happy to be free of that. “Are you sure you don't want a ride home?” No, thank you. I really do enjoy taking the bus. That answer generally receives even more shocked looks. But the truth is, I really do enjoy my bus rides. A recent running magazine had an article about how runners have the motivation to run and stick with it. The article references three contributing factors, which I believe relate to most behavior changes. These factors are competence, relatedness, and autonomy.

Now five months deep into my bus-riding endeavor, I certainly feel a level of competence. I am familiar with the bus routes. I can plan a trip if I want. I know the proper bus procedures. It didn't start out the way, of course. Since I take one of three morning buses, it took a few weeks before I knew when to expect a bus. It took some time before I learned that the 7:16 bus will get me to work with time to spare before an 8:00 am meeting, but the 7:34 bus would get me there late. I learned that for whatever reason, the 7:34 bus drivers never last in that spot and having a different bus driver every day leads to very inconsistent arrival times. And the 7:56 bus is the perfect bus when I don't feel I need much prep time before the school day starts and I choose to spend some extra relaxation time at home.

Still, there is more to riding the bus than knowing the bus times. There is a bus etiquette that I was unaware of prior to being yelled at by two bus drivers. The first was an afternoon bus, the 5:10, driven by a large black boisterous woman. The first time I took the bus, I sat on the bench at the bus stop. That's what the benches are there for, aren't they? Apparently not. I noticed the bus just in time and jumped up to wave her down. She stopped and let me board, but not without some reprimand. “I almost passed you! I can't see you behind that tree!” Well, I didn't see you either, I politely replied. Lesson #1 – as small as Phoenix trees may be, I am smaller. There was also the time where I really did almost miss the bus. As I was walking to the bus stop in the afternoon, I realized the 4:10 bus was already coming. I tried to make eye contact with the bus driver and the bus seemed to slow down. I waved to the bus, hoping to encourage this slowing. Just as I completed my wave, the bus passed right by my bus stop, forcing me to sprint down the road in hopes to make it to the next bus stop. This was a major intersection, so I knew I had red lights and other bus-riders to help me out. I zipped across the pedestrian crosswalk, keeping my fingers crossed that there weren't any cars planning to make a right turn at that particular moment. Just as the bus stopped to allow some passengers to board the bus, I breathlessly arrived at the bus door. The middle-aged man said with a scowl on his face, “Why'd you wave and then run?!” Lesson #2 – waving implies “move along.” It does not imply “please stop for me!”
Believe it or not, riding the bus has also brought about a sense of relatedness. I have discovered that I love the company of my bus drivers and fellow bus-riders. I feel such a great sense of community from taking the bus. When I board my morning bus, I look forward to the greeting from the 7:16 and 7:56 drivers who now know me as a regular (I even gave one of them Christmas cookies). I enjoy occasionally being engaged in random conversations with someone sitting nearby. And even if we sit in silence, I take pleasure in people-watching and keeping track of other regulars on the bus.

It didn't take long for me to feel invited into the bus community. The next time I took the 5:10 bus, the same lady was all smiles. She commented that the tree was gone. “Did you call and get that done?” Nope. I have nicknamed her the tree lady. I like to nickname my bus drivers. And what about that other grumpy driver? The next time I took that bus, I happened to be running late again. I ran to catch the bus, all the while refraining from a wave or gesture of any kind. The driver stopped at the next stop to let me on. “You don't need to chase me,” he chuckled. “I don't play hard to get.”

Riding the bus has also helped me get to know other community members, such as the crossing guards at my school. There's Tom, who looks worn from years of life but still seems to be happy with the way things are going. The newer guy is Keith, a younger man who has a child attending our school. The three of us make our small talk and our morning greetings. I've had to ask assistance of them once or twice (more on that some other time). I gave them Christmas cookies too. Recently, while sitting in one of those endless IEP meetings, Keith passed by the window as he picked up his reflective vest before going outside for crossing duty. As I raised my head, I made eye contact and he waved. The speech pathologist sitting next to me awkwardly waved back. I looked over to him. He wasn't waving at you. He was waving at me. “Oh, well I think he has a crush on you.” I chuckled at that remark and explained that he is my crossing guard friend. And then we returned our focus to counting down the minutes until the end of the IEP.

Finally, I have autonomy in my decision to ride the bus. After too many hours spent cooped up in a car for my work-commute, I made it a goal to find a new job that would allow me other options. Ideally, I wanted to be able to walk or ride my bike. However, this has worked out perfectly for me. The bus picks me up right outside my apartment complex and drops me off nice and close to school. The ride takes no more than ten minutes longer than driving would and I get to spend that time doing something other than staring at the bumper in front of me. I have even taken the bus when it's not convenient. I've walked two miles to a Friday afternoon staff development and then caught a different bus home. I don't always take the bus, but I know it is always a choice. And most of the time, I choose it. I believe knowing that we have options is a key to being content with life. Even more importantly, try out the options that those around us have ignored. In my case, I decided to become a bus rider. I never thought I'd enjoy it as much as I do.

That, in a nutshell, is my life on the bus. I hope to continue this blog with tidbits here and there that go along with my exciting bus-life.

Introduction

At 7:16 this morning, I fretted about running late. I threw my backpack onto my shoulder, bundled up for the unusually chilly Phoenix weather (it was in the 50's!), and headed out the door. I stopped just long enough to give Craig a kiss goodbye, but turned down a hug for fear that this would occupy too much time. Taking the steps two at a time and cutting across the grass, I kept my eye on the pedestrian gate to make sure I still had some seconds to spare. My gate-key flew out of my jacket pocket and into the lock. With a turn of the key and a few steps forward, I arrived at the bus stop. About one minute later, the bus came around the bend and I was once again relieved to have success in my daily plan. Leaving my apartment at the same time that the bus is due to leave the previous major stop works perfectly.
“Back to work?” the bus driver inquired as I gently slipped my 30-day pass into the ticket machine. The bus driver and I made a minute or two of small talk before I headed to my seat. In my backpack, I usually have some knitting to work on or a book to read. However, today is my first day back to teaching after a restful 2-week winter break so I opted for taking the 25 minutes to get myself in focus and to enjoy the ride.