Just about 1 year ago, Nancy and I moved to Portland and I started taking the bus to work. This seems like a good time to reflect on a year of the 9 Broadway and the 8 NE 15--the two buses that haul me to and from downtown Portland. All Aboard!
September--I rode sporadically through the summer and September while we were making the move to Portland. The stop is 5 blocks from the Little House in the Big City, just down Highland to Concordia University. In the early morning--I catch the 9 at 6:51--no other commuters frequent this stop. The occasional exerciser or dog walker passes, and cars are starting to roll into Concordia. But mostly it's a quiet time.
October--I become a real commuter, taking the bus every day that I'm not traveling. I haven't been paying attention to the schedule so I often arrive at the stop 15 minutes early, or just a minute late. Not a problem to start, but by late in the month, it's dark in the morning, the rains are starting. I've got to start planning my departure.
November--My least favorite month in Oregon. Darkness is upon the land. Rains and wind mock me as I try to stay dry, huddled under my umbrella. The reward is my choice of seats since I board early in the route. In the afternoon, still paying no attention to the schedule, and maintaining my brand loyalty--I watch 8 NE 15th to Jubitz, a frequent service bus, roll by, bus after bus, while I wait in the rain for my 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga--I crowd on and stand through the Fareless Square until the crowd thins out. Thanksgiving is approaching and the holiday season brings a change in the humor of the riders--a change for the happier.
December--It's raining and blowing. It's dark. I see the 9 Broadway to Portland coming down NE 27th. It zooms by me--WHAT?! It leaves me there, standing in the dark, wind, rain, and cold, unseen by the driver. Abandoned. Harumph. I retaliate in the afternoon by stepping on to the 8 NE 15th to Jubitz--what is Jubitz, anyway?--leave me once and you lose my loyalty. New faces, new stops, new...smell? This bus, or someone on it, smells of urine. I'm on the Pee Bus! Oh 9 Broadway, will you take me back? I promise to be more visible on the corner.
Christmas is coming, and while I don't see any fattened geese, I do see lots and lots of people hauling their holiday shopping prizes. I also learn that buses that leave Portland after 5 PM are much more crowded, and traffic is worse. I begin to plan my schedule.
January--It's getting lighter--almost inperceptible, but wait, I can see more as 9 Broadway to Portland crosses the Broadway bridge. It helps to see small changes in daylength--we've left the winter solstice behind and are sailing towards the vernal equinox--when you go by the same place at the same time every day. Every morning I look out the windows to watch ships from faraway places taking on loads of grain at docks below the bridge. In the afternoon, the Empire Builder is just easing out of the station, headed for White Salmon, Pasco, Whitefish, Cut Bank, Havre, Minot, Detroit Lakes, and on into Chicago.
February--We bought a house and I say farewell to my old bus stop and move 2 stops closer to work. About 45 seconds less commute, but oh what a difference! I've got a shelter. And an Oregonian box. And other riders at my stop. But the other riders don't say much--it's pretty quiet. I start saying good morning to everyone. One by one, they start to acknowledge...One afternoon, a new operator got confused. He didn't know the 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga via Union Station route. People were calling out instructions. He made a wrong turn, then made a K-turn on Broadway by the Post Office (where the 9 Broadway to Portland changes to the 9 Powell to Gresham TC). By the time we got across the bridge, he was being told, by radio, to pull over. Another 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga passed us and pulled over. We all had to leave the first bus and get on the second one. Our operator was grounded, then and there.
March--The anthropology of bus travel is fascinating. In the morning, people have their preferred seats--mine is the first forward facing seat on the left side of the bus. One of my stop-mates prefers the first seat behind the back door on the right. Lacrosse Stick Girl takes the first forward facing on the right. I call her that because she carries a lacrosse stick. There are a group of girls who ride 9 Broadway to Portland. They attend a private school in the city. There's Tillamook Girl, Brazee Girl, Thompson Girls, and Broadway Girl. The Street Girls (but not in that way). It takes me a while to begin to understand the relationships. Lacrosse and Thompson #1 are friends, but not as close as Thompson #1 and #2. If #2 isn't there, #1 will sit with Lacrosse, but only if Brazee isn't aboard because Lacrosse saves a seat for Brazee. Broadway Girl sits in a front seat facing the center of the bus, where "Honored Citizens" (old people and the disabled) have priority. Last Street Girl (but not in that way) on, she looks to see if there is some unpaired Street Girl (but not in that way) she might sit with. Usually not, but one day when Brazee and Thompson #1 aren't there, Lacrosse gives her a subtle nod, her face lights up, and instead of being crammed between people in the "Honored Citizen" seats, she slides into the now-vacant space next to Lacrosse.
April--In February, Andy started a shift as the operator on the 9 Broadway to Portland. He's a friendly guy and welcomes everyone as he opens the door. "There you are!" "Come on aboard" "Welcome--great day, eh?" He and I chat in the morning. He seems to be some sort of senior operator as he often is training a new driver--"Don't get to close to them" "Watch the tree branches at this stop" "You're on the pedal too much" I never learned his last name--too bad as I should nominate him for Operator of the Year. Nancy and I leave for Venezia where I now find myself captivated by the
vaporetti and watch the people and the operators there. I guess I'm an amateur mass transit anthropologist!
May--After 3 weeks in Venezia, I return to the 9 Broadway. Andy wants the run down on the trip as he is about to leave for two weeks of vacation. The ebb and flow of the Street Girls (but not in that way) continues and everyone is happy to see the spring. One of my stop-mates, Bearded Garden Man, and I begin to talk gardening. Never in too much detail, and never more than a few sentences each morning. He seems a man of few words.
June--Andy never comes back after vacation. I assume he was just rotated off to some other assignment--there are a lot of bus routes--but maybe he gave up 9 Broadway to Portland and stayed in Mexico, still basking on the beach, having had it with starting a route at 4:30 every morning...School ends and the Street Girls (but not in that way) are gone. Gas prices are through the roof and ridership has about doubled since March. Some mornings someone else is in my seat! Harumph.
July--The weather turns nice, finally, and more and more bikes show up to be carried on 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga and 8 NE 15th to Jubitz. What is Jubitz? The buses are air conditioned so it's usually a pleasant ride. There's a lot of construction for the MAX, so the 8 NE 15th to Jubitz is rerouted over the Broadway Bridge and round and about to Lloyd Center. I avoid it unless I'm really anxious to get home as it takes longer and in the heat, it really smells of pee!
August--One day on the way home, the operator yells "Close the window--the air conditioning is on." "Close it or I'll turn the air conditioning off". She turns it off. punishing us all for the actions of one. It was the pee bus. It was really hot. And pee-ey. I got off at Alberta and walked in the heat.
Back to September--School starts and the Street Girls (but not in that way) are back. There seems to be a sliding time scale of when they return with Broadway Girl first and Lacrosse Stick last. In the interim, both Thompson #1 and Broadway choose, some days, to sit next to me. I tell Nancy that they feel safe next to their grandfather. Bearded Garden Man and I talk about tomatoes and whether they will ripen. The Pink Woman, a strange relatively young woman who wears outlandish get-ups and boards each morning at 3rd and Alder carrying a cup of some sort of coffee drink (I'm guessing mocha latte) and will demand a seat in the "Honored Citizen" area even though she seems normally-abled, is a constant. There's a guy, I'm guessing my age or a bit older, dressed in a kilt, a tam with a pheasant feather, and orange safety vest who salutes our bus every morning on Everett as he leans against the corner building, drinks his coffee, and passes the time with passers-by. Andy is still basking in Mexico (at least in my mind).
Jubitz is a truckstop.
I wonder what people call me in their minds...
There you have it, one year of riding the bus. I like it. It's a good way to commute. I read and listen to podcasts and watch people. It's saved me at least $2,500 in parking and gas. It's saved Portland something like 1000 pounds of CO2 equivalent. And I've learned how to watch people.
The eastern side of the Cascade range is beautiful country. Wenatchee, Washington sits on the west side of the Columbia river and yesterday morning, as the sun rose and filtered through smoke from grass field fires to the east, the sight was spectacular.
In 1955, I was 5 years old. My family went on a vacation, camping across the country to lots of the great National Parks. We left Ohio and headed for Terrell, Texas, my dad's home town, to visit family. Terrell is now a suburb of Dallas, but in those days it was mostly a farming town. My great aunt's house didn't have central heat or plumbing. Lots of the streets were still unpaved, buildings my dad remembered from the nineteen-teens were still there, and segregation was in full force. A year earlier, they had filled in the town swimming pool rather than let black children swim. Some of our relatives talked about "the niggers" and how they should be shot. My dad asked them not to talk that way.
Outside the store was a guy carving, and I mean carving, a pumpkin, a box of pumpkins (thanks for telling us they are big...), some fall veggies on display, and a basket of pomegranates. Add a wisp of smoke in the air--not from burning leaves, but from Chuck Hinton's BBQ joint, the best ribs in Portland--and you had the perfect fall day.
Well, not quite, but it turned perfect when we stopped at the Concordia Ale House (one of our local taverns) for a TG Golden for Nancy and a HUB IPA for me. Then, a quick stop by Karen's at the house we moved to a year ago. What could top that? Our ballots were in the mail.
Sunday brunch found us at Meriwether's in NW Portland for a great meal with Aunt Anne of the Basement, our good friends Chris and Nancy from Corvallis, and their son, Bryan, who lives in Portland. The food was great and we lingered and laughed. Pictured to the left is Aunt Anne of the Basement's corned beef hash with poached egg and Hollandaise sauce.
Nancy and I strolled through the Pearl District today on the way to and from Powell's City of Books. I like that there are still industrial businesses mixed in with condos, Whole Foods, and lots and lots of small shops, most of which feature names that don't describe what they sell, use one or more foreign or made up words in their names, and have signs and logos that probably cost about a year's profit given the fact that not many people seemed to be in them.
Here are a couple of my favorites. Bearing Service Company, with its rooms of engine parts--heads, short blocks, and fly wheels--and Phillips Electronics, its Alarm Systems sign still guarding the intersection of Flanders and NW 11th.
Loyal readers know that Nancy and I were in Venezia when the ban on feeding pigeons went into effect May 1, 2008. I was skeptical. The ban was met with a Pigeon Feed Dealer protest (reported real-time on this blog) and disappointed thousands of small children and Asian tourists, the former who liked to run among the birds scattering them and the latter who liked to pose with Columbia livia perched on their heads. How could the government not cave into pressure that was bound to build?
It's hard to imagine St. Mark's free of pigeons. But, the real news is that the city hasn't quit at pigeons. St. Mark's was also full of trash (a lot in the form of McDonalds and Burger King leavings, dropped by tourists who sat on the steps and picniced. Aside: can you imagine passing up a panini for a quarter-pounder? Well. here's more from ANSA:
October--I become a real commuter, taking the bus every day that I'm not traveling. I haven't been paying attention to the schedule so I often arrive at the stop 15 minutes early, or just a minute late. Not a problem to start, but by late in the month, it's dark in the morning, the rains are starting. I've got to start planning my departure.
November--My least favorite month in Oregon. Darkness is upon the land. Rains and wind mock me as I try to stay dry, huddled under my umbrella. The reward is my choice of seats since I board early in the route. In the afternoon, still paying no attention to the schedule, and maintaining my brand loyalty--I watch 8 NE 15th to Jubitz, a frequent service bus, roll by, bus after bus, while I wait in the rain for my 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga--I crowd on and stand through the Fareless Square until the crowd thins out. Thanksgiving is approaching and the holiday season brings a change in the humor of the riders--a change for the happier.
December--It's raining and blowing. It's dark. I see the 9 Broadway to Portland coming down NE 27th. It zooms by me--WHAT?! It leaves me there, standing in the dark, wind, rain, and cold, unseen by the driver. Abandoned. Harumph. I retaliate in the afternoon by stepping on to the 8 NE 15th to Jubitz--what is Jubitz, anyway?--leave me once and you lose my loyalty. New faces, new stops, new...smell? This bus, or someone on it, smells of urine. I'm on the Pee Bus! Oh 9 Broadway, will you take me back? I promise to be more visible on the corner.
January--It's getting lighter--almost inperceptible, but wait, I can see more as 9 Broadway to Portland crosses the Broadway bridge. It helps to see small changes in daylength--we've left the winter solstice behind and are sailing towards the vernal equinox--when you go by the same place at the same time every day. Every morning I look out the windows to watch ships from faraway places taking on loads of grain at docks below the bridge. In the afternoon, the Empire Builder is just easing out of the station, headed for White Salmon, Pasco, Whitefish, Cut Bank, Havre, Minot, Detroit Lakes, and on into Chicago.
February--We bought a house and I say farewell to my old bus stop and move 2 stops closer to work. About 45 seconds less commute, but oh what a difference! I've got a shelter. And an Oregonian box. And other riders at my stop. But the other riders don't say much--it's pretty quiet. I start saying good morning to everyone. One by one, they start to acknowledge...One afternoon, a new operator got confused. He didn't know the 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga via Union Station route. People were calling out instructions. He made a wrong turn, then made a K-turn on Broadway by the Post Office (where the 9 Broadway to Portland changes to the 9 Powell to Gresham TC). By the time we got across the bridge, he was being told, by radio, to pull over. Another 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga passed us and pulled over. We all had to leave the first bus and get on the second one. Our operator was grounded, then and there.
March--The anthropology of bus travel is fascinating. In the morning, people have their preferred seats--mine is the first forward facing seat on the left side of the bus. One of my stop-mates prefers the first seat behind the back door on the right. Lacrosse Stick Girl takes the first forward facing on the right. I call her that because she carries a lacrosse stick. There are a group of girls who ride 9 Broadway to Portland. They attend a private school in the city. There's Tillamook Girl, Brazee Girl, Thompson Girls, and Broadway Girl. The Street Girls (but not in that way). It takes me a while to begin to understand the relationships. Lacrosse and Thompson #1 are friends, but not as close as Thompson #1 and #2. If #2 isn't there, #1 will sit with Lacrosse, but only if Brazee isn't aboard because Lacrosse saves a seat for Brazee. Broadway Girl sits in a front seat facing the center of the bus, where "Honored Citizens" (old people and the disabled) have priority. Last Street Girl (but not in that way) on, she looks to see if there is some unpaired Street Girl (but not in that way) she might sit with. Usually not, but one day when Brazee and Thompson #1 aren't there, Lacrosse gives her a subtle nod, her face lights up, and instead of being crammed between people in the "Honored Citizen" seats, she slides into the now-vacant space next to Lacrosse.
April--In February, Andy started a shift as the operator on the 9 Broadway to Portland. He's a friendly guy and welcomes everyone as he opens the door. "There you are!" "Come on aboard" "Welcome--great day, eh?" He and I chat in the morning. He seems to be some sort of senior operator as he often is training a new driver--"Don't get to close to them" "Watch the tree branches at this stop" "You're on the pedal too much" I never learned his last name--too bad as I should nominate him for Operator of the Year. Nancy and I leave for Venezia where I now find myself captivated by the vaporetti and watch the people and the operators there. I guess I'm an amateur mass transit anthropologist!
May--After 3 weeks in Venezia, I return to the 9 Broadway. Andy wants the run down on the trip as he is about to leave for two weeks of vacation. The ebb and flow of the Street Girls (but not in that way) continues and everyone is happy to see the spring. One of my stop-mates, Bearded Garden Man, and I begin to talk gardening. Never in too much detail, and never more than a few sentences each morning. He seems a man of few words.
June--Andy never comes back after vacation. I assume he was just rotated off to some other assignment--there are a lot of bus routes--but maybe he gave up 9 Broadway to Portland and stayed in Mexico, still basking on the beach, having had it with starting a route at 4:30 every morning...School ends and the Street Girls (but not in that way) are gone. Gas prices are through the roof and ridership has about doubled since March. Some mornings someone else is in my seat! Harumph.
July--The weather turns nice, finally, and more and more bikes show up to be carried on 9 Broadway to NE 27th and Saratoga and 8 NE 15th to Jubitz. What is Jubitz? The buses are air conditioned so it's usually a pleasant ride. There's a lot of construction for the MAX, so the 8 NE 15th to Jubitz is rerouted over the Broadway Bridge and round and about to Lloyd Center. I avoid it unless I'm really anxious to get home as it takes longer and in the heat, it really smells of pee!
August--One day on the way home, the operator yells "Close the window--the air conditioning is on." "Close it or I'll turn the air conditioning off". She turns it off. punishing us all for the actions of one. It was the pee bus. It was really hot. And pee-ey. I got off at Alberta and walked in the heat.
Wednesday provided an opportunity to see, in some detail, facets of management at Yosemite National Park. I spent the day on a field trip looking at, and talking about, the fire program at the Park. They have a very active fire use program--re-establishing fire to its pre-European role in the ecosystem--as well as a fuels management program that uses prescribed fire, and a fire management program that deals with wildland fire that may or may not threaten Park infrastructure. They also have a great fire education program that engages staff, visitors, local residents, and school kids.
We spent the day doing what Angelenos do--driving around. Wow, it is some kind of sprawl. As Nancy's son says, "Everything is 20 minutes away." The entrance ramp metering lights for the freeways are even active on Sundays and the traffic is not much different than weekdays in Portland, except the speed is 10-15 MPH greater and horns are freely used.
After lunch, we strolled along the park above the beach where I snapped a picture of these gnarly trunks. On the way back to the car we came across a sign coming down from a storefront--letters in a pile on the street.
Day 2 in Los Angeles found us at Dodger Stadium to take in a game between The Blue and the Arizona Diamondbacks. The two are apparently battling for first place in their division although I don't follow them 'cause they are National League where every 9th batter has no chance of hitting the ball 'cause they are pitchers. It was a great day at the park but it wasn't packed with action. Lots of strikeouts. A couple walked in runs. Manny Ramirez struck out with the bases loaded, but atoned by hitting a 3 run 
dinger the next inning and a 2 run ground rule double in the following frame. That one looked like it was going to be caught, but the right field Diamondback coiled up in the wrong spot, lost the ball in the sun, and Manny actually had to run when he saw it drop in. Then he slowed down when he saw it bounce over the fence. Never seen a ball player with baggy rapper kinda pants...
But, all's well that ends well and the Blue trotted away with a 7-2 victory.
Then we cruised Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards where we saw this large thing Ronna, a stretch Cadillac Escalade! Pure Hollywood! Add to that a cell tower disguised to look lile a palm tree and you've got Los Ang-gel-eeze!
Nancy and I are visiting Los Angeles--Los Ang-gel-eeze, as the Stranger calls it in The Big Lebowski--to see Colin, Nancy's son, and check out the sights and sounds of Tinseltown. The third time is the charm, I guess. First try was a train trip for Oscar Weekend, but the Coast Starlight was cancelled in Sacramento since it was about 8 hours behind schedule. We rented a car and drove home. The second try was in conjunction with a meeting I was to attend in San Diego, but my trip was canceled and LA along with it. The third time, well, here we are.
I like airplanes. Airline travel has become a drag, resembling the Greyhound bus rather than the elegance that used to course through the air. Remember the old days when one dressed to fly--jacket and tie for men, dresses, hats, and gloves for women. Real china, and if you're old enough to remember, a small pack of 4 cigarettes on each dinner tray! For a short time, some airlines even experimented with piano bars for first class. Ah, gone are those days. I digress. One of my favorite sounds is that of a float plane 
flying overhead. They make a lot of noise, I suppose because those floats are not very aerodynamic and the planes tend to have big engines for their size, so they can get off the water--lots of friction there. Plus the Beavers (not pictured here, by the way) just make a lot of noise with those radial engines.
