Another hurdle cleared

Sound Transit board approval? Check!

From today’s PI: “Light rail chosen to link Seattle, Eastside”

Next step: taxpayer approval

The Eastside rail service, projected to cost up to $3.9 billion for an 11-mile route from downtown Seattle to Redmond, would be part of the second phase of the regional transit agency’s development, stretching over the next 20 years. It is expected to be among the projects that Sound Transit will submit to voters in its service area in a tax package next year.

If all goes well, we should have light rail to the Eastside before I’m eligible to join AARP.

Thursday, July 13th, 5:30 PM: eastbound 4

A woman in the back, too intoxicated to know she is embarrassing herself, is yelling at her friends, who are also too intoxicated to know she is embarrassing herself. The tone is good natured, but the content is inappropriate: sexually explicit, violent, and generally vulgar. The rest of us sit in silence, some amused, most embarrassed for her. At around 7th & James, her hollering escalates to NBA finals/Prince concert levels, and the subject matter changes.

“I’m a Mohawk, people! Capeesh? A Mohawk. Capeesh? Yep, Mohawk. Capeesh? Capeesh? Capeesh? Caaaaaaa-peeeeeeesh?”

At a break in the hollering, a Spanish-speaking man in front of me turns to his fellow passengers and asks, “What that means–‘capeesh’?”

A bus chick by any other name…

A couple of months ago (yes, I have a serious backblog), a reader e-mailed to point out the irony of my first name (which, for those who don’t know, is Carla). As surprising as it might sound, I haven’t thought about my name’s association with automobiles since elementary school. Back then, the class clown (incidentally, the only other kid in my grade who rode the 2 to school) got a kick out of making fun of it. “Truckla! Trainla!” he’d tease on our morning ride. Later, on the way home, he’d pick up where he left off: “Boatla! Planela!” And so on, ad nauseam, until we parted ways downtown.

Not surprisingly, Busla (not to be confused with bus luh) was the name that stuck. It was also the name he was screaming at the top of his lungs when he “accidentally” (on purpose) threw my backpack (an early form of the bus chick bag) into the pond at the Denny-Blaine stop. But that’s a story for another post.

Picture
“Busla” back in the day. That’s me in the back on the left–yes, the one with the oh-so-fresh shag–or, as my brother Jeremy (front right) calls it, the “whip cut.”

Until we get light rail…

We’re going to need more buses. (Actually, unless we completely overhaul our city’s infrastructure, buses will always be part of the equation.) Enter Transit Now. If you want to learn more (or give Metro feedback) about this initiative, you can attend one of the following council meetings:

Today (July 12) at 1:30 p.m. at the Museum of Flight: 9404 E. Marginal Way S., Seattle

July 26 (time to be determined), Council Chambers, King County Courthouse: 516 Third Ave., Seattle

Update on that adopted stop

Yesterday evening, I walked to my friend Aileen‘s house for post-work wine and conversation. (The walk was not short, but in the summer, if I have the time, and the distance is manageable, I prefer walking to busing.) At 23rd and Union, I ran into none other than Mrs. Annie Lamb (of May Golden Transfer fame) and her sister, Mrs. Bell, picking up and emptying trash at Good Shepherd’s newly adopted bus stop. It looks as good as it did after our first cleanup–better, actually, now that Metro has installed the promised trash can. Thanks, ladies!

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Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Lamb (aka “Metro Mama”), holding it down at the southbound 48 stop at 23rd & Union

Flexin’ for the weekend

TahomaOne of my favorite places on this earth is Mount Rainier, otherwise known as Tahoma, “mother of waters.” It is majestic and beautiful and timeless and humbling and peaceful and powerful and one of the reasons I have chosen to live a public-transit-based life. Every year around the 4th of July, Bus Nerd and I head to the mountain for an overnight camping/hiking adventure. Yes, folks, bus chicks can survive in the wild.

Unfortunately, the bus doesn’t go to Mount Rainier (believe me, I checked–even looked into hitching a ride on a tour bus), so we usually rent a car for a few days. This year, we tried Flexcar’s new(ish) weekend special option. You can reserve one of the eligible vehicles from Friday at 5:00 PM until Monday at 8:00 AM for a flat rate of $100 (obviously much cheaper than 63 hours at the usual rate).

By the time I got around to making the reservation, almost all of the cars available for the special were taken, so I had to reserve one that’s parked in Bellevue, at City Hall. I took the 550 (where I met July’s Golden Transfer winner–more on him in a couple of weeks) to pick it up and then swung by the ‘Soft to scoop up Bus Nerd. We stopped to visit some friends in Kirkland (since we had the car and were on the Eastside and all) and then headed to REI for freeze-dried foodstuffs.

The trip to the mountain was wonderful, as always, though the hikes weren’t as spectacular or strenuous as we’re used to. After we returned to Seattle on Sunday evening, I headed to Madison Market to stock up on cleaning supplies, wine, and other heavy stuff I hate carrying on the bus. We also rewarded ourselves (for two whole days of “roughing it”) with a visit to Kingfish. I ordered a Louisville Lemonade and was halfway through it before I remembered I was driving. I stopped drinking immediately because I’m a bit of a lightweight and didn’t want to impair my (admittedly degraded) driving skills. This caused the bartender to stop by our table (twice) to make sure I liked my drink. The things you drivers have to deal with!

Monday morning, we returned the car to Bellevue. Adam took the 565 to Redmond, and I took the 550 back to Seattle.

I have been waiting for a long time for Flexcar to offer an option like this, and all in all, it worked very well. It was far easier (and somewhat cheaper) than renting a car. Assuming you’re already a member of Flexcar (which you have to be to do this), you don’t have to fill out any paperwork, pick up the car during business hours, or remember how much gas was in it when you got it. (If you have to get gas while you’re out, Flexcar provides a gas card.) All you have to do is reserve the car (on the Web or by phone) and pick it up and return it within your reservation times. Beautiful!

Some issues I encountered:
• It was difficult to determine the availability of the cars that were part of the special. The process would work better if the list of eligible cars linked directly to the pages to reserve them.
• Not all gas stations accept Flexcar’s fuel-only card. I struck out twice in Enumclaw (at an AM/PM and a Safeway) before I found one (a 76) that let me pay with it.
• After hiking miles uphill with a heavy pack, exposing myself to wild animals and creatures, and sleeping on the ground, my only injuries came from…driving. Seriously. I think I pulled a muscle between my right ankle and shin (haven’t worked that pedal foot in a while), I have a blister on my left hand from gripping the steering wheel, and my tailbone is completely destroyed.
• Jokes aside, I don’t drive as well as I used to. I simply don’t do it enough. I still consider myself very safe, though, honestly, I am now (even more) annoyingly cautious and slow.

Bus Chick with FlexcarBus Chick on Tahoma

More carrots and sticks

This time, I’ll start with the stick:

Jeremy and Joel
The victim and the vigilante

In the middle of the night on Thursday/Friday, one of my younger brothers happened to look out his kitchen window in time to catch two people breaking into the car of my other younger brother (they’re roommates). He (the first little brother) ran them off and then stayed up for hours to wait for the police and fill out the report. This is fourth car break-in/theft they’ve had to deal with in three years. And no, their cars aren’t that nice.

Now, the carrot (and you thought it was that picture of my adorable little brothers):

Funky buses and early party exits aside, I will always prefer buses to cars because of the sense of community I feel when I ride. My June 28th Real Change column, also known as a day in the life of a bus chick:

A Shared Ride

By CARLA SAULTER

Saturday, 1:25 p.m., southbound #36.

The bus is crowded already, only halfway down Third. I am lucky to find a seat facing forward–one of the last. The shy six-year old riding with her grandfather and three younger siblings is not so lucky. She stands, holding the pole nearest the front, while the rest sit in the sideways seats, speaking a language I guess to be Vietnamese. The little girl clutches the pole tighter when the bus lurches. This happens frequently, sometimes several times per block. (The driver, you see, is still working out his relationship to the trolley brakes.) I consider offering my seat, but I am far away, and they are sticking together.

A tall, thin man wearing a denim shirt and a Mariners cap gets on a few blocks after me. His body is erect and strong, but the steel gray hair and weathered skin betray his advanced age. He stands across the aisle from the little girl, holding on to the opposite pole, until two teenage boys offer their seats. Both the girl and the old man look suspicious, the old man no doubt weighing his pride against his desire to rest, the little girl perhaps remembering her lessons about strangers. After a bit of coaxing, the old man smiles and takes the seat. The little girl continues to cling to the pole.

In the seats closest to the driver (who is still struggling with the brakes) are two women — one in short shorts that (perhaps for the first time this year) expose her ghost-white legs, the other covered from head (a big, floppy, canvas hat) to toe (socks and laced shoes) despite the 80-degree heat.

At Yesler, a preteen boy followed by an entourage of adults carrying Gap shopping bags races down the aisle on his roller tennis shoes. He barely misses a barrel-chested man clutching two hot-pink, two-pound hand weights, which he has been curling periodically since I got on. In the International District, a withered old woman manages to climb aboard without the aid of the lift, despite the broomstick — weighted on either end with a garbage bag stuffed with empty aluminum cans — that rests on her frail shoulders.

And the shopping bags, hand weights, and aluminum cans are just the beginning. My fellow riders, who fill every seat and then some, carry languages, memories, hometowns. Loved ones. Losses. Anger. Aches, pains, and diseases. New shoes, romance novels, Bibles, gossip magazines. Prescriptions. Spare change. Telephones. Bedrolls. Clean underwear.

And many, many stories. Stories that are now connected as a result of a single, shared ride.

From reader-provided to reader-requested

From PaisleyP:

“Can you give us any more details on how they actually get these [wrap] ads on the bus? I think they’re such a great idea!”

Bus wrap
iPod wrap ad

From Terry Williams, Chief of Electronics, Atlantic Base:

The ad wraps are like giant, heavy peel and stick wraps. [The advertiser] produces large sheets of a vinyl-like material that has an adhesive backing. They come in and start at one end of the bus and basically peel and stick from one end to the other. They use a little squeegee to get it to adhere to the bus and to remove trapped air bubbles. It kind of looks like they’re hanging wallpaper. They make relief cuts and use the squeegee make the wrap contour to the shape of the bus (at corners, odd shapes, window frames, etc.).

I’m happy to research any other bus-related questions, so send ’em my way. Also, the PI has a Commuting Q&A column, written, coincidentally, by a fabulous car-free reporter. (I must admit, I didn’t even know that was possible.) Here are some past articles he’s written about buses:

“Is that seat taken? In Seattle, you better believe it.”
“Bus fare now includes a poem to go”
“The angel who almost was…a bus story of unrequited love”