Tag Archives: saulty

And counting

Earlier this month, I celebrated my car-free anniversary. As of March 5th (or was it the 6th?), I’m officially seven years in.

It’s been an eventful seven years. I bought a home, got married, lost my beloved mother to cancer, and had two children. Navigating so many major life events without a car in a city that all but requires one has certainly had its challenges, but it has also integrated the bus into all of my significant recent memories*–and made it impossible for me to imagine my life without Metro. As I wrote in my Real Change column back in 2006, buses have associations for me.

Riding the Water Taxi reminds me of the days I spent with my mother during her last months of life. The first time I rode it to my parents’ Seacrest Park condo the spring after she died, I cried. Sometimes I still do.

The 545 will forever feel romantic to me, since it’s the route Nerd and I rode together in the early days of our courtship. I don’t think I’ve ever looked more forward to a commute–or for that matter, to anything.

The 4 and 27 are my baby buses–the 4 because I rode it to all of my obstetrician appointments–and home from the hospital with Chicklet; the 27 because I rode it to the hospital to deliver Chicklet and home from the hospital with Busling.

And there are many more. The Ballard buses (17, 18) take me to my brother, Jeremy (and also remind me of my rather unfortunate adventure as a ball-gown model); the 55 takes me to my Joelie and the place I still consider home; the 14 is all about TAC meetings, Top Pot (Summit side), and writing group get-togethers at my friend Marchel’s house (Mount Baker side); the 194: Paris, Detroit, and airport goodbyes with Bus Nerd; the 8: Mom again.

And the 36, though it’s not one of my regular routes, reminds me of why I ride: to be a part of my community, and to share my travels with the people I share the world with.

Bring on the next seven.

*The bus is also integrated into many of my not-so-recent memories, like this one and this one.

Evidence that driving less helps cure cancer

On Monday, my brother, Jeremy, was chosen as December Employee of the Month at his workplace. (As if I needed another reason to be proud of him.) The reward for this unexpected honor: a choice parking spot near the entrance of the building. Though Jeremy’s not exactly car-free (he shares a car with his girlfriend), he lives a few blocks from his office and walks to work every day. So, being the resourceful (and kind!) soul that he is, he decided to pass on his temporary parking privilege to whichever coworker pledged the most money–in memory of our mother–to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. The winning pledge was $75.

Good work, little brother. Mom may not have been down with undriving, but I know she would have been proud.

Another Saulter goes car free

Sorry for the scarcity of posts of late. I’ve been distracted by illness and broken internets and a (thankfully) final modeling engagement and a happy-sad (or is it sad-happy?) development:

Today, Jeremy (aka Saulty), the older of my two younger brothers and the funniest person I know, moved to Manhattan to start a new career and a new life. Because he’ll be living in a public-transit mecca, he sold his car (to my other little brother, who takes the bus to school and hopefully won’t be driving it much) and prepared himself for life free of his money-sucking, stress-inducing, CO2-emitting habit. Of course I am excited and thrilled and proud and and and but …

Miss you already, kid.

Eastbound 14, 9 PM (or, second time’s the charm)

My brothers and I are returning from a cathartic evening of bonding at the Seahawks/Cowboys game. (Jeremy, ever in the mix, happens to know a Seagal. He also knew half the people sitting next to us in the crowd. But I digress.) The 14 is standing-room only–packed with Seahawk fans and regular riders–but oddly morose, given the outcome of the game.

Jeremy, to everyone else on the bus: “What about them Seeeeeeeeahawks?!”
At least half of the other riders: “Hawks, baby! Sea-HAWKS!”
A lone voice in the crowd: “Better not be no Cowboys on this bus.”

On twentysomething men: volcanoes, hurricanes, and the breaking of things

I’m already home from the party, and the last bus hasn’t even left my brother’s street yet. Shoot, the second-to-last bus hasn’t even left. The party was fun, even though I was the only woman there for the first two hours. One of Jeremy’s friends (who also happens to be a bartender at Flying Fish) made a big tub of hurricane punch. I only had one cup, but that was enough to make me grateful for the designated driver (one of the may perks of the bus-chick lifestyle).

The guys
From left: Robbie (aka Caligula), Birfday boy (aka Saulty), Billy (aka Biker Boy), Dale (aka Hurricane Maker), and Marty (aka Pyromaniak)

At my transfer point on the way home, I met a guy named Archie. He was waiting for the 128 and wanted to know if I had seen it pass. I hadn’t. Archie took the opportunity to strike up a conversation, and, as is the custom of many people I meet at bus stops, he started with one of those questions. Despite this, and despite fact that he had a hard time keeping his eyes on mine, Archie’s cool people. He’s 25. He lives in White Center. He works construction. He likes music and really liked the Goapele song I downloaded yesterday and have been listening to on my Schmipod (aka affordable MP3 player that actually has a radio tuner) nonstop since.

When his bus finally came, Archie gave me a hug goodbye and suggested I write something about him. “Write about how I break it down,” he said.

And so, I am honoring that request, even though, to be quite honest, I am not sure exactly how Archie breaks it down. I do know this: He certainly knows how to make the time pass at a bus stop.