A statistic I can be proud to be part of

With gas prices above $4 a gallon, I'm not the only person in LA exploring the web of train and bus routes for the first time. According to the Los Angeles Times, the number of people riding the train is up 15 percent so far this year (wow!) and bus ridership has risen 8 percent. I'm used to opening up the newspaper and reading about what other people are doing. This time, I'm a part of that statistic and it feels good because I'm not contributing as much car pollution and I'm helping to support a mostly ignored public transportation system. The miles I'm not putting on my car aren't bad either.

And of course, I'm not the only one writing about using public transportation, since the concept is still new enough to be a novelty in this city of freeways. Although snarky, I liked this story by a BBC reporter about his first time taking the subway in LA: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/7413056.stm

Karma is a b****

This is just a quick follow-up to my last post. My "steady" -- aka public transportation -- must have gotten word of my complaint about his lateness yesterday because today was payback time. This morning I was tricked into getting on a train going IN THE WRONG DIRECTION! I went one stop south, then had to get off and wait for the next train heading to LA. I know that sounds ridiculous, but here's a little secret about the Blue Line's Willow station: the 7:35 a.m. bus arrives on the southbound tracks from LA because it stops at Willow and then returns to LA instead of continuing south through Long Beach. At least, that's what it normally does. This morning was like the Twilight Zone. The train arrived two minutes early and then continued south instead of returning to LA. I had to laugh, even as I was unjustifiably embarrassed getting off the bus a mere stop after I'd gotten on (because really, who cared or was even paying attention to what I was doing).

Oh, and during my "dead zone" wait after work again, I snapped a photo of my new commuting shoes, taken in front of the poster at the bus stop for the Sex and the City movie. Fitting, since I'm probably as excited about my very comfortable brown suede Ahnu's from REI as Carrie Bradshaw was about a new pair of Manolo Blahniks!

He had me at hello, then reality set in

Public transportation kicked my butt today. I'm writing this so my blog is realistic about what it's like to ditch your car in sprawling LA. I don't want my first post to be my only record of the minutiae of taking public transportation since my mood at the time was that of a new crush, nervous but also excited about the littlest details. Now that I'm past the first few weeks and my heart is no longer all a flutter, I've settled into a steady relationship with the Blue Line and the 16/316 bus. We have good days and bad days, just like any couple.

Today I left work at 6:03 p.m. not too worried about what time I was catching the bus since I didn't have anywhere to be. But I got to the bus stop across from my office during what I discovered is a dead zone: too late to catch the 6:04 fast 316 and stuck waiting for the next 316 at 6:11, which didn't actually arrive until 6:15 (I've found that the 316 is horribly unreliable). In the meantime I brushed my hair, reviewed my timetables, took a picture of the bus stop sign, checked the time, then waited some more. I know, 10 minutes doesn't sound long, except it is when you're on a street corner waiting to start your commute home.

I was initially excited to have been able to grab the 316 instead of the 16 (because in theory it's the "fast" version of the 16) but it showed up five minutes late and dropped me off at my downtown stop five minutes late. I "wan" or "ralked" (anyone have a better way to combine the verbs ran and walked?) and got to the train station just in time to see my 7:46 p.m. train pulling out of the station. Damn. So I got on the next train and waited some more until it left the station, and finally arrived at my stop in Long Beach at 7:45, which got my home around 8 p.m., a half hour later than I could do on a good day. But like I said, this was a bad day. I was slightly annoyed and yes, I could take partial responsibility for not leaving work at 6 on the dot, but what fun would that be? I'd rather pout and see if I can get my way tomorrow. Or maybe some flowers!

Cruise control rules

Yikes, it's been over two weeks since my last post. I'm still getting a hang of this blogging thing, but I'll try to be better about updating on a regular basis from now on.

Today I'm writing about something I never cared about before except in the general sense of knowing I drive a car with good gas mileage: fuel efficiency. I've started to do several things to get better gas mileage, and it's actually worked.

First let me say that driving on I-15 in the Inland Empire is not the best place to test the benefits of driving 60 mph. I had my cruise control on and my speed set to 62 on Sunday driving out to Temecula to visit my sister. Granted, the speed limit is 70 so I was definitely at grandma speed, but I stayed in the far right lane and very happily didn't have to touch my brakes or accelerator the whole way from the 91 interchange to her exit, which is about 35 miles. I was amused by all the SUVs and trucks approaching me in waves and then speeding past, but the best moment was when a BMW passed me on the right, in the shoulder area that isn't even a lane. How big of a rush could you be in on a Sunday evening? (Wow, that was a "grandma moment") When I first started using cruise control a few weeks ago to maintain a consistent 60-65 mph on the freeway I was constantly looking out my rear view mirror because the cars coming up on me made me nervous. But now that I've realized that this does really save gas, as long as I'm in the slow lane, I figure whatever, let them zoom past me and waste their gas.

By the way, I finally had to fill up today (gasp, SIX days after my last fillup. That is AMAZING for me, since I usually have to fill up every four days) and the cheapest gas I found was $3.86 at an Arco. But instead of being angry at these weekly increases, I feel like I've found a way to beat the system: public transportation and cruise control! (Oh, and walking. I walked to the grocery store today. Although yes, I did later get in my car and drive to Huntington Beach, but it was for a bike maintenance class at REI, since I want to use my bike more. This is still SoCal after all, and cars still rule).

"The idle mind knows not what it wants"

Drinking this tea makes me happy, but thinking about its environmental impact does not.

I’m not a practicing Catholic, yet I have IT. Guilt. It’s genetic, I’m sure. My grandmother was so generous that her nickname was Martyr Mary. And my mother left me a voicemail the other day saying she hoped I wasn’t upset that she got off the phone with me to take a call from my pregnant sister (she actually felt the need to reassure me that she loves us equally). I don’t have children so the focus of my guilt is the environment. I berate myself when I forget my reusable grocery bags in the car when I’m shopping, inevitably not realizing I don’t have them until I’m standing in line with my bread and broccoli on the conveyer belt.

Another case in point: that hard-working sandwich bag with the tiny smear of residual peanut butter that I keep in my lunch sack to reuse, day after day. When should I finally recycle it and get a new one? At the start of the new week, or is that arbitrary? When does it become unsanitary, or just socially gross?

I’m concerned about my obsession over these trivial questions, although I can justify it too. I’m single, so I don’t have a spouse and children to distract me, and I spend a fair amount of time by myself commuting to work, which leaves time to reflect, ponder ... and berate.

It’s like the more I learn, the worse I get. I’ve started keeping my phone charger unplugged; that one’s easy. I’m turning off my computer more, but on the nights I don’t the whirling fan taunts me from across the room after I’ve turned the light off, like when Monica can’t stop thinking about the shoes she left in the living room on that one episode of Friends.

I can joke and say I have Environmental OCD, but sometimes I get annoyed at myself for feeling guilty. I know these fixations aren’t rational because the amount of energy I’m saving is infinitesimal. Yet it’s like I want to be perfect. But of course the idea of creating no waste doesn’t exist because I exist. I live, breathe, eat, consume, and everything I do leaves a trail. But how close can you get to perfect? Should I have recycled my 4-inch-by-2-inch Metro ticket? Can I recycle the thin plastic that my box of Twinings tea was wrapped in? I ask this as my hand hovers over the trash and recycle cans, paralyzed with indecision. And come to think of it, should I have bought tea imported from England? Think of the petroleum used to get it here.

Part of my purpose in starting this blog is to try to answer these questions, and the larger question of what is my personal responsibility for helping stop global warming. I hope to educate myself (like how does composting work?) and figure out what more I can do to enrich our world, and while doing so, my life.

Standing on the corner, waiting for the bus ...

I’m that person. You know the one, the one you make fun of for commuting in LA, for spending hours on the freeway alone in her car taunted by the car pool lane. The one who admits her commute can take up to an hour and a half. And that’s one way. I’m telling you this to explain why it was such a big deal to realize it’s not as hard as I had thought to take public transportation to work (a 30-mile trip from Long Beach to Los Angeles's mid-Wilshire area).

I wasn’t exactly a neophyte. I once participated in Bike to Work Day (bike/train) and more recently I took the train because I was meeting someone after work who could drive me home. But both seemed like special occasions. I wanted to find out whether I could do this on a regular basis.

I wake up at 6:30 a.m., a half hour earlier than usual. I leave my house at 7:27, two minutes late. Driving north on Long Beach Boulevard I'm right next to a train. Is that mine? No, it must be an earlier one because I’m still doing good for time.

After another brief panic that all the parking spots are full, I find more and get on the train. Relief. As soon as we leave the station, out the window I see an entrance to the 405 freeway. Thank god I’m not getting on that.

I eat breakfast (against the rules), read the newspaper, drink coffee (also against the rules). Truth be told, these are all things I do while driving (glancing at the newspaper at stop lights; I’m not that dangerous). But now it's safer and more relaxing. After the Wilmington stop I notice a Middle Eastern man reading a large book called the Holy Pascha. Is that fiction or some sort of religious text? I want to look it up when I get home. This is kinda fun.

I used to bemoan the idiocy of ending the Red Line at Western and not extending it further west, because then I (and countless others) could take the train to work. I dreamed of the Subway to the Sea as soon as I heard about the proposal. Because I had to take the Blue Line and then a bus to get to work (or the Blue Line to the Red Line and then TWO buses), I said it took too long so it wasn’t a viable option for me. And I liked my car. But necessity isn’t just the mother of invention, it’s also the mother of change. I realize that all along I could have been taking public transportation but I didn’t until the extra motivation of high gas prices (it cost $48 to fill up the tank of my coupe the other day, which means I’m now spending about $12 a day just driving to work).

8:33 a.m. The train arrives at the 7th Street/Metro Station a few minutes late. Huh, I thought trains ran like clockwork. After taking the wrong exit out of the station, I eventually get to my bus stop, but too late to catch the 316 fast bus that would have gotten me to work at the glorious (angels singing) hour of 8:56 a.m. So I wait.

8:51. I get on the 16, which will take 35 minutes. Gone are my hopes of getting to work on time, along with my naive belief that public transportation is highly efficient. There’s a sour taste in my mouth. What is it? Ah, bitterness.

9:05. Am I there yet? I miss the smooth ride of the train. This bus lurches and heaves over potholes. And I don’t have a row to myself anymore. I get to work at 9:24. Late but not too late so overall I’m in a good mood.

On the train going home, I make a list. "Likes: No NPR for a change in routine. Dislikes: accidental eye contact, no NPR." Then I add "body odor."

Still looking at my notebook, I think about how my perfectly plotted timetables became irrelevant as soon as I was actually using them. Trains and buses are late, you miss your transfer and have to take the slower bus. I’d no longer call this fun, but I realize that I like the feeling of not being in control. It actually makes me feel more in control than driving when I’m faced with a million little decisions that seem so important. Should I change lanes? Should I get over now or wait until the lanes to my right have merged? Should I get off at the Manchester exit and take surface streets or risk staying on the freeway into downtown? Could I get to work in time to stop at Coffee Bean? Agh ...

Half an hour later: I’m bored (just finished some editing for work), then I'm uncomfortable listening to a shouting homeless man ask for money (he begins with "Excuse me" and he's on my train a few days later making the same speech). I want to be home already. But at least I’m having different emotions. In my car it’s the same thing every day. I never get to sit back and look out the window or read. Encased in my car, I feel like a robot. Taking public transportation makes me feel more alive. I’m traveling through Los Angeles instead of above it. I’m sitting next to other Angelenos, smelling their fast food, making that accidental eye contact. I even get to be outside when I walk three blocks from the bus stop to the train station. This may seem like no big deal, but my parking spot is underground so I can literally travel 30 miles without experiencing weather (and I don’t dare roll down my window on the polluted highways). Walking downtown I passed a bar advertising $4 Stellas. It was filled with hip-looking people my age. Oh ya, I realized, it’s Friday. Life versus my car the black hole.

Going home the train was on time and I got to my car at 7:23 p.m., which is about the time I usually get home. It feels strange that after all this, I still have to drive four miles to get home (half the distance of my co-worker’s entire commute). But I feel accomplished and less rushed, since I’ve already read the paper, which means one less thing to do.

I’m going to ditch my car more often, even though I have to get up earlier. A big motivation is gas prices. But I also like knowing it’s better for the environment. I’ve always felt like a hypocritical environmentalist who uses reusable nylon grocery bags and reuses sandwich bags but pollutes the air with my commute. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thanks Metro. Oh, and a poster on the train told me to tell me friends. So hey you, "Go Metro."