Tag: trolley

  • Helping Dan feel human

    “Can you help me with my bike? My wrist is broken!”

    I barely heard the question. But speaking over This American Life was the voice of a man on the platform struggling to get his bicycle up the stairs and onto the trolley.

    With my bike pinning me against the retractable wheelchair lift on the ancient, yet retrofitted ADA accessible trolley car, it took me a few long seconds to get to the door. With the door trying to close and an annoyed trolley driver belching over the loud speaker, “Please board the trolley immediately, we have a schedule to keep,” I arrived to press the button and fling the door open in the nick of time.

    “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The man said as he pushed from behind when I grabbed the front handlebars. As I yanked the front handlebars, decorated with tennis balls and aluminum foil, it’s weight revealed that this wasn’t just a bike– it was this mans worldly possessions.

    Lifting (more like heaving) the bike it seemed stuck between the edge of the platform and a bar that divided the doors. With pressure to speed up and a dose of adrenaline, I gave it a bigger yank and the bike let out a loud yelp!

    “Just a second, let me untangle Wile, he’s chained to the seat post.”

    As I looked to the right of the bike, sure enough, there was a collie-mix tethered by the collar to the mans seat post.

    “OK, here we go. I’ve got it now.” I said, giving it one final tug as the now-free rear of the bike lumbered up the steps.

    By this time the whole car full of riders glared back at me. In the process of helping with the bike and dog– my bike had fallen down and made a horrible noise. So, as I was guiding the bike, rear-loaded with about 50 pounds of stuff in a box wired to a makeshift rear-carrier, his dog, and it’s owner having a long conversation with himself about needing to buy dog food– I also picked up my own bike and wedged myself back into my safe corner.

    It was clear that the people were not glaring at the man. They barely noticed him. But their ugly gaze was at me. They think I should have left the old man on the platform.

    I quickly popped my headphones back in just in time to hear Ira Glass introduce the next segment of the show.

    The trolley doors finally close. The driver instantly kicks it into high gear, as if to say… “I’ll show them!” The bike and the dog were secured, but the man had just made it to the top step and hadn’t quite measured his balance when the car leapt forward. His arm reached out and grabbed mine as he winced. Given the impossible choice of falling backwards or gaining his balance with a broken wrist, he chose to grab firm onto my forearm.

    “Thanks for the help. I couldn’t have made it without you. What’s your stop? I’m going to Old Town.” He said, now settling into a comfortable place to stand at the rear of the trolley with his whole life at his feat.

    “I get off at the college. So when we get close, you’ll have you slide forward so I can get by.”

    And then he started talking to himself about some sort of gibberish I couldn’t make out. And then about 10 seconds of silence.

    In that silence I had to decide. Am I just going to tune this man out and go back to listening to the latest episode of my favorite podcast? Or am I going to take my headphones off and see where this conversation goes?

    The Holy Spirit was screaming at me. “Talk to this guy.”

    Sliding my headphones into my pocket– the man told his dog to lay down as he twitched and pulled and talked to himself.

    “So, what’s the dogs name?” I said, startling him with my question and breaking the newfound silence between us.

    “Wile E. Coyote. He’s part coyote. He’s the best dog in the world.”

    “Oh, I see that. He’s a great dog. How long have you had him?”

    He stared off into the horizon as the trolley slowed towards the next stop seemingly thinking about the question for a minute and came back with, “You know, these trolley cars weren’t built for bicycles. I asked a transit cop one day why we get these cars on the green line instead of the newer ones which let you roll your bike right on. He said it was because of the graffiti on the other lines.”

    I just rolled with it and for the next few minutes listened and talked to the man about whatever he talked at me with. The Chargers. The canyon he calls home. How he broke his wrist. Florida. The weather. A fishing trip. It was like our conversation was the random setting on my iPhone, you never know where it’d land next.

    At first, I wasn’t certain he knew I was a real person as he had a tendency to look through me more than at me. He’d also stop in mid-sentence and start a different thought. I kept wondering if he thought I was a figment of his imagination. But over the next few stops it seemed like the blurriness of his life started to narrow a bit and things became slightly more in focus. As I kept chatting with him his eyes gradually drew more into the trolley car, even noticing me a couple of  times for his pupils to focus on me, or my bike, my backpack. His ticks and pulls dramatically slowed down. About 10 minutes into the conversation I think he realized I was real. The longer we made small talk the more relaxed he became.

    And the more relaxed I became in talking to him, too.

    To him, I think I became less a random object that helped him get on the trolley and more a person. And to me, he became less a homeless man with a dog and an impossibly heavy bicycle making me late and more a man who probably just needs someone to regularly talk to.

    In that moment we were just two normal men engaging each other in small talk on the trolley.

    It was the most healthy thing either of us had done all day.

    I’m no psychiatrist. So I don’t know if this is true or not. But in my experience I think anyone who is a little mentally ill probably gets increasingly worse when they become isolated from people who aren’t ill.

    And zooming by on the freeway at 70 mph or driving everywhere in my car isn’t going to put me in contact with the Dan & Wile’s of the world.

    Sure, I ride the trolley for my own reasons. But one reason I think God has me ride the trolley is to slow down and take notice of people the rest of the world largely ignores.

  • Rules for Public Transportation

    We are a one car household. Fortunately for us, we live in a city where you can get away with having just one car because we have a decent public transportation system.

    Our transportation system, San Diego Metropolitan Transit System, also has a policy that permits bikes. This allows me the daily privilege of riding my bike to the trolley station, than taking my bike on the trolley with me, than riding the rest of the way to work.

    But riding public transportation definitely has some rules. Social norms that make the experience much more pleasant.

    1. Always wear headphones. Even if your headphones don’t connect to anything but your pocket, always wear headphones.
    2. Don’t stare. Look at your phone, look out the window, or stare at the floor. Just don’t look at anyone unless you want to talk. Making eye contact is an invitation to conversation.
    3. Don’t eat. It may seem like an efficient thing to do. But you never know when you’ll see something gross, smell something really gross, or have the awkward opportunity to eat in front of someone who clearly hasn’t eaten recently. Just don’t eat.
    4. Help people who are obviously lost. This is the joy of living in a tourist town. I never mind helping someone who is genuinely lost. They all have “the lost look.” example: My home station is San Diego State University. The funny part about helping people from there is that they have to really listen to understand why I am telling them to go a certain way. If they are going downtown it might make sense to go two stops further away downtown and transfer to a different trolley line. When you look on the map it looks further and the wrong direction. (It is) But it is actually significantly faster because the other line goes directly where they want to go with fewer transfers. Riding the trolley isn’t like driving. You want the fastest route, not the shortest.
    5. Be aware of what is going on. I’ve taken public transportation both in San Diego and Chicago frequently enough to know that there are sometimes dangers to be avoided. The general rule of thumb is, “If it feels bad, it probably is bad.” The good news in San Diego is that they have closed circuit cameras everywhere. If something did happen (I’ve never seen anything truly bad happen) there is a good chance it got caught on camera.
    6. Discretely take pictures or video to giggle at later. Oh, I know this is probably a social faux pax to mention. But I have seen it all on the trolley and sometimes people don’t believe me.
    7. If you ride regularly get to know your riding partners. The funny thing about this is that you “know” people but you might not know their names. But you know that one person gets on at this stop and reads a book every day. And another gets on and always sits near you. Or one lady is always in a hurry but is claustrophobic so won’t ride the first elevator because it is too full. You may not “know” these people, but regular riding partners will make you feel more secure.
    8. Know your schedule. If you ride for a while you get a sixth sense about when your bus or trolley runs. I know if I leave my house at 7:58 I have a good chance of catching an earlier trolley. Or if I don’t leave right at 5:00 PM from work, I might as well hang out another 10 minutes.
    9. Keep smiling. Sometimes the trolley drives me nuts. But any time I’m a little delayed or stressed out by a minor inconvenience (like a person dying on the trolley and delaying it 2 hours) I just remember that I don’t have the expense of a second car and I’m not sitting in traffic thinking about my next oil change. Taking public transportation has limited stress in my life– and for that, it’s awesome!

  • 5 Benefits of Making Public Transportation A Part of My Daily Routine

    Breathing out the stress of my day, while breathing in the view in El Cajon

    Last year Kristen and I made a long-term family decision about having two cars.

    We don’t need one. And when we do we will just rent one.

    Since last Spring I’ve taken the trolley to work as opposed to a crazy driving ritual. We live 1.2 miles from the trolley stop at San Diego State University. And the YS office is 1.6 miles from a trolley stop in El Cajon. So, to keep my commute quick I ride my bike,  take it on the trolley, and then ride my bike to work and reverse that on the way home.

    Here’s the crazy thing. When we shared one car it felt like we needed two cars. But now that we have one car and I ride my bike or take the trolley everywhere… it kind of feels like maybe we could live without a car!

    Granted, we live in a major metropolitan area that has a decent public transit system. While it’s not “easy for me,” it is something I chose to make work in my life because of the benefits.

    Here are five of those benefits.

    1. We don’t have the expense and stress of a second car. No repairs. No insurance. No regular maintenance. No license fees. No gas. I pay about $50 per month to ride the trolley 3-4 days per week. (I’m not religious about taking the trolley. If I don’t want to, I don’t!)
    2. I have about 1:20 per day to myself. When I leave the house at 8:00 AM and get on my bike I pop my headphones in and just relax. Once you nail a routine, the bike ride and time on the trolley is amazing. I listen to music or podcasts, I read the newspapers on my iPhone, stuff like that.
    3. I get to see, hear, talk to, and interact with strangers every day. If you think about your average day… chances are you don’t interact with a lot of the general public. And you definitely don’t interact with the general public if you drive and go to an office! It brings me great joy to interact with “real people” every day.
    4. I make Kristen’s life simpler. This might be the one place in our relationship this is true. When we shared our car daily we had to go through this routine where we arranged for who was going where, when. Now, Kristen just does her thing and I do mine. If I need a car during my work day I can just take our work truck. If I need to do something outside of that– we rent a car. Seriously, the guys at Enterprise in our neighborhood know me by name!
    5. I have a concrete get to work and leave work time. I’m a total work-junkie. But knowing I need to leave the house at 8 and leave the office at 5 to catch my trolley– that’s awesome.

    Of course there are other benefits. Taking public transportation is also green as I’m using very little natural resources to get to and from work. And 5 miles of bike riding per day has health benefits. But, in my mind, those are by-products of these main benefits.

    What about you? How can you ditch the solo-car routine and find some added benefits?

  • Forgetful

    My travel companion

    I’m forgetful. I hope people find it endearing. Who am I kidding? It’s annoying.

    I never know where my keys are. I say at least 10 times a day, “Where’s my phone?” I can be so absentminded that I miss appointments, only to discover them when the person I’ve stood up calls me. That leads me to schedule things that are either close to me in proximity or meetings I can do on the phone or online. It also makes me neurotic about putting things in iCal. If I don’t write it down right away, it’s in one ear and out the other. I’d forget my own birthday if my calendar didn’t remind me. If I didn’t get billminders, I’d go to jail for never paying a single bill.

    Kristen, my saintly wife, is forgiving of my absentmindedness. I hope she finds it endearing but I fear she loathes it. Let’s just hope she finds it cute.

    Yesterday was a typical mistake. I lost track of my morning and suddenly realized it was 7:50. To catch my train I need to mount my bike at 8:00 to get to the trolley in time. So I’m rushing around, packing up my stuff for the commute. And trying my best to be social by having a cup of tea.

    I take a few gulps of tea and look outside. It’s cold. A glance at my iGoogle homepage, which tells me the high in San Diego was going to be 63. Too cold for the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing. But riding my bike in pants is a drag, so I put my stuff down and head to my closet. Right before I went to Haiti I bought a high-end rain jacket. That will work perfect. I zip that up, put my headphones in, select the latest episode of The Moth, start the clock on Runkeeper, push my bike to the curb, and off I go. It’s 8:01 and I’m on my way to work. One minute late is no big deal.

    I get to the SDSU trolley stop, turn off Runkeeper, and take the elevator down to the platform. Just before the train comes at 8:17, The Moth ends and I switch over to This American Life. As Ira Glass narrates a beautiful story about the downfall of the NUMMI plant in Fremont, California, I flick open the New York Times app, and catch up on the news.

    Fifteen minutes later, now closing in on the Gillespie Field stop in El Cajon, I stand up and wheel my bike over to the door. I press the button, tuck my iPhone back in my pocket, and wait for the train to stop. Just as the doors open I realize… I forgot to turn on Runkeeper. I get off the train and start Runkeeper. When the GPS turns on, I hit the start button, tuck my phone in my jacket pocket, and begin my ride.

    I’m lost in the story on This American Life as I huff the .75 mile up the hill to the YS offices.

    Nearly to the top of the hill it dawns on me.

    Where’s my backpack? I said it out loud to myself, “Dude, where’s your backpack? You idiot!”

    My backpack is my constant companion. That thing has been with me on countless road trips. It’s been everywhere with me. Yet, in that moment, I suddenly realize that I’ve forgotten my friend somewhere between home and the hill. But where?

    I made a u-turn and speed down the hill. The trolley is long gone, but it only makes one more stop in Santee before looping back towards Old Town. If I hustle I can make it in time. For some reason I had caught a glimpse of the Trolley number. I’m looking for train #72. That has my backpack. (And all my work stuff, including my Macbook Pro)

    Annoyed at myself, I get to the trolley stop about 7 minutes after I got off. I look down at Runkeeper. Yeah, I’m done with that. No need to log this journey.

    As  I wait for the trolley to come back, my mind wondering if the last 2 people left on the train would take my stuff, I start to think back.

    Where was my backpack? When did I last see it? I’ve forgotten a lot of stuff in my life. But never something quite so valuable. This was a lot different than leaving my keys at home, or being late for lunch with a friend, or having no idea what I did with the book I was reading on the plane.

    Looking down the tracks to the east I decided to give Kristen a call. Now that I thought about it I couldn’t be certain I ever had my backpack that morning. Maybe I had just left home without it? Either she was going to find it and make fun of me or I was going to ask her to look and she’d know I left it on the train. Either way, she was the right person to call.

    I call home and ask Kristen to look for it. Sure enough, it was sitting on the kitchen table, packed and ready to go.

    In the rush to finish my tea, find a podcast to listen to, and put something warm on… I had forgotten my stuff on the kitchen table.

    Busted. I couldn’t play it off. It was another moment where I had simply forgotten something important. I hated my absentmindedness in that moment. It’s a quirk. It’s part of who I am. But it’s not something I’m proud of.

    Fortunately, Kristen had the flexibility to stop what she was doing, wake up Megan, and bring daddy’s stuff to work for him.

    I huffed up the hill to work for the second time. With no meaningful way to start my day, (90% of my work is done online!) I had to admit to Amy that I was… indeed… an idiot who left his stuff at home. She laughed at me and with me. Yup, I’m that guy.

    Just another typical day with forgetful Adam.

  • Commuter Stories

    san-diego-trollyI’ve got this running joke that I am guaranteed to see something bizarre at least once a week as I commute to work on the trolley. Here’s just a few things that I’ve seen in the past few months since I started taking public transportation most days.

    On my way to the trolley:

    – Two drunk college females, in bathing suits, lounging in a kiddie pool in their front yard.

    – A scene fit for Animal House at a sorority house, but on a weekday afternoon.

    – An elderly naked man picking his nose in front of a frat house.

    – A grown man falling off his bike and laying out on the pavement at a major intersection in front of a ton of college students. (Oh wait, that was me on Monday.)

    – Watching the summer transformation of trashed rental houses to decent looking rental houses so parents will sign leases… right back to trashed rental houses!

    On the trolley itself:

    – Regular cat and mouse games between trolley police and people who don’t buy trolley tickets. Rivals Keystone Cops.

    – The unibomber. Seriously, he must have gotten free. He rides the 5:20 PM train from El Cajon to 70th Street every day. Who let him out?

    – Two college students practicing pole dancing on a crowded train.

    – A schizophrenic man receiving everyday kindness from a group of 4 strangers he repeatedly called every name in the book.

    Not only does taking the train give me a few ounces of excercise each day, eliminate the stress of sharing the car with Kristen, and give me a chance to catch up on unlimited episodes of This American Life… it also provides me with the fun observations that add to the tapestry of bizarre I enjoy so much about life.

    Plus, I’m earning my “green” card here in Southern California.