I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I understand that the entire delicate network of our civilization collapses whenever two snowflakes fall within a minute of each other. Heck, I probably only drove in honest-to-goodness snow two or three times the entire time I was in high school.

I, however, had the good fortune to attend Winter Driving Boot Camp, otherwise known as winter in east central Illinois, where you don’t have the luxury of staying home because there is snow on the ground. To be fair, it’s a lot easier to drive on snow in east central Illinois because there are no hills and all the roads run in perfectly straight lines. Nevertheless, there are certain skills associated with maneuvering a ton or more of motor vehicle on a slick surface, skills that don’t get much honing in our beloved Stumptown.

But none of that could possibly justify the Mongolian cluster-f*ck that was traffic in PDX last night.

As the snow started falling in earnest, and perhaps upon seeing the panic in their employees’ eyes, my employer closed the office early to give everybody a chance to get home before it got worse. I delayed a bit, tidying up a few loose ends, and I left the office just a bit after 4:30.

I headed toward highway 26, but soon ran into traffic backed up from Canyon all the way past Lincoln high school, so I decided to turn around and get on Broadway. I drove back into downtown on Salmon, and shortly ran into gridlock, as in the traffic lights were cycling, but nothing was moving an inch. After five or ten minutes idling in place, I turned and made my way down along the south park blocks, until I found an opportunity to get over to Broadway. Once on Broadway, I reasoned, traffic would be moving better.

Wrong. Traffic on Broadway was crawling. Looking back at the evening, this is when things went straight to hell. As Broadway runs south into PSU, it runs uphill. It’s not much of a slope, but you know it if you’re riding a bike. Or are trying to drive on ice. I began to spin out whenever I tried to creep forward, a very unpleasant situation in stop-and-creep traffic. What’s worse, with the snow covering up the lane lines, Broadway once again became three lanes, and I was trapped in the center lane. Even if I got to the side, there was no room to put on chains. Feeling steadily more and more trapped, I kept creeping up the hill, a few feet at a time, front wheels spinning furiously.

Once I got to where Broadway crosses 405, my worst fears were realized: I couldn’t make it up the hill. Spin as they might, I couldn’t get any traction with the front wheels. By this time, I’d made it to the right lane, and there was some room at the side of the road, so I backed over to the side and put my chains on. Which wasn’t easy. Because I have bad knees. And no gloves. And I had to start over when I realized I was putting them on backwards, but I persevered.

And just as I finished tightening the chains and stepped away from the car a Tri-Met bus fishtailed over and took the side mirror off my little Corolla.

By some miracle, the bus only took out my driver’s side mirror. I quickly whipped out my phone and snapped a pic of the license plate of the bus, in case the driver simply didn’t realize he’d hit me and kept going.

I was actually very lucky. A few more inches and I would have lost the driver’s-side door and front quarter-panel. A few minutes earlier, and it would have been ME that got crunched as I crouched by the front wheel putting on chains.

I needn’t have worried about the bus making a speedy getaway. It couldn’t make it up the hill over 405 either. It swung back and forth as it tried, like some primordial leviathan struggling in a net, until it was finally exhausted, and made its way slowly to the curb. After a moment, the driver emerged and walked towards me.

“Um…did I…?” he asked.

“Yup.” I said.

The Tri-Met driver was completely cordial, and immediately retrieved the necessary paperwork from his bus. We exchanged information, and I took down the names and numbers of a couple of witnesses (just in case). With that taken care of, I still had to get my poor abused Corolla back home. By now it had been at least two hours since I started home. “Surely” I thought “traffic is moving a little better by now.”

HA!!

I crawled, and I do mean crawled, painfully up and over 405, and then stopped, because nothing was moving. There, at the confluence of Broadway, Broadway Drive, the off-ramp from 405, and 6th and 5th avenues, it was a big parking lot. As far as the eye could see, nothing was moving. I sat there for at least 20 minutes, hemmed in and not moving a single Goddamn inch. Eventually, and oh so slowly, we crept down the hill. Like molasses flowing downhill in January, I crept down Broadway towards Barbur Boulevard. At one point I tweeted that I had come about three miles in three hours, and that it didn’t bode well for the rest of my trip home.

As the evening passed, I listened to the “Capitol Steps” on OPB. I sent text messages to my worried wife, giving her status updates every few hundred yards or so. I deeply regretted that last cup of coffee of the day. I watched my fingernails grow. I aged. And I crept imperceptibly southward.

At one point, having gotten sweaty while putting on my chains, I rolled down my window to enjoy the cool and fresh night air, and watch the snowflakes drift down. That lasted about a minute before a tanker truck came barreling the other way up Barbur, inexplicably driving down the center of the road where the snow was thickest.

*POW!* A barrage of wet slush was flung against and into my car. And against the side of my head. Road slush packed into my ear and down my collar.

So much for the cool night air.

My rate of travel didn’t substantially improve until I finally reached the top of the Barbur hill, where another Tri-Met bus sat abandoned in the roadway, resting almost perfectly perpendicular to the flow of traffic, like some guerrilla roadblock. Was this the cause of the slowdown? Probably a cause, certainly not the only one. However after passing that chokepoint I could drive at almost normal speeds, and was soon pulling into my driveway, back in Beaverton.

Elapsed time, door-to-door, nearly five hours. A commute that on a moderately bad day could take 45 minutes had taken more than six times that long. Under normal driving conditions, that’s enough time to drive to Eugene, eat dinner at my old BBQ joint, and drive back, without pushing it. What went wrong?

The Buses

Aside from the fact that one hit my car, the fact that it tried and failed to get up Broadway tied up traffic substantially, and it ended up at the side of the road, creating an obstacle to maneuver around. Another bus was stalled halfway up the Capitol Highway exit from Barbur, blocking that road completely. Then there was the one neatly creating the barricade at the top of Barbur. From talking to a few other folks, there were buses tying up traffic all over town. Someone should have gotten chains on the buses sooner, and drivers should have had the good sense not to keep going when it was becoming clear they wouldn’t be able to make their routes.

The Drivers

It’s easy to pick on Portland drivers, but this has nothing to do with driving skills, and everything to do with courtesy and patience. The traffic snarls were made infinitely worse by drivers who crowded into intersections when they had NO chance of moving out of them, blocking the way for all cross-traffic (of course, the cross-traffic would then move into the intersections in return, blocking the original flow of traffic). If you think you might not be able to get all the way across the intersection by the time the light changes, don’t enter the freaking intersection.

Then there were the drivers who were driving beyond their skill levels. If you have no traction and your wheels are spinning furiously, pull over. If you have chains, put them on. If you don’t, stay put. You don’t do anybody any good pinballing down the roadway, and it doesn’t matter that you have a big four-wheel drive truck.

As a sort of postscript, some folks have wondered aloud why I kept going instead of turning around or pulling over. In the beginning, I assumed that once I got a few more blocks that traffic would clear up, and by the time I began to realize how bad it was, going back was just as impossible as going forward. I suppose I could have stopped somewhere for a snack and to wait it out, but again, by the time I realized how bad it truly was I was locked onto Broadway/Barbur, with few opportunities to get off without risking getting stuck, and nowhere that I particularly wanted to spend time. Once I got to Burlingame, where there were things to do, traffic was moving again and there was no need. But mostly, I just wanted to get home.

I used to wonder why so many adults cursed the snow. Snow was beautiful. Snow was pure. Snow was one of the few things that can make you feel like a child again.

But I don’t think I will ever see snowflakes with the same unjaundiced view I once had, because lurking behind each fluffy crystal will be the long shadow of the commute from hell.

Related Posts

• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)
• September 12, 2009 -- It’s Not Easy Being Green… (2)
• September 1, 2009 -- Irritation to the MAX (1)

Governer Kulongoski decides to invite several Portland-area police departments to a friendly competition. The Beaverton Police Department, the Gresham Police Department, and the Portland Police Department all take part.

A jackrabbit is marked with blue dye, then released into Forest Park. Each of the Police Departments in turn is given a chance to locate and capture the rabbit.

First, the Gresham PD goes in.
They place animal informants throughout the Park.
They question all plant and mineral witnesses.
After weeks of extensive investigation, they conclude that rabbits do not exist.

Then, the Beaverton PD goes in.
They set up dozens of infrared surveillance cameras, each equipped with a GPS receiver and connected to the Internet by satellite.
Undercover officers in bear suits roam the woods.
After two weeks with no leads they call a press conference to announce that the rabbit has definitely left the area, and is probably now in California using an assumed name.

Finally, the Portland Police Department goes in.
They come out two hours later with a badly beaten raccoon.
The raccoon is yelling: “Okay! Okay! I’m a rabbit! I’m a rabbit!”

On November 14, Portland Officer Aaron Dauchy confronted a 12-year-old girl on a MAX platform for violating a Trimet “exclusion”. She and Dauchy began to scuffle. At this point Portland Officer Chris Humphreys discharged a shotgun loaded with a nonlethal “beanbag” round point-blank into the thigh of the girl.

Here’s the TriMet video that captured the incident.

As a result, Humphreys was placed on administrative leave by Police Commissioner Dan Saltzman and Police Chief Rosie Sizer. In response, hundreds of Portland police officers marched through downtown in support of Officer Humphreys. Twelve-year veteran Officer Peter Taylor penned a passionate explanation of why he, personally, felt he had to take part in the march.

The Portland Police Association conducted a “no-confidence” vote on Saltzman and Sizer, taking the position that Officer Humphreys “had acted as he was trained to act and did everything to minimize injury to the 12-year-old girl” and that “her actions is what led to the use of force against her”.

Under pressure from the union, Officer Humphreys was reinstated to desk duty, and in return the union is withholding the results of the no-confidence vote. The net result is an increased erosion in the relationship between the Portland Police Department and the public that they are sworn to protect.

Let’s put this incident into some sort of context.

The 12-year-old on the platform was under TriMet exclusion for the prior theft of a purse. According to TriMet Code Chapter 28, the District may exclude an individual from all or any part of the District Transit System for a provision of the TriMet code, or a violation of any criminal law of the State of Oregon while on the District Transit System, for up to six months. There are certain exceptions, but they aren’t relevant here.

Under “Enforcement” (section 28.20), the Code states that “all peace officers of the State of Oregon are authorized to issue citations, as provided by Oregon law, to any person who violates any provision of TMC Chapter 28″. So, the young lady was under an exclusion, and therefore could be cited for being at a MAX platform.

When confronted, she struggled. This was a bad decision, and certainly not her first. But the response that followed was entirely out of proportion for the situation. Much has been made of her height and weight, but even if she is the size of some adults, her size is not the issue. She was twelve. Children at 12 may not make rational choices. Applying an adult standard of behavior to a 12-year-old is inappropriate.

However, even if she were an adult, getting shot by a shotgun at close range was not justified by the seriousness of the situation. She was unarmed, not a threat to anyone, and guilty only of violating exclusion.

The seductive trap of less-than-lethal (LTL) weapons is the mistaken belief that they are “safe”, coupled with the realization that hitting a suspect with a taser or a beanbag round is a lot faster and easier than either arguing or grappling with them. But let’s get one thing straight, “non-lethal” does not mean harmless. In fact, experts refer to beanbag rounds, baton rounds and the like as “less-than-lethal”, or LTL. LTL ammo can break bones, rupture organs, destroy eyes, and even kill.

Furthermore, beanbag rounds are more traditionally used for stand-off applications such as riot control, and not close-range confrontations. Optimal range for use of a beanbag round is between 21 and 50 feet, according to the Police Assessment Resource Center, and when fired at less than 10 feet beanbag rounds can cause death or serious injury.

So, to put this in plain English, a 12-year-old girl was in a position to get a citation, and when she resisted she was shot, point-blank, by a 12-gauge shotgun firing 1.4 ounces of lead shot encased in a fabric sack.

This represents a dangerous use of force. And what is even more troubling, the use of excessive force appears to be becoming more and more common with the Portland Police Department. To wit, it’s beginning to look like the most serious crime you can commit in Portland is resisting arrest.

In 2003, not too long after I moved to Portland, 21-year-old African-American Kendra James was shot to death by Portland Police Officer Scott McCollister during a traffic stop. Ms. James, who had a warrant out for her arrest, had been riding in the back seat of the car. After the driver had been removed, Officers attempted to arrest Ms. James. Unexpectedly, she jumped from the back seat into the front seat of the car, started it, and tried to drive away. Indicating that he believed his life to be in danger, Officer McCollister fired his weapon, killing Kendra James.

In 2006, a homeless schizophrenic named James Chasse was “subdued” by Portland and Multnomah County police officers, resulting in 16 broken ribs, a broken shoulder, a broken sternum, and massive internal injuries. He died in custody. Mr. Chasse was guilty of public urination, and running from police.

My interest in the Portland bicycling community has made me aware of a few other incidents, where bicyclists have been chased, grabbed by the hair, handcuffed and arrested, and even tackled, pushed off their bike, and tasered repeatedly. Their crimes? Riding at night without a light, and not immediately stopping when shouted at. Even in the dark, when the arresting officers couldn’t remember if they properly identified themselves.

In the immortal words of Chris Rock, “If the police have to come and get you, they’re bringing an ass-kicking with them.”

I’m concerned. When I was a kid, I was taught that if I had a problem, if I was lost, if I was scared, I should find a policeman. That if someone was wearing a police uniform, I could trust them. Now I’m becoming afraid to give my own children the same advice. The Portland Police are in danger of being uniformly perceived as abusive, of using excessive force, and of being unable to police themselves.

The Portland Police department has many, many fine officers, who go to work every day under threat of violence, and spend their shifts dealing with the worst that humanity can offer. But those fine officers do themselves, and their city, a grave disservice when they fail to recognize excess within their own ranks, and fail to condemn it without equivocation.

Related Posts

• July 1, 2008 -- New MAX trains coming this Fall (2)
• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)
• September 1, 2009 -- Irritation to the MAX (1)
• August 24, 2009 -- Sleek, Sexy… and Inconvenient (12)

Silver Dude on the Bus by gregraisman

Everyone is invited to share Portland photography with the OurPDX community by participating in the OurPDX Flickr group.

Related Posts

• October 6, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Bike Parking (0)
• October 5, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: All Tucked In For a Nap (1)
• October 9, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: They Left Out Snow… (0)
• October 7, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Portland Sky (2)
• September 27, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Flowers and Steel (0)

TriMet’s MAX Green Line has been fully operational for two weeks now. I posted a few observations after the opening weekend, mostly critical. (Older folk are like that, with these confounded new-fangled gizmos…) I knew then that opening weekend would not be a true example of typical life on the Green Line, so I gave it a few more tries. It’s time to update my impressions.

Although I can think of reasons, I’ve had no call to use the Green Line for north/south travel. It will take much less time to get to Clackamas Town Center, or Mall 205, but I don’t have a lot of reasons to go there. I’m tempted to go to the movies at CTC, but the MAX stop is clear across the eastern parking lot, up by the freeway. Maybe it looks farther than it is, but if the weather is icy, or hotter than 85, I’m just not into trudging that far in both directions. If I feel like going to a mall, the one downtown is a crosswalk away from the MAX stop. (Bonus: Security guards at Pioneer Place discourage yelling from level to level, “WHERE YOU AT?”) I might be more tempted if it weren’t a fifteen block walk from home to get to the MAX in the first place.

Which brings my next gripe. It’s fifteen blocks to the MAX stop. The last few blocks are uphill, and by the time I huff and puff my way to the top I’m ready to sit for a second. Guess what? There is one bench, and it’s usually occupied by two teenagers smoking and drinking Arizona ice teas. Fortunately I know how to tell time, and haven’t been delayed by nonexistent trains. The schedule? I’ve heard that it’s supposed to take 39 minutes from PSU to CTC. But I’ve ridden the Green Line a dozen times or more now, and have yet to get from downtown to my stop in 39 minutes, let alone from end to end. Maybe if you count Rose Quarter as downtown…

The new trains have their drawbacks. I wrote previously about the 1-2 inch lip on the train floor, and the lack of overhead stabilizer bars. A co-worker had the same problem I did, with painful results. She lost her balance and fell, injuring her back. It’s affected her ability to work, and I wonder how many others have had this problem.

But enough bitching!

There are a lot of things I like about the new route. It has that new route smell, which means it’s mostly “normal” folk riding, at least when I’m on. I have traveled at all hours of the day and night, and have had no uncomfortable moments involving fellow passengers. I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken one of the other MAX lines and not encountered some sort of belligerent idiocy. So far the Green Line has hauled commuters and quiet people, which makes it a joy to ride. My worst encounters? A lady way too amped up on coffee and cigarettes bitching breathlessly to an unknown entity about life in general. We MAX riders call that entertainment.

No assessment of the Green Line would be complete without the obligatory after-11 PM Saturday night ride. The last time I took a Blue Line on a Saturday night, 10-15 juveniles were occupying the back car, smoking cigars and drinking jugs of Carlo Rossi. It was a most uncomfortable ride. I braced for that kind of fun, but apparently the party train was headed a different direction. There was no shouting, no groups of unruly teens. (Or adults either for that matter.) It was the kind of after-work commute we all pray for.

It is kind of fun to be dumped off in the middle of the freeway in the middle of the night. The bike path is well lit, and the freeway underpass isn’t as spooky as it used to be. The walk home is downhill, which makes me re-assess how often I will take the train home.

I still miss having Saturday bus service near my house. Grocery shopping is a drag. But I have new frontiers to explore, and a straight shot to the PSU food carts.

Now if I can just get up early enough to take advantage of that…

Related Posts

• May 13, 2009 -- No Rollerskating on the new bus mall (3)
• February 15, 2009 -- If you cut me… (5)
• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• September 1, 2009 -- Irritation to the MAX (1)
• August 24, 2009 -- Sleek, Sexy… and Inconvenient (12)

Today was opening day for the new MAX Green Line. Since I had things to do and places to go, and just happened to be downtown near PSU, I decided to take the Green Line home. Allow me to share a bit of the adventure.

I wandered onto the milling crowd at SW 6th & Madison, thirty to forty people waiting. I figured if the train was too crowded I’d just walk a block and catch a bus. I was in no hurry; it seemed a perfect time to watch “normal” people at play. A lot of seniors and families with strollers, a few commuters. One clean-cut young fellow pointed out that three trains had gone south, but none had come back in our direction. It had been 35 minutes since the last train. The natives were getting restless. Two fellows who looked like mid-management at fast food franchises began arguing about Transit Tracker. When one guy said, “Don’t take that smartass tone with me!” I thought they were playing. I realized he wasn’t when he swung his backpack, almost clobbering the “smartass.” He stomped off mad. Hmm…

Eventually a train came, packed to the rafters. I could see another in the distance, I’d wait for it. It was a Yellow Line, which thinned the herd, but the one behind that one was a Green Line. The nice lady on the PA said so.

Next Stop, Pioneer Square:

I grabbed a window seat, mid-car. An older couple sat across the aisle from me, along with a lady nervous about everyone’s leg room. “Got enough? Got enough?” Actually no, I don’t. These trains were build for folks without shins.

I’ve heard a lot of good things about the new trains, but my trip was less than stellar. By the time we left Pioneer Square the car was full to standing room only. I’d been joined in my four-seat cubicle by a mom and her two kids. The son sat across from me. He looked about ten, nice kid, kinda reminded me of Chunk from The Goonies. He sipped his Juicy Juice, and when the bottle was empty he hid it up the pantleg of his shorts, leaving him looking like the Ron Jeremy of ten-year-olds. He took my uncontrolled grin for friendliness and began including me in his thoughts. He was mostly quiet, and it helped break the monotony of the MAX ride. After all, until we get past Gateway, it’s just another goddamn MAX ride.

Gateway and Beyond:

They should never have made the rides free. It may work out better for me, because everyone who got their first impression from this trip will be in no hurry to do it again. The ‘leg-room lady’ had bailed out stops ago, after having a claustrophobic fit. She also pulled a dog out of her purse, which struck me as odd. (It was not a tiny dog either. Benji sized.) Chunk and I daydreamed. I noticed the Portland Police officers patrolling the 82nd Avenue MAX stop. Chunk was fascinated with the cars speeding by on the freeway. “Look! There’s Grandma’s car!”

After leaving 82nd, the train pulled to a stop before Gateway. We were sitting still on the freeway. Man, I hope this doesn’t last forever. At least the brand new train cars have working A/C. Add two points. Seats? They look soft, but after about thirty minutes the phrase Iron Ass comes to mind. It won’t encourage folks to go for joy rides. Minus a point. The voices announcing the stops have been sexed up in a big way. Is that Antonio Banderas and Julie Grauert? Plus three points!

I can see getting reacquainted with Gateway and Clackamas Town Center. What took a stupid amount of time to go 40 blocks now just takes a few minutes. (Once the hubbub wears down.) I’d bet money it’ll be all the rage with the teenage crowd. This won’t be one of those quiet commuter lines.

My 39 minute ride had taked over an hour already, and I got off at Lents. One more mass fail on the new trains? They have an inch-high step into the aisles, and if you are expecting floor to be there, and it isn’t? AAAHHH! I started to tip, at the same precise moment the train lurched forward. I grabbed for the overhead bar for stability, but…it… wasn’t… there. WTF? I’d either have to ram my hand through a window or grab a young girl by the boob.

I managed to avoid doing both, but it wasn’t graceful. (You guys, we really need the overhead parallel stabilization bars.) My apologies to those I scared, and to those children who will no doubt be asking mom and dad later what those funny words meant.

After letting Hell Train get out of sight, I sized up the platform at Foster Road. Watching its growth from inception, it was nice to see the view from above. The bike trail has reopened, so I can now walk the no-cars path to Foster or Holgate. Until the homeless camps pop up, anyway.

My initial reaction? It’ll be okay, but I’ll probably stick to riding the bus. Most days it’s the only peace and quiet I get.

Related Posts

• December 30, 2009 -- Worst. Commute. Ever. (12)
• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)
• September 1, 2009 -- Irritation to the MAX (1)

You would think they had never seen a train before.

I deboarded the bus on Main Street yesterday, and caught my first glimpse of the Yellow Line rolling down SW 6th. I stopped and took in the sight, a momentous occasion. It seemed like a ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ test. Normal, yet odd.

I wasn’t the only one. As I walked, I saw others pulling up to take a moment, probably a half-dozen folks in the blocks between the bus stop and Pioneer Square. I was fetching a monthly bus pass, and many others were doing the same. I held the door for a few people, then realized they would all end up in line in front of me, so I moved in. It was my nice-guys-finish-last moment of the day: I was about fifteen deep waiting to get to the window.

Disclaimer: I love TriMet. It’s my ride. But dammit, it feels like the ride I praise so highly is trying to get me to start driving again.

I haven’t paid fare on a bus in ages. I do the all-zone monthly pass and make every effort to get my $86 worth. I try to buy well in advance to avoid the last minute rush, but that didn’t happen so I fell in with the procrastinators. Three windows were open, with two other windows in ‘be right back’ mode. (They were helping someone with lost and found, I think.) The others? Long, complicated stories about how they had changed their name and shouldn’t have gotten the ticket blah blah blah. Everyone seemed to have a complex issue. Couldn’t one window just sell tickets and passes?

Seriously, I’ve watched one well-meaning fellow spend ten minutes telling the nice lady behind the window about how the garbage can at the bus stop by his apartment was overflowing, and they should do something about it. Hers was the patience of Job. I’d have come out from behind the window and found a fresh garbage can to stuff him into.

Having secured the pass, I noticed the new schedules were out. Woohoo! I grabbed the usuals, including the MAX schedule. I can take the Green line in two weeks! Yeah, right. It stops running downtown before I get off work. Hey TriMet, not everyone is done working or drinking by 11:30 PM.

At least I can catch the Yellow line up to PSU, closer to my bus, right? Of course not. With a few exceptions, the Yellow line will be ending at the Rose Quarter early in the evening. One will have to transfer to the Green line, or one of the others that heads up Morrison. The Green line runs every half hour. Great.

Bus? Well, I live out in Southeast, and had pretty good bus service up ’til now. After the 12th of September, Saturday service near my house will stop. A grocery run will mean hauling stuff 9-12 blocks. That’s fun times. It’s a good thing I’ve embraced walking, I’ll be doing a lot of it. Work? Where the bus ends, I have to walk most of the way to work to get to the first MAX stop, so why bother? I’d catch it one stop, then have to backtrack. Sensible shoes are in order.

I won’t even start about how the half-hour waits at the MAX stop near my house will increase the appeal of a late-night walk. Maybe I can borrow the neighbor’s pitbull…

All this bitching isn’t getting us anywhere, but thanks for listening. I’m grateful to have a bus and MAX to get around on, but I’d be more grateful if they hadn’t carved service back to 1975 levels. We bought our house with the knowledge that construction would be eternal, but first-class transit was on its way. First class? Maybe, but I’d settle for second rate buses that get me a little closer to home. Since I’m stuck with buses, guess I’d better settle, huh? It added insult to injury when I noticed the bus stop by the Foster MAX was moved yet another long block away. Thirteen blocks to the bus now.

My driver’s license with the horrible picture is valid until 2013. Maybe it’s time to start watching the police auctions for a hooptie…

Related Posts

• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)
• August 24, 2009 -- Sleek, Sexy… and Inconvenient (12)
• May 13, 2009 -- Pains, Trains and Automobiles (3)
• May 13, 2009 -- No Rollerskating on the new bus mall (3)

TriMet’s new light rail vehicles (purchased to build up the fleet for the upcoming Green Line service) have been described as “sleek” and “sexy.” As I started watching them in operation, noting that the new cars only have operator controls at one end, I realized there’s a snag in this plan.

Currently, when one car of a two-car train has problems, TriMet staff can decouple the cars, set one of the cars into a side track out of service, and continue service with the remaining car. With the new cars and only one direction for controls, I wondered what would happen given a malfunction with one of the cars. I posed the question to TriMet’s public relations person, Bekki Witt, and she confirmed:

I verified that the two-car consist would be taken out of service together, even if there was a problem with just one of the cars.

In related news: tonight as I got off the train at Gateway, there was a two-car set of the new vehicles in the side track, out of service.

Did style win over function?

Related Posts

• February 10, 2009 -- TriMet Question of the Day (2)
• May 13, 2009 -- No Rollerskating on the new bus mall (3)
• March 28, 2009 -- TriMet Warning: Gateway Area to be Borked Starting Tuesday (1)
• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)

I wish to use this public forum to apologize to my fellow bus riders. I’m sorry. I really stunk up the bus today.

Regular riders of TriMet are familiar with the usual smells. A lack of bathing or laundry, the after-effects of last night’s lasagna or enchiladas, a bag of Indian food or Mickey D’s, I probably don’t need to elaborate.

Well, I’m guilty of causing distress on the bus. And I’m not one damn bit sorry!

As I rode up Hawthorne, I spied with my red eye a Pepto-reminiscent stepvan near Jackpot Records, just west of the Bagdad Theater. I rang the bell and sprang into action. Within seconds I was drooling in front of the Voodoo Doughnuts van.

They didn’t have my favorite, the Memphis Mafia. In fact, things were picked over. (She mentioned Cap’n Crunch, my cereal killer alter-ego, but I wanted chocolate.) That’s when I noticed the hand-written sign in the window.

“Buckets available: $5.”

Oh HELL yeah!

For the uninitiated, Voodoo unloads their day-olds in five-gallon bucket servings. I haven’t counted, but a glance tells me there’s got to be 30-40 doughnuts in there. Since a Memphis Mafia costs about $4, I counted enough chocolate on the top layer to justify buying the whole bucket. Yeehaw!

Having hauled pizza home on the bus in the past, I braced to be taunted/begged/teased all the way home. The upside? I had more than enough doughnuts to feed the wolves until I could get into the house. Surprisingly, nobody said anything. I fully expected to hear “Check out the fat guy with the bucket full of donuts!” as I strolled up Hawthorne, but the lone commenter was the envious door greeter at Fred Meyer’s. I expected more comments as I took my five-gallon bucket of doughnuts into the men’s room. (Sorry, I’m not leaving it with customer service. Dude looked hungry…) After shedding a tear for Nixon, I grabbed some fresh tortillas and headed for checkout. Hungry-Dude smiled when I said, “One can never have enough carbs, apparently…”

The bus ride smelled great. I got a few funny looks. The cute young girl seated behind me looked over the seat into the bucket. I could see the longing in her eyes, but I know better than to offer sweets to underage girls on a public bus, so I pretended not to notice her sweet-tooth fangs protruding. Sorry, hon. See me when you’re eighteen.

If I weren’t the kid’s favorite uncle before, I am now. Teen nephew called his two hollow-legged buddies over. “Dude, you should see what my uncle brought home!” I figured I’d better pick and choose if I wanted dibs on anything, so I dug about halfway down and saw what I was looking for: A maple bar.

But wait! What’s this? Sweet Mary mother of god, look what they hid on the bottom! A half-dozen BACON-maple bars! I immediately issued one to sister and nephew, then scurried away with the rest. The sugar crash will be commencing shortly, I’d bet.

So, just because the top selection looks lame? Never fear. You never know what you’ll find at the bottom of a Voodoo bucket, but you can bet it’s worth a five dollar gamble…

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• December 30, 2009 -- Worst. Commute. Ever. (12)
• December 7, 2009 -- Portland Police: The Problem is Perception (3)
• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• September 28, 2009 -- A Green Line Redux (2)

It has been a Very Busy Summer for yours truly. Most days, the whiteboard on the refrigerator that tracks our household schedule is jam-packed full of planned activities: Summer camps for the girl, lists of chores for the teen, and plenty of, um, fun work stuff for me (including more than a few 6 am conference calls from home, ugh.)

Life has also dealt us a few unscheduled sideswipes — some good, some not so wonderful — so we’ve also had to roll with the punches.

But, while I knew this week’s calendar was still fairly packed (three evening events in a row, for example), I also knew there was a shining beacon of healing light hurtling towards me at 50mph: My kids were leaving for a 12-day camping trip with their father. Kid-free for 12. Whole. Days? Cue the celestial chorus, someone!

(This is where I insert the standard disclaimer. Yes, I adore my children. No, I do not wish them permanently removed from my presence, nor do I lament and/or regret their existence. Really. Yes, that includes the snarky 16 year old. I just need a @5@!$*)@* break already, is all…)

So it was with completely dry eyes that I wished them goodbye at 8 am this morning. Headed back into my house for two more hours of blissful, work-from-home peace.

And then promptly celebrated my completely untethered state by barreling out the door, arms full, rushing to get to that oh-so-important mid-day appointment…and realizing seconds after the door shut firmly behind me that — oh CRAP — the keys were still inside.

The backup set of keys? Probably an hour or so outside of Bend by now. The third and fourth sets? Ditto. So I took a deep breath. Put all of my stuff down — laptop bag, purse, gallon jar of sun tea that just had to go outside right then — and made a few phone calls. Canceled that oh-so-important appointment. Arranged to pick up final set of spare keys later in the day. And jumped on the bus to head to work as I’d planned to after the appointment. Why not? I had cash, computer, and my phone, after all; was a block away from a bus line; and knew my way around, mass-transit-wise (I’d commuted/walked for close to two years before getting my car two years ago.)

By the time I got to work (exactly when I’d originally promised I’d be there, no less), I realized that I was calm. I wasn’t stressed, nor did I feel rushed. Had gotten some fresh air & some sunshine. And I’d still managed to stay in touch with the office, thanks to my iPhone IM/email access.

I also had time to come up with a goal: to give myself the gift of forced unscheduled time while my kids are away. How will I do that? By taking mass transit and/or walking as much as I can over the next 12 days, for starters.

Tonight, I finally got home at 9 pm, after a ramble that took me downtown via fareless square bus, walks to two different destinations, MAX to Lloyd Center, and a slow meandering walk home from there.

But if I’m going to do this more often, I need to think this through a bit more:

• While I divested myself of all the non-essential stuff out of the laptop bag once I got to work, the bag itself, while stylish, isn’t transit-friendly. Need to dig out older backpack I used 2 years ago.
• Note to self: Save all of your change for the bus.
• The bus routes/stops downtown have CHANGED. (Number 14, I’m talking about YOU.) Learn them, please.
• Recommendations for best TriMet iPhone app, anyone? Am betting I’ll need it…
• Culture refresh: watch fellow author A.L.’s Ignite presentation — who knows, I might meet Mr. Wonderful while I’m riding the bus. (Probably not, but…)
• Finally, one should NEVER walk more than a few blocks in flip-flops. Even ones with padding/arch support. (In related news: my feet really, really hurt right now. Where’s the Aleve? I sent it with the kids? ARGH!)

What else do I need to learn/remember? What else would you suggest to help me slip slowly into first gear?

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• July 14, 2008 -- Alleviate my Awkwardness: TriMet Signaling Advice! (3)
• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• May 13, 2009 -- No Rollerskating on the new bus mall (3)
• March 5, 2009 -- Portland Police citing for jaywalking downtown (1)
• November 2, 2008 -- Public feedback halts TriMet #6, #70 route changes (1)

Seen today on the transit mall… two mounted officers end up with a line of cars behind them at a slow walking pace as they mosey down SW 5th Avenue….

Related Posts

• October 8, 2009 -- PDX in Your Pictures: Silver Dude on the Bus (1)
• August 24, 2009 -- Sleek, Sexy… and Inconvenient (12)
• May 13, 2009 -- No Rollerskating on the new bus mall (3)
• February 18, 2009 -- Welcome back transit mall benches (7)
• February 10, 2009 -- TriMet Question of the Day (2)