Christmas Shopping with PAT

As a Christmas present to myself, after a few hectic weeks of work, I took a personal day and went shopping- on the bus.

When I have the time, I relish holiday shopping. I hear "Silver Bells" ringing in my head, "as the shoppers rush home with their treasures." It feels like a privilege to buy gifts for the people(and animals) in my life. And I love visiting shops that I rarely get to other times of the year.

So I walked the few blocks from my house to Bloomfield to catch the 54C to the South Side. It let me off a couple of blocks from the Culture Shop, the Bead Mine(now closed!) and Eljay's Used Books. With a few of those treasures, and a coffee for me, I walked through the snow in the other direction several blocks to the South Side Works for more shopping at Sur la Table, Joseph Beth Booksellers, and Urban Outfitters. This time I skipped REI- the only person on my gift list for REI is me. And I had just a few minutes to catch the 59U from the South Side to Squirrel Hill.

My girlfriend helped me plan the route and schedule for the day- she is a wiz at transportation of all kinds, and has a memory for bus routes and schedules. She is somewhat dismayed(as am I) by the fact that her accumulated knowledge will soon be obsolete when PAT changes the bus names and routes in March.

As I waited for the bus at the stop(it turned out to be a little late), I chatted with a guy in town from Singapore, visiting family for the holidays. He was surprised that so few people were riding the buses. He was doing his shopping via PAT, too. We continued to talk as we got on the bus, and the driver joined in. He told us that the 59U would be discontinued in the new plan, and that it was a federal plan to make Pittsburgh conform to a more grid-like arrangement common in other cities. Right now PAT runs on a "spinal" plan, weaving in and out of neighborhoods on main routes. He also said that it costs PAT $9 a ride for each passenger, though they charge only $2.

I got off at Forbes and Murray in Squirrel Hill very hungry. Nostalgia pulled me into Eat N' Park for a grilled cheese sandwich. Then I continued on to Ten Thousand Villages, Barnes and Noble(also closing!), and the Pussycat. My plan was to get a bus to the North Side to finish up, but the cold and the grilled cheese finished me off first. And I had everything that I really needed. Just as I arrived at the bus stop, the 64A pulled up. Squirrel Hill to East Liberty, then one transfer to home by the 86B.

Four hours, four buses, two transfers, five presents and lots of cheer. A luxurious holiday shopping trip courtesy of PAT. Next stop Lawrenceville- on foot.

** In the interest of full disclosure, my mother was on vacation from work for the weeks of Christmas and New Year's, and loaned us her car from Christmas Eve until a few days after the holiday. Her generosity and a tank of gas made it much easier for us to navigate the usual multiple family obligations of the season in car-free-unfriendly Washington County.

Thank you, Noah Wyle

We were sitting on the couch in the air conditioned home of my girlfriend's family, watching CMT, Country Music Television, when I saw him- a kind, concerned expression on his adorable baby face. Noah Wyle, of TV's ER, was pleading the case for polar bears in a public service announcement for the World Wildlife Federation(WWF). It made me a little queasy.

Nature conservation is WWF's mission, and ripping my heart out is one way they are accomplishing it. Their video of a polar bear balancing its weight on one small slip of Arctic ice was the tipping point in my decision not to buy another car. The world is talking about global warming, carbon emissions and offsets, and all things environmental this week as the 15th United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP15) meets in Copenhagen, Denmark. While polar bears need someone else to speak up for their livelihood in the face of global warming, many people are speaking out for their own climate justice during the two weeks of the summit. I have been listening to their stories on Democracy Now!.

Their stories are our stories- if not now, then soon. Our US government has been slow to warm up to fully acknowledging how carbon emissions from fossil fuels effect the climate, and to effectively act on the threat that global warming presents to animals, all people, our health and the economy- both here and worldwide. Maybe they think that Americans can't or won't deal with changing the status quo, like the corporations and industries that lobby Congress daily.

All of this made me think about my own carbon footprint. According to carbonfootprint.com, our carbon footprint is "a measure of the impact our activities have on the environment, and in particular climate change. It relates to the amount of greenhouse gases produced in our day-to-day lives through burning fossil fuels for electricity, heating and transportation etc."

You can calculate your share on their site. Mine is 7 tonnes of carbon dioxide equivalent. That is for the year, taking into account that I drove for more than half of this year, flew across the country round trip once, am mostly vegan, and sometimes try to buy things with the least amount of packaging. It's smaller than the national average, according to the footprint graphic on the site, but much larger than the worldwide sustainability goal.

How much do I owe the world for my energy consumption? How do I justify creating more than my fair share of carbon dioxide, now officially recognized as a dangerous gas, according to the EPA , when the people most burdened by its effects are responsible for so much less of its production? How do I look a polar bear in the eye?

For Little Things

I am thankful for little things, and don't chronically complain, though sometimes my blogging leads me to believe otherwise. So here is a short list of things that I am thankful for in my new car- free life.

1. The Most Beautiful People Ride the Bus.

Scores of beautiful children every week- eating out of small bags of potato chips, laughing with and at each other as their sneakers dangle over the seat, fighting big tears and yawns as their mothers and fathers and grandparents try to comfort them, or don't. Last month I saw an old man wearing a black top hat and tails on a bus downtown. Elegant and colorful vintage winter coats, braids, wigs and hats. Late this summer on a bus my girlfriend and I saw a young woman whose breasts were popping out of her artful dress- you would have to pay to see that in any other part of the city.

2. Voluto Coffee.

I would never drive to a coffee shop on the way to or from work or anywhere else. Or as a destination- I don't like to hang out. But Voluto is on my walk to work in the first mile. They have some orange lettering out front, which attracted me, as well as their newness. And it turns out they have exceptionally good coffee. My coffee drink of choice these days is a macchiato, and theirs is like liquid burnt caramel- in the best possible way. I am budgeted for one a week, and I look forward to it.

3. Free Exercise.

Walking to work provides me with an efficient way to exercise. I don't have to set aside a time to do it- it is already programmed into my day. And it is free.

4. Little Brown Birds.

At the Penn Mall Station bus stop, little brown birds flock and scatter, poking at crumbs and bits of food and cigarettes that people drop. I've never been a bird watcher, though I like to spend time outdoors in nature. These little guys have connected me with animals and the natural world in a way that going hiking or camping or mushrooming or walking my beast of a dog has not. I marvel at their intricate coloring, their even more intricate wings, and their tenacity.

5. I Don't Have to Pump Gas.

As anyone who has rescued me on the side of the road because I failed to look at the low fuel mark knows, I hate to pump gas. My friend Liz taught me how in high school after I had been driving for a full year. I had my sister do it for me before that.

6. The Blessing of Bus Drivers.

I am lucky to have a wonderful person sending me off to work everyday with a kiss and a smile and a wish for a good day. But when a bus driver says, "You have a good one," or invokes some similar hope as I de-bus, it adds another layer of goodness to my day. It feels genuine, and it brings back the feeling I had departing the school bus when our neighbor was the driver- warm and familiar. It is especially welcome when facing a geometry quiz third period, or a conference call after lunch.

Thwarted

I am under no illusions- Pittsburgh is not a walking city. It is no London, or New York. Sure, it has its pockets of walkers, in Oakland near the universities, for example. But by and large, it is a city of drivers. My expectations are already low. But lately it seems that wherever my legs take me, there is something or someone in the way. Something big, noisy, dangerous- or all three.

Our city is rife with construction, even in the off-season, and it frustrates drivers as well as those on bikes or walking. But most of the improvements benefit drivers and bike riders on roads, too. And the inconveniences to these folks are mostly felt by being rerouted or made to wait in long traffic lines as two lanes are temporarily merged into one. When you are a walker- and I haven't really referred to myself as such since I was in kindergarten and walked to school- these traffic pattern changes and construction efforts are felt more palpably, and their discomfort is often translated into physical danger.

Thankfully the sidewalk and road construction on Penn Avenue between Fifth Avenue and the Bakery Square development is now at a stage so that you can once again use the sidewalk on at least one side of the street. I bused it when it was less accessible. Going around it would have taken an extra 15 or more minutes of travel time. So I was relieved when it reopened. But when you actually get to the intersection to cross, you are presented with this picture.


Barely usable for someone in sensible shoes on a good weather day, but certainly not handicap accessible or easily traversed in a downpour.

On the same day, a few blocks away, I faced off against these guys, fixing cracks in the asphalt on the road.


The noise from the truck and fumes and compressed air shooting from the hose were more than unpleasant- they made it difficult to pass on the nearby sidewalk. And dangerous to cross over as cars were speeding up to try and pass them.

On my way home, on a section of Penn Avenue closer to Downtown, I came upon these men working in manholes on both sides of the street- blocking the sidewalk on both sides with their trucks. I had to cross between the trucks, playing chicken with the traffic, to cross at all.


I know that this section of Penn Avenue, and the others that I travel, is not heavy in pedestrian traffic. But more thought and intervention- by signs or by police-is given to how cars and drivers will negotiate these roadblocks, than to anyone else. And this is not just one unfortunate, isolated day. Every week a different but similarly hazardous scenario can be encountered. More than frustrated, I feel hot under the collar- and not just from the exercise of walking.

Smoky Temptress

Pittsburgh is not widely known for its barbecue. If you ride the 86B Frankstown to Wilkinsburg, you know this is is an oversight.

There are not one, but three barbecue spots along the way from Penn Avenue in Garfield to Braddock Avenue in Homewood, each one smokier than the next.

Z Best Barbecue Ribs and Chicken first sang its siren song to me this summer while I was walking my dog in the 5000 block of Penn Avenue. Even in the early morning, the smoke hangs thickly around the building. Sometimes the barbecue grill is placed out front on the sidewalk to lure neighborhood customers. But I am seldom waking by when the storefront is open, and so have never taken advantage of the long list of sides displayed by menu flaps on either side of the awning , or what I can only imagine is delectably tender and waiting for me underneath the rusty grill hood.

I don't really eat meat anymore. I live in a vegan household, and like it. This summer I was "meated out", the equivalent of being grossed out, but with meat. I ate at a local restaurant specializing in local fare, and everything I placed in my mouth that evening had meat in it, including the goat ravioli and the duck confit . I don't even want to talk about the pork terrine. There seemed to be little else on the menu. Though it was all delicious, I haven't been carnivorous since. Or been tempted to be. Until The Dream.

The 86B travels from Downtown to the Strip District, then skirts the largely African American communities of Garfield, East Liberty, Homewood and Wilkinsburg. When I ride it home from work, mine is almost always the only white face on the bus. It is safe to assume that I wouldn't have walked past The Dream Bar-B-Q if I didn't walk from the Frankstown and Braddock Avenues bus stop to work, 6 blocks south on Braddock.

According to one of the chefs, there has been a barbecue in the location for more than six years, but it has been called The Dream for a little over two. The owner cooks the ribs and chicken in several covered grills on the street, the chef cooks the sides inside the kitchen. On the Friday that I stopped in, he made his special and delicious chicken fried rice, which he allowed me to sample. And the sauce- sweet, very sweet, red sauce with a real punch of spice and fire at the end. I was there on the pretense of just checking things out. I watched the customer in front of me order a rib sandwich as I chatted with the cook. Several bones of meaty ribs on top of your choice of white or wheat bread are smothered in the sweet, hot, or mustard house sauces. It looked like a lot of food for under $7 with tax. The big dining room, which you cannot see from outside, was also a surprise. But I stepped back out into the sunshine without my own styrofoam container of barbecue- still hungry.

The hunger lingers when I smell the smaller barbecue grill belonging to one of our neighbors being fired up. Or when I noticed another barbecue- Showcase BBQ, "Best on the Planet"- along the same bus route, set off from the road, not far from the YWCA and the Crispus Attucks American Legion post on Frankstown Avenue. But though my nose tells me differently, I don't think it is a hunger that will be satisfied by chicken or ribs, or greens cooked in turkey fat. So for now, I continue to walk to The Dream, take a deep breath, wave to the chef, and keep walking.

Creative Accounting

I started tracking the amount of money I spend on public transportation on the day my car registration expired. I did this on the back of a clothing catalog. It was just handy at the time, and I intended to transfer the data to a spreadsheet. My girlfriend found it after a month and started wondering if I had joined a secret cult or was planning a nefarious deed. The entries look something like this: 09-12 2.50- all in pen, in columns, up and down the back cover. I cannot blame her.

The numbers are scarier than that prospect. I knew that initially, especially during the heat of August(which turned out to be surprisingly cool), I would spend a fair amount. I was used to driving everywhere, and I wanted to give myself a chance to ease into walking. The first month easily slid into another month- still tracking, but not adding. Characteristically, I stopped even tracking half way through October.

So how much did I spend the first and second months? More than $75 each, the cost of a Zone 1 bus pass. And more than- if you can believe it- I spent on my car each month with gas and insurance. I owned the car 10 years, and it was used when I bought it. Long ago paid for, it was old enough that carrying more than the basic insurance made little sense.

So there it is- Kara’s Folly. Now I know. Armed with this information, I have committed to spending about $50 a month on transportation- or about one way on the bus each work day. I plan on doing this for November, then springing for the bus pass in the coldest months of December and January, or January and February.

Slumped over in my bus seat the other day thinking about the money I have been throwing away, I thought about the green bag. The green bag is a shopping bag I used right before my car was towed to collect the odds and ends left in my glove compartment from years past. It contains mostly receipts for oil changes, tire rotations, and a few more serious operations. I always meant to transfer those, too. Factoring in these expenses, plus the yearly registration fees and inspection costs- I know that I am still ahead. So I am going to relax back into my seat, feel the bus heater on my face, and enjoy the ride.

Looking Up

We have been given a reprieve- a weather reprieve. It looked like the Roadrunner of fall had plunged off the Wyle E. Coyote cliff of winter, but it is back! It was literally freezing last week. It was so cold and miserably wet that we broke our house rule of not turning on the heat until November. But the weather in Pittsburgh today is sunny and 70 degrees.

This change has certainly impacted how I feel about walking to work, if not my actual commuting habit. Last week I committed to walking at least one way to work everyday- rain or shine or sleet. I don't actually mind walking in cooler temperatures. A walk in 45 degree air gives me the incentive to walk at a good clip and when I arrive, I am not in need of a shower. But it does very little for my mood while I am walking. It is fair to say that Pittsburgh is grey more days than not, and the route I walk to or from work is the same everyday. The same litter on the sidewalk, the same buildings, the same other people rushing to work. It all feels the same at 45 degrees.

I have been listening to my favorite radio podcasts during my commutes, and, as I am fond of telling almost anyone who is kind enough to listen, they have dramatically improved my life. I am more informed and less bored. I don't always listen on the way to work, because I like to ease into the day and think about what's ahead. But I unwind with them at the end of the day, and find myself most often choosing the way home for my walking portion. You can find me grinning and laughing my way along Penn Avenue during the evening rush.

However, with sunshine and 70 degrees, I have thrown off the headphones. I was inspired by an article in Natural Home magazine called "Change Your Awareness, Change Your Life" by Carol Venolia. She is a sustainable communities teacher at Dominican University of California. In the article, she explains how she challenges her students to reconnect to their senses, many of which, she says, we mute to deal with the stress and strain of modern life. For example, we may not hear birds singing often because we have tuned out the other less pleasant noises in our environment, like car horns blaring.

Venolia says, "At the end of class, I send students home with an expanded assignment: At least once a day, stop and notice how the air feels, where the sun is, the wind's direction, the terrain, vegetation, critters; then write it all down."

She is interested in how this information may change her students' awareness, and impact their lives and their work as planners and designers.

So I have been thinking about how doing this once a day, or even once a week, could change my perception of my walks, my commute, myself. Where am I most comfortable, and why? What about the commute is unpleasant for me, and how can I change that? Do I feel happy, sad, or something else at different points or different times of the day? I have a feeling it will be easier today than next week when the temperature drops again. That may be a clue in itself.

Safety First

A few weeks ago, when I got off the bus at the stop nearest my workplace, a man got off with me. While we waited for the light to turn green, he muttered under his breath, "I hate this." I feel him. It's a dangerous intersection for pedestrians. There is no cross walk for us, and no light that tells us when it is safe to walk. In fact, there is never a safe time to walk. One side of the intersection has a left turn arrow for drivers, and everyone else is left to their own devices, including pedestrians. There is plenty of tension. Pedestrians are always at the mercy of drivers, and sometimes there is not a lot of it to go around.

It is one of a few busy and potentially dangerous intersections on my commute route. Another is further up Penn Avenue, toward downtown, where it intersects Fifth Avenue.

View Larger Map

There is pedestrian crosswalk with a little white pedestrian light here. It isn't much less dangerous. Drivers making the left onto Fifth over the wide intersection rarely stop for pedestrians already making their way across. And they are generally driving fast if they have not been stopped at the red light.

Over the last two weeks, it has been especially treacherous. There is road and sidewalk construction on the Mellon Park side. Rent -A- Fence along the fence protects the trees by order of the City of Pittsburgh. While the work goes on, the sidewalk is closed, and you cannot cross on or to that side. Though you don't know that until you are on the median. You can still cross sidewalk to sidewalk on the other side of the street, but because of the Bakery Square development construction further down, you cannot safely continue down Penn Avenue on the sidewalk. That stretch is effectively closed to pedestrians. But people, including me once, get caught everyday half way.

I am more conscious of bodily safety outside of my car than I was within. Sometimes I worried about crashes, or hurting someone else, especially someone on a bike, but rarely about my own fragile self. A few weeks before I gave up my car, my girlfriend and I were walking through a supermarket parking lot. Someone driving very fast through the lot, who seemed to see us, just barely missed hitting her with their car. It almost seemed as if they were calculating the time it would take for her to get out of their way- and betting on it. It was terrifying. I did something I can't remember doing before. I yelled an obscenity as they drove away. They yelled back at us. My anger shook me and shocked me. It stayed in my body for some time after, and in my mind for longer.

I think about it sometimes as I am walking on Penn Avenue's sidewalks. Penn Avenue, where cars speed by, and the wind from buses sometimes feels like it will blow you clean off the map, even when you are squarely on the sidewalk. The buses I ironically feel so safe riding at other times. Then I am not angry, just a little scared.

Tardiness

Having spent almost an entire lifetime perfecting the art of being on time, I have found it challenging to recalibrate my internal timeliness equipment. I had it down to a science- arriving just a few minutes before my scheduled time at work or a few minutes after the starting time on a party invitation. After ten years of having a car in the same city, beyond acts of God or PennDOT, I was reasonably sure of getting myself almost anywhere at the appropriate time. The appropriate time for me.

Call it conditioning, call it neurosis, or maybe it is just spill over from fear of the late bell at school- I don't like to keep people waiting. And, especially when I am going somewhere new, I like to have a few minutes to spare to orient myself, quelling any social anxiety or getting my footing. I know myself. But, car free, I am a slightly new self.

I was chatting with a friend recently about this phenomenon- traveling by bus or on foot and yielding to another set of assumptions about when and where I will arrive. She commented that there is a certain level of ceding control in the situation. That is true, to an extent- perhaps the first few times. But as it is a losing battle, surrender comes quickly and quietly. In the past, I have felt less in control in my car during traffic jams or trying to stand firm against the tyranny of certain car mechanics.

I accept that sometimes, if I take the bus, I will either be very early, or very late to parties- bus schedules don't necessarily run on my schedule. And I accept all of the consequences of that, including apologies and accepting acceptance from gracious people who love me anyway- even when I don't live up to my previous image of myself. I understand that if I want complete control over when I will reach some destinations, I will need to walk there(or bike- but that's for another post). I understand the consequences of that, too- sometimes arriving less than fresh and not bearing largesse too heavy to carry. But the more I walk the walk- or bus the bus- the more I learn about myself- my new self. She is far more flexible than I imagined.

Bag Lady

I needed dog food. And I needed it yesterday. It had been a busy week and I neglected to notice that the dry dog food bag was down to crumbs. In my former life, with car, I would have run right out to the grocery store the next neighborhood over at 11:15 pm when I discovered the empty bag. But car free, that did not seem like an option. Instead, I cobbled together a breakfast of crumbs, treats and people food for the poor dog, and used this as an opportunity for growth and strength training.

I say growth because I find it very difficult to ask anyone for any help of any kind. My mother has offered to visit more often and take me in her car on errands involving heavy lifting. But this trip was too last minute for that. I saw a little grocery cart in my girlfriend's basement, and asked her if I might use that. She had a better idea. Her waterproof Ortlieb messenger bag sits in the closet unused almost all year. The 15 pound bag of dog food would easily fit inside, and she added, I would get a nod from bikers in-the-know for my savvy choice.

I did look pleasingly Euro- stylish and felt smart and fit, too. Mission accomplished.

When I am not hauling dog food for a mile back from the grocery store, I have a couple of favorite everyday bags for toting my things to and fro. My "purse" is a recycled black rubber bag that I have had for years. All of my personal items like glasses and wallet are found there. The extras that I have started carrying since commuting and walking, I throw into a reusable grocery bag- a Chico Bag. Their colors buoy me without testing my gag reflex for the over-styled, and I like being able to swap out the one I am using, when it becomes dirty, for any of my others. They are flexible and washable, though not waterproof, as is my "purse". When it rains, I keep them close to my body, or switch to a plasticized, striped beach bag-type bag I got at Ikea.

There are lots of bags out there, at the bus stops, grocery stores, and on the sidewalks. Many people are still carrying their lunches, extra shoes, and of course, groceries, in disposable plastic bags from retail stores. My mom always used one of those even though she had a car. They are not classy, but they work, and while not environmentally sound, they are re-used often. And they are cheap, at least on the surface, for the user.

I saw a display for Blue Avocado reusable bags in a natural foods store a few weeks ago. Their take on the "bring your own bags" idea is a cute kit of bags that fold up small, some like little clutch purses- and I love clutch purses. A produce bag and chilled products bag fit inside a larger tote, for example, and all are rolled up neatly together when not in use. I liked the idea, until I saw the diagram on the display. It suggested that one should buy their bags "so you'll never look like a bag lady." What's wrong with looking like a bag lady?

If carrying around your things in the most convenient, weatherproof, and most uniquely "you" way is wrong, I don't want to be right. You know where you can stuff your yuppie bags, and whatever is stuffed in them.

The Frankstown

Port Authority wants your opinion. They have started a campaign about it, with signage and brochures on many Pittsburgh PAT buses reading “Don't Just Sit There!” and “Let's Talk; communication is a two way street”. I don't know how many takers they've had, but this is is what I read, neatly printed in black marker, on bus panel separating some seats:

“For incompetent drivers,
dirty buses, high fares,
less bus stops, delays and shitty
service, I chose the
One and only

PAT Transit”

It looked like a poster that could be replicated on other buses.


Port Authority of Allegheny County Public Hearing

Out of curiosity, I attended the public hearing that Port Authority held about a week ago to receive public comment on it's one year development plan, Connect 09. According to PAT, the plan “is aimed at making bus service simpler, faster and more direct.” Better meeting the needs of riders and making the bus service interact more smoothly with the trolley, incline and other transit systems are Port Authority's stated objectives. So I went to see what other riders had to say about it.

I rode the 71C to the hotel near the site where the new hockey arena is being built, instead of taking one of the transit authority's many shuttles set up specifically to get riders to the hearing. The air conditioning on the bus was broken, and it was one of those humid, very late summer days in Pittsburgh. Some riders, me included, were quietly bearing it, while others, like a young woman who got on a few stops after I did, were openly complaining. She said, “I hate to sweat. You know, if somebody got on this damn bus with asthma, they'd have a damn asthma attack.” I don't think she had asthma, but I found myself agreeing with her anyway, even though it made me slightly uncomfortable. You need someone like that. We all do.

When I arrived at the hotel banquet room where the hearing was being held, an elderly woman was just finishing her testimony about service to Garfield. She was upset. Since that is my neighborhood, I followed her out of the ballroom and into the lobby, where PAT officials were there to answer questions about proposed new routes with maps and new schedules. I was quickly rerouted . They wanted to talk to me about my own bus schedules. The woman left saying that they had alleviated all of her fears. I left more confused than ever.

Right now, there is no bus of my dreams that travels the entire length of Penn Avenue- one of Pittsburgh's busiest streets, which runs through and defines many east end neighborhoods. And there will not be such a bus with this new plan, either. Instead, the route for the 86B Fransktown, which practically takes me from my door to within a few blocks of my workplace near Homewood, will be cut in half. For complete door to door service from my home to work now, I can transfer from the 86B to the 71C in East Liberty. With the proposed plan, this will be my only option. Taking the new 88 Penn and transferring to the new 86 Liberty. It is not a very big inconvenience if it helps keep reliable bus service on Frankstown Avenue in Homewood, but it is not ideal- potentially costing me up to $20 more dollars a month. And the new numbering and lettering for the buses make as little sense to me now as they did before.


Some Public Testimony

Back inside the ballroom, I was impressed with the issues raised by riders, and by the gravitas with which they were received by PAT. Here are some of the comments from the portion of the hearing I attended:

Higher fares on Zone two passes are unfair. Many rider can barely afford the current rates- $24 a week to $30 a week.

It is inefficient to have buses running through the middle of the Downtown area. They should run around the perimeter of Downtown to avoid delays and traffic.

It is appalling to raise fares and cut service.

Investing in Park and Rides and catering to suburban commuters rather than neighborhoods within the city which rely on bus service.

There should not be shelters and bus stop signs where there is no longer service. People are confused by them everyday.

New service plans for the 11 route will adversely affect the kids who take that bus to school, and who, with the new reduced schedule, will only have one chance to get it right or be late for school. The new route will also cut those in the neighborhood off from other neighborhoods even more than before.

Please extend the busways to the east and west.


Connect 09... "Because People Want It"

Though the PAT officials were there to listen and not discuss, they did provide a 25 page document explaining their reasons for the Connect 09 overhaul. The gist is to do more with less.

Port Authority says that an overall evaluation of the system has not been done in over 50 years, and that with the new plan, service will be improved for existing riders, and new riders, who they are hoping to woo, will find the service easy to use. 60% of routes will remain the same, 6% will be eliminated, and 31% of routes will change(3% of the changes mean new routes). “Rapid Buses” promise more frequent service with less stops.

The plan has taken 2 years to create and included input from 24 previous studies and reports and from the public at other events and through their phone hotline and website. They say education is key for riders with negative comments,and that most complaints will not be by those with “true mobility concerns”, but by riders who either do not understand the changes or do not want to make changes to their current service.

I guess you can count me among those numbers- I am slow to change. I don't wholly identify with the bus graffiti I saw- for me the bus is affordable, and I find the drivers more than competent. But I will be thinking of their bosses with less than fondness when the person standing next to me at the bus stop is no longer asking, “Did the Frankstown come yet?' It's a neighborhood institution, and it is our bus.

People Are Talking

Pittsburghers have been talking, commenting and arguing about the G20 Summit happening here for months. PAT bus riders are no exception. Especially when we learned that our bus service would be curtailed.

A couple of weeks ago, I heard a conversation on the 71C outbound. The screen on the front of the bus still read “Go Steelers!”, instead of “Pittsburgh Welcomes the World”, which most buses now boast. Three women, two young women and one who was older, sitting in the front where the seats face one another, were discussing the city's G20 plans with the driver, and here is how it went:

“My aunt works at a building Downtown and they are closing her building and they ain’t paying her for those days. And that’s not her fault.”

“It’s not a matter of fault, it just is what it is.”

“Obama’s gonna be here speaking to the unions on the 15^th- you heard about that? And you ain’t even gonna see him. You think you are going to see him? It’s all going to be no problem.”

“They trying to stop the violence- there’s a difference between free speech and violence. In other places protesters burned shops.”

“When MLK was murdered, we burned it down. We burned everything in the Hill.”

“Why would you burn your own neighborhood? We don’t even have anything.”

Laughter all around, and then the older woman got off at her stop saying, “Have a good day, ladies.” I hope they all did. And I hope they are checking their bus schedules this week.

Zen Mind, Bus Mind

I am not a public transportation novice. Before I had a car in Pittsburgh, I relied on PAT buses regularly. I went to college just outside of New York City and made a complicated and long commute into the city weekly for internships there, not to mention all of the train and subway usage for less resume -building fun. I lived in London for a year and took the bus to Sainsbury's for groceries and the Tube and trains everywhere else- I have minded the gap with the best of them. But what I can no longer do is read a bus schedule.

Just last week I ran to the corner near our house and missed a bus which I was sure would not come again for another 25 minutes. It did indeed show up 12 minutes later- I read the schedule for the A instead of the B, which rattles down Penn Avenue more frequently. It was good news that day, but bad news for my general self esteem.

Growing up, my family pegged me as the book smart one, not the practical one. And though I am a tax- paying, fully capable, productive citizen, I still carry some of that assessment with me. For instance, when I am standing on a corner engulfed in bus fumes, wondering why I can't seem to manage something that most fifth graders can do with ease.

In an attempt to end the suffering, I ask myself, “Does it really matter when I get somewhere, as long as I get there?” As it turns out, yes, sometimes it does. And the burden is that this is entirely my doing. There are times when a bus is late, or it just never arrives, mysteriously disappearing from the rotation. But the situation here is that I just can't get it.

I cannot calculate the time and and distance projections for when a bus should arrive at a certain corner when it is .2 miles away from the corner last listed on the schedule. I cannot remember time intervals between buses on a given route during a particular time of day. And I cannot keep weekday and Sunday bus schedules straight.

When I started riding the bus again, I never consulted schedules. I was so pleased with the novelty of being picked up and transported where I wanted to go by someone else for a change. But now I have expectations.

At a stop in front of the new Children's Hospital, there is a number you can text to find out when the next bus scheduled will arrive, but most stops don't offer that service. My default is to ask the person already standing there, unless of course, it is just me, because everyone else has just been picked up 30 seconds before.

How do I make my peace with this when it frustrates me weekly? I suppose the same way I ignore other lapses of my aging mind, like my shortened short term memory. No amount of schedules in my bag is going to protect me from that.

It seems the way to master Bus Mind is to give in to it, but not to be mastered by it, either. As I work on that, I can work on my bus legs. They cause my body to waiver and totter more than my mind as I navigate buses with two-tiered interiors and abrupt stops.

Rip Car

The trouble with car sharing is that everybody's standards are different.

One of the considerations for my decision to go car-free was the presence of a national car sharing company here in Pittsburgh. My girlfriend doesn't drive or own a car, and the idea of a back up plan for emergencies or joy riding was appealing. For $50, I joined as a member of the service right before the registration on my car expired, and received the keys to my liberation soon after.

It turned out that we wanted to get to a family get-together in Washington County, about 35 miles away, the next weekend. Because we had a promotional coupon, we decided to throw caution to the wind and reserve the car for the whole day. In less than five minutes, our online reservation for a car parked near our home was complete, and we were excited about the adventure ahead.


1st Car Share Driving Experience

A day before the reservation time, I received an e-mail that the original car would not be available, and that the service had switched us to another car parked nearby. The next day we gladly climbed into a Toyota Prius. Once we figured out how to operate it, we had a great ride and a fantastic, worry free, if not car-free, day.

The Prius was quiet- so quiet when stopped at traffic lights, it felt like it had stalled. For a driver used to driving a car that required more participation- like keeping an ear out for noises and maintaining a strong will for getting up that next steep grade- the Prius was a dream. And though my mind and my upbringing tell me “Buy American”, my backside says otherwise. Forget about the environmental friendliness of the hybrid- whoever designed that driver's seat deserves a prize.

However, the car sharing service does not. When I checked my account online later to see if the promotional discount had been applied correctly, I discovered that I had been charged many times more than the original estimated cost. A call to the service revealed that the second car they assigned us did not have a day rate, as the originally booked car had, and so we were charged an hourly rate over 24 hours.

When I explained how they put us into a reservation that was not the same as the original without letting us know, I received the company answer from the company man- but they agreed to immediately refund the difference in driving credit or to put the difference back on my credit card in seven to ten days. With more pressing, I found that the driving credit would expire in two months. I opted for the card, but found days later that the full amount was not refunded. With another call, the problem was fixed.


Strike Two

Everything squared, I felt okay about trying out the service again a few weeks later when I need to take care of a tax matter in an old neighborhood of mine which is less accessible by bus. After all, it wasn't the driving experience that was daunting, it was the sticky aftermath. But when I went to pick up the car, which I had reserved for an hour, it wasn't there. A quick call to the service bought me a free half hour to walk to another of their cars and get me on my way. I was told that the new car was parked on a street with which I was familiar, but I couldn't find it, either. I am not great with maps or directions, but they were worse. Two more phone calls to the service, and it was finally found in a nearby lot.

Unfortunately, another call was in order. I had to report that there were scrapes and dents on both bumpers, and once inside the car, a large gash in the passenger side dashboard and a huge hole in the driver's side carpet. The car was parked in a lot in front of a club, and I imagined the previous driver and his or her sidekick dressed in glamorous heeled boots which this mere vehicle could not contain- one with feet kicked up on the dash and the other with pedal to the metal. The tank was empty, and the car share company's gas card, which customers use to refuel, was no where to be found.


Safety First

These minor nuisances all turned out to be the prelude to the real problem of the day. After driving the car for a few miles, it didn't feel quite right to me- more than just driving a car with which you are not familiar. I pulled over at a gas station, stepped out of the car, and realized that the underside of the front bumper was being held up from the pavement with three pieces of silver duct tape, the same color as the car. A crucial fourth piece had lost adhesion from the heat of the day and the dust on the road, and was causing this part of the car to drag. Another call. The customer service person apologized, and suggested that maybe I could reattach it somehow? He also suggested that I refuel on my own dime. A discount on all of my travels and travails for the day was also mentioned. I was too worn out to argue.

I have car shared since, and I am sure that I will again. Maybe I have low standards- lower than those of the car share company's customer service. That will take more than duct tape to repair. According to the company, car sharing is supposed to be easy, fast and fun- carefree. It was some of those things some of the time. Fast to reserve, and fun to drive a car I can't afford to own, but too easy to become tangled up in carelessness and silver tape.

In the Neighborhood, Phase 1

My dog enjoys walking on sidewalks. He prefers streets populated with alleys rather than trees, and likes hot sun as opposed to shade. He did not get this from me, but I try to oblige him whenever I can. It’s a dog’s life.

Unfortunately for the dog, the longer the walk or car-free commute I have ahead of me for the rest of the day, the less interested I am in our morning walk together. We meet in the middle by sticking mostly to our Garfield neighborhood, venturing out further on the weekends to Friendship(where we skip the park), East Liberty and Lawrenceville.

Garfield is a Pittsburgh neighborhood that gets a bad rap for crime and dilapidated buildings from some quarters, and for short-sighted development from others. On our walks, it is plain that there are not as many alleys. There are big, beautiful, fenced- in back yards and houses that look like they have been dropped from the sky. But these newer houses- clean, plain and somehow mid-western looking- have been carefully placed, not dropped, by the Bloomfield Garfield Corporation and Garfield Jubilee Association. They are the country cousins of the brick and other older homes in the area, speaking the same language, but with a different accent, and with scrubbed and more wholesome faces.

On a recent walk, with the first geese formations flying overhead, we saw kids waiting on a neighborhood corner for their yellow school bus while a yellow dirt remover worked to clear the front yard of a new home, a sign exclaiming, “sold” in a shiny new window. Earlier in the summer, we saw a crew of young Amish men put the roof and sides on another house in less than two days.

Some of the new houses are clothed in white DuPont Tyvek Home Wrap, and look like Christmas presents. A sign in front of a lot where a new home is being built tempts potential owners with an $8,000 tax credit if they buy before December 1^st. Next door is a house with a “Danger: Asbestos” sign tacked to the door, which is next to a house with boarded windows, “By owner, $100 down, $100 a month” sprayed in black paint on the wood. Next to that is a house with a small bicycle on the porch, a trash can on the curb awaiting picke up, and t-shirts and insulation wrapped around the pipes of the gas meter. As I worry about what my dog is nosing on the sidewalk, I hear cartoons on a television inside and I am sorry that a child has to live there.

The seven newest houses are part of Phase III of the development. According to this month's Bloomfield Garfield Corporation newsletter, delivered to our door, the mortgage payments for these homes may be “as low as $795/month”. Some of what I imagine are the Phase I houses already have some paint peeling from their less -new steps. I wonder how they will hold up against the elements and local scrutiny, and what kind of investment is really being made in this neighborhood.

Along side the new homes and the broken down homes are the houses that have already been enhancing these streets, with their lush gardens on smaller lots and their owners smiling and waving good morning to me as they get in their cars.

“That's a beautiful dog,” said a neighbor enthusiastically.

I beg to disagree, but didn't at the time. She is entitled to her opinion, her morning cheerfulness, and her bright blue porch carpeting. And she was just being neighborly.

Whine Flu

I don't have an H1N1 virus infection. I do have sinus pressure behind my eyes, and an active imagination.

The buses have been more crowded this week, with college and high school students back to school and parents of younger children taking new routes to accommodate day care and school pick up. More kids, more people, more germs. Or increased access to them.

When I started riding the bus again last month, after a 10 year absence, I noticed the children immediately. Right after I noted the cool, delicious air conditioning that I didn't have to feel guilty about (I didn't tell Port Authority to turn it on). But after I was refreshed, I noticed the children. There are children on our street who play, and loudly yell, in our yard. I have young nieces, and run into children here and there in my everyday life. But until I was seated on a bus with a wailing child again, they were not at the forefront of my mind, or my health care plan. I see them wiping their noses and their eyes and touching absolutely everything, as is their natural right. And I try to remember not to do the same.

Last month, H1N1 infections were reported at two local colleges, one in the city serviced by these very buses.

I got off the bus this week in front of the Walgreen's near my workplace, and for the first time in my life, I thought about getting a flu shot. There are vinyl signs all over the place shouting about it. Then this week my president urged the nation to get one- or at least the new one? I'm listening. At least my imagination is.

When I got up a little later than usual yesterday, and felt my joints and head achier than the day before, I committed the public sin of getting on the bus anyway. I tried to walk, but my body gave in. Once on the bus, I rested my head against the window in gratitude, and I cannot guarantee that I did not leave the telltale greasy mark there. But the bus is not for sick kids or adults. The excitement of leaving work was dulled by returning home the same way. If only I could have clicked my heels instead! I would have had a difficult time driving home, too- but it would have been more direct, and less bumpy.

So yesterday was the first day that I regretted my car-free life. Still considering the flu shot.