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  • Waiting for a ride

Tuesday, June 15 ‘your cheatin’ ride’


I’m in the front seat of an older Mercedes Sedan after a 15 minute wait today. I love Mercedes. Classy, safe, well-designed cars, although this car is pre-airbag, so I don’t feel quite as secure. But still, it’s a nice ride. As I approached the Vallejo carpool area, 2 women were standing alongside the curb waving for a ride, holding up 2 fingers to indicate they both wanted a ride. This is the area before you turn into the car pool pickup – about a block from where the riders line up. Blatant Cheating, ladies! I join the long line of riders and we slowly shuffle up to the front of the line and then I see those 2 cheating ladies walking to the end of the now even longer line. Ha. No one would give them a ride. How sweet it is sometimes.

This is a no talk ride. KBLX radio. Another cool morning and as we approach Berkeley and the view of the city, there is no view today. Just fog stretching across the bay.

Monday June 14 Pelicans and Tolls – Signs of Summer


The hot weekend felt great but waiting in the cold foggy wind at the carpool lane made it seem a dim memory. After 10 chilly minutes I have a ride in a Chevrolet Trailblazer, a big SUV. I’m comfy in the back seat of this big warm black vinyl interior. A friendly alert lady is driving. A small charm, a pale green bead, hangs from the mirror and a large San Francisco Giants decal is on the bottom of the windshield.

Enroute to the carpool this morning I saw a sight I’d never seen before. A group of about 20 pelicans at rest in the Carquinez Strait on various pieces of driftwood. “A flotilla of pelicans”, my husband commented. Although I’ve often seen pelicans flying in their swooping formations all over the bay, I have never seen them sitting in groups like that. Their huge white bodies against the backdrop of the softly lit morning fog was spectacular. This group at rest may very well have been flying all night, arriving just in time for the Summer Equinox – the first day of summer is next Monday, June 21, and pelicans are always a sure sign that summer is here.

Today’s ride is pleasantly uneventful. Traffic is heavy but it’s smooth sailing in our lane. I break the silence to ask the driver about her views on the impending toll. She’s not happy about it, but says “there’s not much we can do about it – not with this economy.” She’s not sure yet how she’ll deal with riders contributing.

We’ll all have some decisions to make this summer when the toll goes into effect – 2 weeks to go.

Friday (finally) June 11 Naked Bikers tomorrow


Ahh Friday. And a warm, real summer weather weekend coming up! This morning’s ride is a big Nissan SUV and I’m in the front seat with a lovely lady. Waits till we’re buckled in, makes sure radio and temperature are all to our liking and then off we go. We talk about the weather, my recent trip to New York (and the high humidity there that nearly did me in) and plane rides. I had a very uncomfortable flight on Continental. She is over 6 feet tall and said her cross country plane trips are “torture” with the limited seat space. Of course I ask her about the upcoming toll. She has been a regular casual carpool driver, but thinks it may be time to change her commute plans. She has been taking an evening karate (black belt!) course in San Francisco and when that ends in another month, she may switch to BART.

We agree that this may be the beginning of the end of the casual carpool system.

She said she’ll give it a try for a month and see how it works out. Whatever riders want to pay or not pay, she’s okay with that, and she would never refuse a ride to anyone because of the money. A good lady.

We have a laugh when we see a Toyota pick up go by with the decal “AMERICAN BY BIRTH – RAIDERS FAN BY CHOICE”. The rear bumper also sports a US AIR FORCE sticker. How’s that for a classic example of American Prime?

Something I’ve missed the last few years is the WORLD NAKED BIKE RIDE (http://www.sfbikeride.org/), taking place tomorrow, Saturday, June 12 in San Francisco. This is the 7th Annual such event in San Francisco. For six years in a row they have “protested against our dependence on fossil fuel by riding our bikes across San Francisco – Naked!” “Can you think of a better way to get people to pay attention?”, they ask. Check them out. They meet at noon at the Justin Herman Plaza and bike to Golden Gate Park and back.

A nice Friday light ride and we’re in the City in 40 minutes.

Monday, June 7 Vacation (and free rides) are about over.


Back to work after a week’s vacation in NYC. A wonderful week and a great time. How could it be otherwise in the city that never sleeps? There were many highlights – in the transportation category, the subways are always a thrill and amazingly efficient, and the city buses are a great scenic ride (I took one from the Lower East Side to the Metropolitan Museum) and saw everything in between from my comfortable, air-conditioned seat.

This morning I’m in the back seat of a Saturn sedan. Two ladies in the front are silent and seem pre-occupied. Traffic is light and we’re moving along, and we should reach the city well before 8 AM. I’m hoping to make the gym before work since I have slacked off during the vacation.

So – we’re on a final countdown to the bridge toll launch on July 1. Any comments on how you as a carpooler will deal with this? Are you going to pay up? And how much? $1.25? More/less? What if you don’t have change? What if you don’t have any money with you?

I think $1 should be acceptable unless you have the change and can easily pay more. If you’ve forgotten your money or only have a $5 bill, you may be out of luck, depending on who the driver is. Some drivers won’t care whether you pay or not. But I can see this whole scenario making the daily commute a bit more complicated.

Thursday, May 27 Eeeyoo! (achoo!)


More chilly rain for today and tonight, but the Memorial Day weekend forecast is for HOT! Too bad I’ll miss it. I’m off to NYC on Saturday for a week in the great big apple. So I’ll miss the bay area’s probably brief warm weather, but it looks like they’ll keep it warm for me on the east coast.

Today’s ride is pretty bad. The vehicle, a Honda CRV, looked promising, but once I opened the door, I should have turned around. Trash and clutter around the seat is a bad sign and there was that aplenty. Once I got in and closed the door, it got even worse. The guy driving had a huge cold. Yuk. A real juicy, nose-running-off-his-face disgusting noises head cold. He kept fumbling for kleenex from a box between the front seats, and as we entered the freeway he swerved the car in the middle of a giant sneeze. Honestly, if we had not been entering the freeway, I would have asked him to let me out of the car. Once we’re really underway, I see he’s a bad driver to boot. The speedometer moves up to 80 mph while he’s tailgating and changing lanes. Luckily, the rain begins to really come down and he’s forced to slow down with the rest of the traffic. In between sneezes and blows the driver plops a cherry in his mouth from a small, damp awful looking plastic container perched in front of the box of kleenex.

The one saving feature of this ride is NPR radio, which I listen to intently to keep my mind off this revolting ride. Fortunately, the trip is brief – traffic is light, and we’re across the bridge by 7:50 a.m.

This morning was one of the few times I’ve had a post-ride conversation with my fellow passenger. As we left the car and started down Fremont Street, we both looked at each other, shaking our heads. “I hope I don’t get that cold”, I say. “I’m on vacation next week.” “That’s what I was thinking, too,” the guy from the back seat said. “I just got over one, and don’t want another. Not a good ride today.” We wish each other a good day and move on to our workday.

Friday, May 21 Gas and Oil, Toll and Trouble.


Snow is predicted today on the higher elevations of the bay area. Who says’s there’s no climate changing going on? A cold but mercifully brief wait for a great ride in a VW Passant. Very pretty woman driving with a wonderfully rich and melodic latina accent. She turns on the heater that warms the seats and it is wonderful. Ahh. We discuss the weather and agree that the planet is definitely undergoing a major shift. And now it looks like the Gulf oil spill may become an international incident as well, with the oil spreading to waters around the globe.

The rider in the back seat falls asleep as we continue to chat about the soon-to-be toll charge for casual carpool. The driver asks me, “Will you object to paying the driver $1.25?” I give my usual spiel – no of course not. It is not the drivers fault that the only simple minded solution to the over-runs on the bridge and freeway repairs is to raise the toll. And to put at risk a beautiful commute solution known as Casual Carpool.

I ask her if she will let riders ride if they do not pay, and she emphatically says “NO! it is not worth it to me to pick up people if I have to pay gas and parking plus the toll. If they do not want to pay, they cannot ride with me”. We agree this is going to be hard on the casual carpool. In today’s setting of environmental desperation where we need to get rid of our gas-guzzling cars (or at least use them less), and use more public and shared transportation, why, why cannot toll authorities, public transportation officials and our elected representatives see that we need to make a drastic departure from the way we are doing this. We’ve got to stop relying on the oil that has cost countless lives and misery in the Middle East, pollutes every breath we take, and now is destroying our oceans. Eventually, of course, the oil will run out and we’ll have no choice.

The lovely driver says, “In other countries, people protest, complain, make noise, but here we are quiet, until it is too late.”

I consider what she’s said. It’s true – not enough of us attend public meetings, sign petitions, join protest groups, write to our representatives. Maybe we’re just too tired from commuting.

Tuesday, May 18 A slow day


I’m moving slowly this morning and am half an hour later than I should be. After 7 AM the line of riders is usually long and the cars are few. So I wait. And wait. But here’s a lovely ride in a new Chevrolet sedan. Spacious and comfy and the driver invites a 3rd passenger, so we are 4 and a full load. We all thank her and comment on why people don’t usually take more riders when they have the room. “I’ve heard them say it makes the car out of balance and uses more gas”, she smirks. “That’s nonsense!” The front seat passenger says she’s heard it has something to do with the insurance. “More nonsense”, says our no-nonsense driver as she heads out onto the freeway. She’s a 50s something Eve Arden type. (Go Google Eva Arden, a terrific actress whose career began in the 30s). I remember Eve Arden in an early TV series called “Our Miss Brooks”. It was also an even earlier radio series. Younger blog readers may remember Ms. Arden as the high school teacher in Grease and Grease 2. Check it out and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

Traffic is awful, even in the cp lane and we slog along. My rear seat companion, a youngish Asian-American fellow, is sound asleep next to me. A bit of sun is making its way through the thick fierce-looking clouds covering the bay and as we roll past Berkeley I see the sun is hitting the pale buildings of the City. The Spring tide is out leaving a shallow shoreline. 8:15 AM and we are in San Francisco.

Monday April 5 Sun and Showers


6:40 a.m. Vallejo

Fortified with plenty of Easter chocolate, I’m highly motivated to be up early to get to the gym. A very cold wet Easter weekend here and this morning is more of the same. Two ladies are hovering at the riders’ line, indecisive about which car to get into. I go ahead and get into the first car, an older Toyota pickup. The driver is a grizzled older guy with long gray old-hippie pony-tail hair. He’s a painter, clad in old overalls with lots of paint splattered tools on the dash and poked into the cup holder. This is definitely a working vehicle for him.

“No one wants to ride with me this morning. I wonder why” he says. I diplomatically point out that perhaps the two ladies probably wanted to ride together (which they couldn’t do in this 2 person pickup). “No, he says, “they weren’t together, they just didn’t want to ride with me. I don’t know why riders are so picky – it’s a free ride.” I agree, but tell him that some people prefer a newer vehicle, or a larger one, or maybe are waiting for a friend. I add that some ladies are reluctant to ride alone with a male driver. I am quick to add – before we pick up speed on the freeway – that I avoid dangerous drivers who drive too fast. He agrees that would be a definite consideration.

He’s been driving and occasionally riding in the casual carpool for about 10 years and asks me if I know a lady named Barbara, who used to be what some of us in the line called a ‘monitor’ for the carpool line. I may have known who Barbara was, but not by name. The whole ‘monitor’ thing used to amuse me no end, when I took casual carpool home at the end of the day (now I usually take BART or the Ferry – the carpool line at 5 PM is L O N G, and the wait for a ride is often an hour). The self appointed monitors were riders who would position themselves at the head of the line, and as drivers approached, would urge them to take more riders. This was done by holding up fingers on their hand, leaning forward and calling out (depending on the size of the vehicle), “3, can you take 3?”, or “4, take 4 riders!” These people were great, like cheerleaders, and the whole pack of people waiting in line would be energized by them. And they were very effective. Many drivers would acquiesce to their urgings and take an additional passenger or two, which helped move the line along considerably.

One lady monitor in particular (and perhaps this was his friend Barbara) was very enthusiastic in her urgings, and one evening when a large van pulled up she persuaded the driver to fill his van and take 6 passengers, and she called out to the line “6, roll ’em out, 6 riders!”

My driver said that Barbara had been hit by a car at the Vallejo car pool line area, one evening after work when she had been dropped off and was crossing the street to return to her parked car. I have long thought that this was a dangerous situation. It’s a busy street, just off the freeway, and gets chaotic with riders being dropped off, drivers making u-turns, cars pulling into the car pool lot (which is also a Greyhound Bus station), and there is no 4-way stop or street light there.

I asked when this had happened, and he said several years ago. I also wondered if she had survived, since he was speaking of her in the past tense. “Yeah, she made it, but it was a hit and run, and the driver left her for dead. They airlifted her to a hospital and she was there for quite awhile. She recovered, but never rode carpool again.” He got to know Barbara through the carpool. They discovered they were neighbors, and worked near each other in San Francisco, so she was a regular rider with him, whenever their schedules coincided. “She worked for a law firm, and they were real nice to her. It took her almost a year before she could go back to work. They never found the guy who hit her.”

Our ride today is moving quickly – almost like a Friday. It may still be a Spring holiday for some who have not returned to work. We’re almost over the bridge by 7:20. The driver asks me where I work, and when I tell him, he says he goes right by there and is happy to drop me off. Wonderful – a ride right to my door. I picked a great ride this morning.

Thursday, March 18 – The Conference Call


Vallejo 6:40 a.m.
I’m in the backseat of a black Mercedes sedan. The driver is wearing a green satin shirt and black slacks; long straight very light blonde hair. She makes me think of Meg Ryan – more because of her gestures and voice than her face. “How long does it take to drive to San Francisco?” she asks as we get settled in the car. The front seat passenger is silent, perhaps still thinking about how close she came to being run over by my husband a few minutes ago, who was about to drop me off at the car pool area. She’s dressed all in black, with short black hair, and she was nearly invisible darting across the busy street to the car pool line in the pre-dawn dark.

So I answer the driver’s question. “It averages about 45 minutes. On Friday it could be 30 minutes; on a bad day as much as an hour and a half.” Hard to believe this horrendous commute is only 35 miles.

The driver says she has a conference call coming up and may have to take it in the car, depending on the time.

“I’ve heard they’re going to start charging toll for the car pool lane”, she says as we take off. The carpool toll, which goes into action on July 1, is an issue that pushes my commuter gal button and I give her more information than she probably wants. She was unaware that the regular, non-carpool toll is being raised to $5 and we agree that the $2.50 for carpoolers will still be a good deal.

She checks to make sure the heat is comfortable for us, pointing out a lovely little heat vent just for the back seat (ahh), and we are on our way. Within a few miles she has to take the conference call and asks the front seat passenger to write down the call-in information as she calls it out.

Approaching the Berkeley area, the driver becomes an active participant in the conference call, identifying herself as Lisa and describing an awful sounding accounting procedure to someone named Brian. Traffic slows to about 10 mph as we pass Berkeley and I look out the window at the other lanes of slow traffic. Right alongside us is a huge white truck. As I watch, the truck comes up behind the small sedan in front of it and hits it. My god. What’s weird is that the driver of the sedan doesn’t respond. I am looking right at him and he continues to drive along as though nothing happened. Not a flinch, even. I exclaim, “did you see that truck hit that car!” and Lisa shushes me, since somewhere in space and time at the other end of this call a roomful of people can hear every word I’m saying. She turns around and gestures that yes, she saw it too and pantomimes with her hands the truck hitting the car. We drive on picking up speed as we cross the bridge. The sun is coming up and it looks like we’ve made the trip in about 40 minutes today. We get out at the drop off spot, mouthing ‘thank you’ to Lisa who is still on her conference call.

March 11 Thursday Out of Sync


Vallejo 6:45 AM
Hurrying, running late, forgetting cell phone and lunch, going back home to retrieve and finally at the carpool line. Phew. No cars at all, and then one pulls up. I get in. Because I was not paying attention, I screwed up and have climbed into the CLASSIC BAD RIDE. This is a small red Honda roadster, low to the ground (I had to climb down to get into the car).

I get tucked in, fasten seat belt and we take off, pulling at least 10 Gs. Or so it seems. The air conditioning is ON, although it is 45 degrees outside. The vent is aimed at my face and I push it aside, providing some relief. As I do that I notice there is no passenger air bag. Wonderful. A small mirror ball is swinging wildly from the rear-view mirror, spewing prismatic reflections about the tiny car. It adds to the craziness of this nightmare ride.

The driver is a Mexican-American in his 50s and I can tell by the way he works the gears (manual transmission) that this is a car that likes to go fast. He’s wearing a blue tooth gizmo in his ear. The car trembles and strains to go faster with each gear shift. Where is the traffic this morning to slow this bastard down? The freeway is wide open and this guy is loving every 85 mph minute of it. He pulls out of the carpool lane whenever he comes up behind a car, accelerating and passing, then cutting back in.

Would this be the time, do you think, that I should tell this driver, who smells too strongly of Dial deodorant soap, to slow down, and risk a confrontational situation with him as we go 80+ mph? I think not, and feel like crying.

Traffic is getting a bit heavier thank you god as we near Berkeley. I promise myself I will not do this again if I have to stand in the line for an hour! Ah here’s Berkeley and traffic is mercifully crawling along. The horrible car groans and strains through the down shifting gears. The driver is not happy. Neither is his passenger.

When we reach the drop off at Fremont Street at 7:30, I climb out of the car as quickly as I can and say nothing. It is a pleasure to see him drive away.