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  • Waiting for a ride

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.

Wednesday, May 26 Breathe!


A damp chilly morning, but the air smells beautiful. Fresh, with all the bewitching aromas of the trees and plants and grasses blasting away. Great! A short wait for a ride. I turn down the first offering – a red mini cooper. My 2 previous rides in this car have been terrifying. Like being in a high-speed chase. I defer the ride to the couple behind me (“we’re together”, she says). She is a petite 20-something and he, about the same age, must be at least 6 foot 2. The line up of riders watches while they tuck themselves into the tiny car. The girl gets in the back and then Mr. Tallboy somehow folds himself into the front. As they drive off we see his knees pressed into the dash and he doesn’t look happy.

I’m next and get into the back seat of another red vehicle, but larger, a Jeep SUV. The driver is about 50 and his front seat passenger, already in the car with him, appears to be his mother. He greets me warmly and we chat briefly about the weather then off we go. Plastic covers the floor of the back seat, a Forever 21 shopping bag full of (not Forever 21) clothing sits on the seat next to me. The woman in the front seat starts speaking a rapid fire non stop Spanish monologue which continues for the duration of the trip. I see her ancient hands reflected in the window. They are calloused, worn, hard working hands. She holds a Starbuck’s paper cup and a breakfast bar. A small white plastic cross hangs from the mirror, and numerous religious medals and Lotteria cards decorate the car’s ceiling. A large strawberry shaped air freshner dangles from the car’s ceiling light and is emitting an awful smelling deodorizer, next to a gold sequined butterfly ornament, which is pinned to the ceiling.

Traffic is terrible but not in our happy car pool lane. We hit the bridge at 7:45 along with the sun and arrive in San Francisco at 8 am.

Tuesday, May 25 Rain, rain go away


I’m in the back of a big Nissan suv. A tiny woman is driving and she’s wearing a fabulous cotton turtleneck sweater. The colors are gorgeous – all pastel stripes – pink, yellow, orange, green, blue, gray. A white plastic rosary hangs from the mirror. Her black jacket and a faux-leopard computer case ride near me in the back seat. A small video screen stares up at me from between the front seats.

The sky gets increasingly dark as our trip progresses. Rain is imminent and is forecast for the entire day. Traffic is very heavy this morning. At 7:40 a.m. we round the corner by Golden Gate Race Track and enter the Berkeley ‘corridor’ which is 4 full lanes of traffic crawling towards the Bay Bridge and points beyond. At the end of this corridor, the traffic divides at a complex intersection known as “The Maze”, where freeways 80, 580, and 880 all merge. The 80 freeway, which is my commute, continues on over the Bay Bridge; the 580 and 880 take you to Oakland, Alameda, and the Oakland Airport. As we continue in the carpool lane on towards the bridge, we experience what I consider one of the carpool lane’s finest moments – where we bypass the toll gates and whiz past hundreds of cars slowly oozing through the toll area.

Looks like trouble on the bridge with 3 tow trucks and 2 CHP cars all stopped in the right hand lane, lights flashing madly. Some unknown disaster. Once we’re past them we pick up our speed and are across the bridge and in the city at 8 a.m.

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, May 17 – I’m back and Bay to Breakers is over!


Monday morning, the day after the 99th Annual Bay to Breakers run in San Francisco – and my first go at it! I did it. 7.46 miles in 2 hours, 15 minutes. I walked – briskly – rather than running – in deference to a damaged knee, but it was still quite a work out. Sorry to have abandoned the Commuter Gal blog, but daily workouts at the gym plus a heavy time of year at work kept me away. I can’t believe I walked across San Francisco. It was great. Wow.

My ride today is a warm, luxurious Mercedes sedan with a diminutive, accountant-type lady driver. The weather is like November. Drizzly, 50 degrees and the prediction for the rest of the week is the same. Yuk. Traffic is fairly heavy today – at 7:20 a.m. – but today, for the first time in many I am not rushing to get to the gym to hop on the treadmill before work. I’m taking a day off.

We pass a stalled, broken-down commuter bus about half way down the 80 Freeway. What a drag for that bunch of folks. I’ve had a few carpool breakdowns. All very unpleasant. One was on a hot day returning home in the early evening commute. The driver’s car heated up and was smoking. The other rider and I had to give him our bottled waters to pour in the radiator. Really. It was ridiculous, but we made it home. One other time a car ran out of gas on the Bay Bridge (“my fuel gauge doesn’t work”, the driver said, “and I guess I underestimated how much gas to put in. Sorry”. Uh huh.) and last year the new lovely car I was in just stopped running. All systems failed. A highway patrol halted traffic on the 80 and pushed us over to the side of the road where we waited for a mechanic. I and the other rider wound up having to take BART the rest of the way in – the mechanic gave us a ride to BART and the driver graciously gave us money for our fare.

As we cruise past Berkeley and Emeryville today I look across the bay to the City and it is a dark, gloomy vista. Not a glimmer of sunlight. The marshlands at the end of the East Shore Park are quiet with only two terns gliding in the pools. We quickly pass the gridlocked toll lanes approaching the bridge and join the slow-moving traffic on the bridge. The quiet empty bay on my right is a contrast to the packed, squirming impatient commuter pack on my left. What a deal. We’re in the City at 8 a.m.

Wednesday, April 7 Short and sweet and warmer


Vallejo 6:50 a.m.
A few riders and a few cars to go along with them, so no waiting for anyone. As I walk up to the line I see a big tour bus type vehicle parked across the street from the carpool line. A fellow in a black suit and chauffeur’s cap is pitching the bus company’s (Bauer’s) new commuter service. “Free coffee and bottled water, Direct TV, wifi, restroom on board, plus the first trip is free, too!” he tells us. We sign up on his clipboard with our e-mails and contact info so we can get more info – like the cost, which he is unable or unwilling to share this morning. It sounds promising.

My ride is the back seat of a Suburu Highlander. The driver and I discuss the possible bus commute. “Sounds good,” he says and that he would consider it rather than driving, depending on where it drops off and picks up. Hopefully that info will be forthcoming.

It’s a gorgeous spring morning. Cool, but the temperature will be in the 70s later today. The air and sky is swept clean and clear after the days of wind and rains and the view across the bay from Berkeley is even more spectacular than usual. The City and all the buildings look like a postcard picture.

We’re at 65 mph the whole way. A few ducks and sandpipers are mulling around in the Eastshore Park water. Into the city at 7:30 a.m.

Tuesday, April 6 Hark, Hark, the Seals Do Bark!


Vallejo 6:45 AM
It’s about 40 degrees this morning, and as I leave the house bundled up in my winter gear I can hear seals barking over in the Carquinez Strait, just a block away. A fellow I used to work with who was a serious fisherman told me “when the seals are barking, the salmon are running”. Hopefully this is an omen that will mean a replenishment of the bay area’s depleted salmon population. It’s a happy sound and I bark along with them for a few bars.

When I’m dropped off at the carpool line it is a LINE this morning. About 50 riders lined up and no cars. Cars pull up in little batches of 2 and 3, and are only taking the required number to qualify for car pool (2 passengers) – even though they have plenty of room for another passenger, or in the case of an SUV 2 or 3 others! Small minded, I’d say. Damn, it’s cold out here and it looks like I won’t have much gym time before I go to work. 20 minutes later it’s my turn. I get into the back seat of a Toyota Corolla and an older gentleman gets into the front. Our driver barely acknowledges us. No good morning for him. He’s a 50-something Asian American and he doesn’t look happy. We pull away from the curb and as we slowly drive by the still long line of waiting riders, a women leans out asking for a ride. “no”, he says emphatically, shaking his head. “No!” Wow what a mean spirited attitude.

There is plenty of room in this back seat which I’m sharing with a box of Kleenex, one of those silver reflector things people put in their windows when they park in the sun, and I see on the floor, sheet music for the Messiah. maybe left over from Easter Sunday? Hard to imagine this guy singing, let alone singing something as rousing and joyous as the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. No barking for him!

Traffic bogs down and after about a mile I see why – a rear-ender has torn off the entire rear bumper of a car and the crumpled chunk of metal is laying in the center lane, forcing cars to go around it. The 2 cars involved have pulled over to the side and we go past them, picking up speed. Around the corner of the Eastshore Park and the baby Egrets are all out plodding around in the shallow water, their new white feathered selves brilliant against the gray water.

It’s a sparkling sunny morning and as we come across the bridge, the sun momentarily hits the peak of the Transamerica Pyramid building creating a showering ray of light, reminiscent of the old RKO Radio Tower logo. We’re in the city by 7:45.

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, April 1


Vallejo 7:35 a.m.
Very late. I’m super sore from my gym exertions and have overstretched something in my back. No gym today, and oh how I wish no work, but tomorrow (Good Friday) begins 3 days off, so there’s that.

Happily, today’s ride is just what the doc ordered. A really luxurious Mercedes sedan with the driver a lovely young woman beautifully coifed and red-nailed manicured (although jean clad for her Friday), smiling and as gracious as a flight attendant. The tape she’s playing says “SPA” on the dash screen and it is soothing and mellow. I let my tortured back muscles sink into the perfect leather seats and gaze out the window at a landscape that makes me think of fjords or Iceland or far away steppes.

The land is gray and shadowed and the water of the bay is shades of icy blue and gray. Cruising past Berkeley there’s that knock-out view of San Francisco, today looking like a distant land of Oz – all misty turrets and towers.

Up onto the bridge at 8:10 a.m. over the calm slate gray Pacific water. The murmuring sounds of the tape and this still, cool view lend a sense of time stopped – of something waiting to happen.

The egg to hatch, the bud to bloom, the sun to warm. Happy spring holidays to us all.