Commuting is Not Supposed to be an Adventure

Commuting to DC from Baltimore using the trains is not supposed to be an adventure. Ironically, it is. One day the train is just late departing Union Station in the evening or it is late arriving at BWI Station in the morning. The next day the locomotive shuts down 100 yards out of the station in the track yard and we all have to wait for the word about whether we will proceed soon or be pushed back into the station to await another locomotive. It is a great thing we are not flying. There is no such thing as stopping after departure and living to tell about it.

In the years that I have commuted, many people have come and gone from the place where I sit. Some of them reappear as though by some twist of the space-time continuum and there they are again after four or five years. Mostly, when we meet, there is no recognition that years have passed and not merely weeks or a few months. But there the person is. Sometimes there is the opportunity to catch up on what has transpired but mostly it is a "Hi, haven't seen you in a long time." and then they are gone. Once I met a man with whom I worked 19 year earlier at an Engineering firm before I began the daily trek into DC. He stopped long enough to ask if I was Bob and had worked at the RBA Group. He was Tom any we were there together until the day the US Air Force began bombing Iraq the first time. We were the last hired in Traffic Engineering and Drafting departments. We got the same layoff speech from the VP. That was a one time crossing on the train that one day.

People notwithstanding, the larger portion of the adventures come when an Amtrak locomotive catches fire ant halt all three track north of New Carrollton or the two tracks south of New Carrollton station. There are 1000 ways to be delayed when using the MARC commuters trains and the WMATA Metro Rail systems. Just let me clarify: The worst day on the trains is better than the best days on the Capital Beltway, BW Parkway and I-95 north to Baltimore. More accidents and deaths are recorded on those roads each year than in the 33 year history of Metro and similar history of MARC. The difference is when there are 600 to a thousand other people to share the experience, the legends grow.

We've hit deer on the tracks. We've hit trespassers on the tracks. Brake lines have blow out bringing the train to a rapid halt. Irate or otherwise ignorant passengers have pulled the emergency brake handle. One day in the middle of a particularly hot summer week, the northbound MARC stalled out on the tracks between stations and eight cars of passengers were made to sweat it out until a mob mentality arose and people began removing the emergency exit windows to get air circulation. It was not long before the more bold amongst then dropped themselved out the window and walked to the station to catch cabs and call for friends to pick them up.

Union Station is the transfer point between the MARC and the Metro Red Line. Union station has seen its share of police and security actions when "suspicious packages" have been spotted and we are all corralled away from the alleged danger. The corraling itself poses a greater threat in that upwards of 1000 anxious commuters are halted at the exit doors only to stagnate the flow creating bigger threats to safety. I usually head to the Center Cafe to wait out the delays with other people who use the same opportunity for a relaxing interval. There is a stable group that congregates there during delays.

The best part of the commute comes in the evening when the Car 5 Gang assembles and kicks of 40 to 60 minutes of social time where political ideologies and economic policies are debated with more enthusiasm than in the Congress where Representatives and Senators rely on their staffs to tell then what is in the Bill. We hear the family matters, pet health stories, tales about trying to get rid of groundhogs, and of dissing the ignorant parker who unloads his bags behind the car of a Member who is in a hurry to get home. There are the stories of glory days of military service, police department service and of all the current idiots with whom everyone seems to work. Closer to home, so to speak, there are the occasional fringe commuters who stop in the membership area for a day or two and not recognize the disruption and inconvenience they present. Waldo is a huge man who had a propensity for standing by the door to the vestibule. His mass along with his over stuffed shoulder strap bag would sway side to side brushing up against the people who had seats by the door. On a particularly wobbly day on the tracks his intrusion into their intimate space was more pronounced. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact of his incursions until Inspector Gadget asked him if he was going to keep bumping into him today. He said nothing but was a bit more conscious of his bag.

Mornings are different. Most of the Gang are one various morning trains ranging from 5:30 to 8:00. The evening is where everyone comes together.