So We Say Goodbye To One of Our Own

Ericka and her mother have been long-standing members of the Car 5 Gang. Others have come and gone while still others changed schedule and took up on earlier or later trains. Some, like the Princess, have moved on to other endeavors such as out of state colleges or different jobs that do not require commuting on the MARC. New family members take their precedence as in the case of our “Bicycle Coastguard Girl” who traded her folding bike and daily commute for now two little girls.

On July 24, of this year, Ericka made her last run with us in favor of a new house south of where she works rather than our northern location. In honor of that departure her mother and Trish organized a pizza and beer commute to celebrate our grief at her departure. The train itself did what it could to almost quash the party by having funky doors that were not being cooperative. Our train boarding time was shortly delayed while the maintenance crew worked on them. The sledge hammer that was stood up along the narrow platform 13 seemed incongruous but was not actually used in the door repair procedures.

For our celebration Larry, Sam and Shelly all opted for the later 5:20 train home in order to attend our celebration.

At one point Trish phoned to say that she was almost to Union Station and that she needed help carrying in all the supplies. I told her I’d come if necessary and she said that she left messages with two other people to meet her if possible. Noise levels were high at Union Station and the conversation difficult. Shelly and Jan and I went to the second car doors to await the authorization to enter when they got the door closers synchronized, or whatever they needed to accomplish. That is when Trish called again and said she was there by the elevator and needed the carry assistance.

I could not reach George or Mike who were still back by the waiting room so I started back to get to Trish. I med George along the way and passed the mission off to him. He passed Mike and the two of them went on the mission to bring the pizza and beer back to the train. Jan, Shelly and I occupied our end of the train to protect it from interlopers who would take up our party space. A short time later, Mike, George and Trish arrived with the supplies and we all congregated within the next few minutes.

We missed Billy, Big Bobbert, Diane and a myriad of folks who have not been around for our irregular partying. Chris, Mark, the other Mark, “Raven” and Gerry. Some of them are just on different schedules and someone knows where they are. Others have just faded into the mythology of the Car 5 Gang.

Another Day on MARC Trains

The first indication that the commute home on Monday might have a problem dropped into my email Inbox at 3:54 with the message: "Due to a broken down train just outside Union Station, all inbound and outbound Penn Line trains will be delayed 30 to 40 minutes. Some Brunswick Line trains may be delayed also. Metro will honor MARC tickets." Stopped across the hall to give the heads up to the company CFO since he rides the Brunswick trains. He replied," Oh that's not good." I agreed.

I made plans to leave a few minutes earlier to get an earlier train if possible, even if it was not going to depart until after my usual 538 train that leaves at 5:20 on a good day. Friday a week earlier sudden storm cells attacked the District causing massive delayed departures and slow running due to power outages, trees on the tracks and catenaries and eventually flooding. That day ended with a five hour commute back to Baltimore at the BWI Airport. On that day I missed getting an earlier train by a minute and boarded the 538 and waited for our departure. That is when the storms hit and hit hard. The minimal delays became longer and I activated SOP #1. That procedure was to get off the train and head to the Center Café in Union Station for drinks, food and mutual commuter grousing about how bat it was and how much we did not really care because we were at the Café and not stuck on a stranded train. Only Barbara and I from our regular group took that option. Others braved the Camden Line and eventually arrived home about one hour earlier than Barb and me.

By 4:39 the MARC service notification system was reporting that Penn Line trains were on the move again, the 3:23 departure was 70 minutes late and the following 3 trains would depart in order.

I arrived at Union Station and wended my way through the forest of people standing around paying more attention to their cell phones and iPads then the fact that they were standing squarely in the middle of the hall. The corridor to the trains was full. The queue area inside the main station was full and the waiting areas with the seats were all packed with delayed commuters. I looked around for familiar faces and seeing none I texted the Gang who have text numbers with "Bob @ 4:58 ~~ MARC Fubar = Center Café ~~ Who knows. It's still early. Major crowds from earlier trains that did not pull out. Sent from my BlackBerry wireless handheld. I went to the Café and ordered a beer. The other from the gang were not responsive. I sent a follow up message: Big time crowd a Union. I'm going pre-emptively to the Center Café to wait for "announcements." Kaycee was the only one to reply with:"LOL @ pre-emptively."

I was enjoying my second beer and conversation with a man who had come down from NYC in the morning for a meeting and was really in need of being on his way back. He was somber and resigned to the fact that soon he would have a soft seat and a 3 hour sleep if he wanted it. Little did he know of the collision of events that he was soon to experience. Mike texted that our 5:20 departing train was boarding on track 12. I had nine minutes by the schedule to get there so I settled my tab and sped over after replying that I was on my way. Many of the regular gang was already there. George, Billy, Kristin, Sandy, Ted, Mark and Kathy, Lisa Marie and even Shelly were all seated and hopeful of an imminent departure. Surprisingly we made a timely departure and slowly eked our way out of the station and into the switch yard. That pesky Amtrak train was gone, or backed into the station or something. Whatever its fate, we were on our way home.

The going was slow through to New Carrollton due to the ongoing snafus that had held up all the traffic. One report suggested that there might have been some signal problem up the line that had interfered with the earlier trains. A few miles up the line is where the real trouble started. Up to just then the delays were all virtual and imminent. Right there is where they became eminent. While moving slowly along the line, the train lost HVAC and lighting power and the train rolled along in an eerie silence. Without the air blowers going the mechanical sounds of the train are actually very quiet. When all goes silent it is difficult to say whether the train is still under power or just coasting. When power is lost it takes about a minute to realize that you are slowing down to a stop. Many times the train slows but doesn't stop. We proceed in back up to cruising speed and everything is alright. This Monday evening, the train slowed then came to a sudden halt.

The HVAC and lights returned for a few seconds at a time with about a minute or two between. We were not moving and that was what concerned us. One of our female Conductors came through the car from the head end at a brisk pace. I said, "Hello, goodbye," as she passed on through. A few minutes later she returned and looked at me. "There you are, I was looking for you." She then disappeared toward the head end again.

Kristin said, "She did see you? She must not have been looking." I said, "when people don't see the wheelchair, I can be invisible." That is a common occurrence when someone is looking for a dominant feature. My comment got a little chuckle from several members of the Gang.

The MARC that had followed us out of the station stopped on out right side. Our announcement said that the motor had a mechanical problem that was not able to be remedied any time soon. All passengers destined for Martin’s Airport would be taken on by the 640 train that was sitting next to us. They figured about 140 people met that criterion. Later the next day, Larry emailed me that more like 400 passenger got that transfer. As it was leaving and leaving the rest of us behind, Ted commented that the “Carpathia had just steamed away.” About half the folks in our seating area caught the reference.

An Amtrak train heading south to DC stopped on the track on the left of us. I started a line of humor imitating a PA announcement that was being made on the Amtrak train “Ladies and Gentlemen, do not look out the left side windows. There is nothing to see. Out the right side of our train – oh, look naked people…” Soon there was a metallic banging and clanging sound emanating from the vestibule at the end of our car. It continued for several minutes until our female Conductor came walking past us carrying a long handled sledge hammer. Apparently the railroad keeps such a tool in a cabinet somewhere on board for whatever use they may need to put it. After a few whack sounds she and another Conductor came to me and said it was time to go. I had to get off right there without explanation of to where I was heading. The train had been going to DC and still was. Lisa Marie had not been too far afield when she joke that all the Gang sitting together could actually pick me up and carry me to the rescue train if necessary.

The combined train crews of MARC and Amtrak along with a couple more people who were railroad workers had constructed a bridge between the doors of the two trains and they now wanted me to roll across it. The span was about 5 feet and down about a foot and a half. Part of the construction was a train-to-train grounding wire that was attached like a long battery jumper cable. This assured that there was no electrical potential difference between the trains or a residual static charge build up that could shock anyone who could touch both trains or a train and the aluminum bridge. Both our trains were pulled by electric motor that took voltages off the overhead catenaries.

In short order I was on the Amtrak train and sitting in the alcove next to a baby carriage (with baby) and talking with the parents who were wondering what was going on. They did not seem to have been apprised of the purpose of their unscheduled stop. Another woman walked up the aisle to get some word from me who had just appeared while they were stopped. I explained that the train outside their left side windows was a disabled train heading north to Baltimore and the Amtrak was taking on a few passengers before continuing south to DC. They took down the bridge and closed up the doors. We moved on to New Carrollton.

They stopped there and left it to me to figure that that was supposed to be where I would get off. No one actually said that I should do that, but I opted to go figuring that the next MARC would be by soon enough. The platform announcement was that there would be a 6-something train departing DC but they had no information for when. A man with a white cane stood on the platform checking info on a cell phone. I asked him if he was getting sufficient information so as to know what was happening. He was satisfied that he was getting enough. Just then I saw a MARC train backing into the NC station from the north. I told the man that it was a MARC and that it would be going north eventually.

My having seen it stopped north of NC made me wonder if I should have gone all the way back to Union Station. It was fortunate that I did not. Alice, a familiar Conductor, leaned out the door of the third car saying they had come back especially for me. I said thanks and could they take my new friends too? About a dozen of us boarded there and were soon heading north again.

We stopped on the right of the disabled 538 train from while I had just disembarked. On this side of the train the #1 track and the #2 track are about 20 feet apart. There would be no feasibility to build a bridge between these two trains. The ambulatory passengers arrived in streams from three doors, across the ballast rocks and into the 442 train where I now sat. A few people now boarding expressed relief when they saw me that I had gotten off and was there. Previously, I feigned concern that everyone else was going to get off and have to leave me behind to wait out whatever the final outcome of the breakdown was. Lisa Marie poked her head in the door to say hello before going to the next car to get a seat.

After transferring the remaining several hundred passengers to the 442, we moved on to make all stops to BWI and Penn Station. The remaining trip lasted until about 7:45 and I was home by 8:00. And there was the beginning and the end of another MARC Commuting Adventure.

After all that transpired and was done to remedy the bad day, the railroads did an admirable job. MARC Crews, Amtrak Crews and the railroad workers along with the operational personnel located in their communications centers all coordinated to minimize the fallout from the mechanical failure. Twelve-hundred stranded commuters were accommodated with the Plan B protocols. They were not happy about being delayed, but even 10 minutes late at BWI creates a level of antipathy that even the Frankenstein Monster would cower from like when the villagers come after him with flaming torches and pitchforks.

Not withstanding the cause of the original failure that stopped the train between stations, the engineer and crew on the train all did their remediation procedures in a timely and efficient manner. As with all unexpected occurrences such as this one, each one is different and requires a flexible response that doesn't always include passenger information to the level that people want. We didn't get a "rescue engine" like the MARC/Amtrak management said we would for such instances. Water bottles were not in al the overhead racks, but as many commuters know, they and other took undue advantage of the "free water." You all know who you are and know others who partook.

With the failed motor that definitely was not going to move again any time soon, the engineer concentrated on restoring the HVAC and lights. They were back in about 15 minutes. There are hundreds of modes of failure in a transportation system such as a railroad. The best we can hope for is that we choose to be on vacation, work from home or be away on business travel when a major delay happens in the future.

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Tribute to Davy Jones

February 29, Davy Jones of the Monkees singing group from way-back-when died of a heart attack at age 66.

Some of us did a tribute to him on the train with singing of The Last Train to Clarksville and Daydream Believer. I recall your love of the Monkees and late nights listening to their records.

Some one asked where he was and Mike replied, "I don't know but he was in Pleasant Valley Sunday." We were all recalling our early days since a lot of us are about the same age range. Both Mike and Pamela said they still have their vinyl records.

George is a more recent arrival in the US. He didn't know who we were talking about until we got to Daydream Believer when he exclaimed, "oh, I know him" in his characteristic accent.

Then last night there was a reunion concert on the TV with Simon and Garfunkel singing a few of their old songs from that same era in our lives. They both looked so old, but I had to remind myself that I too had slipped the surly bonds of youth and was opining on their looks through equally older eyes.

#1 Elevator

The office building I work in has a bank of three elevators. Normally one presses the call button and one of them soon arrives and you get in and go up to the suite or down to the Lobby and that is it. Most times it is a solitary ride unless it is lunch time and a group of us leave and return together after going out to the same lunch spot for whatever we chose to buy that day. Occasionally there is someone to hold the door for to share the ride up to various floors. On the way down at the end of the day more that one person has the same idea for when to leave work for the day.

On this particular day I met a coworker as she returned from dropping mail in the Lobby mail bin. I pressed the hall call button and waited the requisite amount of time for one of the three units to rise to our 10th floor suite. This day the #1 and the # 3 car arrived nearly simultaneously. My first thought was 'this is odd.' However when Stephanee stepped out of the #1 car, I realized that it was a coincidence that she arrived from the Lobby just as the #3 arrived at my call. Since she was there I commented that both cars arrived and I used the one she came out of. My choice was a 50/50 one but weighted on the #1 by a social factor of talking with a coworker at that moment.

On the way down the car stopped on the 7th floor to pick up Brian as he was leaving. I did not know Brian just then, but circumstances would soon change that. We did the usual process of ignoring each other than to briefly nod to acknowledge each other. He continued to view his cell phone screen as the door closed and we proceeded down to the Lobby.

Before we reached that elevation, the car stopped abruptly just as we were expecting to stop gently at the Lobby. I commented, "that was a rather abrupt stop." Brian looked up and noted that the floor indicator still showed "2". I continued my comment with, "that's not good."

We began to speculate whether the ride would soon be completed and whether the elevator car would reset and continue. It didn't. The lights stayed on so we were not left in the dark stuck in a small space. None of the panel buttons would light when pressed. I tried the obvious "door open" and "door close" just to be sure. The red emergency indicator light kept flashing and beeping at irregular intervals. It read "Fire Emergency Indicator Retuning to Lobby Level". We did not believe that report. We could hear the other cars moving up and down as we pondered our next moves and fate.

Brian rang the emergency bell to try for the lobby guard's attention. I reached for the telephone box to see if it actually worked and if some one would actually answer. Operator 54 answered and I provided the rundown of our situation. "Colorado Building, Car #1, two people, no crises other than we are bored and really want to get home." Op 54 said he was calling the service people to come get us out. He suggested we call back every 3 to 5 minutes to keep them informed.

This is when I learned Brian's name. We began exchanging basic information about what we do, how long we worked in the building. That such stuff. I told him that one of my prevalent anxiety dreams involves elevators that don't do what they are supposed to do and do weird things that are not. They do things like go sideways and diagonally. The won't stop on the floor I want. I can see the rickety tracks and funky cables. They will go down below the last floor and become subway trains or run on train tracks until they emerge into the daylight and run along rainy streets until the rusty tracks disappear in the woods. For me this is a reoccurring theme. He said, "this will probably add a lot." I agreed.

The cell phone service was non-existent in that small metal car, but SMS and email would get out on a lower power comm channel. Brian reported that there was no data service for browser connectivity. I started emailing my colleagues on the company group address. The Subject was "Party in the #1 elevator tonight." Msg: "It's been nearly an hour here in #1 waiting on the ele-tech. Maybe I can just stay over tonight *sarcasm*"

That message elicited a half dozen responses:

• In our own dear sweet Colorado Bldg?
• Are you alright? ==>Yes. But no music or beer. Tech is on the roof now.
• R u in our building? ==>Yes ==> Take tomorrow as a work at home day-----minus the hours you're waiting!!! ==> Still in the 'vader at 1341 as of 5:40. I'll be sure to send the all clear when freed.
• In our building? ==> Yup. Somewhere between the Lobby and 2. Techs are working on it. ==> Great way to end the day. Hang in there.
• Are cocktails being served? ==> The band is playing '80s covers and room is getting hot.

While the email dialog was going on so was an SMS conversation with one of the guys from the 5:20 Marc train. He was checking on whether I was going to be there because the Conductor was waiting for me. I inferred that that meant the train was on the 16 Track and the Conductor needed to use the lift. I asked if it was Track 16. He replied that it was 16 and at the far north end. The group I usually ride with also keeps the seat up for where I will park my wheelchair. They defend it against people who want to sit there. I try to let them know when I won't be there so they don't get into needless arguments and the Conductors don't wait when I won't be there. I made sure to tell them that Wednesday and Thursday I would not be there for various reasons.

When the first hour mark arrived so did the ele-techs. We could hear them but no one was checking on our status. Since we are both okay, we did not worry about that. Brian pondered the prospects that if they could not get the car to move what would they/we do? I suggested that they could drop us a line through the ceiling hatch and pull us up. We agreed that that would be a huge rescue effort that probably would not be needed.

I told Brian about the BWI elevator history with the 3 or 4 times the Anne Arundal Fire Department had to pry the doors open to get people out. I also pointed out that transit system elevators must have visibility panels to see in and see out. He said that was a good idea because he has been in the Metro late in the evening and was not interested in riding with some of the people who were also there.

Then after about an hour and a half the car settled to the lobby level but the door still did not open. I pressed the door open button and voila – the lobby and a rush of fresh cool air blew in. I reported our status as "Free at last free at last…" and "5:51 and in the Lobby"

Then responses:

• I was afraid they were going to have to cater dinner. ==> Through a Straw... On the Red Line now taking my chances there.
• I asked about it on my way out and they said you weren't the only one in there. I hope it wasn't traumatic! ==> One other guy from the 7th floor was there. We were in good spirits for being significantly delayed getting home. The phone worked and the central dispatch folks were there. Now on the 6:20 train with 5 seconds to spare. No time to dwell at the Center Cafe.
• Where were you? Where was elevator? BWI? Union Station? Our lobby? Sounds bad wherever? ==> Left end elevator in the Colorado bldg, you know, the wonky one. Stephanee had just come up in it from dropping mail. She got the elevator. I got the shaft. I'm home now with a DVD and a Long Island Iced Tea, feeling no pain.

After getting out I had to go right back up to the suite for the restroom before embarking on the remainder of my trip home. Except for all the rain, there was no further fubars.

My last messages on the events of the day were: "just came from being stuck in a stalled elevator in the Colorado office building for nearly a hour and a half. Managed to catch the 6:20 MARC after an uneventful Metro ride to Union Station. It remains to be seen if there are any other buggaboos between here and my livingroom." And "No bugs in transit and wound up in my living room with a DVD and a LIIT. Movie was fair the LIIT awesome." This day too passed into foggy recesses of days that are done.

Another Way to Make MARC Delay

Another Way to Make Delay

Aug 10, 2011. The BWI Rail Station platform got busy just before the 8:03 train pulled in to the station. Back along the platform sat two other passengers with wheelchairs. I knew this would be a busy morning. My jaded attitude made me believe that we would arrive on the 16 Track. The 16 has no high-level platform and requires the conductors to position a lift to get passengers with wheelchairs off the train at Union Station. My early assessment was well founded.

Due to constrained space, the three of us were in two different cars. I was at the head end of the train in an older single level car. The other cars are bi-levels. This fact will be important later. As usual the first car attracted a significant number of people who will stand in the aisle. This morning my Car 5 buddy, Trish, was with me and stood nearby as other passengers dragged their wheelie-bags across my feet.

At 8:42 we arrived at Union Station and on the 16 Track as I had figured. The passengers of the fist car were taking an inordinate amount of time to file out of the train due to the both the required use of the steps and the fact that the outer door did not open. Two cars full of passengers had to exit out one door and down the steps. I said good bye to Trish and a couple of others whom I know. Soon I was he only one still waiting to get off the train.

The Conductor, Alice, soon poked her head in the far doorway and said that they would be there shortly after handling the other two people who needed the lift. She came up and keyed the door to open it. It didn’t open. Repeated attempts at the key panel failed to open the door. The door mechanism inside the car could not be activated to open the door. After awhile another Conductor, Warren, arrived and said that in Baltimore “they locked out the door because it was not opening properly.” He did not know exactly what had been done, but it was not operational.

A train mechanic stopped by and boarded the train when he saw Alice’s bag sitting on the ground by the door. He was checking on her and that unusual situation. He worked on the door for a while, too. I told Alice that because the inter-car passage was from a single level car to a bi-level car the doorway was too narrow to pass my wheelchair. I suggested that sometime another conductor opens the door on the 15 track side of the train and I get out that way. Warren tried to do that but the electrical substation equipment and a heavy cart were in the way and there was insufficient width to turn a lift to get to the door.

Car 7747 Left side door. After about 10 more minutes the mechanic had gotten the stuck door half way open. It kept hitting something inside the door pocket and reclosing. With a few more tweaks and twists, the door finally opened. After 20 minutes I was on my way to work. As Warren poured sweat in the humid DC morning and cranked the lift down to track level, I told him that what MARC lacks in good reliable equipment they make up for with good personnel. Well almost. The personnel is good, but the equipment situation and the track assignments are huge problems. The yard controller directs trains in a manner that is convenient for the railroad and fails to address customer needs and comfort. The factor that is most disturbing is the fact that the door was purposefully disabled and was a disaster in the making had there been a need to evacuate the train. Fortunately such emergencies are rare, but they do happen. Newspapers are full of stories of nightclubs and other venues that lock and chain doors to keep gate crashers out only to have dozens of people trampled, crushed or burned trying unsuccessfully get out.

Today remained a good day.

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The Commute as Neighborhood

The neighborhood is a concept of human settlements that is loosely defines as the people who reside in the dwellings next to and in some proximity to your own dwelling space. It was the people on each side, across the street and in some cases, on the other side of your backyard. The extent of the neighborhood varied by individuals and might stretch for an entire block or street in all directions. Before the introduction of the automobile, neighborhoods were more compact and consisted of the people who you met on your way to and from daily destinations. Even in small towns neighborhoods developed and were defined by acceptance or rejection of new residents. Some residents were never part of the neighborhood even though the live within the geographic confines of the theoretical boundary of the neighborhood.

Many neighborhoods developed around ethnic affiliations and were very homogenous in their nature. Civil rights and efforts at desegregation coupled with the upward mobility of minorities stirred up many neighborhoods and diminished the dominant features of the settlement. The automobile allowed for people to economically stratify and populate outer regions beyond the old neighborhoods. People in their cars exited their home neighborhood, traveled through a irrelevant corridor and arrived at a second important neighborhood. It may be their work neighborhood. It might be their religious neighborhood. It might be the neighborhood of shopping. Whatever the other neighborhood was, it was arrived at after a solitary insular ride in a car.

While many Americans were traveling ever greater distances in their cars, others remained attached to the neighborhoods and saw the larger landscape as their neighborhood. When a person walks from home to store, the entire trip there and back is part of their larger neighborhood. They see and interact with many more people, both desirable and undesirable, along the way. When they ride in buses and subways they have a chance to see and meet people who would never be part of their experience otherwise. Anyone who eschews public transportation modes because of the perception of the frequency “undesirable” interactions are themselves complicit in diminishing the level of “desirable” interactions. The automobile created a filter effect that removed higher socio-economic persons from the public spaces of cities.

I have commuted by train into DC from Baltimore for 16 years. I ride with a man who has done it for 20 years and a woman who has for 11, although we have only known each other for a few of them. The ride is made with anywhere from 800 to 1000 people each way each day during the morning and afternoon rush hours. Ninety-eight percent of them I never have spoken with because they were merely passing through the traincar to get to somewhere else. Those people may be the huge fellow with a backpack that rivals his belly. Maybe it’s a woman towing a wheelie-bag filled with all her important work stuff that must be at hand every day. It could be the anxious man who must be at the vestibule door five minutes before we all arrive at the station so he can be out the door and ahead of the throng who will follow. There may be beautiful girls dressed more for a night out than for a day at work, but then I have no idea what their job might be. More people are centrist in their appearances, but there always is the type who is the transvestite man who feels more comfortable in his oddness than in men’s clothing. Some women are no different with their preferences. Short cropped hair, nose studs and a half dozen ear piercings sometimes does the advertising.

Then there is the man in his baggy suit who things he is well dressed. His satchel is overly stuffed with paperwork of dubious relevance. To him it is a sign of importance. I could describe archetypes for another dozen paragraphs, but the essential part is that these are people I have seen on and off for more than a decade and a half. I’ve watched people grow old, even as I myself was doing the same. I’ve seen new people arrive and stay. I’ve seen people move on and disappear. Some have gone to different jobs, different trains, or left this world all together. They are and were part of the neighborhood that is the transit corridor between Baltimore and DC.

When you more around at human speeds you get to see so much more than when you are confined to the metallic shell of a car on an increasingly confined highway. When you board a train for a 40 minute trip to work or home, there is a neighborhood that is created even for just that temporary interval.

The Car 5 Gang has been such a community for many years. We have seen people come and people go. Some are gone for good and seek not to ever gather again. Others go elsewhere and return as their circumstance permit. Some stay in touch and enjoy the continued albeit remote contact made possible by email, text messages, and websites. Others are not open to that communication. Everyone who happens by is a welcome part of the neighborhood. If they themselves are open to and compatible with the nature of the neighborhood, they stay. Otherwise they quickly move on.

Make no mistake about it, the train commute is an extension of the neighborhoods that each person lives in. While they may see hundreds of people on the street while walking to their place of work or back to the train, they get no time to interact in a social context. The train provides that dwell time when people are face to face and can be involved in a conversation and get to know each other. Then they get in their cars and drive alone to their house or apartment somewhere in the Baltimore region. It may be Baltimore City, Baltimore County, Harford, Anne Arundel or Howard counties. They will pass thousands of other solitary auto drivers in both directions and never interact with them except through expletives and digital gestures. Those people are not part of the neighborhood. They will never make you happy, share news of the arrival of a grandchild, grouse about a difficult boss or co-worker, hand you a cold beer on a hot Friday afternoon.

In the neighborhood, one person will say that Obama is the worst President we ever had, or that Congress is a bunch of spoiled brats who can’t get anything done. Others will say that the President inherited a bad situation from his predecessor and just can’t get the massive snowball turned around in a mere two years. Taxes are too high and kill jobs, while others say the taxes need to be raised to pay for the things we need, like jobs. Some people in the neighborhood are directly paid by taxes while others work for businesses who get paid by taxes. We need not agree on anything, ever, unless we want to. We can still talk about other common concerns and share a pizza and beer and get together at a cookout or a nightclub. Like neighbors.

Stormy Morning, Center Track at BWI Rail Station

It was a dark and stormy day...

Most people who travel through the BWI rail station in the valley below the BWI airport on a daily basis have at one time or another had to board or exit a train on that infamous center track. For them it is a nuisance that makes them queue up to walk to the far end of the platform and wait to walk down the steps there and up on to the train.

For the commuter who uses a wheelchair or is otherwise unable to negotiate the steps, the train that dwells a mere 10 feet away might as well be on the far side of the Grand Canyon. Actually being on the far side of the Grand Canyon would be far better because the view would be spectacular rather than this dreary morning. It is just another day in the life of a long-term commuter. BTW, I-95 had the two left lanes blocked this same morning due to an accident.

Although this location is not WMATA, per sa, Metro Fail riders were not spared the train malfunction at Fort Totten this morning that backlogged rail traffic to and from Shady Grove once again. The entire Metropolitan DC-Baltimore region is in failure mode and in need of major infrastructure improvements. Particularly in this time of nobody wanting to pay a tax to keep America on the move, and Congressional Freshmen all wrapped around the axle about not raising the debt limit, travel will get worse. Even as WMATA tries to overhaul its aging hardware, the money is getting pulled back by legislators who fail to see the Equals Sign in the equation.

The brighter side of the morning commute problems is that the people of the Car 5 Gang were concerned about my absence. Shortly after 5 o'clock a text message crossed the screen of my BlackBerry asking me if I was going to be there for the 5:20. Unfortunately, I was not. The following day I had the chance to explain. "Oh, yeah," was the realization. They didn't know that I decided to just go home.