So Where IS Plan B?

I have commuted between BWI Rail station and Union Station for 16 year. I've seen the best service and the worst service events in that time. Mechanical failures are inevitable. They are related to equipment age and funding issues. The bigger failures are always the ones that are compounded when company management fails to appreciate the gravity of the situations they allow to take place by their short-sighted responses and lack of timely information. There is no excuse for a poor or non-existent plan.

Several years ago, I was fortunate to not be commuting on the MARC Penn Line on the occasion of a mid-summer breakdown that lasted several hours. The train was stalled on the tracks between stations and a rescue locomotive was dispatched but the entire ordeal lasted the several hours in the afternoon heat that caused several passengers to experience medical emergencies. It was only my work travel schedule that had me elsewhere on that fateful day.

Stalled without power, the HVAC systems were not functioning and the interior temperatures of the bi-level cars climbed over 100 degrees. A lack of useful information and emergency planning by the MTA management and staff left passengers to fend for themselves. People in each can took it upon themselves to remove the emergency exit window panel in order to create some level of ventilation. Even with the windows out the stifling heat prompted some passengers to climb out on to the track bed to get away. Many walked over the berm and found their own way home at the end of a very bad ride.

After that incident, the MTA furnished promises that they would handle any future such events with more competent response. One of the plan elements was a supply of emergency bottled water. Fast forward to May 28, 2010. Again I was fortunate to be on company travel and not on the stalled train. The evening express train, 435, leaving Union Station experienced mechanical troubles just south of the New Carrollton station and was pushed back to DC for a different locomotive. That incident did get handles in an expedient manner and the passenger, though delayed and irritated, were not left stranded in dangerous heat conditions.

June 21, 2010, the 5:38 departure from Union Station with a full consignment of 900 passengers left the station only to become stranded by a stalled locomotive between stations. This time the braking systems became locked and the rescue locomotive could not move the train. These 900 passengers were stranded inside the aluminum cars once again. If one thinks that emergency water was available in June, that person would have been wrong. There were many opportunities for the management to load the water supplies aboard the train, but did not do it. There are several allocated cars on MARC Trains that are called Café Cars. In those cars there is a compartment large enough for many dozens water bottles. An interesting observation I made on June 23, is that there was a new nylon tie sealing the door of the Café compartment with the date 6-23-10 inscribed on it. I suspect that just maybe there is a supply of bottled water in there for the next time the train breaks down in the afternoon DC heat.

The Return

Big Bob, our Spiritual Leader, has returned. There was a time when the loyal Gang began to believe that he had undergone an out-of-body experience and failed to return as planned. Those reports of the transmigration of his soul were greatly exaggerated. His Baldness was back in full glory of his former self. Actually he had not gone anywhere at all but was on an earlier train, morning and evening, due to a change of life we euphemistically call “a new job.” But in the true sense of Spiritual Leadership, he returned on a day of celebration, Friday With Pizza and Beer. His Magnificence was tempered with the declaration that “I’m alright and everything is right with Homeland Security.” His schedule has not settled down completely yet.

Recently he had been working on a training program utilizing the Million Dollar Man that is the high-tech replacement for the plastic “Recessi-Annie” doll that early EMT trainees used to learn CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I had just that afternoon completed our company policy requirement for CPR/AED training in advance of our annual national EXPO conference later this month that will last a week. I said that when the female co-worker I was paired with bent over to do the breathing part, my heart was jump-started.

The Friday activities were well attended with the consumption of three pizzas and three six-packs. No Saturday breakfast pizza for Larry’s dogs this time. We kicked the entire supply. What is especially cordial is that everyone is welcome. We are always glad you came, even if we don’t know your name. Yet.

Monday afternoon the train was delayed in its departure. We could have predicted the failure with a meteorologist, even just the hacks who read the national weather feed from NOAA. It was hot and humid in DC for the first day in the year. It was also the first Monday in May. These conditions are always a harbinger of the long rides home on the MARC commuter trains. Those poor tired locomotives can barely handle the 8 car loads that are not completely filled. But with 9 cars and standing room only, the engines and the generators that run the lights and HVAC just can’t seem to keep up. It’s just a national infrastructure deficiency disgrace that every mode and every utility has experience with all the funds being diverted into wars and useless pursuits. Don’t get me started on THAT. The Car 5 Gang has chewed over that rag many times, from both party affiliation POVs.

Monday we exercised perfect hindsight and said we should have had a couple of six-packs for the journey home. Tuesday, the delay was even longer, 40 minutes by the time we all were exiting the BWI garages. And you know, there were no refreshments. I suggested that we needed to have supplies for Wednesday so that the train would not dare breakdown or be delayed. And if it wasn’t delayed, we would be doubly happy. We even brainstormed a plan to carry a quarter-keg in a wheelie bag and stash it in a Union Station locker for the day.

Wednesday arrived in its due time and they had our train on a different track. This is rarely a good omen, but it turned out to be okay. CJ arrived with a blue insulated cylinder and a brown paper bag. ‘Tis Cinco de Mayo! He was well prepared for the ride home. His bag contained a huge bottle of Margaritas and plastic cups. The cylinder had an ample supply if ice. In a few minutes Trish arrived with the Coronas.

While we were self-organizing our imminent celebration, a woman who usually doesn’t sit with us but who did this evening got up and headed upstairs. “You don’t have to leave. Everyone is welcome,” Mikey said. She was off to a boring part of the train.

The refreshments did the trick. The 5:20 train left at 5:20. We anticipated the longer interval between stations but were just as happy getting along on time.

I think we have a new recruit. A tall business suited woman, Victoria, stood in the periphery by the stair down to the lower level. She seemed interested in our camaraderie even though she did not join in on our Cinco de Mayo celebration. Trish called from across the car to say that she could come back again on Friday for the semi-regular pizza and beer day. Victoria said she usually takes an earlier train. “We will give you a good reason to be later on Fridays,” Trish said.

In other recent developments, Bicycle Coast Guard Girl announced her impending motherhood. George and Larry both have been even more forthcoming with the offer of their seat when she arrives.

Princess Carly turned 23. That was distressing to several of the Gang because the reality is that we all remember her reaching 21. Where did those years go? How did THAT happen? On this night of CdM, she is the beer-girl at La Palapa’s in Ellicott City. “I’m handing out the beer tonight at La Palalalalplas. One for you and one for me. One for you, two for me.”

Gerry is out again with his bad knee. Hey guy, get back on your feet soon, but not too soon.

Pam is a, dare I say, a grandmother! Ericka circulated a condolences card. Actually, it was very nice.

Our regular Conductor, Tom, passed back through the car on Tuesday and said he was leaving us for the ‘work train” soon. I think this means freight line duty, but I’m not sure. I will have to confirm the change and the last day. Tom, I’ve seen a dozen men come and go over my years of commuting. Have fun where you go, but not too much.

Pizza Without Vincent

One drizzly morning, I arrived at the train station to discover that the south side elevator was out of service. I went inside to decide what I would do. There are typically two alternatives. One is to crawl into the backseat of a taxi and go to the Odenton Station and catch the next local train. The other choice is to go home and call it a day. Getting into a taxi, and equally important, out of the taxi, involves major contortions wherein my shoulder is at risk for yet another incident where pain and weakness could prevail for several days. I opted to go home.

When I do not go into DC on the morning train, I cannot be on the evening train and see the Car 5 Gang. The random association of members will be there although specifically who on any particular day is not known until the door closes and the train lurches out of the station. Even then, there might be a straggler or two who just made it into a vestibule somewhere back in cars 6 through 9 before the doors closed and were delayed as they filtered through the other standees to our usual spot.

Tuesday that week I was not on the evening train. My usual position where I flip up a seat to park my wheelchair was quickly claimed by two people who knew that if I were already there, that seat was theirs. If I did manage to arrive at the last moment, they would vacate the seats and all would be made right again. Of course, when I did show up on Wednesday, I received the third-degree with, “So! Where were YOU yesterday? We saved your spot and you didn’t show up.” Three people made similar comments as though I had no rights to be absent.

“You know, I get less questions where I work when I am not there for a day.”

“They probably don’t save your seat.” I agreed. Occasionally, I get the opportunity to email ahead when I won’t be there, but not always.

We settled into the routine of chatting about the day and the weather and the impending clock change that will darken our mornings again for a while. Princess Carly rested her elbows on the back of the seat next to me and zoned out. Her eyes kind of glazed over and became distant. “Wake, up, Carly,” I said.

“I am sooo tired. I got in last night at 3:30 and got up at 6.” Carly’s youthful indulgences and endurance allow her to still get up and get going to work whereas the rest of us would be out for the count. For the remainder of the ride she leaned quietly on the back of the seat.

A couple of days earlier, she and Trish were hanging around Big Bob’s big pickup truck in the Train station parking garage. They were tampering with the magnetic “Go Navy” signs that adorn the doors. The prank did not go unnoticed by the surveillance cameras and Bob got a phone call that his vehicle had been molested. They wanted to know if he wanted to press any charges. At that time he had no idea who the perps were or what they had done. When Trish heard this, she hurriedly tried to get him on the phone to head off and complications.

As always, the question of pizza and beer on Friday way raised. This would be the on weekend. Larry accepted the donations for the pizza and the plan set.

Friday was one of those days when the morning train arrives of the 16 Track that lacks a level boarding platform. When that occurs with the train I ride in on, it usually means that it will still be there as our 5:20 train back home. This Friday was no different. Five of us queued up in the waiting area until they let us head to the train. Larry had already placed the pizza order and would go back for it after dropping off his backpack on this seat to hold it.

Trish and Mike were among the five who were early. Coast Guard Bicycle Girl arrived later but still in time for a seat. Robert arrived after a week of later trains. Princess was better rested after not going out so late the night before.

During the day I got the Facebook message that the legendary Vincent Chianese from Pittsburgh where I grew up had died on the previous Sunday. Vincent owned Vincent’s Pizza Park in Forest Hills. He opened the shop in 1950 with a unique recipe and amalgam of ingredients and sauce that made people from all over the area come to his store and come back again and again.

I announced, “I know that none of you knew Vincent Chianese, but he was the legendary Vincent of Vincent’s Pizza Park fame in Pittsburgh since 1950. He died on Sunday at age 85.” Then we toasted him and plowed into our less than perfect pizzas from the Union Station pizza place. (Just a plug for a friend's sister's pizza blog: http://www.pizzapizzazz.blogspot.com/)

When we were all satisfied with a slice or two, there remained a half disk of cheesy pizza. “Larry, I guess you’ll have two more breakfast pizzas for the scrambled eggs,” I quipped. The last time he had an entire pizza because too many people did not show up.

“I put scrambled eggs and bacon on the pizza and reheat it.”

I said, “you could also put some grilled chicken and jalapenos and cleve it with a second slice, then broil the whole thing. It would be like a, what is it, a quesadilla.”

Coast Guard Bicycle Girl added, “maybe call it a pizzadilla?” Pizzadilla was a good name for the concoction. So good that it is already in use. The so-called pizzadilla is the inverse of what I was proposing. We were talking about putting the Mexican type ingredients on a traditional cheese pizza whereas the pre-existing pizzadilla combination uses a tortilla with traditional pizza parts. I like my version better. It gives you a higher use for the leftover crusts.

We stepped out into a light drizzle that was actually the harbinger for about 4 inches of rain that would follow that weekend. The ground was so saturated and soft that trees were merely toppling because they were unbalanced and the soggy soil could no longer restrain the roots. The following Monday might be fraught with delays and cancellations of the railroads due to high water and fallen trees. Just another week of adventure in commuting.

Misadventures in Commuting

My morning emails to the office staff group address have become legendary at the place I work. In short there is always something that messes with the seamless process that is supposed to be a daily trip-to-work.

In the olden days (circa 1996) there were the rare occasion s that the Washington Metro would have a problem that caused the next train to be delayed an extra few minutes, but they usually arrived soon and reporting lateness to the office was not necessary. The MARC commuter trains had their hot weather slow downs and powder-snow short circuits when it was sucked into an electric locomotive and melted. Those instances were mostly few and far between.

Looking back at my 16 years of commuting, it appears to me that 2006 was the seminal year when something changed. The change was most probably the result of the accumulation of quantum (that is very small increments) degradation. That notwithstanding, the accumulation has manifest itself as daily disruptions that result in extended work days and days when one “should have stood in bed.”

I was talking with our new intern who rides into DC and the office in a vanpool with two of our regular staff and management. He was asking about how long it takes me to commute. My reply was that my day lasts about 11 hours when one adds the dork hours to the commute hours. The facts are that it takes about 1.5 hour in the morning and about 1 hour-15 minutes in the evening, when everything goes according to the plan.

As we talked, a colleague stopped by and rested her forearms on the half wall that defined the corner work space where the intern sits. She said, “I’m fortunate that it take me 20 minutes to get here. And when everything is really messed up, I can still walk.”

Kevin asked, “how long would that take?”

“Two days.” Then a strategic pause and, “there are a lot of bars between home and here.”

My legendary reports and epic misadventures on the train prompted a woman in our Pacific Northwest remote office to ask that she be added to my report distribution list. Since those days, Twitter has come online and could suffice to share the word about. I didn’t consider the narrative of my challenges to be of interest beyond my immediate circle of co-workers.

The vast majority of Americans sit along in their metal shells and compete for lane space and places to park. For them everyone they can see around them is an adversary, someone who will get there (where ever that is) before them. Drivers continually change lanes in vain attempts to choose the one that will move them along faster than the others.

For those of us who choose trains and subways, there is a sense of comrade-ness that is borne of being in the same boat under the same circumstances, all subject to being just as late as everyone else. That equality is lost when the doors of the MARC open at BWI and the mad rush is on to get to the their cars and start their engines and jump out of the gate for the sluggish climb to the top of the hill where Amtrak Way meets MD 170. But while on the train there is a calm that is not resignation to immutable forces but one where friendships can be formed and loose affiliations form that are able to transcend the drudgery of commuting 40 miles every day on the train after driving sometimes 25 miles just to get to the station.

The Car 5 Gang is one such loose affiliation of misfits, knuckleheads and eccentrics. This is the place where everyone knows your name (and usually are glad you came.) Long absent members who had temporary schedule changes or leaves of absence are greeted by name when they appear in the vestibule doorway. Sometimes the schedule change that keeps them away persists but a spurious change of fortune brings them back to the 5:20 train in Car 5. They always know where the gang will be and seeks them out.

The Social Director, Trish, has been keeping the membership apprised of the upcoming plans to revisit Bamboo Bernie’s to listen to The Reagan Years band again. There is a competing venue that may in the long run win out. It is in White Marsh and is a week or two earlier for TRY. I recommend a good set of OSHA compliant earplugs to save your hearing for your Golden Years. It is not that TRY is in any way a bad performance, but they ARE LOUD.

The most recent Friday homeward-bound commute was well attended by 12 of the Gang, three large pizzas and 2 six-packs. Not everyone drinks the beer, but most everyone at one time or another has the pizza.

Dinner conversation taboos are always ignored on Car 5. Politics, economics and religion are always on the plate. The topic of gun control and de facto registration in the form of having to report who you sell one of your guns to popped to the top of the agenda. Through all the bantering on pro and con positions, I said, “I don’t know anyone I would trust with a handgun around me. You are more likely to be killed by someone who gains control of your gun. You provide your own murder weapon.”

This day was the anniversary of Roe v. Wade and the one year anniversary of the Obama Administration. We expected hoards of protesters heading home during the PM rush hour, but for some reason they didn’t materialize. Other than the short discourse on pending gun control legislation, the meal seemed to take the priority. Soon BWI station was at hand and we did our roundup of litter, bottle caps and crumbs. The race to the garage exit was afoot.

Real Men Ride MARC

It was the first week of January in the new decade. It was the new decade if you subscribe to the notion that Western Civilization denotes decades by the ‘tens digit’ and not by the purist-notion that there was no ‘Year Zero’ and therefore the decade spanned from January 1, 2001 until December 31, 2010, thereby screwing up the decade designations such as the Roaring 20’s. Come off it Guys, this argument goes back 2000 years. Get over it. Blame it on the Gregorian Monks and enjoy the celebration. Besides, I didn’t hear anyone claiming we were celebrating the New Year in error by dropping the big bright ball in Times Square one minute early.

We were headed home in the middle of that first week all happy that it was Humpday and firmly into the second half of the week by at least a one-half workday. Erika was facing the stairs from her seat by the vestibule door when she spied the bag of a man who was sitting upstairs facing our little enclave from above. His bag was stenciled with the message “You best stay out of my way because I ride MARC.” This was just the type of sentiment that was well respected among the Notorious Car 5 Gang members. Erika called out that she liked the message. The man turned the bag around and displayed the other message: “Real Men Ride MARC.”

Erika wanted to know where he got it. She told Loud Bob to go ask him if he made it himself. Bob looked up at it and said, “I not going to ask a man if he made his bag himself. THAT would just BE WRONG.” Erika called up to him again and he replied that he ordered it from a specialty website that will put just about anything you want on various items. (It’s www.spreadshirt.com if you are interested.) I told him he was our kind of commuter and that he should join us when we have pizza and beer on occasional Fridays.

All this time Princess Carly was providing us with the itinerary of her pending New England weekend bus trip to watch a football game. Four layers of warm clothes were suggested for the 7 hour or so early morning ride up north and the extended outdoor day. She could use some advice from Sheila or Rose (the street people who populate the sidewalk near where I work) on surviving long hours in the cold. Although several other people from her job office were also going, she still had to be back for Monday morning.

Thank the Gregorian Monks its Friday.

Our happy hour almost was scuttled by the Red Line delays. When I was almost to the Car, Erika was coming back along the platform. “Did they send you out to look for ME?” I asked.

“No. Larry isn’t here. They said he might have gotten stuck in that Red Line mess. I’m going to see if he’s getting the pizzas.” I was disappointed that they weren’t looking for me, but the pizza did have a higher priority.

Erika returned with Larry and no pizza. Although the order of events had been severely messed up, with who was doing what and all, three pizzas did arrive in due time along with a sufficient supply of Busch and Miller Lite. Billy and Mikey had the brews and I didn’t see who actually carried the pizza to the train because it was ceremoniously passed from hand to hand through the vestibule door into our greedy hands.

The Real Man was back upstairs in his spot watching over the festivities going on below. I motioned for him to join us. He declined.

It was not long before we polished off the food and drink and were all happy and ready for the weekend. Billy asked me something as he stood nearby. I asked him to repeat it because I did not believe what he said. “What do you call those little urges,” he asked?

“What?”

“What do you call those little urges,” he repeated? I was completely baffled by why he was saying that.

“I really don’t know how to answer that question. I have to say NOBODY has ever asked me that.”

Then from beyond where I could see a single word clarified everything. “Clementines.”

“Oh, ORANGES! Bill, don’t want to know that I thought you said." Bicycle Coast Guard Girl keeps a supply of them in her commute bag and had been munching on them all week.

Our ride was over and the train eased into the BWI station. Another week of commuting adventures was behind us.

For L. Bob though, the night was far from over. He was parked near the stairwell closest to the station. When he went to unlock the door of his pickup, the key broke off due to a frozen lock. I stopped to see what I might do. Try as we might, there was no unlocking the door. A phone call to his wife obtained for him a long ride home to get a spare key and ride back to the train station.

We stood there next to the truck talking about various things including how after my wife chewed my out for losing my wallet once, she had her entire purse stolen in 30 seconds in Costa Rica. Try as I might, and I tried very hard, I could not withhold the comment, “Remember when I lost my wallet?”

Well, Bob, have a great weekend.

The Remains of 2009

Most of the days in the remains of December were spend not being at work. One Monday morning, our Director declared the office closed due to the winter storm that laid down upwards of two feet of snow during the weekend. The remainder of the week was business as usual including all the commuting troubles that are a daily affair.

The office is always closed between Christmas and New Years anyway, so many days were not commute days. One day there just before Christmas Eve, we arrived on the 15 Track and I waited for the conductor to drag the lift along the icy platform that had not been adequately prepared for the morning commuters. Several people slipped getting of the train but no one seemed to have gotten hurt. Even thought I suggested to one of the supervisors that they were risking medical liability with poor station maintenance, the same platform was still snow burdened as we were departing our 5:20 train from there too.

I met with several of the Car 5 Gang while waiting on the boarding lift to arrive. They climbed the steps to our usual car while I waited. When the conductor arrived from the head end of the train, there was too much snow and ice by the door so we used the next car forward. "This is only an 8 car train tonight, so it won't matter," Tom said. I boarded further forward and wrangled a fold up seat by getting a passenger to switch sides.

Princess Carly arrived and stood by the back of the seat next to me and closed her eyes. "I am sooo tired and I have sooo much to do," she said. "I could sleep standing up right here." I told her that the rest of the Gang was back one car, but she said, "I can stand here or stand there." She stayed.

The next day we were again on the low platform. This time there was no snow to impede boarding. Carly arrived, early as did George. Both were able to sit. The day was light and few people were standing at all. George shared around a bottle of Vodka in small plastic cups. Coast Guard Bicycle Girl came in minus the bicycle (normal for this time of year) and she too had a seat. No Vodka.

We pondered the schedules of the rest of the Gang and considered a possible social event on the train. Ultimately, Trish used the email list to organize Wednesday, Dec 30 as the date. I was going to be off and away so I was not part of the plan. Too bad, I hear it was a good time.

So to all of the Gang I say, "Have a happy holiday of your choice. And you don't have to pick just one."

Commuter Holiday

The holiday season from Thanksgiving through the end of the year always unhinges the work schedules of the hardcore commuters into DC. This is especially noticeable with members of the Car 5 Gang. The normally stable clan, if you can really call them stable, just is not a cohesive group during this time of the year.

For some people, like Trish, the work schedule changes for an indefinite period of time and are on an earlier or later train. Patrick, moved on to a different job and is essentially gone for good. Extended vacation/holiday work schedules has left Car 5 without Larry and Loud Bob. Jerry is away on some secret mission that we cannot talk about. As for myself, I am there to see the absence of the others. There, that is, until Christmas Eve when I start my own extended absence until the first week of January.

People come and people go, but The Gang abides. At this time of the year we even have a difficult time coordinating pizza and beer days. Someone is in the other is out. Another cannot say and the rest are not in one place in order to firm up the plan. Princess Carly has been there quite regularly and plans to be for most of the remains of the year except for those actual holiday days and maybe a half day before. Loud Bob is off then he is not, so no coordination is happening there. Billy hasn't been seen or heard from for more than a week. We all suppose he is off somewhere with his kids.

George and Mike have been around but not typically on the same days. One day last week, strangers populated our Notorious car leaving only a few available seats. Turns out we only needed three with the Princess and George and myself being the only official members present. With no quorum for member business we adjourned and turned to a bottle of Vodka.

January will bring about a more stable attendance in daily meetings and we will be able to get down to debating once again about the pros and cons of health care reform, global climate change, what that Obama-guy is doing to (or for as the case may be) this great nation, and who had a good performance on those 'talent' shows. The state of commuter rail service performance, infrastructure improvements and stimulus spending will fire up the ire of well seasoned commuters and resurrect desires to write our complaint letters to redress our grievances. But in the end, we board our daily trains and make the commute while leaving our automobiles safely in Garage 1 or 2. Don't get me started about the convergence of egress traffic between the two garages. THAT will be another post altogether.

Just a note. The new north end platform is not far from completion and will be in service soon. There is no telling exactly when they will put up the railing, but inspection and that railing is all that remains to be done before it opens. If the weather moderates, it could be in January. We will have to decide on which "alternate Car 5" we will occupy so as to be close to the walkway to the garages. Car 8 might give us a challenge.

So to the Car 5 Gang, I wish you a happy holiday of your choice – and you are not limited to just one.