Two or three times a week, I commute from my house in Burlington to the state capital Montpelier, 40 miles away. It takes about an hour each way and the hours I spend commuting are among the most relaxing I spend all week. I ride the bus.
I know, I know, I’m not supposed to like riding the bus and I’m really not supposed to admit it. Americans, real Americans, are supposed to have a genetic antipathy toward mass transit. I tried disliking the bus, I wanted to find fault, but I just couldn’t do it. I’ve been commuting one place or other for over 20 years and I’ve tried almost every means of locomotion from walking to bicycling to cars (and carpools) to the subway and the bus.
As with all commuter mass transit, the riders on my bus (number 423 in the Chittenden County Transit Authority’s fleet) observe the unwritten rule of morning silence. Polite greetings are fine; 30 seconds of banter about last night’s game (up to a minute for playoffs) are OK, but extended discussions encounter hostile stares and pointed throat clearing. Even big-city subways are eerily quiet as people collect themselves for the workday to come.
Bus 423 follows the original east-west route across northern Vermont; a path laid down thousands of years ago by the Winooski River. What was once a riparian footpath has now become U.S. Route 2, a railroad track parallels, as does Interstate 89, all winding through passes in the Green Mountains, many widened by dynamite.
The river passes in and out of my view on the commute, as do farmers’ fields and villages in the wide spots. Freed from my responsibility to keep my eyes on the road, I keep tabs on nature. I take note of whether the river level is up or down in response to recent rainfall. I check on the crops. The season’s first cut of hay was brought in last week, when we received a string of several dry days. Corn will probably not be knee-high by the Fourth of July; heavy spring rains delayed planting. (“Knee-high” is a difficult measurement to execute from the window of a passing bus.) Buttercups and daisies have shown strong in the median strips and are being supplanted by Queen Anne’s Lace and chicory. Deciduous trees are bright green on the hillsides; coniferous trees a deeper hue. Steam rises from all of them on cool, wet mornings.
I walk three blocks before catching the bus and, if the weather is fair, I’ll get off early and stroll through the back streets of Montpelier, the nation’s smallest state capital. I’ll check on the level of the north branch of the Winooski from the School Street bridge and wait for the nine o’clock chime from the city hall tower before I head to the office.
Yesterday, there were 10 riders on 423’s morning run. Five read, one slept and four gazed in solitary contemplation. The evening return carried 15 passengers, many who passed the journey in conversation, the cone of silence having been lifted. My fellow riders are state government bureaucrats, non-profit professionals and when the legislature is in session, a few politicians. Some of Vermont’s best political gossip is to be had on the evening bus.
Twice a day, Bus 423 crosses the path of what would be Route 289, the Chittenden County Circumferential Highway. Designed as a beltway, the “Circ” was a favored project of the Vermont’s Republican governor and the Bush administration, which put the highway’s construction on a fast track. Last month, a federal judge delayed the project for at least two years, ruling that environmental assessments were inadequate. In the course of his investigation, the judge learned that the $223 million road would reduce the average commuter’s trip by seven seconds and would have no positive effect on the economy.
Of course, gas now costs two dollars a gallon and riding the bus means there is one fewer car on the road and that much less need for asinine highway projects. There’s less global warming and less road rage and any number of virtuous results, but really, I just like riding the bus.
On the Bus
Two or three times a week, I commute from my house in Burlington to the state capital Montpelier, 40 miles away. It takes about an hour each way and the hours I spend commuting are among the most relaxing I spend all week. I ride the bus.
I know, I know, I’m not supposed to like riding the bus and I’m really not supposed to admit it. Americans, real Americans, are supposed to have a genetic antipathy toward mass transit. I tried disliking the bus, I wanted to find fault, but I just couldn’t do it. I’ve been commuting one place or other for over 20 years and I’ve tried almost every means of locomotion from walking to bicycling to cars (and carpools) to the subway and the bus.
As with all commuter mass transit, the riders on my bus (number 423 in the Chittenden County Transit Authority’s fleet) observe the unwritten rule of morning silence. Polite greetings are fine; 30 seconds of banter about last night’s game (up to a minute for playoffs) are OK, but extended discussions encounter hostile stares and pointed throat clearing. Even big-city subways are eerily quiet as people collect themselves for the workday to come.
Bus 423 follows the original east-west route across northern Vermont; a path laid down thousands of years ago by the Winooski River. What was once a riparian footpath has now become U.S. Route 2, a railroad track parallels, as does Interstate 89, all winding through passes in the Green Mountains, many widened by dynamite.
The river passes in and out of my view on the commute, as do farmers’ fields and villages in the wide spots. Freed from my responsibility to keep my eyes on the road, I keep tabs on nature. I take note of whether the river level is up or down in response to recent rainfall. I check on the crops. The season’s first cut of hay was brought in last week, when we received a string of several dry days. Corn will probably not be knee-high by the Fourth of July; heavy spring rains delayed planting. (“Knee-high” is a difficult measurement to execute from the window of a passing bus.) Buttercups and daisies have shown strong in the median strips and are being supplanted by Queen Anne’s Lace and chicory. Deciduous trees are bright green on the hillsides; coniferous trees a deeper hue. Steam rises from all of them on cool, wet mornings.
I walk three blocks before catching the bus and, if the weather is fair, I’ll get off early and stroll through the back streets of Montpelier, the nation’s smallest state capital. I’ll check on the level of the north branch of the Winooski from the School Street bridge and wait for the nine o’clock chime from the city hall tower before I head to the office.
Yesterday, there were 10 riders on 423’s morning run. Five read, one slept and four gazed in solitary contemplation. The evening return carried 15 passengers, many who passed the journey in conversation, the cone of silence having been lifted. My fellow riders are state government bureaucrats, non-profit professionals and when the legislature is in session, a few politicians. Some of Vermont’s best political gossip is to be had on the evening bus.
Twice a day, Bus 423 crosses the path of what would be Route 289, the Chittenden County Circumferential Highway. Designed as a beltway, the “Circ” was a favored project of the Vermont’s Republican governor and the Bush administration, which put the highway’s construction on a fast track. Last month, a federal judge delayed the project for at least two years, ruling that environmental assessments were inadequate. In the course of his investigation, the judge learned that the $223 million road would reduce the average commuter’s trip by seven seconds and would have no positive effect on the economy.
Of course, gas now costs two dollars a gallon and riding the bus means there is one fewer car on the road and that much less need for asinine highway projects. There’s less global warming and less road rage and any number of virtuous results, but really, I just like riding the bus.
(c) Mark Floegel, 2004