Thank you, Mr. Bus Driver

The Amtrak train is rolling out of Sacramento and across the bridge as I write these words.

Thank you, Mr. Bus Driver.

I've mentioned before my anxiety over the limited nature of my bus schedule. I take two buses to reach Amtrak in the morning. If I don't make the connection between the No. 82 and the No. 31, I don't make the train.

This morning I was buried in my book in the rear of the bus, but not so immersed that I didn't hear the bus radio traffic. The bus had just finished picking up passengers at the Watt and Wal-Mart stop when I overheard radio traffic from a bus driver telling dispatch that he had a rider who needed to make a connection with the No. 82 heading for 65th Street light rail.

"Did you copy that, eight-two-oh-one?" asked the dispatcher. I didn't hear what the driver replied. I was hoping maybe another No. 82 heading in our direction was being asked to wait. No such luck.

We waited and I worried. I tried to focus on my book.

Two, maybe three minutes later, an elderly woman struggled onto the bus, wrestling with her rolling suitcase. Once she was aboard, the driver quickly closed the door. As the bus pulled away from the curb, there was loud knock on the side of the bus and a shout for the driver to wait. The driver pulled back to the curb and opened the door to board one final passenger.

There's a certain rhythm that a driver normally maintains to meet the regular schedule. It's a matter of pacing. Driving too fast just causes the driver to have to sit and wait at the timing points. But when a driver is working to make up lost time, passengers can tell. The hard breaking into stops and the quick acceleration leaving stops literally hold back the clock.

I wasn't at all convinced that this would be enough. We still had to pick up the crowds of Sacramento State students who fill the bus to standing room. And then as the bus raced to the finish line, the driver took one final shortcut that told me the bus had a real speed racer at the helm.

Between Fair Oaks and 65th Street station, the No. 82 and the No. 87 buses follow the same route and make the same stops. Normally, the No. 87 is behind the No. 82. When the No. 82 turned onto Fair Oaks, heading toward the J Street bridge and Sacramento State, the No. 87 was in front, stopped at Cadillac and Fair Oaks. Our driver opted to skip that stop and instead moved into the left lane, adding the time saved to the total of his effort to catch up.

I have no doubt that the extra effort of the driver made it possible for me to catch the No. 31 and make it to my Amtrak train on time.

Again, Thank You, Mr. Bus Driver.

Now I'll go get a coffee in the lounge car and get to work.

* * *

Postscript: When I purchased my coffee and bagel, the attendant took my money and gave me my change. When the cash register finally coughed up the receipt, the attendant looked at it and told me, "Give me back that money."

Turns out Amtrak has a lottery going. If your receipt has red stars printed on it, then your purchase is free.

Must be my lucky day. I'm going to purchase a Lotto ticket now.

Efficiency _and_ safety: Can Sacramento Regional Transit have both?

Last week, I blogged about RT's apparent inability to get a handle on bus driver and train operator absences and the price the district pays in overtime expense as a result.

OK, you may have missed that. It wasn't exactly clear from either the "Showing up for work at Sacramento Regional Transit" post or the earlier "Meanwhile, back at The Bee . . ." But it was the point of The Bee's original editorial.

My bottom line:

When Paratransit-qualified riders are looking at a loss of their free rides and all riders are looking at a possible increase in fares, then RT bus drivers and light rail operators need to do their job -- or RT management needs to do its job.

So apparently something is being done -- and the push-back has begun.

For Labor Day, the RT Driver guy had an ominous post.

Cutting corners, skirting established and proven policies in order to save an hour of overtime 4 or 5 times a day is unacceptable.

When RT mandates that all divisions minimize overtime, I can understand the premise. If you face the reality of shrinking funds, some changes will obviously be in order.

NOT changes which endanger the lives of RT Workers.

While RT is in the throws of a budget emergency, the safety nose should not be cut off to spite the defecit face.

One wonders whether the comment from "justadriver" illustrates the opinion of the majority of drivers and operators:

I don't know....When the hell has the exec board or for that matter the management from rt given a rat's shit for its front line employee's? Management continues to promote supervisors that don't have a clue about what a supervisor really is and couldn't make it in a for profit business. Our union continues its disfuntionality by trying as hard as it can to steal what it can from us and still does nothing but blow hot air (yes you Ralph). Instead of working on a decent wage, they work on getting themselves the best retirement possible. So as a driver we are stuck between assholes on both sides and still have to put up with the public and their inability to grasp our fare structure or learn that our faces are not their private spittoons. We lost a great deal with the exit of Manny, Joe and Diane, who were are only advocates.

Showing up for work at Sacramento Regional Transit

This is a page from Mike Wiley's Key Performance Report PowerPoint presentation from Monday's meeting. A goal of 209 days for bus and light rail operators is surely too low if The Bee is correct and YoloBus manages to have drivers available 239 days a year.

When Paratransit-qualified riders are looking at a loss of their free rides and all riders are looking at a possible increase in fares, then RT bus drivers and light rail operators need to do their job -- or RT management needs to do its job.

* * *

Mike Wiley's complete Key Performance Report PowerPoint from the Aug. 25, 2008, board meeting is available here.

Meanwhile, back at The Bee . . .

The Bee weighs in with its opinion of Sacramento Regional Transit's efforts to cope with a massive budget shortfall. The re-balancing efforts are fine, The Bee says, even the possible fare hikes, but . . .

The fare hike should draw fresh attention to its ongoing failure to reduce absenteeism among drivers. On average, RT bus drivers and light rail operators work just 206 days or 41 weeks out of the year. That's an astonishing 11 weeks or almost 3 months off a year for the average driver. This absenteeism increases overtime and drives up costs.

By contrast, in neighboring Yolo County, YoloBus drivers are available on average 239 days, or almost 48 weeks out of the year. YoloBus has not had to raise fares and has even increased service in Woodland. RT might want to consult with YoloBus on ways to reduce absenteeism among its drivers.

It would be interesting to hear something from RT on this topic. The monthly staff reports point out that RT has a goal for improving absenteeism and that RT efforts have exceeded those goals. Is this just a case of setting goals too low?

Missed but not forgotten

The No. 82 bus made the turn from Eastern to Edison and lumbered east on its way to American River College. Every half-hour to ARC; every half-hour to Sacramento State and the 65th Street light rail station. I wasn't a big fan of buses when the wife and I purchased our house in 2003. But even then I realized that the noise of bus traffic would be outweighed by the convenience of regular service.

This morning I was walking the dog. Well, I was waiting for the dog. She's a sniffer, a Shepard mix with a canine journalist's obsession with reading the neighborhood news. More than half the time spent walking is really just standing.

As the bus approached I looked up to see who was driving. Nearly all of the drivers I've meet have been nice people, courteous and conscientious. But a few are particularly fun to ride with and one in particular stands out.

He's a jolly fellow, big. His thick white hair and gray beard -- without a moustache -- remind me of old sea captains. Perhaps in another life.

I remind him of Martin Mull for some reason. I discussed that here. He's also been the topic of other posts. For instance, this:

"Rain tomorrow," greeted the bus driver.

"Thanks," I said. " Guess I'll have to wear a coat."

It was chilly, and my shirt jacket wasn't doing its job. I welcomed the warmth of the bus as I settled into a seat and took out my book.

As we continued down the route, the driver greeted each regular rider with his weather forecast. More than one rider didn't know how to return his kindness, giving him a double-take before moving on into the bus.

Before I could make out who was driving the approaching bus I could see both hands waving.

I waved back and smiled.

As the bus reached me, the driver saluted and then waived again as he continued on his way.

Like I said, I miss my regular commute. I didn't go anywhere yesterday except the short car trip to take the wife to her stop.

When I finished walking the dog, I turned my attention to my morning prayers. Since 1989, I've been a follower of the Japanese Buddhist sect founded by Nichiren. At least I've got plenty of time right now to fulfill my morning and evening obligations.

The altar in the living room includes a book with "Daily Wisdom" from the writings of Nichiren Daishonin. For today, July 11, it says:

Neither the pure land nor hell exists outside ourselves; both lie only within one's own heart. Awakened to this truth, one is called a Buddha; deluded about it, one is called an ordinary person. The Lotus Sutra reveals this truth, and one who embraces the Lotus Sutra will realize that hell is itself the Land of Tranquil Light.

Yesterday was a bad day.

Today is better.

Train operator customer service

The train doors closed and immediately a woman arrived. She pressed the door button outside. I pressed the door button on the inside. We both pressed the buttons. Nothing.

"Oh, come on," she said. She threw up her hands and walked away.

I shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry." I tried the button one last time.

The train didn't start moving for what seemed like another full minute, plenty of time for the driver to have allowed the woman to board.

Just fine, I thought. This was just so fitting. Last weekend, representatives of Sacramento Regional Transit's finest were in San Francisco for the American Public Transportation Association's 2008 International Rail Rodeo.

How did RT do? First, keep in mind that the rules require that no supervisors, foremen or training instructors can participate. These are your Joe Operators. The operators were tested on appearance (perfect score, but then everyone was perfect), safety, train inspection, operating course and finally customer service. It was the customer service score that amused me.

The winning team from San Francisco scored a perfect 100. Second place Los Angeles scored 85. The Sacramento train operator team score for customer service? 45. Overall, the RT operator team finished the competition tied for fifth with that bastion of customer service, New York City's MTA, which scored 50 out of 100 on customer service.

Two stops later tonight, a guy with a bike arrived at the back door of the train just as the doors closed. The button didn't work. I tried to help. No luck. Fortunately for the guy, a passenger in the middle of the train stood in the door long enough for the guy to get on board.

When the train arrived at 65th Street station, I walked across Q Street to wait for the wife. A No. 81 bus was stopped at the light at 65th Street. A guy who had been on the train ran up to the door of the bus and pantomimed for the driver to open the door. "Please," he mouthed. The bus driver opened the door and let the guy board. As the door closed, the light changed and the bus and the lucky guy were on their way.

I appreciate that the trains run on a tight schedule and can't wait for people who are a block away running. But a rider who is standing at the door of a stopped train should be allowed to board, especially -- as in both cases tonight -- when the train operator hasn't given his "The train is departing; please stand clear" announcement.

The bus boy and the old man

When the No. 82 bus pulled to a stop in the left turn lane at the intersection of Whitney and Watt, I looked up from my book. On the corner I recognized the woman with her stroller and the boy who rides alone on the bus.

I know this intersection well, and I knew there was no way the boy would catch this bus. The left turn light will send the bus on to Watt before the light will allow the boy to cross seven lanes of Watt Avenue. I looked across the street to the bus stop and could see no one waiting. The bus would be long gone before the boy could reach the stop.

The light changed and as the bus turned on to Watt I looked back at the boy and the woman with the stroller. The kid gets off at Kaiser, I said to myself. All of the buses on Watt go to Kaiser. So at most the kid might have a half-hour wait for the next bus. Not perfect, but better than nothing.

And then the bus pulled to the curb and stopped. The driver opened the door and waited. I turned and watched as the boy, weighted down by a large backpack, ran across Watt Avenue and up to the bus.

The driver welcomed the boy aboard as he paid his fare. The boy then turned and realized that his seat just inside the door was occupied by an old man who not shaved in several days. He was sitting sideways in the seat, which meant there was no room for the boy.

The boy obviously wanted to sit by the door, where he had sat alone the other day. He approached the guy and silently indicated he wanted to share the seat.

The old man glared at the boy.

The boy pointed to the seat and the old man pointed inside the bus to where other seats were available.

The boy gave up. He looked at the faces of the other riders. He was clearly unsure what to do. And then a young Asian man who attends the Winterstein Adult School stood up and motioned for the boy to take his seat. He then moved to an empty seat farther back in the bus.

When the bus arrived at Kaiser Hospital on Morse, the boy stepped off and then turned and waved to the driver. The old guy was still sitting in the front, taking up the whole seat. The Asian student got off at Winterstein.

The good and the bad

"Rain tomorrow," greeted the bus driver.

"Thanks," I said. "Guess I'll have to wear a coat."

It was chilly, and my shirt jacket wasn't doing its job. I welcomed the warmth of the bus as I settled into a seat and took out my book.

As we continued down the route, the driver greeted each regular rider with his weather forecast. More than one rider didn't know how to return his kindness, giving him a double-take before moving on into the bus.

Soon the bus was nearly full. Most of the passengers were either Sacramento State students or white-haired retirees out running errands.

If only all bus rides could be like this. But they are not. Some are hell on wheels.

That's what Friday had been like. It was the worst evening bus ride I have ever experienced. Well, maybe second only to this night or this night.

When I boarded the bus at the 65th Street transit center Friday evening, a group of black teens, mostly boys, were noisily loitering outside the No. 82 bus. Inside, four high school age girls, all black, were loudly holding court in the back rows.

Sharing a bus with teens is so common as to be unremarkable. But there was something odd about this group. It was as though they were feeding off each other, and the effect was both loud and troubling.

As the bus left the station, a wadded up piece of paper bounced off one of two white boys seated in the first row of the elevated seats in the back of the bus, followed by a round of snickers from the girls. One girl could be heard to say, "White boys to the front of the bus." When a plastic water bottle hit the back of the boys' seat and clattered on the floor I turned and looked at the girls. One of them ducked behind a seat, peaked out from the aisle side and then hid again.

The boys ignored the girls, despite the periodic bombardment. When the boys left, the girls turned their attention to a quiet Latino guy seated behind me. This is the guy I've tagged as the gentleman on the bus.

The girls pretended to be prostitutes, offering favors in exchange for money -- "big money."

"You want some of this pussy?" one girl taunted.

The guy remained silent.

The girls were too ignorant to know any Spanish, and their effort at pidgin Spanish was more insulting than their sexual taunts.

In the course of this running abuse, the girls missed their stop. When they realized this, one girl pulled the stop request cord and they all gathered around the side door. The bus stopped at the light at Fulton and Northrup, and the girls asked the driver to let them out there. They even had the gall to say, "Please" in innocent little girl voices.

The driver said the stop was across the street. They'd have to wait.

When the bus finally crossed the street on its way to the stop, one of the girls got a can of Silly String out and gave it to another girl. She then pushed the girl with the Silly String in front of her to the front of the bus, where the two waited for the bus to stop.

When the doors opened, the girl with the Silly String sprayed the driver and then both girls dashed off off the bus.

We sat at the stop for a while, and then the bus continued on its way.

Later, when my stop was approaching, I walked to the front of the bus and asked the driver if the camera in the bus had recorded "all of that."

"Sure," he said.

"Do you turn it in to someone later?" I asked.

"Wouldn't do much good," he said. "But if I see them at that stop again, then I can do something about it."

I tried blogging about that ride when I got home, but I didn't like what I wrote. I was also feeling guilty for not having come to the gentleman's aid or at least going to the driver and suggesting he toss the kids off the bus.

Sacramento Regional Transit has been trying to get legislation passed that would allow it to ban persistent troublemakers. I'm surprised they don't have that authority already. But after state legislators balked, RT has decided to convene a community task force.

According to an article in The Bee:

"Encouraged by the bill's author, state Sen. Darrell Steinberg, D-Sacramento, RT said it will pull together local mental health officials, homeless representatives and law enforcement officials.

"We're looking at what we can draw consensus around," RT official Mark Lonergan said.

"But we are still saying being able to keep people off the system who are a continual problem is a tool we'd like to have."

Tonight, the wife worked late and took the train to 65th Street. I met her there, and together we rode the No. 82 home. It was a very nice, relaxing ride. No troublesome teens, just Sac State students and workers taking the bus home at the end of the day.

Some days are like that.

Some days are not.

Mulled on the bus

The bus groaned to a stop and the doors hissed open. The bus driver greeted me with a hearty guffaw.

"In that Hawaiian shirt you look just like Martin Mull," he laughed.

I took it as a compliment.

Yesterday I boarded the bus wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe. No one noticed. At least no one let me know they noticed. I got all the way until 2 p.m. before even I noticed. That cost me $25, the price of getting the kid to drive out to my office with one shoe. "No," I told him. "It doesn't matter which one." He brought the black shoe.

I was sure to look at my shoes several times this morning before getting on the bus, but I completely missed the Martin Mull look.

Yesterday, a member of the sea of anonymous visitors to this blog commented on my profile picture.

I like your blog and applaud your civic-mindedness in writing it, but geez Louise, you need to get a better picture of yourself dude! The one you have makes you look like a cross between E.T. and a turtle. I'm sure you're much handsomer than that!

To which I felt compelled to reply: OK, now you've insulted my kid. (See this post.)

Since the kid did that drawing, I've grown the beard back. Just couldn't stand the nakedness. I considered going back to the Simpson's look but decided to go au naturale. One of the nice things about the Internet and blogging is that you can pretend to be just about anyone -- even yourself.

Eigh-tee-two skidoo

"Eigh-teeeee-twooo," said the driver in a booming voice as the doors to the bus opened.

A woman carrying a metal casserole dish in a paper bag boarded the bus.

"Pull up a chair," the driver said.

The driver and passenger exchanged pleasantries. From the dim reaches of the back of this old, single-level bus I can't make out the words, just the tone of friendly conversation and occasional laughter.

We move on down the road.

"Eigh-teeeee-twooo," the driver greets a passenger. "Warming up."

The passenger agrees.

"Going to be toasty," the driver says.

The passenger worries that it is too early in the season for hot weather.

"It's going to cool back down," the driver assures the rider and then summarizes the forecast for the next several days.

The driver is obviously enjoying greeting riders as his bus meanders across the unicorporated suburbs of Sacramento County.

The bus stops and the air brakes let out a load hiss as the doors open.

"Eigh-teeeee-twooo," says the driver.

He greets each arrival with "Morning" and says "Thank you" after they pay or show their pass.

The driver makes driving a bus look like fun. He certainly makes riding enjoyable.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the wife is gaining an appreciation for the finer points of using Sacramento Regional Transit or, more to the point, how to remain flexible in an elastic world.

Her bus turned the corner from La Riviera onto Folsom and she looked at her cellphone clock: 8:55 a.m. Should she get off at Norcade and cross Folsom to the Starfire light rail station or should she ride the bus to Watt and catch the outbound train there?

It's the odd choices like this that teach the finer points of riding transit in Sacramento. The wife decided to get off the bus at Norcade and go to the Starfire station. An outbound train arrived just seconds later and she boarded. But it wasn't the train that meets the bus she catches at Mather. As a result, she arrived 15 minutes early, only to find the bus parked and locked, the driver off on a break.

"I gained nothing by being early," the wife told me.

Quiz time: If the bus is on time (or, as in this case, a minute early) as it reaches Folsom Boulevard, the choice is: (a) ride the bus to Watt and burn up six minutes of the wait for the right train; (b) get off at Norcade and catch the early train at Starfire and have coffee at the new cafe at the Mather station; (c) get off at Norcade but miss the early train and wait more than 10 minutes for the next train.

Each day, the wife gets to take the quiz and each day the potential consequence of each answer is different. Eventually she will gain enough experience. The trick is to make it all a game. Otherwise, it can be one lone, frustrating ordeal.

The accident

I was involved in an accident while riding Sacramento Regional Transit to work today.

The No. 82 bus I take to work is scheduled to arrive at the 65th Street transit center at 9:53 a.m. Today, it arrived at 9:46 a.m. It was an accident, and it caused me to be 15 minutes early to work.

The principal cause of the accident was most likely the absence of the Sacramento State students, who are on spring break this week. Without the considerable inconvenience of all the stopping to pick up students, the bus makes much better time on its lengthy route across the wastelands of suburban Sacramento.

But there were extenuating circumstances that contributed to the accident. There's the driver of the bus. It so happens, just coincidentally, that a new driver takes over at 65th Street. Once replaced, the old driver then takes light rail to 29th Street.

When the bus arrives on schedule, the driver has a 10-minute wait for the next inbound train. But if the driver can manage to arrive a little more than five minutes early . . .

Accidents happen.

As the bus pulled to a stop at 65th Street I could see a crowd waiting for the inbound train, a sure sign that there was a chance I wouldn't have to wait long for a train. As I crossed Q Street, I looked up the track. The rail crossing guard at Redding Avenue was flashing. By the time I reached the station, the train was rolling down the bridge over the freight rail tracks and racing for the station. I could count the seconds I had to wait for the train without using my toes.

Now, is it at all possible that such accidents might befall the wife on her way home? I'd like to avoid the expense when her bus fails to arrive.

Oops

The hardest thing to do is admit you goofed. Don't believe me? Just look at the Bush administration and it's "So?" sorry attitude.

I had not been waiting long at the 65th Street transit center when the No. 82 bus rolled to a stop in front of me. I closed my book and showed my pass to the driver and took a seat.

Almost immediately the driver closed the door and started to leave. This was unusual. Normally, there's a wait of several minutes before we leave. But I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or a gift bus driver, for that matter.

As the driver pulled away from the curb I saw a regular rider wave the bus down. The driver stopped and let the guy board.

"You're leaving a little early," the guy said as he showed the driver his pass.

The driver demurred, saying something that included the word "approximate" and the word "schedule."

The guy disagreed, but he let the subject drop, satisfied to have his ride home.

Earlier in the evening the wife had called me at the office to find out whether she should get off light rail at Starfire or wait until her train arrived at Watt. I checked RT's infoweb.sacrt.com and told her to get off at Starfire. The bus she wanted would be there in just four minutes.

Ten minutes later, the wife called back: "Where's my bus?"

I explained that she is not allowed to ask until the bus is 15 minutes late. (See this post.) I checked the schedule of the bus. Her train was on time, so she didn't miss the bus. "It must be late," I said. At that time I was not yet aware of the "approximate" nature of the "schedule."

"When the bus is 15 minutes late you can call 321-BUSS and find out what happened," I told her. "Or you can call now and wait on hold for five minutes. That'll work, too."

"Nevermind," the wife said, "here comes the bus -- 15 minutes late."

Better late than sorry, I thought at the time. Better late than early, I considered as my bus left the transit center and turned onto 65th Street.

"Well, I guess you were right," the driver said to the guy who had mentioned that the bus was leaving early. "Now I see we left three minutes early."

The driver then turned right on Folsom and then right again back into the transit center while he explained his confusion with the schedule of the No. 82.

"Maybe another train has arrived since we left and more people are waiting," the driver said as he worked his way to the No. 82 bus stop.

The driver parked the bus and opened the door and waited. No one was waiting to get on, and no one else arrived before we left again.

Better on time than early, I thought as I returned to my book.

Why grumpy guys finish last

When my mother's health started to decline she spent a lot of time in hospital emergency rooms. As her decline continued she became unable to understand what she was being told about her condition. I needed to talk to the doctors.

"Sorry, I can't give you that information," I remember the nurse telling me over the phone one day.

It didn't matter that I was the patient's son. The nurse just wasn't going to talk to me. Goodbye.

A short while later my wife called the hospital, and explained that she was the daughter in law of the patient. She then had a lengthy discussion not only with the nurse, but with the examining physician, including a detailed explanation of the planned course of treatment.

I am reminded of this power of my wife's by the "anonymous" comment left on yesterday's post:

"I laughed until I cried when she described as her "biggest" complaint: No benches at the White Rock and Prospect Park bus stops."

Benches have been requested.

Talk about beginner's luck!

The wife's second day riding Sacramento Regional Transit produced her first assessment of her drivers:

Driver recognition -- appreciating the subtle

The No. 74 driver (bus 9372) was very friendly, cheerful, helpful -- a real "good humor man." He made a new rider feel at ease and less anxious. And (emphasis added here) he stopped in front of me. (Recall the 20-foot forced march yesterday.)

In contrast, the No. 80 driver (who will remain anonymous) was a little edgy, producing a sense of bearing down on cars, invisibly pushing them out of the way. But he was helpful to passsengers.

The bus -- a musical

The sound of music floated in the air of the No. 82 bus. Like a smell, it was hard to pick out exactly where it was coming from. Mostly, the sound seemed to be coming from in front of me. I was tempted to look at the bottom of my shoe.

This was odd. Normally, I can pinpoint the source of music on the bus. Worst of all are the jerks with the cellphone MP3 players. The tiny tinny speakers butcher the music. Forced to listen is like being twice abused -- first the aural intrusion and then the crappy quality.

Anyway, I tried to read my book but the music wouldn't go away. I have a handicap that severely limits my ability to read when I hear music with lyrics. Instrumental music is fine. At work I listen to classical. At home I play jazz. But words when I'm reading intrude.

Seated immediately in front of me was a guy with headphones on, his head resting on the seatback in front of him. Across from me was a guy with earbuds stuffed in his ears who was texting on his phone. I could pick out at least three other riders who were listening to their personal music. But the sound I was hearing clearly wasn't coming from headphones.

As the bus made its way along its long, winding route from the 65th Street station toward American River College, people kept leaving but the music remained. And eventually it dawned on me that the reason the driver wasn't yelling to have the music turned off was because the driver was playing the music.

As the bus emptied, the music seemed to grow louder. It certainly intruded more. Before I left the bus, two people moved from the front of the bus to the back. If they were trying to get away from the music they were disappointed.

When I left the bus, the driver said, "Thank you for riding Regional Transit."

I couldn't think of a snappy comeback so I just left.

I hope music isn't going to be a regular feature of riding Sacramento Regional Transit.

Farm animals on light rail

In the novella Animal Farm, George Orwell famously explains, "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others."

Seems this holds true at the 65th Street light rail station.

I arrived from midtown on the 6:19 outbound train. I walked over to the No. 82 bus stop and pulled out my book. I had almost 10 minutes to wait for the next scheduled departure. At least the weather was nice.

Eventually, the bus pulled into the transit center and made its way to the stop. When the bus doors opened a handful of people got off, and then the driver invited people to board. I showed my pass and took a seat.

As I returned to my book I heard the driver welcome a replacement driver. She then left the bus.

I looked up and noticed that the 6:33 inbound train was in the station. I then saw the bus driver crossing Q Street to catch the train. She didn't exactly fly. It was more an awkward lumbering. Jogging was obviously not something this driver did regularly.

Meanwhile, the light rail operator was finishing up boarding a handicapped rider. He was pulling up the ramp in preparation to close the door.

Just as the bus driver reached the train, the doors closed. She pressed the door button, but the door didn't open.

Well, I thought to myself, that seems fair. After all, that was exactly what happened in November to the two blind Sacramento State students I wrote about here. Trains wait for no one.

And then the door in the front of the train opened. The operator leaned out and waived to the bus driver and then went back inside. The door next to the bus driver then opened and she boarded the train.

"The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

Thank you, very much (continued)

I'm not a big fan of the driver who has the 7:28 p.m. run on the No. 82 route from 65th Street to American River College on Thursday and Friday. She's the one I wrote about here. She has taken to parking her bus away from the stop and turning off the lights during her break. But the weather has been gorgeous and even with the night chill the wait for the bus is at least tolerable.

Friday evening I read my book under the street light at the No. 82 stop at the 65th Street transit center. People would come up and check the schedule, and more than once I explained that the bus parked with its lights off on the 65th Street side of the bus lot was ours. The driver was on a break, I would tell them. She won't be here early, I explained. In fact, she's usually a minute or two late. I'm Mr. Know-It-All.

The driver was indeed a minute or two late. About a half-dozen people boarded with me.

By the time the bus got to Sacramento State, I was already deep into my book. In my peripheral vision I noted several people getting off and a much larger number boarding.

And then I noticed the smell. Oh, well, I said to myself. It wouldn't be the first time that a member of the unwashed hoards rode with me on the bus.

"What is that smell?" asked a woman with long gray hair who had taken a seat across the aisle from me. "That was the same smell on the bus I just got off."

The answer to the question was obvious: urine. It smelled like someone had left a diaper well past the saturation point. The lady's suggestion that the smell was on all buses -- or at least all buses that she rides -- reminded me of the children's fart rebuttal: A fox smells its own hole first.

But everyone could smell it, and it was getting noticeably stronger my the minute. Several people who had boarded at Sacramento State left the bus. After the woman across the aisle asked again what the smell was, the driver got up and walked to the back of the bus. The last half of the bus was now deserted except for a short, heavyset black woman of indeterminant age. She was seated on the back bench in the corner, surrounded by a collection of small packages and paper bags. She was wearing several layers of clothing appropriate to the weather. She wasn't obviously filthy, but she was clearly the source of the smell.

The driver, who is equally heavyset and equally black, walked up to the woman and told her to get off the bus. It was not a request.

There was some additional discussion between the driver and the woman that I didn't catch, but I was left with the impression that the woman didn't really understand what was happening.

The driver went back to the front of the bus. The woman gathered up her packages and, without protest, left via the side the door. Immediately, several people who had left the bus reboarded and everyone next to a window was reaching for the latches to open the small top windows.

The driver started the bus and drove a few yards away from the bus stop and then stopped the bus. She got up and left the bus without explanation.

A guy who had boarded at Sac State and then left and then reboarded explained that the woman had indeed been on the bus from downtown. He said he wasn't going to ride with her again. He could take the No. 87 to get where he was going, he said.

Several minutes passed. It was too dark outside to see what was happening. Eventually, the driver returned. She popped the hatch in the ceiling above her seat and then sat down. Soon we were on our way, the breeze from the open windows quickly removing the smell.

I'm not a big fan of this driver, but I did greatly appreciated not having to ride the next 30 minutes with the smell of urine soaking the air.

When I got home and retold the story to the wife, her first question was, What happened to the woman?

I had to admit I didn't know. Four more No. 82s passed through Sac State on their way to ARC on that Friday night. Maybe one of those drivers had a higher tolerance for the smell. Maybe she tried to sleep in the Sac State bus shelter, waiting for the campus police to roust her and tell her she had to leave.

It would be nice if we as a society had the compassion necessary to fund adequate mental health treatment for the less fortunate among us. At least then we could pretend to care.

Today's vocabulary lesson: APP AR

I want to write in the morning. All last year I was able to steal a half-hour or so before I started work and knock out something about the day's ride in. Now I can't, and I'm having some trouble adjusting.

Trying to be creative or at least coherent late at night just doesn't have the same feel.

Today, for instance, I jotted down some notes riding to work. Something like this:

vvv

Sometimes you get so deep into your personal world, so immersed in a book, that you forget where you are. And then you realize something is out of place. It is like waking from a dream. What's real, and what's the dream? A fog slowly lifts.

The bus isn't moving. That was what was wrong. I looked up from my book and quickly identified where we were stopped. It wasn't one of the route's timing points. There was no one getting off the bus. It was just me and the three other people who had been on the bus when I boarded. I tried looking outside, but I didn't see anyone.

Several anxious minutes passed with each actual second. Is the driver even on the bus? I couldn't see the driver from my vantage point in the back of the bus. Did she walk across the street to get a cup of coffee? Not likely, I decided. We were on the wrong side of Watt Avenue. Damn, this was weird.

But then, without a word, the driver put the bus in gear and pulled back into traffic.

I think I know what happened, and I'm quite impressed.

The other day I was reading RT's Glossary of Transit Terms and discovered something new. I was already aware of the concept of "Time Points":

A designated location and time that a bus or LR vehicle can arrive before -- but not leave earlier than -- the stated time as indicated in the route schedule.

Often in the evenings, the buses will spend several minutes at timing points, waiting to catch up with the schedule.

What I discovered in the glossary was the concept of APP AR

An abbreviation for "approximate arrival" time point. RT's operating policy permits driver discretion to depart these time points up to three minutes earlier than specific time noted in the schedule.

This rule, of course, explains why RT drivers and the 321-BUSS people warn riders that you have to be at a stop a minimum of three minutes early if you want to be sure to catch the bus.

In the little more than a year I've been riding to and from work, I've never had a driver invoke the APP AR rule. I've had a driver stop outside a Starbucks and rush in and out with a coffee. I've had more than one driver stop and rush into a convenience store to get a snack or a soda. I've had drivers take potty breaks. But never have I experienced waiting to catch up with the APP AR.

I've decided this is one really dedicated driver.

RT's blind customer service (continued)

And then you witness something and you realize how good you have it, and you feel embarrassed to have even mentioned the trifling inconveniences of block bus schedules and the lack of late-hour service. That's how I feel tonight.

Back in November, I wrote about an incident where a light rail operator forced the train doors closed while one blind Sacramento State student waited for another to make his way to the train. The two blind students, a young woman and a young man, were left at the station by the train operator.

Then on Feb. 2, a woman named Kate stopped by and added a comment to my post:

Hey, its really funny that i happened to find out about this posting because we are positive this was us. The 82 line always seems to be late, I've almost gotten used to having to run for light rail which i was supposed to have 10 minutes to wait for.

They want more people to take RT rather then drive but they make it inconvenient. Why ride a bus that will probably be late, because they are SO often, which could cause you to miss a connection and be late, when you can just drive. As a blind person since birth RT has always, unfortunately, been apart of my life.

Also so many of the drivers don't have a clue where they are going. I tell the driver where I am going since i can't see the stop and so many times they have no idea, some straight say they don't know and others seem to just kind of pick a stop and tell me I'm at my stop, that is the most annoying and frustrating. Complaining to RT does nothing,they don't ever seem to care about their riders. Ok I'm done on my RT rant.

As I explained to her in my follow-up comment, I'm pretty sure the guy she was with that night rides my No. 82 bus home from Sac State in the evenings. He boarded the bus tonight at Sac State and told the driver where he wanted to go. He then took the seat behind the driver.

The bus left the campus. This was one of the older buses. It doesn't have an automated voice that announces each stop like the newer buses. The bus rattled and bumped along Fair Oaks and turned onto Howe. The driver didn't bother with announcing the stops. He turned east on Northrop. A couple of people got off at Northrop and Howe. The bus then made its way down Northrop until a rider pulled the stop request cord.

The driver pulled the bus to the curb and opened the door.

The blind guy stood up and faced the driver and asked, "Is this the Carro stop?"

The passenger who had requested the stop walked past the blind guy and exited. I didn't hear anyone answer the blind guy's question. I didn't know what stop we were at.

"Is this the Carro stop?" the blind guy asked again, a note of urgency creeping into his voice.

The driver said something, but I didn't hear what he said. A passenger next to the blind guy explained that this was the Northrop and Fulton stop, and the Carro stop was one stop back.

At this point the driver bounded out of his chair, grabbed the blind guy's arm and ushered him off the bus. The driver then walked the blind guy back to the Carro stop. It took a few minutes for them to make it to Carro and for the driver to return. Fortunately, it's only about a tenth of a mile between the stops. I heard just one person on the bus grumble about the delay. The rest of us, me in particular, were silently grateful that the driver helped the blind guy and didn't just let him off the bus to make his own way back.

I like this driver. He's friendly and cheerful. He's one of the drivers who leaves his bus open while he's on his break, allowing riders to stay warm while they wait. When he finishes his break, he counts heads and checks that everyone has a pass and off we go. And as I've said before, that's a piece of courtesy I wish every bus driver offered, even if it is against RT policy.

But when one of these old buses creeks and groans down the street there's no way to know which stop is coming, especially if you are blind. This was a dramatic demonstration of why drivers are asked to announce each stop on these older buses. Certainly when the driver knows he has a blind passenger, he has a special obligation to announce the stops.

Thank you, very much

Thank you for contacting Regional Transit. Bus operators are required to de-board all passengers, secure the vehicle, and shut the doors for any scheduled break. If you need additional information please feel free to contact me at the number listed below.

Sincerely,


Robert H. Beverly
Customer Advocacy
Sacramento Regional Transit District
916.557.4545
916.456.1752 fax
cad@sacrt.com

A driving wind chilled the 45 degree air temperature to 33 degrees. The rain felt like sleet as it stung exposed flesh.

The No. 82 bus was parked and dark with the doors closed. No driver in sight. Three of us -- me, a woman and a man -- had arrived on the outbound train at 7:20 p.m. We were all getting very wet and very cold very quickly. The No. 82 wasn't scheduled to leave until 7:28 p.m.

Thank you for contacting Regional Transit. Bus operators are required to de-board all passengers, secure the vehicle, and shut the doors for any scheduled break. If you need additional information please feel free to contact me at the number listed below.

Sincerely,


Robert H. Beverly
Customer Advocacy
Sacramento Regional Transit District
916.557.4545
916.456.1752 fax
cad@sacrt.com

The three of us milled around in the rain outside the dark bus. I was hoping a driver would magically appear. I don't know what the woman was thinking. She had the hood of her jacket pulled tight around her face. The other member of our party was drunk. My first indication of how drunk he was came when he hit me.

And then he kept hitting me around my shoulders and upper arms. I looked at him. He stood about six inches shorter than me, and was skinny for his size. Looking at him slap my jacket I wondered if he was knocking some of the water off. That would be helpful, I thought.

He didn't say anything as he hit me, each blow noticeably more forceful. I got the impression that this was a drunken version of greeting. I was struck with a mental image of two drunks knocking each other down saying hello. While I tried to ignore the guy he managed to get one arm around my neck in a drunken embrace.

"It's just too cold to stand out here," I told the guy.

I walked over to the nearest bus stop shelter, my albatross hanging from my neck and banging on my back. Once we were sheltered from the wind, the guy lost interest in me. He found a white plastic bag and searched through it.

Thank you for contacting Regional Transit. Bus operators are required to de-board all passengers, secure the vehicle, and shut the doors for any scheduled break. If you need additional information please feel free to contact me at the number listed below.

Sincerely,


Robert H. Beverly
Customer Advocacy
Sacramento Regional Transit District
916.557.4545
916.456.1752 fax
cad@sacrt.com

The woman waiting with us for the bus watched silently. When my albatross and I went over to the bus stop shelter, she followed. But the guy pounding on me clearly dismayed her. She went back into the rain, returned to the shelter and left again. Eventually she walked to another shelter and waited alone.

The guy lost interest with the bag and returned to me. He said something that didn't make any sense. He hit my shoulder a couple of times and said something else.

"It is just too cold," I told him as I watched the wind turn the rain into waves of knives.

Thank you for contacting Regional Transit. Bus operators are required to de-board all passengers, secure the vehicle, and shut the doors for any scheduled break. If you need additional information please feel free to contact me at the number listed below.

Sincerely,


Robert H. Beverly
Customer Advocacy
Sacramento Regional Transit District
916.557.4545
916.456.1752 fax
cad@sacrt.com

In the distance I saw a round shape emerge from the dark. It looked like a large beach ball. As it got closer, I could distinguish the oversized umbrella and equally round driver. She wasn't in a hurry. Her progress, viewed from my frozen perspective in the bus stop shelter, appeared glacial.

The drunk left me and walked to the bus. He met the driver as she arrived. They appeared to say something to each other. It was too far away for me to hear and frankly I didn't care. Then the guy disappeared. I guess it wasn't his bus.

I got to the bus at the same time as the woman who had been waiting. We didn't wait to be invited aboard by the driver. We didn't even wait for the driver to turn on the interior lights. We took seats and tried to warm ourselves.

Thank you, very much, Sacramento Regional Transit.

Bus driver appreciation day

I don't know where I got the idea. Maybe it was part of the childhood folklore that insisted that you couldn't hit a moving target when playing Army. But somewhere I decided that if you walk in the rain you don't get as wet as you do when you just stand in one spot.

My new job responsibilities necessitate a slightly different schedule. It is easy enough to know when the bus will arrive; it's something of a challenge to figure out when you must start getting ready to finish on time. With half-hour interval service you don't want to miss the bus.

So today I was early. Five minutes to be exact. Looking at my watch in the rain, the hood of my jacket pulled tight to shield my naked cheeks (why did I cut off my beard?), I pondered my options. Stand in the rain? Walk to the next stop? Stand in the rain and get soaked? Walk a half-mile to the next stop and get less soaked?

I walked. I jammed my hands in my pants pockets and kept my head down as I splashed down the sidewalk.

About three-quarters of the way to the stop I heard the distinctive whine of the bus engine. I turned and looked up, and there it was coming up the street. There was no way I could make it to the stop before the bus.

I keep my bus pass in my pants pocket. I pulled out my pass only to discover I had pulled out my employee pass. I put that back and pulled out my Starbucks card.

Now I was getting a little frantic as the bus bore down on me.

Finally, I got it right and pulled out my bus pass and waived it in the air for the driver to see.

The driver, a woman, made an unscheduled stop and let me on.

As I boarded I thanked the driver. It was 9:41 and the bus was right on schedule for its 9:42 timing stop around the corner.

I think I'll just stand in the rain next time. The marginal benefits that might be imagined from moving in the rain, don't come close to outweighing the chance of being stranded between two stops.

When I got off the bus at 65th Street I made a point of going to the front of the bus and thanking the driver again.