Making ends meet at Sacramento Regional Transit

The staff at Sacramento Regional Transit has set the stage for an important discussion Monday over how the district will absorb expected state reductions in operating funding. Among the proposals sure to bring crowds to the board meeting is the elimination of free bus and light rail rides for Paratransit-qualified residents. Instead, they would have to pay the same 50-percent discount as students and seniors.

Without a state budget, RT can't predict exactly how much it will have to cut to make ends meet this year. The cuts proposed by the governor had RT looking at a shortfall of $11.3 million. Thankfully, a compromise is in the works in the Legislature. According to RT General Manager Mike Wiley in his report to the district board, "If the compromise budget is approved as written, RT will experience an operating shortfall of $4.8 million in (state) revenue in (fiscal year) 2008-2009."

That $4.8 million is much better than $11.3 million, but it is still a big hole to fill. Making things harder is the fact that the easy cuts were made last year, when state funding was reduced $14 million below what RT had budgeted. Making ends meet last year required cuts in service. RT wants to do everything possible to avoid more service cuts.

"Staff firmly believes and agrees that RT is in the business of providing service and not cutting service," Wiley told the board.

The one spot of good news in the report is the estimate that the increase in ridership generated by higher gasoline prices and the Interstate 5 fix have brought in about $1.1 million more in fare revenue than the district had budgeted.

That will help, but something else will have to give and first on Wiley's list of options for the board is the elimination of the Paratransit Group Pass.

"The group pass originated to provide a lower cost alternative for Paratransit eligible riders and their qualified care givers," Wiley explains. "The cost of riders to ride Paratransit is now $4, although the cost to RT is $60 per ride."

Anecdotal evidence cited by Wiley suggests that many people apply for Paratransit eligibility just so they can get the free RT pass.

A staff survey of transportation agencies found the free ride option is unusual. "Of the 20 transit agencies surveyed," according to Wiley, "only two, besides RT, offer free ridership."

As Wiley points out, while charging $1 is a big hike from a free ride, it is still a substantial discount from the $4 Paratransit charge.

Making Paratransit-qualified riders pay the same fare as the elderly will generate about $1.1 million in new revenue.

Another proposal that many will find annoying is the addition of a parking fee at light rail park-and-ride lots. Wiley is proposing a $1 to $2 fee, with the $2 option his preferred choice. Wiley estimates the $2 fee would generate $1.1 million, assuming a midyear start.

Wiley and his staff have found some staffing cuts, areas that he admits will cause morale problems, and a couple of options for stringing out how the district funds its pension. (This will not affect the actual pension benefits.)

And, finally, there's proposed fare increases. The staff has put together four scenarios. At one end, riders would see basic fares rising to $2.25, daily passes to $5.50 and the monthly pass going to $95. At the other extreme, basic fares would increase to $2.50, the daily pass to $6.25 and the monthly pass to $106.

Putting all of this together, Wiley offers two examples of how this could play out.

If the district needs to raise $5.3 million, RT could do that with the extra money from increased ridership, the end of Paratransit free rides, reduced staffing levels, a modest shift in the pension contributions and the smallest of the proposed fare increases.

If the state doesn't come through and RT has to make up for a cut of $11.8 million, then the real pain will happen. In addition to the other stuff, RT would institute the parking fee, increase the fares to the highest option, make an even more drastic adjustment to the pension contributions and reduce bus and light rail service enough to scrap together $6.6 million per year to achieve $3.3 million in fiscal year 2009. Wiley provides a number of ways to cut service to raise this money. (See this press release.)

It's time for more of those letters to lawmakers telling them the importance of transit and the reason why it should remain a priority for the state. The alternative is just too bleak to consider.

* * *

The public hearing will be held July 28 at 6 p.m. in the RT Auditorium located at 1400 29th Street (at N Street).

Subway pole dancing! Light rail next?

The naked guy who hijacked the Las Vegas bus can stay in Vegas, as the saying goes. But now we have Monserrat Morilles, 26, who decided to protest Chile's generally prudish ways by stripping and doing poll dances on Santiago subway trains.



Being a child of the '60s and all, this really does bring back the memories.

"This is just a beginning. We are starting an idea here that will grow and be developed further," she told Reuters as police and subway guards surrounded her.

You can find the complete Reuters story here.

Perhaps she could be invited to America by the people who sponsor the No Pants Metro Ride to add a little purpose to their annual rite.

Bad air quality

I want to monitor many more Web sites than I have time to visit. For most sites, I subscribe to RSS (really simple syndication) feeds and monitor content changes in my news reader. I'm a big Google Reader fan.

For static sites that don't have RSS feeds, I've found a very satisfactory alternative. Registered users of www.WatchThatPage.com can enter URLs to be monitored. The site allows users to specify when the pages will be checked. You can check as often as once an hour. You can then receive an email that details the change in the static page.

For instance, I received this when I returned home on the bus today:

*********************************************************
Differences in page http://www.publictransportation.org/
*********************************************************
Public transportation reduces pollution and helps promote cleaner air.

I had to laugh at this, not just because of the deadly air here in Sacramento, but because it wasn't true on my trip downtown today.

Smells on the bus are not that common, certainly not as common as one might expect for a public conveyance -- the great unwashed hordes, and all that. But overstrong perfume is much more likely than unwashed body odor.

But shit happens.

A whole bag of shit judging from the smell that drew me out of my book and sent several riders fleeing the front of the No. 82 bus early this afternoon.

At first I thought a guy who walked past me was carrying a load in his pants. But then I noticed several people moving from the front of the bus to the back. Others were squirming and covering their noses with the collars of their T-shirts.

Attention was focusing on a skinny guy seated near the front door. He didn't look dirty. His clothes appeared clean. But the unmistakable smell of shit was spreading from him to every corner of the bus. My guess was that the smell was coming from a white plastic shopping bag and black trash bag on the floor in front of him. He was clutching the bags as if they were his only possessions in the world. Before long there was no one within four seats of the guy, and every window in the bus was open -- 106-degree heat or no.

The driver eventually realized he had a problem. He exchanged some words with the guy that I didn't hear while the bus was between stops, but the guy was unmoved. At Kaiser Hospital the driver stopped the bus and told the guy to leave. He refused. The driver got out of his seat and said he would have the guy removed. The guy refused to budge. The driver picked up the phone to call for help and several passengers who remained in the front of the bus shouted for the guy to leave.

The standoff didn't last long. The guy may have been crazy -- no one in their right mind smells like that -- but he wasn't that crazy. He scurried off the bus using the rear door and then went around to the front to salute the driver with his middle finger.

Call me crazy, but I miss my daily commute.

What happens in Vegas . . .

From the file: What Happens in Las Vegas, Stays in Las Vegas -- please

Naked man hijacks bus
LAS VEGAS REVIEW-JOURNAL (July 09, 2008)

A naked man was arrested Tuesday morning after hijacking a Citizens Area Transit bus.

Las Vegas police said the man, 35-year-old Charles P. Sell, was first seen stealing a beer at the 7-Eleven on the corner of Lamb Boulevard and Washington Avenue about 8 a.m.

An officer arrived at the scene and the man fled, a police spokesman said.

Sell then climbed onto the back of a moving CAT bus traveling east on Washington, broke one of the back windows with his fists, and climbed in.

He threw the driver off the bus and drove it about 200 yards before jumping off, according to police. An officer climbed aboard and stopped it. ...

Riding the bus

"Just you and me today," said the driver as I boarded.

I looked into the coach and was surprised by how big an empty bus looks.

Taking my regular seat in the first elevated row at the back of the bus I took out my pocket-size notebook and began drafting this blog post.

Yesterday the wife and I took the bus to the University of California, Davis, Medical Center. We boarded the No. 82 at the stop down the street from our house. The bus had a lot of people already and then, three stops later, two dozen middle-school-age kids and their chaperons filled every open spot. The bus was standing-room only until it stopped across from the bowling alley on Watt.

The passengers seemed to let out a collective sigh as the bus disgorged its bowlers.

Nothing like today's bus. It's summertime and the Sacramento State and American River College students who normally help take up space on the No. 82 are busy elsewhere. Still, by the time the bus reached Watt today, I had been joined by a half-dozen passengers.

On the trip to UCDMC yesterday, the wife and I rode to the 65th Street light rail station and then the train down to 39th Street. I had noticed the signs for the hospital shuttle at 39th Street before but never used it. On past visits, both the wife and I instead used the No. 38 bus. This time, however, I called the "parking" information number and learned that the shuttles run between the 39th Street station and the hospital every 20 minutes. Inside the hospital's complex, other shuttles run every seven minutes. And, best of all, they are free.

It was only after we boarded the shuttle and took the short ride to the hospital that I realized how close UCDMC is to light rail. We could have easily walked to the hospital that morning, but we were thankful for the ride in the afternoon after the wife finished her round of visits. We caught a shuttle from the Ellison Building to the main hospital. It was after 3:30 and we were hungry. We thought we'd catch a bite to eat across the street at La Bou. Silly us. La Bou closes at 3:30 p.m. And so does the diner just down the street. Not one but both eateries closed at 3:30? It's a conspiracy!

So we walked back to the hospital and caught the shuttle to light rail and light rail back to the No. 82. One of the "nice" things about having a weekday off and riding the bus on a monthly pass is the ability to get off, do stuff and catch the next bus. We got off at the Butano and Sam's Club stop and walked to the Michael's store. The wife bought some stuff and we walked to Panera's to buy some bread and, since we were now really famished, some sandwiches.

I digress here to give a cheer for the designer of the restaurant portion of Panera's. The shop offers free wi-fi and -- here's the treat -- power outlets at every booth. I set up my laptop and the wife and I checked our e-mail and had a relaxing and enjoyable break. Eventually we walked to Watt and El Camino to catch the next No. 82. ...

At this point, my notes from this morning's bus ride end. I had been busily scribbling while the bus stopped and started, letting people off and on. And then we stopped on Morse Avenue and I looked up to see a long line of elementary-school-age kids holding hands in single file, lined up next to the bus stop sign. After a brief negotiation between an adult and the driver, the hoard descended on the back of the bus, taking up every seat, including the vacant half next to me.

I tried to finish my notes, but it was soon just too distracting. The "indoor voices, please" lasted about -- oh, maybe, a bus length down the street. The kids weren't screaming, but each one had to talk louder to be heard over the other kid who was talking louder to be heard over the other kid.

So I put away my notepad and pulled out my book. I was surprised by how small a full bus looks.

The last drinking party in the London Underground ever

From The Independent: For thousands, it was the chance to be part of a Facebook-inspired "flash mob" – a spontaneous group of partygoers enjoying the last night of legal drinking on the London Underground.

But for sober Tube travellers, Saturday night's journey was the stuff of nightmares. ...

As the lead train made its way through the City and on towards west London, the atmosphere was boisterous but friendly, with three carriages full of people dancing on the seats and singing Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". At Victoria station, a bemused, elderly, American couple hesitated to board the train before passengers grabbed them by the arms and pulled them on, pouring each of them a large brandy.

However, as the train progressed on its 22-stop circuit, some of the crowd began ripping maps and posters off the walls. With some drinkers pouring beer into their mouths through funnels, vomiting soon became common. One man dressed as a Star Wars character urinated between the doors to the adjoining carriage, on to the electrified tracks below, cheered by others.

At Notting Hill, shortly before 10pm, passengers broke the doors on one carriage, putting the train out of service. The Circle line was suspended soon afterwards. Elsewhere, Euston, Euston Square, Aldgate, Gloucester Road and Baker Street stations were also closed. ...

Somehow I don't see this happening in Sacramento. But maybe we could do this.

V.O.T.

From the wife . . .

---

The husband warned me and I knew it had to happen eventually: V.O.T.

This morning I happily climbed into the train-before-my-usual-train at Starfire because the No. 84 bus was just early enough to allow me to jaywalk Folsom and run to the boarding side of the east-bound train before it arrived. When I get this train I don’t have to wait in the chill for the next train to take me to Mather/Mills; I get to the No. 74 bus at Mather and wait in the comfortable warmth of the bus until my rightful train arrives.

As I walked a short distance down the aisle, the unmistakable stench of vomit hit me, but it was too late to turn back. Other people were sitting and tolerating it, although one girl was standing by the door ignoring empty seats. Well, I sat down looking carefully, but not carefully enough. As I considered hopping off at the next stop and getting on another car, I decided the heck with it, I’ll just bear it. The smell seemed to lessen, but that was just my olfactory sensors benumbed by the onslaught of the odious compound molecules. As we finally got to Mather and I stood up to exit, I looked down, aghast, to see a loathsome substance dangerously close to my shoe! ARgghh!

I stopped at the first patch of dirt, hoping my being wasn’t permanently contaminated for the day.

Next time, I’m off at the next stop. At least you can get off the train with the expectation of a 15-minute wait for the next one. Not so lucky if that was on a bus. I hope the buses carry a bag of kitty litter.

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.

Just another unremarkable evening on the bus

Last night, I met the wife at 65th Street and we rode home together. Her bus never showed at Starfire and rather than wait for the next bus she came down to 65th Street. The wife never has trouble getting to work, but the ride home -- at least the connection with the bus at Starfire -- has proven to be very hit or miss. Since the bus route starts just down the street at the Watt/Manlove station, it is really hard to understand what the problem is. The only thing reliable is the unreliability of the bus.

Anyway, we were joined on the bus yesterday by the father I mentioned in the previous post, sans infant daughter. As he was packing up his laptop computer and preparing to get off the bus I mentioned that I had seen him on the morning bus.

"You've misplaced your daughter?" I asked.

"No," he laughed. "She's with her mother." In the course of a brief conversation I learned that his girls are 1 and 5.

Tonight, I was riding home alone. At Sac State the guy boarded again, this time accompanied by his 5-year old daughter. They settled in the seat behind me. I tried to read my book but I wanted to see what was going on behind me. Finally, I said hello and we ended up talking until he and his daughter left.

To show you just how socially backward I am, this was the first conversation of any length that I've had with a fellow rider. (Not counting the wife, of course.)

He's a political science student; his wife is a substitute teacher. Once he graduates she'll go back to school to get her master's in cultural anthropology. His interest is in the third house -- lobbying. The kids attend the preschool on campus. Beyond the simple convenience, he says the kids benefit from the enthusiastic volunteer support of Sac State students applying what they're learning about early childhood education.

Ah, to be young again, with everything ahead of you.

The Manchester United soccer fan from the morning before was riding home tonight, this time boasting support for the St. Louis Rams. Having been raised in Los Angeles when the Rams were the hometown team, I've never been able to transfer my allegiance to today's Midwestern edition of the team. When I was in high school I had an after-school job delivering furniture. I remember delivering a sofa to the home of Roman Gabriel, the Ram's quarterback. It was a nice neighborhood. I remember wondering at the time if Gabriel's neighbors knew he was the Rams' quarterback.

Random thoughts strung together.

Just another unremarkable -- and enjoyable -- evening on the bus

Just another unremarkable morning on the bus.

A man in a summer-weight brown suit, beige shirt and dark tie boards the bus. He has a black bag over one shoulder and a backpack. In his arms he carries an infant girl with wispy blonde hair wearing a pink dress. He expertly manages the maneuver required to simultaneously unload and reposition his baggage while seating himself and his daughter as the bus jerks and starts down the street.

A young boy wearing a backpack and carrying a cell phone boards the bus. I hear a woman give the driver instructions as the boy feeds coins one at a time into the fare box. The boy takes a seat just inside the door and the woman walks away pushing a stroller. She waves. The boy, however, is intently focused on his cell phone.

A Sacramento State student wearing a Manchester United shirt loads his bike on the front of the bus and boards. He takes a seat. On the back of his shirt is Wayne Rooney's name. No doubt the student is celebrating yesterday's victory by the Red Devils over my favorite team, Barcelona. Now it will be an all-English Champions League final in Moscow on May 21. I prefer Chelsea over Liverpool. The two meet this afternoon to decide who will play Manchester United.

A young couple are cuddling in the seat in front of me. I'm in the first elevated row in the back. This is where I was seated last night with the wife. The cuddling couple were on that bus as well and also in the same seat. Transit symmetry of sorts.

A man in a security guard uniform sits across from the boy in the front. There's nothing to guard.

A forty-something man with an expensive looking polo shirt, immaculate hair cut and stylishly trimmed mustache takes a seat. As he shifts his weight one of his bags falls into the aisle with a loud thud. He makes no move to pick it up. I notice then that he has a hearing aid buried deep in his ear. Eventually he notices the missing package and finds it in the aisle.

A guy behind me and across the aisle is loudly talking on a cell phone. His feet are up and over the back of the seat in front of him. He wants someone to burn a CD for him.

Rumbling and bouncing. Speeding up and slowing down. Stopping and starting.

I hear a motherly female voice tell the boy in the front of the bus that the next stop is his. It sounds as if the voice is coming from behind me. The bus makes the turn onto Morse and pulls to a stop in front of Kaiser Hospital. "This is where you get off," the female voice says. Only then do I realize it's the driver. The boy says "Thanks" and leaves.

The towheaded girl is quiet in her father's lap. The Manchester United fan is manipulating buttons on his phone using only his thumb. It's a very big thumb and a very small phone. The security guard gets up to get off and realizes he's one stop early. Not a problem. The driver continues to the next stop. The guy on the cell phone now has his feet on the floor of the bus. He is talking quietly to his cell phone customer service representative. He is asking about text message pricing. "Fifteen cents each?" he asks. A pause. "You can do that?" A lengthy pause.

The bus is entering the realm of off-campus student housing. Each stop adds another Sac State rider and the odd extra passenger heading to points between.

The guy in the polo shirt has his arm draped along the back of his seat. He studies the scenery as we roll along. In front of him, the little girl is making little girl noises and her father is making comforting father noises and otherwise giving her his attention. The father and daughter are regulars on the No. 82. He has another daughter, a few years older. Perhaps she's in preschool now.

We arrive at Sac State and the man in the suit with the infant girl gathers his two bags and leaves the bus. On the sidewalk, he raises his daughter and places her on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his neck. Off they stride into the campus. Behind them the Manchester United fan has retrieved his bike and rides off.

A half-dozen passengers ride with me to 65th Street where we have an accident -- shortly after I get off the bus, the inbound train arrives, shaving 15 minutes off my morning commute.

Just another unremarkable morning on the bus.

Wayne's world

The Bee has a letter today from a guy named Wayne Bruns. Wayne is an unhappy former Sacramento Regional Transit customer.

"During my rides, I encountered spaced-out drug addicts, boisterous gangs of youths, ticketless riders, fresh vomit and an overall lack of security presence that became unnerving."

As someone who feels compelled to defend RT, my first response is to disregard Wayne's hyperbole. After all, what magic power does Wayne possess that allows him to know when he is in the presence of "ticketless riders"?

But regular readers of this blog will appreciate why I can't deny that sometimes -- not always, not often, but sometimes -- riding transit can be "too intimidating" -- even for a guy who would be loath to describe himself as an "older person."

Yesterday, I worked at home for the first half of the day. (Go Barça!) At around 2 p.m. I was standing at the 65th Street light rail station waiting for the inbound train. Nearby was a man who was yelling.

At first the guy wasn't yelling at anything in particular. But after a few minutes he started yelling at a guy all dressed up in a cycling outfit who was eating a sandwich next to his bike. The more the cyclist ignored the guy, the louder the guy got. He was hoping up and down and back and forth and gesturing, but he wasn't approaching the cyclist or making any other hostile moves. He was just yelling. (I suspect he's the same guy I met here.)

Eventually, the cyclist finished his sandwich and walked across Q Street to where a guy wearing a security guard uniform was waiting for a bus. The guard wasn't one of RT's contract Wachenhut guys. This was just some Joe heading home. But he was willing to help out the cyclist. He walked over and calmed the yeller down.

The train arrived and I didn't get a chance to see the end of the story. But that night on my bus ride home I got to share the ride with a boisterous guy who let everyone know he was from Detroit. He was seated with a woman. In the seat in front of him was a sleeping bag and backpack. He wasn't in the same league with the teen girls from Friday, but I think Wayne would have had an issue with riding with this guy.

The Bee uses Wayne's letter to segue into a discussion of Sacramento Regional Transit's efforts to get a law passed that would give them the authority to ban habitually misbehaving riders for as long as a year.

The Bee explains that RT's legislation was derailed by "civil libertarians, who feared it would be used by transit districts to target the mentally ill or homeless."

I consider myself a liberal guy, the sort of person who feels the homeless and the mentally ill deserve a break. Generally, I feel those "uncomfortable" riding with people different from themselves should just get over it. But as a daily rider of buses and light rail I don't see why disruptive behavior must be tolerated as some sort of civil right.

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.

No foolin'

Yes, we're now a two-pass family. The wife did four days last week, and even with the missed connection on Friday and the dash to make a train another day, she still wanted to continue. Over the weekend, the wife purchased a new over-the-shoulder backpack to better prepare for the inevitable run to make a connection. Sacramento Regional Transit should consider selling these essential transit user accessories.

The kid was hoping his mother would lose interest since he has to get her to the bus stop each morning and pick her up in the evening, but I think my whining over the last year has inoculated her against most of the minor annoyances that come with relying on Sacramento Regional Transit to get to and from work. Really, the drama of getting a teenager up and out the door in time to take the wife to the bus stop makes riding RT look easy.

Using the monthly pass rather than buying daily passes will significantly reduce the wife's commute expense while simplifying the experience.

RT really needs to rethink its bus transfer policy. Making people pay an extra $2 for a second transfer is unreasonable, especially since its RT's fault that people find more than one transfer necessary to complete their trip. The wife's situation is a good example: She takes a bus to light rail (because buses have been turned into light rail feeder lines). She takes light rail for a short hop and then she boards a second bus to get within walking distance of her office. (And, no, she's not going to test Google Transit's one transfer and walk across Highway 50 suggestion.)

Since RT allows riders to buy all-day passes for $5, there is no reason to charge more than $2.50 for a single trip. And if RT's budget is based on tricking people into paying $8.50 for a round trip when an all-day pass costs only $5, then it deserves the declining patronage that it is seeing on its bus routes.

In a perfect world, the fare would be something less than $2 with transfers during the next hour free. In the less than perfect world that RT operates, a rider should pay just 25 cents for each transfer.

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 house guest

The bus turned the corner and I could see the woman waiting, seated on the bench inside the bus stop shelter. I recognized her. She was the same woman I mentioned in yesterday's post, the woman left at the stop as the bus rolled by.

As the driver completed the turn, he slowed the bus and pulled to the curb. The woman inside the bus stop shelter made no move to get up from the bench. She sat impassive to the bus and the invitation of its physical presence.

The driver did not open the door to ask if the woman wanted to board. There was no point. The woman's fixed glare was unequivocal. This bus was unwanted.

The bus pulled away from the curb and continued down the street, leaving the bus stop house guest unmoved.

Cutting costs with the bus

In America, and especially here in California, getting a driver's license is a child's right of passage comparable to the first day of school. Both bring tears to the eyes of parents. But instead of tears of joy, these are the tears squeezed out by the financial pain of adding another driver to the household budget.

Last week, the kid got his driver's license and immediately the cost of insuring our two vehicles went up $1,900 a year -- $158.33 each month, $5.21 every day. It doesn't matter if he never drives.

According to a 2005 study, vehicle and related expenses accounted for 17 percent of total household expenditures—more than households spent on food and clothing, combined. And that was when gas was $2.09 a gallon.

The hit to our household budget has driven the wife to give transit a try.

Unfortunately, it won't be as easy as it is for me. Sacramento Regional Transit is so focused on moving people to and from downtown that getting anywhere else can be problematic.

The No. 82 bus that goes right by our front door takes me to light rail, which delivers me to midtown. The total trip takes a little more than an hour. The wife needs to get to Rancho Cordova. If she were to rely on the No. 82, it would take an hour and 30 minutes to an hour and 40 minutes.

The wife is not ready to make that much of a sacrifice, and so we've worked out a compromise.

The kid is going to drive his mother to a bus stop about two miles from our home and then drive himself to school. He is not excited about the arrangement, but it beats the alternative -- walking to school.

It will take the wife a little more than an hour to reach her office in Rancho Cordova. The trip, which requires two buses and light rail, theoretically costs $4.25 each way, but an all-day pass for $5 will cover the round trip. Even at $5, that is a real savings off the $9.36 estimated daily cost of driving solo to work.

Tonight, the kid, the wife and I piled into the car and set off to time how long it takes to get from our driveway to the bus stop where the kid will drop off his mother. We then tested an alternate place to meet up with the bus for those days when they don't get out of the house on time.

According to "A Better Way to Go," the CalPIRG Education Fund's transit study, the cost of owning and operating private vehicles costs American households $900 billion annually. It sure will be nice if we can cut our share of that burden. Of course, it would be even nicer if RT made it a little easier.

The panhandle of transit

I had worked a half-hour later than my regular shift. The two-car train I boarded at 23rd Street was crowded as I worked my way to the middle of the car and stood against the wall across from the Wachenhut guard. At 29th Street, the guard left and a sea of teenagers filled every available seat and overflowed into the middle of the car with me.

The three teenage girls across from me were high school age, maybe younger. The guy next to me was older, but not much. This was one of those crowds that I find unremarkable, but that I know make others uncomfortable. Too much teenage energy and noise mixed with touches of sullen defiance.

At the next stop two black men in oversized coats and knit caps boarded. They were 6-2, maybe 6-4 with athletic builds, although it was hard to tell with the baggy clothes. These are the sorts of guys who scared Barack Obama's white grandmother.

One guy stayed by the door and the other worked his way from one end of the car to the other holding out a 16-ounce paper cup and asking for money.

"Sorry," I said, "I don't carry cash."

The guy moved on, tapping people on the shoulder and holding out the cup. I didn't find the guy particularly intimidating. At least he was taking no for an answer.

When the train reached 65th Street, I got off and walked over to the No. 82 bus stop. One of the rewards of working a half-hour late is that I get an extra 15-minute wait for the next bus. (Thank you, RT, for block scheduling.) I leaned against the street light and pulled out my book and started to read.

"You got any money?" the male voice asked.

I looked up to see the same guy holding out the paper cup.

"Nope," I said. "I don't carry cash."

The two guys then walked off together. I had to admit this was becoming uncomfortable. It was now dark, and I was the only person under the street light.

When the No. 82 finally materialized so did the two guys. They boarded first and took a seat on the back bench of the bus. I took a seat in the middle, where the light is better. As I returned to my book, the driver left the bus.

One of the passengers was a tall, skinny white guy dressed in slacks and a polo shirt with some trademark I couldn't make out on the pocket. He sat down across from the two guys in the back and tried to start up a conversation.

It quickly became evident that he was a volunteer working for Barack Obama's campaign, which apparently has an office nearby.

"Would you guys be interested in helping in the campaign?" he asked.

"Does it pay?" asked one of the guys.

"Well, no," the Obama guy said. "It's just volunteer work. It's fun, though."

I was strongly resisting the urge to protect this naive young man from himself, but instead I sat and listened. I could see the Obama guy out of the corner of my eye, but not the guys in the back.

"So," the Obama guy said, "What do you guys do?"

"Live," said one of the guys.

"Until we die," said the other.

This went right over the Obama guy's head. "Well, but not too soon," he said and half-laughed. "You know, die. Not before ..." At that point I think he realized he had no idea what these guys could expect between live and die.

"How old are you," one of the guys asked the Obama guy.

"Eighteen," he replied. "I go to Mira Loma High School."

The Obama guy apparently pulled out a book and started reading because one of the guys asked him what the book was about.

He stumbled in his answer.

"Something about monetary policy in developing countries," he tried. "I don't know. I've just started it."

For me, this pegged the kid as a member of Mira Loma's famous International Baccalaureate program. I live just a few blocks from the school. The program attracts kids from all over the county. Some of them, judging by this guy, who have led unusually sheltered lives.

"You got any money?" one of the guys asked the Obama guy.

In a remarkably cheerful voice, the Obama guy replied, "I have two dollars." He started to reach into his pants pocket, but quickly modified his answer to, "I can give you one dollar. I need the other one for later."

I didn't see the transaction. Shortly afterward, the Obama guy was saved by a cellphone call from someone offering to give him a ride home from the bus stop. He got off the bus.

The guy with the paper cup then walked from the back of the bus to the front, asking the passengers if they had money.

"No," I said. "I don't carry cash."

He did manage to get another dollar from a guy in the front of the bus, and then he returned to his seat in the back as the driver returned.

Eventually, the bus left the station and we made our way to Sacramento State, where three or four more riders boarded.

As the bus was pulling away from Sac State, the guy with the cup got up and approached each of the new riders, asking for money.

It was one thing to be panhandling on the train. It was another to solicit on the bus while the driver was away. But to get up -- big as life -- while the bus is moving and ask for money -- well, why wasn't the driver saying anything?

The guy returned to the back bench, and eventually both guys left the bus.

Later, a woman who had been sitting behind me walked to the front of the bus to talk with the driver. The driver claimed not to have noticed the guy panhandling. A plausible defense, I suppose. The woman filled him in on all of the details. I didn't hear their full conversation. I went back to my book.

And, yes, I do have a dollar, maybe two, in my backpack. Just in case. You never know when it might come in handy.

The fare-jumper

I suppose it was just a matter of time, but it was still a huge surprise to watch an overweight woman in a pastel polyester pantsuit squeeze aboard the bus from the side door and casually take a seat without paying her fare.

The No. 38 bus was stopped at Broadway and Stockton. There were maybe a half-dozen people waiting to get on. Inside the bus, the driver was busy with offloading a gaggle of elderly people, half of whom were using walkers and the rest were pulling collapsible grocery carts. It was a slow motion geriatric pileup in the front of the bus.

At the rear of the bus, meanwhile, a stream of riders were exiting the side door. As the last rider left, a woman waiting just outside the door stepped aboard as the doors started to close. Even with the doors fully open it would have been something of a squeeze, but she had to really work to make it inside with the doors pressing in.

When I traveled to San Francisco for the Summer of Love concert back in September, I saw a lot of fare-jumping, but that was because the only way to board the overcrowded bus to the concert was to lunge aboard when someone exited. It was a lawless mess, but somehow fitting to the occasion.

The fare-jumper chatted with a lady who had boarded at the front door and paid her fair. I couldn't hear what was said. I kept waiting for the driver to come back and ask her to pay. Granted, paying $2 to travel a few blocks is a steep toll, but she could have walked. It's not like she didn't need the exercise.

The woman got off the bus at the Medical Center.

In my original draft of this blog post I described her waddle as she crossed the grass toward the Medical Center, and the way her cellulite made her butt look like a polyester wrapped sack of marbles. But the wife considers that tasteless and unkind and generally demeaning to fat people. She says I can do better.

I'm trying, but I'm not having much luck. That parting image is replaying in my mind. I can understand kids playing games, testing the boundaries. But an adult woman? Even in polyester, what would prompt such behavior, such disregard for social norms? In more than 12 months of riding the bus, I have not witnessed another fare jumper. It's unsettling. It is so not transitarian.

Getting there on the bus

Today I took the kid to his orthodontist appointment -- on the bus. The kid was not as excited as I was. After all, transitarian enthusiasm is so dorky, so unhip or so not whatever is the teen phrase of the day.

It helped, of course, that the kid is on spring break. That eliminated the need for the wife to rush the kid to the appointment and back to school before heading in the opposite direction to work.

This morning I was fairly lucky rolling him out of bed in time to be ready to walk out the door to meet the bus. That's one real problem when herding cats or a sullen teenager -- fixed schedules. The bus driver isn't going to stop outside your house and honk to hurry you up.

I'm working hard here trying to make this as big a deal as I can, but the whole trip was a lesson in the ease of using transit when it is available.

It's a straight (figuratively speaking) run on the No. 82 to Sac State and from there to midtown on the No. 30. We got off the bus at the western corner of Sutter's Fort and L Street. The kid walked a block and a half to his orthodontist's appointment while I walked 10 blocks to work. I was a half-block from my office when the kid called to say he had finished with his appointment.

The kid then walked to Starbucks on 19th and J, bought a coffee and waited for one of three different buses that make connections with the No. 82.

As the kid explained in a phone call to his mother when he got home, it was no big deal. He's taken the bus before.

But that bus ride will also most likely be the last he takes for some time. Thursday he takes his driving test, and once he passes he gets the car that's been garaged at home while I've been taking the bus. I'm hoping the price of gas will keep him close to home.

The realization that I won't have that extra car to fall back on when riding the bus isn't so convenient has been making me grumpy. Well, grumpier. I've gained a certain appreciation for the anger just under the surface of people who have no choice but to live with the lackluster level of transit service in Sacramento. It's one thing to be a choice rider; it's quite another to have no choice.