Deke's Note: The busiest trip of my Line 9 is the 6:30 roll through Portland's Downtown Transit Mall. After years of pushing my roll to meet the demands of an out-of-operational-touch management, I have learned to split each route into segments. Conquer one of them, and the next may fall into the positive as well. If not, Dad always taught me to have Plan B, C and D ready to implement. Often, it comes down to D. (For someone who thinks "D" stands for "Dumbass", you haven't lived the life of a transit operator. Sit back and take this lesson from one who constantly does.)
Whatever our Standard Operating Procedures (SOP) dictate, the ultimate time I leave North Terminal is when I believe it is prudent to. I know what awaits my Beastie. Their needs, numbers and particulars. After two weeks in, I have already dialed their needs into my run time. Even if an upper-management-pressured supe is there to watch me depart, whether it be considered "early" or "late". Luckily for me, I know my Union brothers and sister Road Supes assigned there, and they have done my job.
On this run, I know Oscar awaits me in his wheelchair. If I'm rolling a 4000-series bus, it behooves me to ready the right-side priority seating in anticipation of his boarding before I begin the route. These new buses are extremely-difficult for him to lift the seats, given less-than-user-friendly controls.
Management seems resigned to the City of Portland's failure to intelligently-program the traffic signals on the north-end of the transit mall. Anything I can do to ensure efficient boarding time helps me be ready to go on the ridiculously-short green light at 5/Davis. If I have to hold longer than that, a MAX will surely pre-empt the next green light, making me wait an unbearable two extra reds. When this happens, I leave there a full two minutes late.
Once I finally roll the next five blocks into my next stop at 6/Harvey Milk (Stark), I'm a full 90 seconds late. If the MAX is one stop behind, chances are good it will again pre-empt the signal and roll ahead of me. My bus is often standing-room-only before I turn off the Transit Mall. If all works right, I can arrive at the 6/Taylor time point precisely on time. However, if that happens, chances are about 80% that Line 17 is already in the first position. If it's driven by a pro, they see me rolling up slowly behind, because I know their light is about to go green. (I hate to stop my bus twice: once in Position 2 and then again at the first.) They already have their doors closed and are ready to roll. If they miscalculated and ended up early, a true "pro" will roll on the next green to the next stop's fourth position, throw on their 4-ways, and make room for me to roll.
Our Scheduling Department seems intent upon ensuring Lines 9 and 17 arriving simultaneously at our shared outbound mall stops. Before management's "on-time performance" push came into play, schedules were a bit looser. This synchronicity was meant to allow passengers the opportunity to effortlessly transfer between lines. Bus operators would actually welcome these interactions. It was once called "the meet", an actual layover. In days of old, operators of both lines had enough time to leave the seat and stretch a few minutes, relating their respective stories with one another. This was an historic tradition between operators.
Nowadays, there's no time in either line's schedules to allow for anything other than let people off, board new passengers, and hopefully close the doors in time for the green to GO again! If a different line lingers longer than a veteran would, it delays the bus behind them and causes unnecessary stress and a re-calculation of schedule. If you're running to catch a bus which has closed doors as the light turns green, sorry... you missed it. That's the harsh reality of transit. Deal with it. At least you're early for the next bus. We have to roll, in order to faithfully serve those who arrive at their stops on time.After the Taylor time point, if just barely-late by a minute or so, we have to wait as the Streetcar pre-empts a two-light cycle before we can cross Market. Gunning the accelerator after a smooth yet horribly-slow roll uphill from the Columbia stop, I can only hope for enough acceleration to safely pass through the next intersection, pass the stopped Streetcar to roll into Harrison after the 17 has departed. With the Orange Line a few stops back and a fresh red, I can board the roughly-20 people in ample time before the light goes green again. Whew! Dodged a bullet there.
Merging into the far-left lane to access the left-turn onto Lincoln, I allow a few car-lengths behind to make a safe lane transition. Turn signal flashing forever long, I have to not only pay close attention to my mirror but also to the view ahead, which typically involves dodging the law-breakers who believe Bus Only means "everybody except me".
Approaching the Lincoln Avenue MAX station, I survey the scene ahead. Of course, there are always awaiting passengers for either my 9, the 17 or 19. If there's a 17 ahead of me, I'm resigned to following them all the way to a distant Powell/Milwaukie stop. If they're behind me, they're likely thinking the same, with a similar sigh of acceptance. Whoever's in the "lead" will hopefully do our part to be efficient. If I arrive at 1st Avenue first, I'll delay my roll over the sensors as the light turns green to hopefully allow my following brother/sister to successfully follow through. If I'm lucky, they're of the same mind if I'm behind them.
A few minutes later, both buses arrive at the OHSU/MAX/Streetcar stop prior to the Tilikum Crossing. This is one of my favorite stops because it usually awards me with my most-gracious regulars. I'm usually a few minutes late there, but I know the paddle moving forward "bubbles" before my next time point.
"Welcome aboard!" I greet my favorites as they enter my mobile office. I value their patronage. Some may not acknowledge my greeting, but a few smile and make eye contact. This is something more treasured than they realize.
Many are medical professionals who work at Oregon Health Sciences University up on "Pill Hill". Their jobs are much like mine in the amount of human suffering they encounter. Once upon a time, I was a fellow of theirs as we entered our adult entry into Portland Community College's Biology 101 in pursuit of a better future. Torrey "Mad Hatta" is now a nurse at OHSU. While I failed to reach my then-dream of a career in the medical field of choice, Torrey persevered to earn his own. I am in awe of his accomplishment, but I do not mourn my failure because it led me into this fascinating opportunity to serve working Portland.
After passing over the awesome Tilikum Crossing transit/pedestrian/bicycle bridge over the majestic Willamette River, the only one of its kind in the USA, I roll through the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) stop. Then I push to arrive on time at Powell/Milwaukie.
The next 12 miles of my route are straight down Powell Boulevard. It is one of Portland's most heavily-traveled interior arteries. It's full of peril. Dark stops await, with transit-hopefuls crouched within half-assed shelters from the elements. Intending passengers expect us to see them in their all-dark clothing, and often call in complaints against us if we fail to catch their invisibility. Unfair? Of course.
I roll carefully, fully-expecting to service every stop up to 52nd, whether to allow passengers to exit or board new humans with fake "service animals". I have to be extremely vigilant. Traffic is heavy, motorists are intent upon finding any excuse to cut me off to arrive first at the next red light. Pedestrians are loathe to use crosswalks, and I am constantly scanning for them. Many a time I have stopped (smoothly, in honor of standees on the bus) in time to avoid hitting jaywalkers. Most have no idea how difficult it is to see them.
I'm almost a "veteran" bus operator. It has taken over seven years to get here, but I'm constantly learning. My eyes, my head, body and soul are working together so I can see and predict anything which might come into the path of my 20-ton urban assault vehicle. I don't like to think of it as such, but given the dangers we face, it's an unfortunate reality of this profession.As I've gained the experiences learned through years and 150,000-odd miles behind the wheel of a city bus, one thing remains vital: to see what is and what could be as I push through the constant dangers presented every second.
Approaching the 72nd Avenue stop, I'm apprehensive. If someone requests this stop, it involves pulling into the right-turn lane near-side of the intersection. Thus hogging the right-turn lane, I have to be doubly-aware of the cars approaching on my left. Sometimes, a motorist will illegally use the travel lane as a right-turn lane, and make that maneuver directly in front of me as I prepare to merge back into traffic. Given the size of my bus, they cannot see those who have just exited and are crossing on the green pedestrian signal. There have been many instances where I have honked the horn in warning to both pedestrians and the motorists who cannot see my former passengers in the crosswalk. Luckily for all of us, nobody I've seen has been involved in this tragedy I constantly fear.
Once I arrive at the 82nd Avenue intersection, a choice awaits me. There, the near-side right-turn lane is also one legally allowing transit to use as a through-way to the far-side stop. If a car is poised there, I'll remain in the traffic lane. On purpose. Why? My passengers who hope to alight near-side will always ask. Because those cars are required to wait for passing traffic on the cross street, then also the opposite direction left-turning green arrow awaiters, not to mention the pedestrians waiting for the green "Walk" signal. Unless the right-turn lane is empty when I arrive there, I won't take it. This may annoy a passenger who needs to catch that ever-present Line 72, but their safety is my main concern. Sometimes they ask me to allow them exit from the travel lane, and I have to refuse. They may have to make an extra crossing, but I'm also concentrating on the path ahead and a full passenger load intent upon making their connections on time.
If I'm under five minutes behind at the 92nd Avenue stop, I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I must battle the myriad of law-breaking motorists to merge back into traffic. From there I'm allowed extra time to make the next time point near Powell Garage, and then onto the next one at 122nd. Usually, I can pass up a few stops in this stretch and make up a few minutes of late time.
From 122 to 136th Avenues, it's currently a massive construction zone. We never know when flaggers will delay us. Many a collective sigh can be heard over the overwhelming silence of a cell phone-hushed ride when we're delayed there. Sometimes we're speedily flagged through, but one or two days each week I have been forced to wait several precious minutes for construction activity to clear. Sitting there, I re-calculate the rest of my route's time. I'll look into the mirror and do a quick passenger count, estimating where I might make up the time I'm currently forced to endure.
Finally, I'm given the flag to proceed. Often, my calculations are corrected by requests for the next several stops. I just sigh in resignation. At this point, I know any possibility of making up the late time is for naught. Just roll with it, I tell myself. And so I do. The most important part of The Mantra takes center stage here: Be Safe.
 |
| RIP Freddi Evans... your smiles and hugs remain with us forever, along with your fierce dedication to the safety of all those with whom you so faithfully rolled with. |
When I approach the 181st intersection, there are often less than 10 passengers. The final fifth of the run lies ahead. Mindful of the reduced speed limit from when I last rolled this route, I concentrate on this extremely-dark stretch. If I allow myself to be complacent anticipating the next break, bad things can happen. That's where the Be Vigilant portion of my Mantra is most important. Often, operators can falter at this point of their run. Especially if vacation or their end-of-the-week awaits their arrival. We cannot afford to let down our guard, even in the last few feet of our run. Safety is the Operator's most-intense goal. Our very jobs depend upon our readiness to conquer the most-dangerous aspects of driving. Let down our guard for even a moment, and someone's life is ended or horribly-altered, as well as our own.
As I guide the Beast past the 2700 Block stop approaching Downtown Gresham, it's still very dark. I roll around the curve toward Birdsdale mindful of the nearside stop at that intersection. The light is green, nobody awaits in the pitch-black night wearing Portland's favorite color (dark), and I can make up at least one minute of the three minutes late showing on the CAD. A few moments later, I roll through the Eastman Parkway light and into Downtown Gresham. I navigate the turn onto a very-narrow Main Street and I hog the middle line. Oncoming vehicles are wary of my vehicle's size, except the pickups who think their 7,000-pounds outmatch my 40,000... their retractable rearview mirrors fully-extended even though they tow nothing behind them. I'm a bit of a bully here. Only if they stubbornly refuse to give an inch do I slightly-alter my steering to accommodate their lack of driving skill.
One more obstacle awaits: the MAX tracks just before I turn onto NE 10th Drive leading toward Gresham Transit Center. Some passengers ask why I can't just pull up another block so they can more-easily access their transfer vehicle, especially if Portland's winter skies are pouring wetness down upon us. Sorry folks, but this is the end of the line. I will, if pressed, explain why I cannot, will not, pull into the transit center proper. Usually, the pax know the drill. They ride every day and don't need any explanation as to why they have to walk half-a-block or so in the unforgiving elements to their next connection.
Finally! Relief! I'm alone, at long last. Abdominal gas passes, to my personal relief. I walk down the length of the bus, retrieving trash and left-behind items to be logged into Lost & Found. Someone spilled their coffee on a seat, I wipe it up. Future passengers need not be assailed by what is left behind. This bus is my office, and I like to keep it clean. It's respectful for me to offer the cleanest environment possible to my passengers.
The only time we can relax is once the bus is locked down and we're finally its only occupants. Texting or calling my Beloved is a welcome reward.
Stepping off my ride, I take an active part in my nicotine addiction. We're well-acquainted, and mutually-relieved to find ourselves again. About 85 minutes have passed, and we eagerly become re-acquainted. Unless I'm hungry. If that's the case, I munch on whatever I've brought to quench it, and wash that down with water or my ever-present supply of Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper. Afterward, the necessary rush of nicotine followed by voiding the bladder brings my bus forward to those awaiting my impending departure.
As always, I greet my post-break passengers with a smile. Some I recognize, others are regulars of my leader who missed my leader Bruce's ride.
After emptying the trash can in the bin outside, I walk the several yards between my vehicle and the stop sign ahead. I psyche myself up for the roll downtown. Often, these few moments involve a few more moments reassuring Beloved I have survived yet another Line 9 Experience. Then, I slip this modern ball-and-chain back into my pocket. It's set to "Do Not Disturb" yet left ON. If circumstances require, this status allows me to quickly call for help outside my bus if access to onboard radio is not possible. Safety first, management. I'd rather live rather than the horrific alternative. Given that we're always vulnerable to dangerous interactions, if I need to call for help I don't want to risk having to retrieve and then turn back on my lifeline.
Deke is soon rolling back toward Downtown Portland. It's a less-strenuous 75-minute run, often more relaxed and time-efficient than the eastward roll. Thanks for riding along!
Early morning inbound 9 riders are the best. Most carried flashlights. Rarely missed any. One of my favorite runs
ReplyDelete