Transit agency management is fraught with turnover. No matter how they pontificate on how much was learned "from the last time", many lessons are long forgotten along with their ensuing golden gooses. Perhaps those before failed to document suggestions for the "next time" when they left. Whatever the case, each time Portland is hit with winter weather, the connection between common sense and those who deal with the storms are filled with static and confusion. There is no seamless transition of leadership from those who should benefit from past "studies".
It is a given that Portland weather trends are hard to predict. However, technology has afforded us better tools than just half a decade ago. This storm was true to forecast, arrived as scheduled and behaved as each of the media outlets thought, within minimal deviations. In storms past, we were all wondering just which forecast was the one to believe. Usually, what happened was what we all least expected. It is therefore not fully management's fault in the past how it responded on its heels. What bothers me is how there is no cohesive, decisive and precedent-based line of thought associated with each winter storm.
Initially, it was business as usual. It was bitter cold. The temperature fell steadily from the 40s to 19 degrees in 36 hours, and the wind roared throughout the Willamette Valley to chills as low as six. Meanwhile, precipitation fell through the coldest reaches of the atmosphere through a warmer layer, then froze again into ice crystals at ground level. It appeared to be snow, but it was just zillions of tiny crystals accumulating, only to be spread here and yon by a relentlessly bitter East wind.
As it began to accumulate, I tested my bus. Trying to make it slip, knowing how to successfully recover from a skid, I could not achieve a lack of traction. At 20 degrees, there was virtually no humidity, therefore the road was dry. Although I automatically backed off speed to compensate for possibly-wet spot/black ice conditions, there wasn't much need. That first night, we were saved by the thermometer. Still, I mentally compensated for the next day. I watched from my front porch three hours after arriving safely home, as the precipitation became oh so slightly wetter. When I awoke eight hours later, Ma Nature had added a freshly-shiny overcoat.
"Damn," I uttered with a grimace, gazing out the window. "This is gonna be fun."
Luckily, my front-wheel-drive Hyundai eased out of its warm garage down the driveway and onto the street without the slightest slippage. Instead of rolling down the boulevard at 42mph, the rutted conditions dictated a safer 25-30 all the way to the garage some 9.2 miles distant. No problem, I left earlier than usual. Knowing my maintenance brothers and sisters would have fully-chained my bus already, likely having a say in this administrative decision. Being closer to the real world, they knew it would be easier and more cost-effective to do this chore at the garages rather than laying on the ground in bitter conditions "out there".
My bus actually arrived at my relief point early, the fairly-new operator I relieved telling me of one point he almost became stuck, but managed to guide it upward and onward. Giving him a nod and kudos for NOT getting stuck, having experienced this before and enduring a two-hour wait, I claimed the seat.
I took note of that location because I had narrowly avoided rescue there several years prior. It's a slight incline prior to a stop-lighted intersection. Even as a green driver, I chose to hold back below the incline until the light turned green, anticipating and starting to roll just before the light changed. Fishtailed a bit as I hit the precipice, ignoring the yellow-to-red stoplight, I nailed that challenge. At the time, my nervous passengers actually applauded my not getting stuck. Not only can it be embarrassing having to be rescued, but at the beginning of a weather event it's even worse.
Adorned in five layers (including thermals) over my upper body in addition to a scarf, the frigid air sailed through my pants and boxers to severely curl my balls AWOL abdomen-bound. Coaxing urine to flow outbound was a test of patience not unequal to a Prius's arrogant ignorance of every law of the road. (Longtime FTDS readers might notice my previous disdain for BMW/Mercedes/Audi/Volvo has evolved.)
Walking back to the bus involved buffeting 30mph-plus gusts which sent icy air deep into my nether regions. Unfortunately, my bus HVAC seemed weaker than the temps, failing to adequately warm me or keep ice from forming on the windshield. It actually seemed to encourage frost to travel from on high ever-lower into my field of vision. At one point I almost had to exit the bus to scrape the encroaching ice field.
* * * * *
Conditions were much more challenging the second day. However, it was more a managerial failure that dictated my work than the actual weather. My regular work was totally cancelled that day, so I reported instead to my garage instead of my regular road relief regimen. I was immediately sent out to a bus on a fairly-close track to pre-trip and await instruction. Three hours later, a maintenance worker told all half-dozen of us still there to go back inside because it was time to move the buses.
After 90 minutes of munching a tasteless burrito from the "company store", taking several vape breaks, and talking to several folks I hadn't seen in ages, I was given the go-ahead by our incredibly-poised Station Agent to proceed to Oregon City and finish the last round trip of my regular work.
After completing this short round trip, Dispatch sent me northward to a transit center it took 45 minutes to reach. I was tasked with being a light rail shuttle bus to the airport, where all flights were long-ago-cancelled. Shaking my head at the ludicrous nature of this folly, it was still better driving a bus than sitting around cell-gazing. My normal quitting time was only an hour distant, so 20 minutes after my arrival, the onsite supervisor calculated the time it would take me to get back to Center garage, then told Dispatch he was sending me homeward-bound. My soul did a happy dance. It was the easiest 9.25 hours of pay I've earned in several years.
* * * * *
Risking the ire of our already-embarrassed management, several nagging questions beg consideration.
Why were lessons of the past not documented so future generations would appreciate their benefit? After years of "studying" past events, previous administrations helped current management fail this test. I'm sorry folks "up there", but there is no cohesive, decisive, "lessons learned" directives for you to rely upon. When will this agency find a way to not only grasp the reins during inclement weather, but surge beyond expectations?
Why wasn't there a clear path of routes defined for the operators available to serve? Management had an entire day to plan, should have known which routes would be cancelled and how to most efficiently use the workforce on hand. Instead, we were sent on strange missions to nowhere after hours of waiting. It was an incredible waste of money and resources.
Why doesn't management study transit systems in the Midwest/Northeast, where icy weather is the norm during winter months? Aren't there systems which warm the catenary wires of light rail to keep ice from forming on them? Surely, our ice storms pale in comparison to that of other locales. Hell, when it snows half an inch here, schools panic and close. Businesses shutter early and send panicked employees home before "it hits". Good for transit numbers, bad for the bottom line.
Why does Portland refuse to adequately prepare for winter weather? Major streets remain un-plowed, while state and federal authorities are busily clearing major highways/interstates. Meanwhile, Portland's aging transit mall becomes an unruly mess. Even in good weather, the city fails miserably in keeping the lines painted, does not install adequate signs informing (or citing stubborn/lazy) motorists what is legal there. It creates a dangerous mix of foolishness to abound, a downtown showdown between common sense and pure ridiculousness. It's a wonder people aren't killed there every day, but you can credit bus/light rail operators for constant vigilance.
Since Portland refuses to get its head unstuck from its nether regions, I implore Sam the Man to take matters into his eager-to-change-the-past transit hands.
* * * * *
AT the risk of being labeled a "transit apologist" or worse, I can only say there have been major changes in management's attitude over the past year. Bullshit policies of yore have been replaced with (cautiously) more lenient/frontline-friendly overtures. While our wage increase should have been 12-15% more given what Operations personnel have been through the past two years, we are seeing signs of improvement. Where we are leery, more distrustful, Sam's Regime has given us reason to hope. A wonderful change has been that management is giving us more leeway with intending passengers. They have become much more challenging to see out there, and this change has put the onus back on them, in that they have the responsibility to signal their intention to ride, especially given their propensity to be extremely difficult to see in their dark choice of fashion.
Management's easing of SIPs (Service Improvement Program) is slowly evolving into what the acronym implies. When a passenger complains about being passed up, it is incumbent on management to investigate first the conditions which led up to the alleged incident to ascertain who actually was at fault. People not trained as we are are oblivious to what we are constantly trained to see. Dark is something we cannot see, so we often do not. When we're operating a bus, our eyes are constantly scanning 180 degrees, plus whatever we can see at the 360 mark. A bus stop accounts for mere seconds of our attention. If a passenger is bent down in an unlit shelter staring at their technological ball and chain, chances are 90% we cannot see them there. It is incumbent upon them therefore to be aware of our impending arrival (given several app options which can alert them we're close by) and stand at the stop pole (which our eyes automatically gravitate to while scanning), preferably waving a light or otherwise trying to catch our attention. Believe it or not, our attention is not always focused on that dark stop where you're fixated upon your social media apps. We're busily guiding 20+ tons of metal and glass among much smaller vehicles whose drivers are not nearly as focused as we are.
It is a major victory for us, therefore, for management to recognize the cell phone's intrusion upon civilian common sense and offer some forgiveness for our mere human ability to see in the darkest of the dark, heavy rain further shielding our vision from the inattentiveness of the riding public. And, equally important, to insist upon the public's awareness they have an equal responsibility in that it is their responsibility to make themselves visible to us.
No, your cellphone does not take precedence over your intent to ride our vehicles. Your attention is therefore warranted to direct our attention to your intentions. Learn it, people. Otherwise, your complaint is simply a whining of a child yet to find attention.
In my 10 years, I've seen Portland's transit through some very tumultuous times. I was trained by the old school, but soon found immediate reason to adapt to quickly-evolving social modes. When I arrived on the scene, cellphones were new. So was Stephen King's novel "Cell". Social media was mostly accessed via home computers. People spoke to each other on transit. Troublemakers were often dealt with internally, without the operator becoming intensely-involved. Portlanders bantered about, discussed issues and found ways to disagree without using fists, knives, guns, or physical violence. Transit workers were respected for the most part. Reading books and enjoying healthy conversation with fellow passengers were more common than... total... fucking... techno-silence.
* * * * *
I could go on and on. Ad nauseum. But I know this missive has held you a good 10 minutes or so. These days, you're trained to only read a few sentences before moving on. Yet my fingers/mind/bus driver's soul yearns to hold you even longer. There is so much more to say as my hands relive the rigors of the road. I'm grateful you've lasted this long.
Often whilst I drive The Beast, I think of snippets to share with you. But once I arrive upon my beloved home, my soul melts into the couch and this aging body sinks ever deeper into the couch. This night being New Year's Day, I could not bear to leave my writer's angst further wallowing into the ether. Some of you faithfully read each post, and my love for you is intensely-appreciated. Others have left me for shorter themes. But the Operator of each bus has many tales to tell. This blog simply tells the story of this one.
Thanks for being here. Nearly 10 years now, I have written my feelings here. Five years ago, I published "JUST DRIVE - Life in the Bus Lane", which many of you now own. It has been a lifelong dream to publish a book. Now that I have, and the First Edition is done, it's evident a Second Edition is due. First, or concurrently, to finishing my novel about a troll who preys upon wicked cyclists who dare cross the Tilikum Crossing.
Thanks for reading this blog, for your patience while my writer mojo takes unscheduled breaks. Thank you for always being there, over 750,000 times. It's all this writer needs to find a reason to write. Mostly, thank you Beloved, for supporting me no matter where this jumbled mind resides.
Oh, and Happy New Year, ya filthy animals! (See the movie Home Alone for reference.) May 2023 find us coming together for a greater good rather adhering to some ancient political philosophy. We need to find good in one another, rather than focusing on our differences. I love you all, no matter what you believe. Peace be with you.
With great love, I am
COOMER (aka Deke)
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