Bankhead Blues

If I EVER chose the right time to stop driving my own car for my 60 plus mile commute, it is now.  You may not believe it to look at me, but I am a closet road-rager.  I'm sometimes even upset that I have the kids with me because then I know I have to maintain control over my urge to throw a tantrum when someone in front of me is going 20 miles an hour in a 45 mile an hour zone and there's a constant double line preventing me from passing them.  Or, when the idiots who were absent on "turn signal day" in driver's ed get behind the wheel.  But, especially when traffic is bumper to bumper on the Bayway.

The Bankhead tunnel was closed this week for much needed repairs.  I never take the Bankhead anyway, but obviously many motorists do, because suddenly this week there was a mess everyday trying to get across the bay.  From both directions.  Add a wreck in the Wallace tunnel, and you've got an extra hour or so to enjoy the interior of your car.

Notice I said "you."  "I," on the other hand, remained comfortably oblivious.  "I" read, filed my nails, played Words With Friends like I was a female Alec Baldwin and arrived at my destination cool, calm  and collected.

Others chose to bring their need to manage stressful situations onto the bus with them this week.  SO MANY debates on how to handle the traffic overflow.  Team Cochran Bridge vs. Team I-10 to Wallace Tunnel.  One Professional even had some parting words for the bus driver--  "I suppose your dispatcher wouldn't let you take another route?  Well fine, I guess I'll just take my car for the rest of the week..."  I have a new appreciation for bus drivers.

So, the good news, I guess, is that the Bankhead Tunnel is open now-- several days ahead of schedule.  The better news is that for me, it really doesn't matter!  Hmmm...  where to use this U...  Hey look!  I won!

"Welcome to My Nightmare"

It's not often that I share certain things about myself with others.  My chronic synesthesia involving numbers, my need to eat only one thing on my plate at a time, etc. I usually keep under lock and key.  In this same catagory falls my dreams.  Not dreams as in aspirations, goals, delusions--  those I share with anyone who will listen!  I mean the things that take place in my head once I fall asleep.

Is it conincidence, then, that just 2 days ago I shared what might be called a recurring nightmare?  The Boyfriend and I were fishing under and inbetween the Bayway and the Causeway, so I broke down and told him of the dream I have in which I am alone straddling a piece of concrete roadway, much higher in the sky than is comfortable, and I am trying my best to scale down it's hill without fallng into the murky water below.  And, after having exposed the dream to the light of day, I felt much better.  Even a little silly hearing the words coming out of my mouth.  I share this with you based on the notion that none of you have the time or inclination to properly interpret what this might mean.

Fast forward to this morning.  For the second time in as many weeks, the bus taking The Professionals and me from the Eastern Shore to Mobile became disabled before reaching Bienville Square.  Only this time, it came to a stop atop the Cochran Bridge.  A moment of silence for you to let that sink in.

Once again, and with greater irritation, The Professionals discussed their options.  Several, again, called friends, but this time none left the bus (seeing as there was no smoke this time, the greater risk would certainly be to stand outside, vulnerable at such a height.)  We watched anxiously as each passenger to have found a ride gingerly stepped off the bus, inched around the portruding door while leaning over the edge of the bridge before heading in front of the bus to the car that had come to their rescue.  After a call to a friend, it was my turn.  I have no recollection of how it happened, but I somehow made it around the door, in front of the bus, and into my friend Ritchie's car.  One of the scariest moments I can recall.  The stuff psychiatrist's couches are made for.

Fortunately, it all happened so fast that before I knew it, I was safe and sound.
Also, fortunately, my friend Ritchie's office building was close to my city bus stop, AND it had a ladies room.  A welcomed sight since I'd already had 2 cups of coffee and my 32 oz homemade smoothie.

As proof that there is a God, the city bus arrived on schedule, but since it was an hour later than the one I usually take there was a whole new cast of characters.  I looked around and tried to pick out the regulars from the ones who were only on the bus for today.  A man obviously strung out on something, a woman frail as she was pale, with an abundance of eyeliner to make up for her lack of blush, and a no nonsense woman busy with a cross word puzzle, occasionally meeting my gaze then rolling her eyes at the others around us. 

And then, out of nowhere, it came.  A sound/noise totally unexpected.  A man in the back of the bus was singing.  First low, then a bit louder.  I looked around, and no one but me seemed surprised.  By the time we got to Airport Blvd, a woman had joined in.  I was both annoyed and jealous that I didn't know the words and couldn't join in with the alto part!

All to soon the bus reached my stop and I once again faced the reality of my workday.

Sweet dreams are made of this?  Who am I to disagree...

I WON'T BUY CANDY. I WON'T BUY CANDY. I WON'T BUY CANDY.

While there are many advantages to traveling to work by bus instead of by car, two of my favorites are:
 1) I save money, and
 2) I am forced to walk 2 miles a day getting from one bus stop to another, which in turn, should result in at least a minimal weight loss. 

I have, after only 2 weeks of this endeavor, now found a way to single handedly negate both.  The A & M Peanut Shoppe.

It started innocently enough (but don't ALL bad habits?)--  I stopped to buy myself a treat after a particularly trying day.  My morning Fairhope to Mobile bus overheated just outside of the Bankhead tunnel, on the off ramp from the Bayway.  This was only a minor irritation, because I knew we would be taken care of, and I had plenty of time to get to my stop in Mobile.  And, bonus, it was fun to watch how The Professionals each chose to deal with the situation.  A handful dashed out of the bus as soon as possible, explaining that where there is smoke, there is a bus they prefer NOT to be on.  This group waited a good piece of grass away from us, and in time, a car driven by A Professional friend, not savvy enough to use the bus, pulled up and drove them away.  Others sat together and discussed the ramifications of arriving late for work.  Some had early meetings, others had deadlines to meet, but all agreed the best course of action was to sit tight and wait for our certain rescue.  In time it came, by way of a much larger bus that not only took us into downtown Mobile, but graciously dropped us each off at our respective buildings.  I, having no building to claim as my own, simply got off at the Square.

Work was uneventful, but my ride home was anything but.  I took a new route by foot from the Montlimar building to what I thought was an acceptable bus stop near the Windsor Place apartments.  I enjoy this walk much more than my trot down Montlimar because I can sing to the music in my headphones and there's no one to see me.  And I occasionally do what one might consider a dance move here or there just for kicks.  But I digress.  As I stood at the spot I considered to be the bus stop, I leaned out and waved at the bus driver to let him know I was, indeed, prepared to ride.  He smiled, waved back, and kept on driving.  My heart sank.  I realized in that split second that if this were to pass, I would be stranded in Mobile for God knows how long.  I did what any self respecting girl would do--  I ran screaming down the Airport Blvd. service road, begging the bus to stop.  Did I think it could hear me?  Who knows.  But, after only a few yards it STOPPED!  I was so relieved.  I climbed in and was instructed that I had NOT been standing at an acceptable bus stop, and that in the future, I would not be picked up if I stood there.  Got it.  The bus lurched and I swayed, then sat down in the first space I could find.  I heard, "Git own back here--  sit back here!"  It was the Bus Leader--  the outspoken, no nonsense woman that both thrills and scares me.  I made my way back to where she was and she began her assessment of the situation.  "Girl, I thought he was jus gonna let you run all the way--  I tole him stop, STOP! Let that girl on this bus--  shes sposed to BE on this bus..."  I have never been so grateful to a stranger in all my life.  And, even better, I suddenly didn't feel like such an outsider.  I felt the acceptance of everyone on the bus now that Their Leader had  stood up for me.  It was glorious.  Like when you're the first one picked for the kick ball team in elementary school.  All I could say was thank you.  She nodded self righteously, and we both glared at the driver.  She cut her eyes to me and muttered, "He's new."

So, understandably, by the time I walked past the Peanut Shoppe, I was in dire need of an indulgance.  Two dollars worth of snowcaps later and I was just fine, settling in to the bus that takes me home, and listening quietly to the banter of The Professionals as they discuss what happened in court that day, or how so and so is feeling since the operation, etc. 

Since that day it has taken much less to make me feel deserving of a treat as I pass the Shoppe.  I've had Maple Nut Goodies simply because they were my Mammaw's favorite candy, and on another day I had Gel Fruit Slices because they make me think of my Mom.  All in all, I'm sure I've made up for the money saved and calories burned by my detours into that place, but sometimes, well, it's all worth it.  Trying times call for... candy. 

Welcome to A Fare Hope!

Almost as much fun as riding the bus itself is the expression I get when I tell people that is how I get to and from work these days.  Some people are shocked and look at me like I’m an alien, others worry for my safety, but those who really know me are not surprised in the least.  Some are even jealous!  And it is at their request that I start this blog.  Join me on my journey, won’t you?

I decided to ditch my car for work transportation for several reasons--  not the least of which is the rising cost of gas—but also because my car is old, I travel 60 plus miles round trip, my a/c refuses to work for longer than 2 weeks at a time, and I just plain like the adventure of it all.  Here’s the drill--  at 6:50ish I leave my house in Fairhope and drive to the Hardees (less than a mile away) to catch the BRATS bus.  I’m often the first person on the bus, giving me a chance to enjoy small talk with Lamar, the morning driver.  I’m joined by a handful of freshly showered professionals and their iPads.  I know a couple of their names- and I expect before too long I’ll be joining in their conversations about Fairhope politics, college football and such.  My first week there was even a baby shower onboard for an expectant mom who is part of “the group.”  There’s usually no worry that anyone will take the seat next to me until we pick up the other professionals in Daphne and Spanish Fort.  Occasionally there will be the environmentally conscious bicycle rider, but they are rare.  We travel in comfort and quiet conversations across the bay and into Bienville Square by 7:45.  Once off the bus, the professionals disappear into their respective office buildings, and I am on my own, making my trek to my second bus of the morning.

The Wave city busses are awesome.  Completely 180 degrees opposite of the BRATS busses, but just as much (if not more) fun.  There is no driver/rider conversation, but the passengers carry on delightfully loud banter amongst  themselves.  Bus number 1 (to Providence) slows down to allow me to board across the street from the Government Plaza at 8:05, about a 5 minute walk from the Square.  This means lots of extra time to absorb the life around me.  The sounds and smells and sights of a busy downtown getting ready for another workday.  I sit at a bench at the bus stop and can’t take my eyes off of the passersby.  Some racing to get to work, others sauntering along, hoping just to get by.  Occasionally someone I’ve never met will sit next to me, and tell me (in all seriousness!) that he heard Ronald Reagan is running for president again this year.  Other times someone will silently take the seat next to me and avoid any kind of interaction at all.

Bus 12 comes by, then my bus number 1.  I board and begin my search for a seat before the bus takes off and I go lurching forward.  Or backward, depending on which way I’m facing.  The faces are beginning to look familiar to me now after a couple of weeks, and the ones I don’t recognize I rarely see again.  I love trying to figure out where the random riders are going, and what they will be doing with their day.  And why they never ride the bus at the same time.

On Bus number 1 there are no iPads, but plenty of iPhones, and lively phone conversations.  I am 90% of the time the only Caucasion, and I think I present just as much a mystery to the regular riders as they do to me.  Even with our differences, everyone is always helpful, moving over to offer me a seat, and making sure I know how to signal the driver to stop where I need to get off.

My adventure continues as I leave the bus with a couple of others and head for the Festival Center parking lot.  The others are students at Remington College, and have a much shorter walk than I.  The trek from Airport Blvd to the Montlimar office building is only a half mile, but it is the longest and scariest leg of my journey, because no one else actually walks from the shopping center to the office, and I feel a bit out of place.

The trip from the middle of Mobile back to Fairhope is much the same as the morning commute, with one fabulous exception.  There is a woman on the city bus I absolutely adore.  I actually look forward to seeing, and especially hearing, her each day!  She is the unofficial leader of the afternoon bus, the Alpha Rider if you will.  She is opinionated, loud, and will call you out if you dress like a ho.  I love her!!

I leave the city bus where I got on it in the morning, at the Government Plaza.  For the first time in my life I regularly use the crosswalks now to get from one side of Government to the other, and it’s quite a thrill.  I take a leisurely stroll through downtown, LODA, and end up at the BRATS bus, waiting for me at the Square.  We leave Mobile at 5:10, then stop in Spanish Fort and Daphne before we end our ride in Fairhope at 6. 

So there you have it.  The basics of my daily commute.  But it’s never the same ride twice, as you’ll see in upcoming entries…