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Linda Davick
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three years ago, I
ceased to drive a car. No, my license wasn’t
suspended. A collision with an SUV finished off our
15-year-old Toyota. It also nearly killed my husband, who
had just
dropped off the kids. Horrified by the close call,
we decided not to replace the car—at least for a
while, we said.
Given that we had two full-time jobs and
three sons in three different schools who participated
in swimming,
soccer, choir and more, our friends reacted with surprise
and even a little suspicion when we told them. “Aren’t
you too busy to both rely on buses?” they asked. “Is
it really fair to the kids?” “It’s not
as if you can’t afford a car.” “Who’d
want to ride with strangers?” “How will you get
things home from Costco and Target?”
In truth, the logistics
of mass transit are relatively easy where we live.
You can get just about anywhere
in Portland, Ore., within an hour by bus. The trip
might take 20 minutes
longer than by car, but you’re spared the stress of
negotiating the roads and fending off hostile drivers.
My
husband, commuting to the University of Portland, was
already a fan of mass transit. Our kids quickly
adapted to taking buses to school and to many of their
outside activities.
Yes, they had to decide which interests were worth
the effort, but that in itself was an eye-opener. (The
oldest declined
to take tae kwon do with his friends, while choosing
to study Japanese in evening classes at the university.)
Two of the
boys became avid cyclists. For the kids’ after-dark
events, we arranged car rides with other families,
thanking them with home-baked cookies and childcare
IOUs. All of us
made nice friends this way, and the give-and-take strengthened
our sense of community.
When the grandparents visited,
we simply rented a minivan to haul everyone around,
accomplishing more sightseeing
than in the days when such outings required a two-car
caravan.
Waiting
for the bus every day, I’ve been amazed at
how many people offer me lifts. Usually they’re acquaintances,
but not always. “I see you here all the time,” a
stranger might say, lowering the window with a smile. “I
live up the road, and my name is . . . ”
I’ve
found that the bus is actually a pleasant place. While car
drivers can shout insults and peel away in
anonymity, most passengers are cordial within the confines
of a bus.
Commuting to rehearsals, performances and classes (I’m
a classical orgainist and music teacher), I’ve come
to know several bus drivers by name. They greet me
like a friend and sometimes provide little courtesies,
like dropping
me at my house. I like hearing their stories, and I
love it when they cut off the SUVs.
I’ve seen more of
the city than ever before from the elevated windows of the
bus. I can also look at my
kids—and
laugh with them—when I’m not the one behind the
wheel.
Other, subtler revolutions have quietly reshaped
our lives. A few months after the Toyota was totaled,
we realized we were generating less trash. Even the recycling
dwindled.
We had stopped driving to the supermarket and instead
were walking to a local grocery store, buying fewer
items and
using bulk foods and other packaging shortcuts.
True,
it’s hard to lug home five gallons of milk each
week, and a 10-pound bag of flour is still a stretch
for me. But a cab back from the grocery is just $4
if I need it. Meanwhile, the walking has strengthened
our legs
and
lungs. A one-mile stroll used to leave my 8-year-old
breathless; now we all walk for fun.
Giving up the car didn’t
save us money, since our vehicle was a bomber and bus passes
for five cost about $1,200
a year. The big windfall, for me, was the unexpected
increase in personal time. I stopped running out to the ’burbs
on shopping sprees—no more Costco, no more Target.
I stopped committing to projects and meetings unless
they really mattered to me. My whole life slowed down.
Now,
a bit sadly, I’m edging back into the fast lane.
Finances have pressured me to accept some gigs at times
and places beyond the bus’s reach. Our “new” 1987
Honda gets me to the concert halls and classrooms—but
other than that, I pretend it’s not there. For the
simpler, saner lifestyle, we prefer to live carfree.
Meanwhile,
some of our friends have given up their vehicles.
I offer them a lift whenever I happen to pass by,
lowering the window with a smile.  |
