Ghost bus
April 13, 2013
That was the oddest bus ride home—or anywhere—ever!—because I had the whole damned thing to myself! I have a 1.75 mile ride home. There were eight stops on the way, give or take. Nobody got on. I didn’t get off. Weird. This was at 9pm on a Friday evening. There should have been somebody else, even if only onebody else.
I’ve said before—I’m so incredibly fortunate that I don’t have to drive my car to work. Home to work is less than two miles.
I have the light rail available, for a five-minute walk. I like that best because it’s the smoothest ride and once you get on it, it’s the fastest and it drops me off kitty corner from my building, thought I usually get off the stop before because I can walk to my door about a minute faster, and sometimes that important, so it’s the habit I’ve gotten into.
I also have several bus options. If I walk five minutes, I can find the 3, 16, or 50 which will then drop me off half a block from the office. Or, I can catch the 22 practically right outside my door. The trouble with the 22 is that once I get downtown, I have to either walk seven minutes or catch a bus connection on 4th Street. It turns out that three of those connections are the aforementioned 3, 16, and 50. Difference is, if I hop onto the 22 first, then I only have to walk 50 yards rather than five minutes to their own stops.
If I end up on the 22 to downtown there are also two or three express bus options to transfer to, because once they get downtown they’re pretty much like any other local bus. I still get dropped off half a block from the office. Life is tough.
In the Google Maps scheme of things if you’re inclined to stalk me, there’s not much difference between my home neighborhood and downtown proper, really. Well, if you’re from Chicago or something. Or if you’re from a small town. Which probably more people are than not.
It’s good to know I have options.
The night in bus ride: home from work
December 18, 2010
I was supposed to ride a route from start point to end point and document, but I misunderstood. So instead, I simply got home from work.
I wanted to take the 7 because it picks me up right outside of work and lets me off right outside of home. Unfortunately, I went to this stop which was half a block away from the office in the wrong direction from where the 7 actually stops. At first (second), I thought I’d get on this 50 but there were too many other people getting on.
Besides, a 3 was right behind it, which goes the same way as far as I needed to take it.
So I got on it instead.
There were fewer people. That made me happy.
The 3 and I parted ways at the Metrodome. The poor, deflated Metrodome. Ah, now you’re paying attention. There’s no puff on the top, is there.
Unfortunately, neither the 50 nor the 3 go right to my mid-ride stop, so I had to walk about a quarter mile to get to Sorella for an informal wine tasting.
The wine tasting didn’t really take that long, so I had a while to wait for my transfer, which would now be the 7, or the 22. Either one deposits me satisfactorily close to home. Here comes a 22.
There were a few more people on the 22 …
… including me!
And, home. Astute friends will notice Palmer’s Bar just ahead.
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 