Staring Out The Window

Yesterday I spent the day on a field trip with my daughter's fourth grade class. It was a great day. On the bus ride home, my daughter decided to sit one row behind me (piling in with her friends), so I had a few minutes of free time. Taking advantage of this, I—of course—decided to spend the next half-hour staring out the window.

What I learned was this: I quite enjoy staring out the window. In our family, I'm usually the driver, so I'm looking ahead. But I enjoy staring out the window so much, I could do it all day. Have you ever *really* focused on the stuff you see as a passenger? Every car, every house, every person—they all have a story. Every object, every thing—designed by someone.

There are so many fascinating details and so many stories out there, no one ever has an excuse to be bored. I think that's why I'm a real estate developer. I'm fascinated by how people live and work, and enjoy creating spaces for them to do so.

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The End Of Our One-Car Era

After 10 years of using public transit (seven of light rail to my office, three of bus during graduate school), I am now officially a full-fledged car commuter. You see, my office relocated from the downtown core to one of those 'nice' suburban office parks. Unsurprisingly, it is not well-served by public transportation. Perhaps it was time anyway--the kids are getting older, and we're starting to see the beginnings of multiple, overlapping extracurricular schedules. It was a bit sad to break our 13-year run of being a single-car household, but there was at least one fringe benefit: We cleaned out the second car space in our garage, and threw away about six cubic yards of god-knows-why-we-were-keeping-it junk.

So the bad news is that we're now buying two tanks of gas per week. The good news is that the new mode of transportation has 300 horsepower and no less than six beautifully-proportioned, manually-selectable gear ratios.

Typically I have a strong dislike for bumper-stickers; even more so than "clever" t-shirts. However, today I spotted one that made me laugh (affixed, among a field of others, to what I think was a rusted-out light blue 1982 Toyota Corolla), and it stuck in my head:

Take one day at a time...unless they all attack at once.

Because I never have, and admittedly to brag a little bit, I'd like to record my commuting habits for the span of my professional career so far:

- 1996-1997: Took a five-minute bus ride to work downtown from the in-town neighborhood where I lived.

- 1998: Walked five blocks to work (lived downtown, worked downtown).

- 1999-2000: "Reverse-commuted" (against the main flow of rush-hour traffic) 15 minutes by car; lived in an in-town neighborhood and worked in a first-ring suburb. My wife took a commuter rail line to work (20 minutes).

- 2000-2002 (graduate school): Lived downtown and took a sub-10-minute bus ride (or walked) to campus. My wife took the same bus ride to work.

- 2003: Lived downtown, walked 20 minutes (2/3 mile) to work in another part of downtown.

- 2003-current: Live in a first-ring suburb, take commuter light-rail (25 minutes) to work downtown.

To date, I have never commuted more than 25 minutes (travel time) one-way to work, no matter the mode of transport. I've always had a goal of avoiding or minimizing automobile commuting to the greatest degree possible, and so far I haven't done too poorly. I must admit, I'm proud of this--hope I can keep it up.

Flying is Quicker

On Friday I had to do a “fly-in, fly-out” to Chicago for work. Everything went smoothly—the day was a bit rushed, but hey, that’s how it goes. I’m just amazed by the fact that I had to stop what I was doing at 4:30 PM and start heading toward O’Hare for my 7 o’clock flight. Then the flight was delayed, putting me back in Cleveland at 9:45 PM, and home at 10:15 PM. Five and three-quarters hours door-to-door. The drive from Chicago to Cleveland is six hours.

I learned something this weekend about road aggression, baby boomers, and SUVs--all thanks to my Dad.

My parents had come to town for a visit and we were driving to breakfast. My dad was driving (an SUV, I should note) on a two-lane one-way road with parallel parking spaces on both sides. Being a Sunday morning in the city's Primary Breakfast Restaurant Zone ("PBRZ"), most of the spaces were occupied. My dad saw an available parking space, and nose-dived for it across the other lane of traffic, interestingly enough cutting off another SUV in the process. The other vehicle was in fact the same model as his.

Someone (possibly me) made a joke about aggressive SUV drivers (he he), which my dad heard. He laughed, not too enthusiastically, and proceeded to explain something:

"Jas, have you ever noticed that Baby Boomers are really fast and aggressive drivers?" Actually, I had always thought that it was just SUV drivers who were like this, but now that he mentioned it, yes, maybe I had noticed that.

He went on to explain that his generation grew up driving muscle cars, and as they got older, they never really lost their desire for fast driving and road power. Which explains why so many SUVs are owned by Baby Boomers. In their minds, they're still behind the wheel of a '67 Chevelle. Interesting, eh?

A few days ago I drove around campus looking around, saying to myself, "Oh, I've been there," or "Oh, I haven't done that yet." As I was doing this I realized that I'm really going to miss Cornell. It's the combination of the quality of the institution and the sheer beauty of the place that creates this emotion. The large, sprawling campus is nicely broken into smaller exterior spaces, nearly all of them pedestrian-oriented. People walk everywhere--the foot dominates the tire by far. Nearly all of the buildings on campus are fine examples of their architectural style: traditional, modern or post-modern. Vegetation abounds, and views are carefully constructed. It's truly a "human" place.

2. Driving away she thought, “The future of America can be seen in Las Vegas.”

All I’m going to say about the matter is…if you were betting money on a citizen of Rochester breezing through a yellow traffic light, you’d lose. These people are the most law-abiding drivers I’ve ever seen—law-abiding to the point of slavery. They humbly and unquestioningly submit to all traffic laws, great or small. They sit at railroad crossings when the gates are down for hours, rather than check to see if they are malfunctioning. And then…then…they give you scornful looks when, after 20 minutes, you decide to go through the malfunctioning railroad gates. I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. They’re better than Jersey drivers.

I’ve been out of the driving “scene” for some time now. Now, because of my job this summer, I’m on our country’s fair roads on a regular basis. Here’s the point: I knew that cell phone use was rampant, but I didn’t understand just how rampant. Even in a relatively small city like Rochester, every every everyone in an automobile is gabbing away. It really frightens me. Of course, New York’s Gov. Pataki will likely sign the law banning hand-held cell phone use while driving soon. Oh, my, what will they all do? Also, I feel that I must disclose that I too have had a cell phone bestowed upon me by my employer. I promise, I only use it a piedi.

A few thoughts:

• From what I’ve heard so far, the latest Hooverphonic album sounds good good good.
• On Route 31F in Rochester, there’s a run-down looking gas station on the south side of the road. This particular run-down gas station also sells live Maine lobster and fine cuts of black angus beef. Interesting.
• Here’s one of the things I hate about myself: I’ll make some sort of simple realization that’s common sense to most people, like “don’t drive in the left lane if there are no left turn lanes on this road,” and treat it like an epiphany, telling everyone I know. Sometimes I think that I’m not the sharpest tack in the box.

More later on these topics.

In Rochester, the speed limit is really the speed limit. The kind, courteous drivers here treat it as the maximum speed at which they are allowed to motor around--they do not violate it. I've never seen this before in my life. And while this experience so far has been somewhat of a respite from my usual encounters with crazed Eastern New York and New Jersey drivers (the worst), it's starting to DRIVE ME A BIT CRAZY! SPEED UP YOU PEOPLE!

Thinking About Cars

At various times over the past four years I’ve gone for long stretches of time when my living/working situation was structured in such a way that I wasn’t dependent on a car. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this. In Cleveland, I first lived in Tremont, which is a very walkable neighborhood with restaurants, galleries, coffee shops, convenience stores and the like, all within a quarter mile stroll of my apartment. I took the bus across the river to where I worked downtown.

Then I moved downtown. This was fantastic because I lived in the heart of the city, on Cleveland’s (formerly) glorious Euclid Avenue, and had a mere one-block walk to work. I would step out of my door, get coffee at my favorite place (which is now gone) in the Old Arcade, walk down the street and be at work in approximately ten minutes - if I felt like moving that fast.

After living downtown for about a year, I changed jobs. I began working in a small, first-ring suburb of Cleveland called Lakewood. Now, Lakewood itself is a nice little city – it has an active downtown and great neighborhoods of its own. It was enjoyable working there because there was so much to do within walking distance of my building. The problem is, I had to drive to work since I still lived downtown. Admittedly, the drive was only fifteen minutes, but it was more than I had done in about two years. I noticed over time that even that little bit of a commute began to stress me out.

My next living situation was determined by the fact that my wife and I got married (well, actually, we eloped, but that’s another story). I moved into her apartment, one block away from Shaker Square. Shaker Square is a wonderful neighborhood. It has great vitality, a plethora of shops and cafés, and one of Cleveland’s three light-rail lines running straight through it. It was great for Rosie, because she’d just hop the train downtown to get to the office. As for me, well, I was still driving to work.

Now, we’re living in Ithaca, New York. We live on The Commons, a pedestrian-only street that has been closed to automobile traffic since the 1970s. Pretty much everything we need is within walking distance, with the exception of a major big-box grocery store. Cornell is up the hill (which is a half-mile long, 40° San Francisco-style hill), but the bus runs every ten minutes for the majority of the day. I almost never use the car – in fact, when I do I find that it takes me five to ten minutes to adjust to driving again. My wife doesn’t drive, either. It’s a great situation.

There is a point to this long, boring history of my living/working/commuting life. The other day I had some errands to run that required the car. So, I got out of bed at 7:00 AM, went down to the lot, moved the car to a parking meter, and went back to bed. (This slightly obscure behavior is necessary to avoid some nasty overnight parking fees.) At 8:30, I got ready, started the car (ah, that’s a nice sound) and went about my business. As I was driving around town, I was thinking to myself, “Wow, this is really the way it should be!” I was thoroughly enjoying my motoring-about, and I’m sure that it was because I really don’t drive much anymore. My mind went to images of the first grand boulevards in America – those vast, tree-lined roadways that ringed many of our major cities, and were designed with the intention of being used for recreational motoring. You know – Thurston and Cynthia would dress up the children and motor about for several hours on a fine summer Sunday afternoon.

Yeah, that’s the way it should be. It’s really too bad that we’re now slaves to the car because, in many ways, it really represents America’s spirit. I mean that sincerely – there is a true romanticism that surrounds the car – a notion of unabridged freedom. Just read On The Road. This romanticism is manifested, more that anywhere else, in the idea of the road trip. A road trip is a truly wonderful thing – and the longer the trip, the better. I know; I’ve taken many in my short tenure on this earth so far. It’s about exploration, curiosity, freedom, discovery, and giving your mind some idle time. Idle time helps you keep in touch with yourself. A road trip with someone you love deepens the relationship, forces a renewed honesty.

Let’s free ourselves from the car so we can begin to look at it in a positive light again. They’re not evil – it’s just that the way we’re using them right now is.

When driving in the city (which constitutes the bulk of my driving), I like do it “Asteroids-style.” As in, Asteroids the classic 1979 video game. What this means is that I only use the accelerator intermittently, kind of like the “thrust” button worked in the arcade. This technique works especially well on Woodland Avenue on my drive to work in the morning, because much of it is downhill. Here we go: top of the hill… go through the gears… round about East 76th I disengage the clutch… pop it in neutral… coast… never once have I gone above 1800 RPM. It’s truly an art. I love Newton’s first law.

A Pleasant Exchange

So last night Rosie and I are waiting for a red light at the intersection of West 6th & St. Clair in the Warehouse District, and this real "cool" lookin' dude rolls up behind us on a motorcycle. Too impatient to wait for the light, he rolls around us into the intersection, does a complete U-turn, and pulls up to the restaurant on the other side of the street. I honk my horn.

"You got a problem, buddy?" he says, in this lame, Andrew-Dice-Clay-like voice.

I say, "What, you have special traffic laws that apply only to you?"

"You're a moron," he replies.

I think to myself, "You want to be cool just like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, don't you?"

Cheeseball.

Okay, so I'm driving down Lake Road, on my way to a meeting downtown... As I pull up to a red light to stop, I look over and see a little blonde girl (probably 10 years old), hanging out of her daddy's Chevy Suburban, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and playing the meanest air-guitar I have ever seen. She notices me looking at her, and immediately gives me the universal hand gesture for "rock-on." The light turns green, and as I pull away I hear her shout, "you go, boy!"

You can't make this stuff up. Life is rich.