Discovering Public Transit

I was really sick for about eight weeks, unheard of for me and completely eye-opening.  One day you're good, the next day...omg. 

I couldn't drive for those eight weeks and I had to take the subway.


 First, the subway station. When you're counting steps, it's a million miles away.

 

The price was new to me - $3.00 a token or $18.20 for seven tokens.

I couldn't walk very well, so the stairs...hell, no.  Escalators, absolutely.  Where are they?

My new best friend....who knew?



 Sometimes the platform would be empty.

Sometimes the platform would be crowded.  Crazy crowded.   It depended on the time of day.

But, it didn't matter crowded or empty, it was always good when the train arrived.

 The subway cars were surprisingly comfortable, especially when empty. 

But were still good, even when crowded.

Once I went downtown at 4:30.  Unbelievable.  Four fully-loaded trains passed us on the platform.  People were talking to each other.  I fell into a trio - a young man and woman.  We three chatted for 15 minutes as train after train after train passed us.  Then, I said goodbye to my new friends, repositioned myself elsewhere on the platform and got assertive.  Once on the train, people said all that was missing were the gentlemen to push us all in, and then close the door a la Tokyo.  The passenger-pusher-onners wear white gloves someone said.  We all nodded, hmmm, interesting.  They were right.

I found I was enjoying my new subway life.
There was entertainment.

There was reading.






Advertising, too.

  There was eating.

 There was a little nookie too, but I didn't see it.






                     

 I didn't even see "No Pants Day,"  which would have amused me, I'm sure.

 As it surely amused others.

I had no idea how social I could be.   On the subway, I was smiling at people, nodding when someone caught my eye, and chatting with people everywhere.  Quite a change for a person accustomed to driving everywhere, alone.



Even our mayor likes to talk to people on the train.

 There were some fairly foxed out subway stops.

This is the Royal Ontario Museum.  They've done a nice job. 




Made good time, too. Driving across the city is time-consuming and often frustrating, red light after red light.  

Taking the subway, I saved time like crazy.  A 45-minute drive translated into 20 minutes by subway, sans parking anxiety and cost. 

Even cyclists use the subway to save time.

 I wondered how fast the train went.


 I had the opportunity to watch a driver driving the train.

He pushed it up to 58 kph in the tunnel.  

No wonder we made good time.  You'd be lucky to get up to 40 kph a block up top. 

Down below, in the tunnel- no lights, no traffic, no pedestrians, the trains can really fly.

 They kept an eye out to make sure no one got squashed when the doors closed.

I fell in love with the subway.  I truly did.   It is so fast, fairly cheap, and really really interesting. 

So, now ... I take the subway downtown and across town,  and I use the car for the highway and multiple-stop trips in the East End.    I don't know if it's cheaper or not, but I love being able to jump on the subway and not worry about traffic or parking or parking change.   I get on, do a crossword, smile at people and save time and stress letting someone else do the driving.   



Middle-Aged! When did this happen?

Middle-aged.  I never thought of myself that way, until now.  My new driver's license picture.   My god, I don't even recognize that woman.  It isn't me.  Or is it?  My son, so polite, says, "It doesn't look like you mom."   My partner, more succinctly says, "Sucks, babe."

It does.  It sucks.  That can't be me. 

I've kept most of my driver's licenses, mostly for the pictures and their progressive 5-year shots of me through my ages.  20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50...and now 55.

That pack of driver's licenses once saved my butt.  I made an illegal left turn between 4 and 6, who knew - not me, at Queen and Greenwood.  The officer asked for my license, and I started digging them out - all six of them.   He said, "Hey, it's illegal to have all those driver's licenses!"  I didn't know that, and I told him that I kept them because they showed me how I was doing through the years.  He took all six, leafed through them, gave them back and said, "You're doing great."   He let me go. 

My 50th was the best.  It regularly won the round-table game of "Who has the best driver's license picture."  Everyone would concede defeat when faced with that beaming smile, chin down, hair-parted nicely, and tasteful scarf at the neck under the black leather coat.    Always won.    It was fun.   I took it for granted.

My new driver's license won't win anything.  In fact, it might surpass my all-time worst driver's license picture.  Fat and 40, I had a two-year-old , and I worked parttime.   My son and I walked everyday, but walking with a two-year-old isn't exercise.  It isn't even strolling.   I blossomed.  When I hit my pregnancy weight, my doctor had a heart attack.  She was all over me with "here come the pharmaceuticals for life if you don't do something about this weight and blood pressure now." I remember asking what I could do.  She said, "Exercise.  You've got 3 months, and if it's not down, you're going on meds."

Hied my hefty ass to a fitness class for the first time in my life, and fell in love.  I'm still in love.  I teach 10 classes a week now, on top of my day job. 

All the exercise in the world can't mask the real truth though.  I am middle-aged.  Strong and fit, no doubt, but middle-aged.   There's a hint of a jowl and there's a hint of a crease at the corner of my mouth.  I know they're just hints, but hints lead to truths, unless there's intervention.   Surgical intervention is definitely on the table, but I'm not keen on it, and botox doesn't work on these things. 

Worse, I know that my next driver's license isn't going to be any better.  It'll be 60.  Holeee.  Let's just say that again, roll it around the mouth, and see how it feels....60.

My next driver's license is 60.  

I am middle-aged.  

Time, it appears, is finite.  I wonder if this will change my attitude.  Will I race around doing everything I can  while I still can, or will I chill?  Will it change anything?  Am I content to be on cruise control, just doing what I always do.   Some people say that when you really understand the de-finite ending of time, as we know it, you want to do things differently.   I don't know.  I'm curious now.   I guess I'll find out because now I know, thanks to that little picture, that I am well and truly middle-aged.   




 

Toronto...the un-named.

Since manufacturing left Toronto, the air has gradually cleared and we can no longer be called "The Big Smoke"...because there is no smoke.

There are no factories here.   There are no plumes of fumes and gases spewing upwards and spilling sideways.   The yellow-orange haze has faded.  It's fairly clear, during all seasons, except if there's forest fires in the north.  But that doesn't happen often enough to qualify.  Really.

So, we need a new name.  What could it be?  The Big Clear?  On any day you can see Niagara Falls?

I don't know.   But, I do think we could capitalize on our newly-found air purity.  It is rare for a world-class city to have nice air.   We should rebrand ourselves and position our city as a gateway vacation spot.  People could fly into Pearson International, rent a car and a room, catch a show or concert, lounge lakeside at Hanlan's (don't) Point Clothing Optional Beach, and then drive off to explore.   Niagara Falls, the wineries of the escarpment, fishing villages along Lake Erie, Six Nations Indian Reserve,  The Grand River, Ipperwash, Wasaga, up to Haliburton for some rope-walking in the tree tops, Algonquin Park, Ottawa and then back again.     There's so much to see here.   Especially now that it's clear.   

The up-side of lost manufacturing.   Clean air.