Just in Time Training

One of the initiatives of modern business management is reducing the amount of time that inventory sits idle on the shelf to the absolute minimum. Unsold inventory represent unproductive money and acts as a sea anchor on profits. While you don't want to be out of stock (many times that results in the would-be customer changing their mind about buying from you, or, heaven forbid, buying at all—not good). So there is attention paid to finding the sweet spot where you run out of something just as the last customer snarfs up the last saleable piece of that product that you have, with the next customer magically not appearing until the replacements have arrived.

While it's a bit nerve wracking to resist reordering product before you absolutely need to, there's no doubt that profits can be enhanced if you get it right. This concept is styled just-in-time inventory management, and I was inspired to write about it because I just experienced Amtrak's version of this on a trip from St Paul to Raleigh.

First let me set the table. I'm on the road about a third of the time—doing a mixture of consulting (out-of-town firefighting for groups with a internal hot spot they're struggling to manage on their own), facilitation training (mostly via a two-year intensive training program I pioneered in 2003 for cadres of a dozen or so at a time), or attending conferences and board meetings (I presented at the national cohousing conference in early June, will attend a board meeting of the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions in Yellow Springs OH next week, and will participate in the triennial gathering of the International Communal Studies Association in Hudson NY the week after that).

When I travel, my preference to go by train. Because I frequently work in or around Durham NC (which, for some reason is the hottest spot for community forming east of the Front Range on Colorado) I have taken this particular train itinerary many times:

Leg One: St Paul to Chicago on train #8 (the eastbound Empire Builder). This trains originates in Seattle and is due into St Paul at 7:43 am, due into Chicago at 3:55 pm. Yesterday the Empire Builder didn't arrive in St Paul until 10:31—2 hours and 48 minutes in arrears. Uh oh.

Leg Two: Chicago to Washington DC on train #30 (the eastbound Capitol Limited). This train originates in Chicago and was good to go for an on-time 6:40 pm departure but waited patiently to collect the folks (like me) who were frantically trying to board when the Empire Builder pulled into the station at 6:35 pm. Amazingly, everyone made the connection and we departed at 6:43 pm, only three minutes off schedule. Unfortunately we immediately coughed that up when we encountered heavy freight traffic in the mixmaster at the south end of Lake Michigan. We didn't pull into our first stop (South Bend) until 10:05 pm—56 minutes late. An inauspicious start. As the night wore on the delays increased and we didn't limp into DC until 2:49 pm—an hour and 44 minutes behind, affording us a leisurely 16 minutes to board #91 (easy peasy compared to our experience in Chicago).

Leg Three: DC to Raleigh on train #91 (the southbound Silver Star), due into Raleigh at 9:01 pm. This choo choo originates in New York and turned out to be late arriving, so we even had time to stand around on the platform (in the oppressive humidity that is July in DC). We pulled out at 3:22 pm, 17 minutes behind. We'll see how late I get to bed tonight.

According to the schedule there is 2.45 hours between trains in Chicago and exactly two hours between trains in DC. Two hours is the minimum that Amtrak requires in order to guarantee connections. That means that if you miss your connection they'll put you up overnight in a hotel so you can catch the same train the next day (or an earlier one if it's available). As it's a losing proposition for Amtrak to eating hotel bills, they very much want their trains to not be more than two hours late. 

The last two days (I'm composing this blog while still aboard the Silver Star: Leg Three) Amtrak cut this as close to the bone as possible, without hemorrhaging hotel rooms. In both Chicago and DC I never made it into the station. In each case the first train arrived late, but within 20 minutes of the scheduled departure for the connecting train, which was pulled into the adjacent track. I came off one train, walked across the platform, and boarded the second train: just in time.

While some people may experience such bang bang station minuets as exhilarating, it's excitement I'd rather do without. If I missed either train I would be struggling to get to the client before my scheduled start time: 9 am tomorrow morning. The uncertainty of my connections meant that some fraction of my mental bandwidth was given over to calculating potential ameliorations in the event that a connection was missed. While this is something I know how to do, it is not my favorite thing to dwell on.

I'd rather look out the window, or read a book. Oddly enough, I'm reading Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, (2008), a sequel to The Great Railway Bazaar (1975), where he chronicles his observations while repeating the itinerary he took 33 years before. Reading about train travel while experiencing my own. A box within a box.

It's one of the things that happens when I'm on the train—my connections runneth over, and there's just enough time to appreciate them.

Reflecting on the Ghost Train West

Today I'm riding Amtrak's Empire Builder westbound from St Paul to Portland, Oregon. Monday I'll make a connection to Eugene. There's hardly anyone on the train (maybe 15 percent ridership, tops). The weather is bleak outside (we're stalled somewhere east of Rugby ND as the dawn has caught us from behind. The temperature is dancing around zero and I have absolutely no desire to venture outside the warm cocoon of my coach car. 

This is one of my favorite times to travel by train. The low passenger load is not good for Amtrak's bottom line, but I cherish having two seats to myself (to create a nest for the 38-hour trip) and being liberated from being trapped in the acoustical envelope of inane cell phone conversation (where bored passengers while away the hours running down their stockpiled minutes nattering about what they had for breakfast, or what color pickup they noticed driving by). I enjoy how the quiet of the dormant winter landscape is matched by the library-like solemnity inside the car. It's peaceful.

As my readers know, I'm on the road a lot (have talking stick will travel, trying to put out the brush fires of competitive culture wherever there's a willingness to call in the fire brigade). You also know I have a decided preference for traveling by train. 

While Amtrak is only a skeletal train system compared to what existed before World War II, it's still a national rail system and I can mostly figure out how to get to where I need to go, and get there on time. As I reflect on it, my ability to rely on the train is peculiar to my unusual line of work and my specific constitution. I get it that it doesn't work for everyone.

•  Because I overwhelmingly work with cooperative groups in situ, that means my prime work time is Friday evening through Sunday afternoon—when members of client groups are home from M-F commitments. I work when they aren't.

Thus, even when I have back-to-back jobs, I typically have four days to get from the first one to the second. Not only does this protect a precious window to write up reports before they start to pile up, but I have time to take the train—even in the extreme case of traveling from coast to coast.

•  I don't suffer from motion sickness and have no trouble typing at my seat (or at a table in the lounge car) while rumbling across the country at 79 mph (where Amtrak engines are redlined). So my transit time is productive, unlike what I experience sardined into a plane seat at 30,000 feet.

•  I enjoy travel, do not have allergies, and can sleep anywhere. Very handy when it takes two overnights to get from Duluth to the West Coast—which is what I'm in the process of doing right now. For those who need a non-moving horizontal mattress to get decent sleep, the train is a poor choice.

• I don't take the train because it's fast, or because it's particularly on time. When you depend on tracks owned by freight companies and dispatchers whose salaries are paid by them, there are just too many occasions when weather surprises, equipment malfunctions, and freight train snarls lead to unscheduled stops of uncertain duration. And when you have a dead freight in front of you on single track, it's not like you can switch to an alternate route. You have to wait.

• Finally, I enjoy the train because it's slow. It protects reflective time that I am otherwise susceptible to giving away. Time to look out the window, read, take a nap, write, and think. [See more on this below.]

So there's an appropriate mind set when you ride the train. You have to embrace the journey and not the clock. You don't schedule things that depend on an on-time arrival, because you can't count on it. You have to surrender to the iron rooster. It's the zen of train.

• • •

Interestingly (I'm not sure I understand it), I live in the Central time zone, but the vast majority of my client base is perversely located elsewhere. Thus, when I journey to a client it almost always means a substantial schlepp and at least two train connections. Sometimes three. Here's a snapshot of my current workload, in chronological order, January through April (one or two of which may not require travel, but that's not clear yet):
—Massachusetts (2)
—Oregon (2)
—Michigan (1)
—Colorado (1)
—Tennessee (1)
—California (1)—Virginia (1)
—Washington (2)
—BC (1)
 From this docket the job in the Volunteer State is the only one in the Central time zone (and it's the only one I can't reach via Amtrak, though I'll likely wind up flying in and out of southwest CO to avoid two eight-hour round trip car rides to catch a train in Albuquerque).

So even though I live in the icebox of the country, on the remote shores of Lake Superior, I enjoy a national consulting business, and the choo choo gets me around. It's a rather odd arrangement, but it works for me. I love Duluth and I love living with Susan there. Sometimes I'm even home to enjoy them. 

Mark, the guy who handles the 4:15 am Skyline Shuttle run from Duluth to St Paul every morning knows me by name. On average I'm catching the 8:00 eastbound Empire Builder to Chicago at least once a month, so I've become a regular and he tries to reserve the front passenger seat for my comfort.

• • •

Last week I caught a feature on NPR radio about deep thinking and the ways in which today's culture, with its heavy reliance on social media and email, has led to lifestyles that allow easy interruption. Many of us no longer protect chunks of concentrated time in our daily routine. While that may not have been a conscious choice, the result is that our minds rarely drop into depth or significant creativity. Instead, we hover near the surface and dance, somewhat frenetically, from one bright shiny object (or blinking light) to the next.

This seems a questionable trend. Does anyone, for example, want to make the case that we're better off with a President who can't resist tweeting provocations at 4 am? Wouldn't it be better to spend more time in reflection and less in reflex (or acid reflux)?

This reflection about deep thinking, and its value as an anchor for sorting out who we are and who we intend to be rings true for me, and reinforces the point I made above about protecting reflective time on the train. As an Amtrak passenger I tend to not socialize. I'm not rude; I'm just quiet. I stay within the envelope of my seat (my laptop) and my consciousness. I just try to be, and reconnect with who I am. 

Ghost trains are good for that.

Select Plus

This past week I achieved a status I never expected to reach: Select Plus with Amtrak.

What does this signify? For one thing, it means I've ridden the train a lot this year.

Here's how it works. For every dollar you spend on Amtrak travel you earn one Tier Qualifying Point (TQP). If you spend as much as $5000 on train tickets in a calendar year you will reach Select status for the following year. (Note: this is good only for yourself; money spent buying tickets for others does not accrue TQPs for you.)

As a consultant and community networker who prefers traveling by rail, I've been able to reach Select status a number of times. In addition to earning some coupons that way (good for upgrades, passes to first class lounges, and discounts on tickets) people who have Select status get a 25% bonus on all train travel expenditures. Thus, for every $400 spent on Amtrak travel, I earn 500 TQPs as a Select member.

To get to Select Plus status, however, you have to earn 10,000 TQPs in a calendar year, which seemed beyond the pale. I was able to grab the brass ring this time only by virtue of taking advantage of a relatively new credit card option.

Let me explain. For many years Amtrak has offered a credit card that earns train miles—much as other credit cards earn airline miles. To be clear, "train miles" are not TQPs. Train miles are merely "points" and can be traded in for tickets or upgrades, but that's a separate reckoning from TQPs. However, about three years ago Amtrak switched from Chase to Bank of America as the bank through which their credit card was offered and they created a new option: you could either get a no-fee credit card where every dollar run through it earned a point, or, for a $79 annual fee, you could get three points for every dollar spent on train travel, plus 1000 TQPs for every $5000 you ran through the card.

I paid the $79, and that was the key to reaching Select Plus.

Why is that big deal? Here are the highlights. During 2018 I'll get to enjoy:

• four one-class upgrades (from coach to business class)
• unlimited access to first class lounges
• access to United Club lounges at major airports
• 50% point bonus on Amtrak travel

While all of that is helpful, the thing I have my eye on most is access to first class lounges. As a mere Select traveler I got a couple passes a year, now I'll get it in every major city where I board or change trains—Chicago, Washington, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Portland, Los Angeles, St Paul, New Orleans, Raleigh, and St Louis.

That means comfortable seats, wi-fi access, complimentary beverages, and free bag storage—all very appreciated by the weary traveler.

Further, it's relevant that I earn regular points at an accelerated rate. I've been stockpiling these against the day when Susan retires as church lady for St Paul's Episcopal in Duluth and she can occasionally travel with me. If I use my points for sleeper car accommodations she can ride with me in a roomette for no additional charge. Yippee! That's worth saving for.

All in all, it has been definitely worth the $79 per year.

P.S. My remaining train fantasy is to own my own private train car, replete with kitchen, bar/lounge, desk, and sleeping compartment. Hah! I should live so long.

Customer Disservice

I was recently at Chicago Union Station—one of Amtrak's national hubs—to catch a train. As I travel a lot and train is my favorite mode, I have a wealth of depot experiences, most of which are good.

Last week, however, I had one that was not so good. Although I had arrived at the station 90 minutes ahead of my scheduled departure, and thus had plenty of time, I had sore ribs that morning and knew that I wanted to check two bags to lighten my load.

I got off to a poor start when I discovered that the escalator taking me down from street level to ticketing was disabled and I needed to bump my bag down the steps. With sore ribs, each time I braked the fall of the bag my sore muscles received an unwelcome jolt. Ugh.

Nonetheless, I got downstairs and headed for the window where Amtrak generally funnels passengers wanting to check bags. For some reason, that particular window was blocked off, so I asked an Amtrak employee if I could gain access to check my bag. given that I already had my ticket. He curtly (though not rudely) informed me that I could get in line with everyone else (there were about 15 people waiting in the queue to speak to ticket agents.

While that was an unusual request (in the past I had been directed expressly to head for the window on the far right if I was only checking bags), maybe they'd changed protocol since my last visit.

Ten minutes went by as I slowly inched my way forward in the line. I was sore and looking forward to unloading the weight. It was at this point that the same Amtrak employee announced that anyone only seeking to check bags should line up by the window on the far right. I did not take this announcement well. Why had I been turned down to do that very thing 10 minutes before?

When I pulled my suitcase up front to get into the line for the checked baggage window, he challenged me about whether I had a ticket. I replied by saying I had already told him that 10 minutes ago. He didn't like my attitude (which I admit was not pleasant) and told me I was therefore not welcome to come forward to get my bag checked and I had to wait in line with everyone else looking for tickets. He was going to teach me a lesson—which left me wondering about the nature of customer service.

This exchange didn't go well for either of us, and I've chosen to write about it because I think it's worthwhile to parse out what happened.

Looked at from the Agent's Perspective
He was trying to manage the flow of customers looking for assistance from the ticket windows. I imagine he has a certain amount of customers who are difficult to work with. Perhaps they have unreasonable expectations about what can be done for them; perhaps they are in a bad mood; perhaps they have challenging personalities. On top of that, maybe he had been having a bad day also. Maybe he had sore ribs, too.

That said, the bottom line is that this guy is in Customer Service. That means it's his job to be helpful. I thought I had a legitimate gripe. He didn't. He was setting boundaries for how he wanted to be dealt with. While I have some sympathy for that in general, it does not extend to his treating me arbitrarily and then denying that he'd done anything to be held accountable for.

My experience was that I had been mistreated by someone more concerned with exerting his power then in trying to help.

Leftover Baggage
Would this exchange have gone better if I had been less reactive? Almost certainly. So I am left with some reflecting to do about my culpability regarding how this went down. How important, for example, was it to have asserted the high moral ground? It didn't get my bags checked any faster. And it wasn't any fun to be stewing in line. So what was the payoff?

I don't think it's easy to unilaterally shift one's energy when you feel that you've been wronged and the other person does not appear to be evincing any remorse. But that doesn't mean you can't, or that it wouldn't be useful to try. Because if you don't, you might wind up carrying around a lot more baggage than you care to.

It's an interesting train of thought.

On the Road Again…

The life I love is meeting with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again
On the road again
Workin' stuff that I've never seen
Helpin' folks that I may never see again,
I can't wait to get on the road again.

—with apologies to Willie Nelson

In two days I start a 54-day road trip. It may be the longest trip I've ever taken. And I may only be home long enough to change underwear, shower, and to conduct a consulting gig in Durham before I'm back out for another 27 days. Ai-yi-yi!

Here's what my next three months will look like, give or take a day here or there that is still not firmly nailed down:

Aug 15-17           on the choo choo
Aug 18-24           Duluth MN (visiting Susan Anderson)
Aug 25                on the choo choo
Aug 26-Sept 1     Rutledge MO (visiting Sandhill & cleaning up the old FIC trailer)
Sept 2                 Louisville KY (visiting Ella Peregrine)
Sept 3                 Afton VA (visiting friends at Shannon Farm)
Sept 4-8              Louisa VA (Twin Oaks Communities Conference & FIC Oversight meetings)
Sept 9                 on the choo choo
Sept 10-13          Berlin MA (New England facilitation training at Mosaic Commons)
Sept 14-16          on the choo choo
Sept 17-21          San Antonio (visiting my sister and brother-in-law, Kyle & Richard Contreras)
Sept 22               on the choo choo
Sept 23               Rutledge MO (Sandhill)
Sept 24-27          Yellow Springs OH (Tools for Transition Conference hosted by the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions)
Sept 28               on the choo choo
Sept 29               Fort Collins CO (presenting the 2015 Kozeny Communitarian Award to Bob Mann)
Sept 30-Oct 3      Colorado Springs CO (working with Casa Verde Commons)
Oct 4-5                Denver CO (visiting Britta Blodgett)
Oct 6                   Boulder CO (FIC fundraising event at Boulder Creek Commons)
Oct 7-8                on the choo choo
Oct 9-11              home! (working with Durham Central Park)
Oct 13-16            on the choo choo
Oct 17-18            Seattle WA (FIC fundraising event at Songaia)
Oct 19                 on the choo choo
Oct 20                 Sacramento CA (FIC fundraising event at Southside Park Cohousing)
Oct 22                 Berkeley CA (FIC fundraising event at Parker St House)
Oct 24-25            on the choo choo
Oct 26                 Rutledge MO (Sandhill Farm)
Oct 27                 Kansas City MO (FIC fundraising event at Hearthaven)
Oct 28-Nov 1       Ann Arbor MI (NASCO Institute)
Nov 2                  Rutledge MO (Sandhill Farm)
Nov 3                  on the choo choo
Nov 4-8               Union Bridge MD (fall FIC organizational meetings at Liberty Village)
Nov 9                  home!

Though it may be hard to grasp from that itinerary, my workload is tapering off… after the end of the year, when I hand over the FIC reins to the triumvirate of Christopher Kindig (Business Manager), Aurora DeMarco (Development Director), and Sky Blue (Executive Director). Until that happens I'm busier than ever.

In looking over that list (assuming you don't fall asleep before you get to the end), it's instructive to notice that I'm doing some of everything that my life normally entails—just more of it:

o  Visiting friends and loved ones
o  Attending FIC meetings
o  Fundraising for FIC
o  Participating at community events
o  Conducting facilitation training
o  Consulting with cooperative groups
o  Spending 18 nights on the train

I figure this year may be my best chance ever to achieve Select Plus status with Amtrak, for which you need to earn 10,000 Tier Qualifying Points by riding enough in a given calendar year. I've achieved Select status (which only takes 5,000 points) multiple times, but this year I'm going for the gold. The two biggest benefits of this exalted status are: a) unlimited access to first class lounges at all depots that have one (think free bag storage, snacks, and comfortable chairs during layovers, which is a big deal); and b) a 50% bonus on all Amtrak travel during the year that I have that status (which accelerates how fast I earn points needed for travel upgrades). Since I'm going to be doing all this travel anyway, there may as well be some kind of payoff for gathering no moss. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.
While Amtrak is working steadily toward the day when all trains will have internet connectivity via satellite links, they're not there yet. They have it on their short-haul trains, but not on the overnighters. This matters because my work (and my play) hinges on accessibility to the internet and thus there will be predictable delays in when people can reach me as I chug between stops overnight.

Since my responses are seldom so time critical that they can't wait for me to alight somewhere with a wifi signal, I can generally make this work—it just means that I have to be able to follow the bouncing ball (by which I mean type accurately on a train rambling along at speeds up to 80 mph). It's an art form.

I'll also be on the seasonal rotisserie for an entire quarter turn. When I head out people will be thinking about roasting in the late summer sunshine and still able to select roasting ears from roadside stands. By the time I'm done, people will be thinking about roasting chestnuts and able to select roasting turkeys for Thanksgiving.

The craziest part of this all is that I moved to North Carolina to explore community with my close friends, Joe Cole & María Stawksy (I rent the third floor of their house in Chapel Hill). While all three of us were in the house together my first two weeks, I then left for a two-week trip that included work in Cambridge, followed by a wonderful first visit to Duluth, to begin dancing with my new partner, Susan Anderson.

By the time I got home, María had departed for her biennial trip to the motherland (Argentina), that will last until Aug 18. As you'll notice above, I begin my fall odyssey three days before she returns. That means we'll likely not spend more than one day together between Jun 25 and Nov 9—a run of 137 days, stretching to the point of incredulity what it means to be "living together." Maybe someday we'll find out.

Meanwhile, I have Willie Nelson to keep me company.

Quo Vadimus

The title for today's blog was borrowed from the final episode of Sports Night, that aired May 16, 2000—a terrific comedy/drama/sports show written by Aaron Sorkin that (tragically) lasted only two seasons, because Sorkin was unable to stay on top of both it and West Wing simultaneously. Sometimes you have to make choices when your plate overfloweth—of which more anon.

The title is Latin for "Where are we going?" This could mean as a species, as a culture, as a group trying to figure out where to eat, or for me personally—who thinks in terms of the community "we" (as opposed to the royal one).

A couple months ago the bottom fell out of my "we" when Ma'ikwe announced that she wanted out of our marriage. Now, cut loose from the foundation of my primary relationship, I am also trying to figure out where home is. Ma'ikwe has invited me to continue living at Dancing Rabbit, and that's a viable option with many pluses, not the least of which is that many people here have told me that they'd like me to stay.

Yet where's the bedrock? I've dedicated almost two-thirds of my life to community building and I believe in it, both personally and societally. While I can imagine a life alone (in a studio apartment where I'd have a large desk, filing cabinets, book shelves, a comfortable chair, a small kitchen, enough open floor space for yoga, and a good bed), it would lack flavor and stimulation.

My work can travel with me wherever I go (as long as I have a reliable internet signal I can compose reports, maintain correspondence, and bang out blogs just about anywhere), and often I travel for work (teaching, facilitating, and consulting). While it's thus helpful to be based reasonably near an Amtrak station, that doesn't eliminate much of the country (well, maybe South Dakota and Wyoming).

So what are the elements of home that are most precious? At root, community is about relationships and human connections. It is being there for each other in time of need; sharing the joys and sorrows of life; eating together; exchanging observations of the day; bouncing ideas off each other. There should be a lot of laughter.

I'm clear I want to keep my life rooted in community, where relationships will be my primary security and base of support. Thus, I want to make a choice where the relationships are strong; where I feel seen, respected for my work, and able to give to others in proportion to what I receive. It would be a bonus if I could discuss my work with community mates, though not essential. While Dancing Rabbit has the potential to be that place, I have compelling connections in a number of other places across the country, and I'm leaning toward exploring what's possible with dear friends I already have and trying to build community with them—rather than trying to build the relationships in the community in which I'm already located.

This means taking a break from my residency at Dancing Rabbit, to see what's out there. Because I came to the community (in November 2103) as Ma'ikwe's guest and was focused on our relationship and our home, I never got around to applying for residency and thus have no official standing in the community anyway. So it's a natural point to pause and consider reconfigurations. Though I have opportunities now that I wasn't looking for, they are opportunities nonetheless and it's up to me to make the most of them.

Two other factors here are:

a) My tenderness at sharing Moon Lodge with Ma'ikwe while we're both home (which has only been the case since Thursday—for the first 10 weeks after Ma'ikwe announced her decision to dissolve the marriage one or both of us has been on the road). This building is filled with memories of our being together, and those have come alive with Ma'ikwe's presence. Though she's doing nothing provocative, tears are never far from the surface. Exploring community options elsewhere would help me heal.

b) I feel reasonably confident that I can return to Dancing Rabbit and start my residency fresh if that seems like the best choice. (Sometimes absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the full value of assets of where you are does not emerge clearly until seen in the rear view mirror.)

While I'm going to sit with this idea of exploring elsewhere for another couple weeks, that's the way the wind is blowing right now. My good friends Maria Stawsky and Joe Cole live in Chapel Hill NC and have a third floor month-to-month rental unit in their house that becomes available the end of May. I think I'll try there first.

Riding on the City of New Orleans

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

[Chorus]
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they dream.

[Chorus]

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done. 

—Steve Goodman (1971)

Over the weekend I was in Fairhope AL visiting my brother and sister-in-law, Guy & Elaine, whom I hadn’t seen in two years. I arrived Thursday evening and stayed through the Super Bowl (which didn’t turn out to be as good as the hors d’oeuvres, but the company was delightful, and we ate chicken wings and chili while the Seattle defense ate Manning’s offense).

Friday evening we dined at Julwin’s a restaurant in downtown Fairhope that mainly serves breakfast and lunch, but once a month serves a limited menu dinner featuing chef specialties. We had a coven of diners in our party (six couples and me), and we learned ahead of time that two of the regular waitresses flipped a coin to see who got the “fun table.” I think the winner was the one who served us.

Anyway, our party consisted wholly of transplanted Yankees, or snowbirds (many of whom aspire to move down here year round, where the golf never ends). As Guy is seven years my senior, I was the youngster in the group at 64. (It’s not often any more that I’m the pup in a social gathering of 10 or more—unless I’m visiting an out-of-town duplicate bridge club for an afternoon game on a weekday.)

Mostly these good folks were strangers to me, and sure enough, the person who settled next to me was Don, someone I’d never met before. We hadn’t been in our seats for five minutes before he announced he had a trivia question for us: “What was ‘The City of New Orleans’—other than the largest metropolis in the state of Louisiana?”

I’m thinking, this is supposed to be difficult? I piped up, “My ride north Monday morning.”

“OK,” Don said, “I reckon that was too easy: ”Who ran that train before Amtrak?”

What made him think this was getting harder? One of my best friends from college, Tony Blodgett, went to high school with Steve Goodman, for chrissake. How young did I look? “Illinois Central,” I deadpanned. “Wow,” Don shot back, “You really know your trains.” Duh.

One of the highlights of visiting my brother and sister-in-law in retirement is that it was easy finding time for catch-up conversations over the course of our three days together—both all together, and with each separately (while the other was on the golf course). My other two delights visiting the Gulf were: a) above-freezing temperatures at the end of January; and b) Cajun cuisine.

Following Friday night’s dinner at Julwin’s (that was memorable both for witty repartee with Don and for the largest serving of brussels sprouts I’d ever witnessed at a restaurant—I think I was only one to clean my plate), Elaine and I had lunch Saturday at a hole-in-the wall sushi joint in Fairhope. (I know, it’s a stretch to claim Japanese cuisine as traditional Gulf food, but at least it was seafood.) While the salmon skin roll was rather pedestrian, I don’t believe I’ve ever had more exquisite hamachi. It was melt in your mouth good.

Saturday night we went to Wintzell’s, a regional chain of oyster houses that started in Mobile. The Fairhope location is tucked into a tree-lined neighborhood on the south side of town, where mutli-colored lanterns create a festive mood in the parking lot. On their menus they have a quintessentially ‘50s-era black & white photo of the stocky patriarch standing defiantly behind the bar, sporting a buzz cut and chomping away on a big black cigar. Those were the days.

We were there for oysters. Half a dozen on the half shell were priced at $9.99; a dozen were ominously listed as “market price,” which could mean anything. It turned out that last Saturday it meant $12 for a dozen beauties, fat enough to audition for a Lewis Carroll Walrus & Carpenter Revue (why bother to eat oysters anywhere else?), which I've truncated here to focus on the relevant portion of this tale of trickery:

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

      "To talk of many things:

Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—

      Of cabbages—and kings—

And why the sea is boiling hot—

      And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,

      Before we have our chat;

For some of us are out of breath,

      And all of us are fat!"

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.

      They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,

      "Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

      Are very good indeed—

Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

      We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,

      Turning a little blue.

After such kindness, that would be

      A dismal thing to do!

"The night is fine," the Walrus said.

      "Do you admire the view?"

"It was so kind of you to come!

      And you are very nice!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

      "Cut us another slice:

I wish you were not quite so deaf—

      I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

      "To play them such a trick,

After we've brought them out so far,

      And made them trot so quick!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

      "The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:

      I deeply sympathize."

With sobs and tears he sorted out

      Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

      Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

      "You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?"

      But answer came there none—

And this was scarcely odd, because

      They'd eaten every one.

I followed up the raw oysters with a dish of Bienville red fish, a baked filet smothered in a cream sauce with Cajun seasoning and grated parmesan sitting atop dirty rice. I had no room for dessert.

After grazing my way through less regional delights on Super Bowl Sunday, I made the most of a six-hour layover yesterday morning in the Crescent City (between the bus from Mobile and the train to Chicago). I started out with beignets & café au lait at Café Du Monde (where there was a line out into the fog hovering over Decatur St), strolled over to a cigar store where I enjoyed a fresh maduro-wrapped obscuro that had been handrolled on the premises, and still had time to pick up a muffaletta to-go for the train ride. All and all, a lovely morning.

I got everything on my culinary wish list but etouffee.

• • •

The City of New Orleans is an historic train. The reason it was on Don’s mind was because he had been reading a book about the mass migration of African Americans from the South to the North in the first half of the 20^th Century. Lured by higher paying industrial jobs and less blatant racial segregation, Blacks depopulated the cotton fields and drained the labor pool needed for the viability of sharecropping. The City of New Orleans was one of the main vehicles by which this population redistribution was accomplished.

While it’s not particularly noteworthy when I get geographically redistributed—after all, I’m on the road half the time—I enjoyed the humid, mild temperatures of LA (which is the tongue-in-cheek way my friend Dan Questenberry, who grew up there, refers to Lower Alabama) as a sharp contrast from the brutally cold winter that makes it an adventure to even check your mailbox in the upper Midwest these days.

I pulled out of New Orleans Union Station at 1:45 pm with temperatures in the 50s, mild enough that I didn’t bother to put on my fleece vest while walking around town. When I arrived at Chicago Union Station this morning, my magic carpet made of steel had returned me to the land of white (by which I mean snow-covered landscapes, not racial homogeneity). Today, that fleece vest will barely be enough.

And there's a winter storm warning out for west central Illinois from 9 am this morning until 6 am tomorrow. On my final leg home, I will be heading directly into the middle of that storm, where they're expecting 5-7 inches of new snow, accompanied by winds gusting up to 20 mph. Oh boy. There may yet be more adventures before I get to bed tonight.

Welcome home, native son.

Riding the Rails with Santa

I've been a regular Amtrak customer my entire career as a process consultant—26 years. When you digest that I'm on the road about half the time, that means I've taken a lot of train trips. 

My history with Amtrak goes back far enough that it was permissible to smoke cigars in the observation car (which only a little less antiquarian than admitting that I've typed mimeo stencils). Now you can get kicked off the train for sneaking a cigaret in the bathroom. There was a time when Amtrak offered sturdy souvenir coffee cups that came with a lifetime offer of free refills for $8 (boy, did I ever make out on that deal).

Anyway, I'm asking you to trust that I've encountered all manner of unscheduled travel experiences.

For example, I've been late plenty of times—sometimes spectacularly. Once I was taking a train from Danville VA to DC, a distance of only 250 miles. I had a meeting to attend at 7 pm that evening in a DC suburb and figured I'd have no problem, given that my train (the northbound Crescent) was scheduled to depart Danville around 5 am and arrive in DC around 10 am. Well, there had been heavy rain through the night and the train was on slow orders because of the danger of water having softened the track ballast. It was more than two hours late arriving in Danville, and then crept across Virginia at 10 mph. I didn't get to DC until 8:30 pm. Oops. 

Over the years I've learned to not take the train if I have to do something the day I arrive. There are just too many things that can go wrong. Once I was on the westbound California Zephyr and we were stopped by a freight train derailment in the Rockies just east of Glenwood Springs. As the accident stopped all train traffic through the canyons, we had to wye the train outside Granby and head back down to Denver. Then we got bussed to Grand Junction, where the eastbound Zephyr was blocked going the other way. After passengers were swapped in both directions, the Denver train headed back to Chicago and the Grand Junction choo choo returned to Emeryville.

Once I was returning home on the Illinois Zephyr and someone committed suicide by driving their pickup onto a grade crossing right in front of the oncoming train—the engineer never had a chance to avoid the collision. Fortunately for us train passengers, there was no derailment and we were only held up about three hours while the police, coroner, and towing service attended to business. The conductor on that train was nearing retirement and told me it was the third suicide he'd witnessed in a 40-year career.

Seven winters ago I witnessed a pickup slide into the side of the train as we were pulling out of Mt Pleasant IA. The roads were snow-packed and the driver simply couldn't stop. Luckily it was a slow-speed accident and no one was hurt. Nonetheless it was heart-stopping to witness the accident happening from my seat.

All of which is to say that I've seen some things on the train, and it takes a lot to surprise me—but that threshold was crossed last Tuesday on the last leg of Ma'ikwe's and my trip home, a five-hour jaunt on the westbound Southwest Chief from Chicago to La Plata. We were mildly amused while enjoying an evening repast in the dining car when Santa and Mrs. Claus came traipsing through the car in full regalia, belting out the lyrics to "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," glad-handing all the Amtrak patrons as they passed through.

Properly chastened to be good (we ate all our vegetables and left a generous tip), we finished our meal and returned to our accommodations in preparation for detraining at sleepy little La Plata (pop 1361 and declining).  

Because of the short platform at the remodeled Art Deco station, the train made two stops: the first to offload sleeping car passengers (of which Ma'ikwe and I were the only two), and the second for coach passengers.

Imagine our surprise when the train pulled into the station a bit after 9 pm (an hour late—but that wasn't the surprising part) and we encountered about 150 eager faces (half of them children on a school night!) staring at us on the crowded platform, with cameras rolling and cell phones raised to snap pictures. Huh? It was the weirdest damn thing I'd ever experience at a train station. Especially in La Plata.

They were waiting for Santa! 

While the crowd had no trouble distinguishing Ma'ikwe and me from the North Pole's First Couple (despite my white beard and my wayward, wiry eyebrows, which Ma'ikwe affectionately refers to as my "Santa brows"), Amtrak station personnel had to part the sea of eager celebrants to get us safely off the platform. Then the train pulled up a few cars and Santa made his triumphant arrival, descending from a coach car, while Ma'ikwe and I eagerly searched the parking lot for our ride, to escape the crush of Black Friday Revisited.

And to think that I was foolish enough to believe that I'd seen everything. Hah!

About Face

I'm on my way to New Hampshire, chugging north from Maryland on the Vermonter (train #56 if you're scoring at home). This train is part of Amtrak's northeast regional fleet that has recently been upgraded to onboard satellite wi-fi. That means I'll have connectivity all day. Woohoo! (Among other things, that means I'll be able to track all the opening day action of March madness, as 16 first round basketball games will be contested today—it'll be a blizzard of hoops frenzy.)

I finished my reports from last weekend's facilitation training at Liberty Village about 1 am this morning, clearing my In Box before arriving today in Peterborough, where I'll be immersed in weekend consulting with Nubanusit, a relatively new cohousing community that's asked me to do some focused work with their facilitation team. Chugging north through Philly, New York, and Springfield today, I'll observe the novelty of a vernal reversal, as blossoms regress to swollen buds, followed by buds shriveling back into dormancy. It's springtime in the northeast!

• • •

Last night I had a bizarre experience in the course of my final dinner at Liberty Village, which was a community potluck. About 30 minutes into the normal exchange of people sharing the minor ebbs and flows of their diurnal experience, Vince casually mentioned that Ma'ikwe sure seemed to have enjoyed her echocardiogram. What?!

Ma'ikwe is going through health struggles right now as she suffers through a recurring bout with Lyme disease. While the main symptoms have been been achy joints (her arms and legs have been in pain nearly constantly the past month) and low energy, there is concern that she may have sustained heart damage (a relatively common occurrence with chronic Lyme patients) and she's wearing a monitor for 30 days to collect data about the electrical signals to her heart when she suffers an episode of dizziness or tachycardia. In recent days her pain and nausea have increased to the point where she was unable to accompany me on my current East Coast business trip [see my March 8 entry, Wife Down, for more on that].

Yesterday she was scheduled to have an echocardiogram done, as part of the testing sequence recommended by the heart specialist she's working with. Naturally, I'm concerned about her health—all the more so as she's struggling and not yet getting better—and we had talked briefly in the morning, via Skype. I caught her just as she was getting up (she had opened her laptop before making her first cup of tea) and we didn't talk long, but I could tell she'd not had a good night and I was worried about her.

Working on reports throughout the day, I had been regularly monitoring email to see if there was word from Ma'ikwe about how the testing had gone. Though nothing had come in by 4 pm (at which point I left my laptop to help my host prepare a dish for the community meal), I wasn't that concerned. There are many things that can delay communication and it's common for Ma'ikwe to be exhausted by a trip to town and need to simply rest afterwards. I figured I'd hear in due course and wasn't dwelling on it when I went to dinner.

Imagine my surprise then when I accidentally learned about Ma'ikwe's echocardiogram from someone who happened to be sitting at the same table with me. I had casually been explaining to Betsy, sitting next to me, that my partner had intended to come to Liberty Village as well, but had to cancel at the last minute due to ill health. Overhearing that, Vince (sitting at the end of the table) chimed in with news about how much Ma'ikwe had enjoyed her test today.

At first I thought I had misheard (how could Vince, who had only met her twice, possibly know more about what was happening with her than I did?). But then Facebook occurred to me. My wife participates in that alternate reality and I don't. [See my entry, Massaging the Medium, for more about that.] It only took me about 10 seconds to imagine what must have happened. Ma'ikwe had posted something about her experience on Facebook shortly after getting home and Vince had picked it up.

Simultaneous with my confusion (how could he know that?) I was eager for the news. The posting was brief, and I got to see it on Vince's smart phone:
OK, I know I'm not supposed to be enjoying this, but I have to say getting an echocardiagram done is one of the most frickin' cool things I've done in a while.

Reading between the lines, Ma'ikwe's upbeat tone meant that the news couldn't have been bad. Whew. So far, so good. Reflecting further though, she didn't actually say anything about the test results. Maybe they hadn't been interpreted yet (racking my brains, it seemed to me that the heart specialist only visits our county on Thursdays and the test had been done on Wednesday).

After savoring the news that she was in good spirits, I started to have a reaction to my getting a health update about my wife from a casual dinner companion. But then I paused. Maybe there was an email waiting for me that I hadn't seen yet. At that point it had been perhaps three hours since I'd last checked email, so I hit the pause button on the storm brewing in my stomach. In fact, I started chiding myself for being so reactive. It's a good thing that Ma'ikwe is willing to share her story and there was no reason to think I had been left out. Relax, I told myself.

Then I went back to my room.

When I checked email, there was no message from Ma'ikwe. Ufda. Rather than pout, I tried reaching her via Skype. No answer. Hmm.

I figure the phenomenon I was going through is the observe of the German term, freudenschade, which means pleasure derived from other people's misery. In my case, it was latent misery that emerged in the context of receiving good news. What did it mean that my wife had energy to share information about her echocardiogram with 900 of her "closest friends" on Facebook but didn't have the energy to tell her husband about it? I wasn't doing well with this line of thinking.

This morning, however, I'm doing better. I wrote Ma'ikwe about my confusion and frustration as the last thing before going to bed and there was a good response waiting for me when I boarded the train at BWI Airport. She'd been up at 4:40 am (not good) and we've started a dialog about how she protects herself from letting people in too close (even me) and about how it's far easier to jot off a breezy one-sentence Facebook post than it is to unpack the complex anxieties and despair that she must navigate as she attempts to face her health challenges.

Ma'ikwe is a brave woman, and I'm am both amazed and profoundly appreciative of her willingness to tackle the hard questions whenever one of us raises them. The last thing she needs to attend to right now is her husband's bruised ego.

Home, Sweet Home

I woke up in my own bed this morning, with the cool spring air redolent with the sweet odor of black locust blossoms, which are just now popping open here in northeast Missouri. It's one of only two local flowering trees that I unabashedly enjoy the scent of (the other is wild plum), and I'm glad I didn't miss it. (For more on my love affair with black locusts, see my May 21, 2008 blog, Bloomin' & Perfumin'.)

Yesterday morning I was inbound from Louisiana, chugging north on Amtrak's City of New Orleans, and the last stop before Chicago was in suburban Homewood. I laughed when I saw that the city's water tower had been intentionally emblazoned with the slogan, "Home, Sweet Homewood." I've always had a weak spot for wordplay, and here was a whole town that was willing to pay homage to whimsy in the municipal budget! In addition to playing off of a timeless cross-stitch catch phrase, it's evocative of Robert Johnson's famous blues tune, Sweet Home Chicago (it was first made popular by Eric Clapton, and then featured as one of the songs in the 1980 Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi cult hit musical, The Blues Brothers), which is all the more potent for me as the lyrics are about coming back home, and suburban Chicago is my home—or used to be, before I settled at Sandhill Farm in 1974.

Of course, as an inveterate train traveler, I'm always going home to Chicago (whether Thomas Wolfe thinks that's possible or not), as this country only operates a skeleton intercity train system these days and there's only a single way (three times a week on the Sunset Limited) to cross the Mississippi River that doesn't go through Chicago. Luckily for me, I cherish layovers in the Windy City, with its showcase 20th Century architecture, major league music and museums, and as an exemplar of the unpretentious salt-of-the-earth Midwestern ethos. This melting pot city brags of having a Polish population second only to that of Warsaw. This is at once the city that Carl Sandburg celebrated as "hog butcher for the world" and currently boasts one of the finest collection of French Impressionist paintings in the world at The Art Institute on Michigan Ave. All together, Chicago is where I come from.

Saturday night, after a Cajun grilled dinner in Natchitoches LA (think andouille sausage and the lesser known but no less prized boudin) my Green Eggs group (see my blog of May 2, An Ill Wind for Louisiana) settled into our host's living room to watch a movie. What was on TV? Reese Witherspoon, Josh Lucas, and Candice Bergen in Sweet Home Alabama.

Apparently, sweet homes, like a number of things, tend to come in threes.

I have a week to enjoy my Sandhill home—sandwiched around our 36th anniversary party this Saturday—before I embark on my longest road trip of the year. I'll be gone 41 days, working at least two gigs in every time zone except the one I live in. Ufda. Mindful of what's to come, I'm happy to anticipate how much fonder my heart is about to grow by savoring my sweet home now.

Economic Leverage in Hard Times: Part 3—Transportation

This is the third installment of my series on how everyone can get more of the life they want while at the same time spending less money to make it happen. My motivation is that most folks today need to be more careful about their economic choices, and I have some good news.

Through what's been learned about cooperative sharing in community living, it''ll be possible for most of us to continue to enhance the quality of our life while at the same time cutting back on cash outlays. To be sure, my suggestions will require some lifestyle changes. Yet what I'm offering is meant to be widely accessible, and does not involve a change in personality or altering one's core values. In Part 1 I focused on Housing; in Part 2 I looked at Food. Today I'll discuss Transportation.

• • •

The "typical" American family spends about 17% of its budget on Transportation. While for most people these are the expenses related to owning and operating one or more private cars, it also includes expenditures on public transportation. In addition to the challenge of trying to cope with less money being available in general, Transportation faces a double whammy in that gasloine prices are certain to rise long term, as we slide along the downward sloping side of the Peak Oil bell curve. Here are a half dozen suggestions for how to realize some substantial savings in this segment of our lives:

1. Car Pooling
A year ago I had a meeting set up with a community on the south side of Atlanta on a Thursday evening. My host lived on the north side of town and drove me to the community. We were navigating a six-lane section of I-75 through downtown Atlanta at a snail's pace at 6 pm—which was ostensibly post rush hour—wondering if we'd make our 7 pm start time. Suddenly, access to the HOV lane opened up. We scooted in, immediately tripled our speed, and were just able to make our meeting on time

HOV, of course, stands for High Occupancy Vehicle. In the US it takes only two people to qualify. What a country! When HOV lanes were first established, the norm was that you needed at least three people in the car, but it quickly became apparent that these special lanes weren't being used enough with the bar set that high, and the number was subsequently reduced to two. So here I am in zipping by all these cars stuck bumper-to-bumper in the five lanes to my right, when it hits me that every damn one of those cars has only one person in them. Oil crisis anyone?

While it is undeniably convenient to be the only person in the car (so long as you don't mind doing all the driving), it is horribly inefficient and there are considerable savings possible by coordinating rides. Yes, it can be a logistical hassle (and potentially awkward agreeing on what station you can tune the radio to), yet there are social opportunities to compensate. I have friends, for example, where a reliable fraction of our quality conversations take place during long car rides (and the time just flies by).

Car co-ops are beginning to make inroads in this country (imported from Europe, where they are more established). I have two friends in Berkeley (where, wouldn't you know it, there are mutliple car co-ops available) who belong to one of the car co-ops and simply love it. While strcutured systems may be a long time reaching all parts of the country, why wait? Set something up informally with friends and neighbors now!

Among the three Rutledge communities (Sandhill, Dancing Rabbit, and Red Earth), we operate a web-based Rutledge Travel Calendar, whereby anyone proposing to make a trip to area destinations can post what they're doing and others can check there first to see if trips can be combined. It eliminates a gob of duplication.

While the immediate savings is gas, once you start to make a serious dent in the number trips that need to be made in your car, there is a point at which you can collectively do with one less vehicle, and then savings take a quantum leap (think parking, insurance, registration, depreciation, etc.)

2. Multi-tasking
In addition to adding more people to the same vehicle, consider running errands for others as well. Two weeks ago I needed to drive to south-central TN for two days of meetings for the FIC's Oversight Committee at Dunmire Hollow. I traveled alone both ways. However, since I was going anyway… here's all the other things that I did in addition to attending the meetings, to milk the most out of those "last hours of ancient sunlight":

o Dropped nine loads of Sandhill products off en route (five deliveries in Columbia MO & four in St Louis).
o Picked up two empty 5-gallon containers from a bakery (one of my deliveries) that could be washed and reused for future sorghum sales.
o Bought hard-to-find health care products at a natural food store (at one the delivery points in Columbia).
o Bought a birthday present at a bookstore located, within walking distance of one of my sorghum deliveries in St Louis.
o Picked up seven empty one-gallon apple juice jars at Dunmire Hollow, to be washed and reused for sorghum.
o After the meetings ended, I swung by The Farm—located just 30 miles down the road from Dunmire Hollow—and: a) bought shiitake spawn (four kilos for Sandhill and one for folks at Dancing Rabbit); b) collected a video camera to return to California on my trip there the end of the month (saving the postage); and c) picked up the last of Geoph Kozeny's effects at the house where he stayed while working on the Visions of Utopia video. I've cleaned up four different caches of possessions my peripatetic friend had left around the country when he died in October 2007, and this was the last of them, filling up all the remaining space in my car.

Not only was I multi-tasking, but at each stop I had a chance for a conversation and a connection. These were not merely economic exchanges; they were social exchanges as well.

3. Take the Train
I travel a lot. Both as a community networker and as a process consultant, I go all over the country and am on the road half the time. Wherever possible, I take the train. Because Amtrak only offers a skeleton of the rail passenger system we had in the US 50 years ago, the train doesn't always work. But I try.

I like the train because I don't have to drive (I can look out the window, read book, write, or even take a nap) and because it doesn't crowd one's psychic space like planes and buses do. The train proceeds at a human pace and with humane space.

However, the broadest version of this piece of advice is to consider public transportation as an alternative to using a private car, whether commuting or traveling long distance. If you do it enough, you might not even need a car. For exmaple, I relied solely on public transportation when I lived for two years in DC (1971-73) and worked a 9-5 M-F job for the US Dept of Transportation. Yes, I bought a lot of bus fares (and had to have three pairs of shoes resoled), yet that was a small price in exchange for no money spent on buying, maintaining, or parking a car in DC.

I saved thousands over the course of two years of not owning a car—enough that I was able to contribute the bulk of the money needed to buy Sandhill's original 63 acres outright in 1974. What's more, it was a definite quality-of-life issue to not drive in DC rush hour traffic. I used to read regularly while taking buses (this was pre-Metro), and generally enjoyed the ride. In contrast, commuter driving has to be one of the most diabolical ways humans ever concocted to spend time. Studies have shown that heart surgeons typically register higher blood pressure readings while commuting than when performing open heart surgery (though you have to wonder about studies that would walk into an OR and strap the ol' sphygmomanometer onto the attending physician and pump 'er up for a reading while the patient waits… well, patiently, I guess). Commuting is yucky.

When Jamaica Plain Cohousing sited their community 10 years ago, they purposefully picked a site within easy walking distance of a stop on the Boston subway system. Though the city required the community to develop a certain number of parking spaces based on a formula that relates to the number of adults expected to live in the community, members have successfully reduced their car use to where they need less than 75% of the spaces to accommodate their own cars. Collectively, they own way less than one car per adult, while the national average is about 1.2 registered vehicles per licensed driver.

If you have good neighbors, how many cars do you really need?

4. Ride a Bike
For most people—especially urban dwellers—most trips are short distance. If your trip is 10 miles or less (and especially if under four miles) and the weather is decent, consider using a bike instead of a vehicle. Not only will you be pumping less gas, you'll be pumping less pollutants into the air, and more air into your lungs (read aerobic exercise).

To be sure, making this shift will require leaving earlier to keep appointments, and your hauling capacity will be sharply diminished. These limitations notwithstanding, there are a surprising number of trips routinely made by a single person in a car that travel only short distances and don't require much payload. I'm asking you to be more mindful about the possibilities—and thereby more economically prudent and more healthful—and not just grab for the car keys every time without thinking.

Back in 2000 I spent two months living in Berkeley, and had a part-time job rennovating a house located about four miles away from where I was staying. Three times a week, I rode a bike to and from the job. I earned enough money to cover my expenses, didn't need to own a car, and enjoyed the exercise (even though it was during the winter rainy season and half the time I was dodging raindrops). I loved it.

5. Walk
Stripping down one more layer, how about walking? My wife, Ma'ikwe, lives at Dancing Rabbit, which is located three miles from Sandhill. During clement weather in the March-October range, I try to walk to see her as much as possible. It's reflective time (of which I never have too much) and offers low-impact exercise. Sometimes I pick up highway trash en route, and it doesn't tie up a community vehicle in case someone else needs it.

When I have errands in town and am driving, I try to park the car centrally and walk to different stores instead of changing parking spots to save a few steps.

On the farm, I'll often choose to get a job done with 2-3 trips with a Garden Way cart instead of firing up the pick-up.

Combining this with the points I rasied about Housing (see my Feb 5 blog), if you select a place to live that's near enough to where you work or go to school (or your kids go to school), you may be able to bike or walk there and make do with one less vehicle.

6. Telecommuniting
The world of employment is changing substantially and it is now more possible than ever to deliver services without leaving home. An increasing number of employers offer options in telecommuting, where employees work from a computer terminal (or a phone) from home. "Commuting" in this sense is merely walking down the hall to the den. Often you egt to work your own hours, and you don't even have to get out of your pajamas.

When considering your job future, don't overlook the potential savings you might be able to realize if you're not required to physically appear at the office more than 2-3 days/week. Or consider flex-hours. If you work four 10-hour shifts instead of five 8-hour shifts per week you'll be putting in the same number of hours yet can save one round-trip commute every seven days, or 50 in a year. It adds up.

What's more, videoconferencing is just around the corner. In my line of work—as a process consultant—I'll need to be thinking about webinars and delivering live peformances from remote locations. While I may no longer be able to get away with working in my pajamas (depending on how careful I am with the camera), this has obvious savings potential when it comes to transportation costs. In the not-too-distant future, I expect at least some fraction of future FIC board meetings will be shifted to videoconferencing.

As Transportation costs sprial upward, we'll all need to get our needs met by being smarter about traveling.