WHEELS ON THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND
Last week, Lunch gave me the seemingly strange assignment of driving my car to the Mammoth Yosemite airport, then calling town council member Chris Bubser to give me a ride, per her comment that the Town would “drive you around [all weekend] for free” to advert the parking crisis (quoted in the Feb. 7 issue).
The goal was to take the free public bus for the week and immerse myself in the experience of being a tourist in my own town.
I did not drop my car at the airport. I did not call Bubser begging for a ride. I did, however, take the bus everywhere that wasn’t my 6:30 a.m. Canyon Lodge Coffee Bar shifts on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning.
The Eastern Sierra Transit Authority (ESTA) bus system gets a lot of flak. Validly so, considering there is absolutely no mechanism for me to get from where I live near Old Mammoth to Canyon Lodge on time, because the Teal Line starts to run at 6:55 a.m. and my shift begins at 6:30 a.m. So my GMC, and every other employee’s car, takes a parking spot from an LA tourist.
“That is why there’s a parking shortage [at Canyon],” Lunch aptly stated in an email to me. Moreover, it’s impossible to take the bus to any time-sensitive event, because when they do start running, they are unreliable and sporadic. Hidden beneath promises of “the yellow line comes every 20 minutes” is the pressing question: at what times?
“I waited for an hour on Mono Street only to learn the Teal Line wasn’t running,” a ski instructor told me Tuesday morning.
Meaning this individual waited in the pounding snow at 7 a.m., trying desperately to get to work on time, only to find her usual transportation method wouldn’t get her there.
Yes, it’s unreliable. Yes, I can’t reasonably take the Mammoth Lakes public transportation to my Mammoth Mountain job. But there’s another side to public transportation. The pursuit of the analog and the gravity of community.
My youth has been consumed by my iPhone and social media. I feel the need to be constantly tethered to my cellular device. Driving in my car only expedites this process. I find myself texting and driving, or finding the perfect song to fit my driving mood on Spotify. I find driving in my car further isolates me. I am alone with the confines of my GMC, glued to the digital pacifier of my Apple CarPlay.
Conversely, taking the bus is a deeply communal experience. Everyone waits 15 to 30 minutes for the same line, each going to different places, but using the same method of transportation. For 15 to 30 sweet, sweet minutes, we exist on the same plane of communitas. I can stand beside perfect strangers, book in hand, and lean into the slow, mundane experience of riding the bus.
The majority of my time on the bus is spent with the four-year-old I nanny, taking the Yellow Line around and around between Eagle Lodge and the Village.
The Yellow Line, with its adorable trolley cars and perfectly wooden interiors, serves as endless entertainment. He sits dutifully in the back on the bus, his knees on the bench meant for the handicapped, his forehead pressed against the glass window pane. On Fridays, when I watch both him and another schoolmate of his, they point and wave to different cars tailing behind the bus.
“That one is friendly. That one is chasing is us. That one goes boom, boom, gone,” they say in fluent four-year-old.
The Yellow Line facilitates their childhood-driven whimsy. As I ride the bus with them, I find myself watching in adoration as the town of Mammoth Lakes unfolds slowly before my eyes. I love watching the flow of people enter the bus – the tourists who gawk at the intricate interior; the locals who depend on the line to venture home. Sometimes, the child falls asleep in my lap, and we ride the bus over and over again until his eyes gently open.
This past week of intentional bus taking also brought plenty of time for me to ride the bus alone.
On Saturday, I took the bus to Mammoth Mountain. On Sunday, I took the bus to Vons. In both of these situations, I had to allot myself an extra hour to get to these locations and remove any expectations of the time I would arrive. I stood alongside 20 other people for 30 minutes, waiting for the Red and Teal Lines, respectively. None of us spoke to one another. I leaned against the snow bank and read my book, dutifully waiting for the moment when I could sit in the back of the bus and listen to 93.3 FM blast through the speakers.
Ultimately, my time on the bus this week showed me the free public transportation system is a double edged sword. In the most romantic light, taking the bus forces me to slow down and engage with my community. But the truth is, taking the bus to work will never be a reliable option for me or anyone else who works in town early. Employee drivers use the parking intended for tourists, definitely perpetuating the parking crisis.
