Re: Double Standard?
Here is a column from Mike Strobel at the Toronto Sun. He left the car at home in Scarborough and took the TTC to work downtown.
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The slower way
Sun scribe gets out of his Ford only to find that the Better Way takes three times as long to get downtown
By MIKE STROBEL
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it
-- Magic Bus, The Who
So David Miller wants to force us out of our cars.
"This is the mayor, Buster! Back away from that Buick. Sloooowly. Hands where I can see 'em."
This is getting serious. On Nov. 13, we elected a lefty council to match our lefty mayor. For four years, this time.
Now, who will protect us drivers from the anti-auto mania sure to sweep City Hall?
Who stands in the way of a tax on downtown parking lots, or a surcharge on car licences, or toll streets?
Who can stop such lunacy as bus-only lanes on my beloved, narrow Kingston Rd.?
Nobody. We drivers are sitting like ducks on the DVP.
Might as well face it, get ready...
< Off I hobble, through yesterday's morning mist, looking for a bus stop. It is 9:17 a.m.
CAME WITH A COFFEE
Exactly a day earlier I had pulled out of the driveway and pointed my Ford at the Sun.
That trip took 33 minutes, door-to-door, including Tim Hortons.
Shop and compare. This is a TTC day.
(The 116, Mike. Don't forget. It's the 116.)
"Whatever you do, Dad," said Jackson, 16 and wise in the ways of mass transit, "don't take the 116A."
For God's sake, boy, why not?
"It hardly ever comes and I don't know where the heck it goes."
Partway down Brinloor Blvd. my bad back and bum ankle protest. Where do I sign up for Wheel-Trans?
"Going my way, sailor?" says my Judith from her Passat.
So I save 10, 15 minutes walking. The 116 pulls in, right on cue, Kingston Rd. and Eglinton Ave.
How much, 50%?
The driver looks wary. Another kook? "$2.75."
Wow, it's been a while. This "kneeling" bus sure is easy on an ailing back. Not as easy as a bucket seat in a Ford.
Eglinton Ave. E. has those insufferable diamond lanes.
Before the election, Mayor Miller said:
"We need to make transit a priority so that the 60 people on the streetcar -- 60 people who represent 60 fewer cars on the road -- aren't held back by that one person in the car in front of them."
The 116 is feeling her oats. Down Eglinton we charge.
All six of us.
We're holding up minivans with more people and fewer fumes. Fun with numbers? They equal whatever you want.
For instance, six people, one bus, equals leg room.
"It's a good day," says Marjorie Masters, 61, stretching her elegant gams in a seat behind me. She is going downtown to visit a friend. "Sometimes it's like this. Sometimes it's not."
We both dismount at Kennedy Station.
Is that Tchaikovsky? The TTC infuses its easternmost subway depot with classical music to keep punks moving out.
There are hardly any murders or muggings here anymore.
Mid-morning, the place looks pristine.
"Come back around 3 o'clock," grimaces Marjorie.
That's when schools let out.
Upstream of Kennedy, the Scarborough RT vanishes into the mist, like Frodo seeking Mordor.
You're in old Scarborough now, boss.
Small, smelly, raucous cars often filled to capacity. Oh, that'll entice us out of our jalopies.
Main St. station, exactly 33 minutes since home. I'd be pulling the Ford into the Sun parking lot.
Chirag Dave, 18, will be late for biochemistry class at U of T.
"If you're trying to get somewhere right on time, forget the TTC," says Chirag, who commutes from Markham, 1 1/2 hours by subway, RT, bus and foot. Three hours a day.
No wonder he wants to transfer to McMaster.
Broadview station. More lovely music, this time Spanish guitar. Rhumba. Busker Curtis Nicholson, 25. I tell him of my TTC adventure.
"Cool, dude," he says.
In a corner of the station, steel supports appear to be preventing a ceiling cave-in.
The 504 streetcar rumbles down Broadview Ave., through the Gerrard St. Chinatown, past Dangerous Dan's diner.
The comfy ol' 504 Red Rocket. Ridden her countless times.
If she made a beeline for Brinloor Blvd. every day, at thrice her usual crawl, without stopping every 10 feet and carrying germs all winter, I'd switch to the TTC. In a heartbeat.
At 10:36, I walk into the newsroom, an hour and 19 minutes from home.
"Where you been?" a colleague wonders.
I'll tell you, pal. If you give me a lift home.