Three years ago, I ceased to drive a car. No, my license wasn’t suspended. A collision with an SUV finished off our 15-year-old Toyota. It also nearly killed my husband, who had just dropped off the kids. Horrified by the close call, we decided not to replace the car—at least for a while, we said.
Given that we had two full-time jobs and three sons in three different schools who participated in swimming, soccer, choir and more, our friends reacted with surprise and even a little suspicion when we told them. “Aren’t you too busy to both rely on buses?” they asked. “Is it really fair to the kids?” “It’s not as if you can’t afford a car.” “Who’d want to ride with strangers?” “How will you get things home from Costco and Target?”
In truth, the logistics of mass transit are relatively easy where we live. You can get just about anywhere in Portland, Ore., within an hour by bus. The trip might take 20 minutes longer than by car, but you’re spared the stress of negotiating the roads and fending off hostile drivers.
My husband, commuting to the University of Portland, was already a fan of mass transit. Our kids quickly adapted to taking buses to school and to many of their outside activities. Yes, they had to decide which interests were worth the effort, but that in itself was an eye-opener. (The oldest declined to take tae kwon do with his friends, while choosing to study Japanese in evening classes at the university.) Two of the boys became avid cyclists. For the kids’ after-dark events, we arranged car rides with other families, thanking them with home-baked cookies and childcare IOUs. All of us made nice friends this way, and the give-and-take strengthened our sense of community.
When the grandparents visited, we simply rented a minivan to haul everyone around, accomplishing more sightseeing than in the days when such outings required a two-car caravan.
Waiting for the bus every day, I’ve been amazed at how many people offer me lifts. Usually they’re acquaintances, but not always. “I see you here all the time,” a stranger might say, lowering the window with a smile. “I live up the road, and my name is . . . ”
I’ve found that the bus is actually a pleasant place. While car drivers can shout insults and peel away in anonymity, most passengers are cordial within the confines of a bus. Commuting to rehearsals, performances and classes (I’m a classical orgainist and music teacher), I’ve come to know several bus drivers by name. They greet me like a friend and sometimes provide little courtesies, like dropping me at my house. I like hearing their stories, and I love it when they cut off the SUVs.
I’ve seen more of the city than ever before from the elevated windows of the bus. I can also look at my kids—and laugh with them—when I’m not the one behind the wheel.
Other, subtler revolutions have quietly reshaped our lives. A few months after the Toyota was totaled, we realized we were generating less trash. Even the recycling dwindled. We had stopped driving to the supermarket and instead were walking to a local grocery store, buying fewer items and using bulk foods and other packaging shortcuts.
True, it’s hard to lug home five gallons of milk each week, and a 10-pound bag of flour is still a stretch for me. But a cab back from the grocery is just $4 if I need it. Meanwhile, the walking has strengthened our legs and lungs. A one-mile stroll used to leave my 8-year-old breathless; now we all walk for fun.
Giving up the car didn’t save us money, since our vehicle was a bomber and bus passes for five cost about $1,200 a year. The big windfall, for me, was the unexpected increase in personal time. I stopped running out to the ’burbs on shopping sprees—no more Costco, no more Target. I stopped committing to projects and meetings unless they really mattered to me. My whole life slowed down.
Now, a bit sadly, I’m edging back into the fast lane. Finances have pressured me to accept some gigs at times and places beyond the bus’s reach. Our “new” 1987 Honda gets me to the concert halls and classrooms—but other than that, I pretend it’s not there. For the simpler, saner lifestyle, we prefer to live carfree.
Meanwhile, some of our friends have given up their vehicles. I offer them a lift whenever I happen to pass by, lowering the window with a smile.
LYN HUBLER LOEWI, DMA ’83, is a classical organist who teaches music at Portland State University.
