NO MORE COMMUTING

It’s fun now to listen to the morning traffic reports on KQED. Sitting with a cup of coffee and looking out over a forested canyon, I hear reports of backups from the Oakland–San Francisco Bay Bridge stretching miles to the Maze (the mass of intertwined highways in the middle of Oakland). Commuters to San Francisco from the East Bay are no doubt creeping along, looking nervously at the clock, and wondering if they can possibly get to work on time.

Though I switched from honest work to freelance writing and editing years ago, there was a time when I had to join other commuters in the daily rush hours. The only pleasant commute I ever found was that on the Alameda/Oakland ferry, a ride across San Francisco Bay taking about half an hour—long enough to read a newspaper and drink a cup of coffee. (At night, I could unwind with a glass of wine instead. Even better.) That continued only during a short writing job, though.

The worst commute of my life was through Chicago. Somehow I had gotten into the predicament of living in Park Forest, a suburb about 50 miles south of the city, and working in Skokie, one of the northwest suburbs. The drive first took me up the Dan Ryan Expressway, perhaps the most horrendous expressway in the country. About a dozen lanes wide, passing through some of the ugliest parts of Chicago. In summer the heat was stifling, in winter snow and ice were constant problems. Leaving the Dan Ryan, I got on Lake Shore Drive (fondly known as LSD to locals) and moved on toward the northern suburbs. The view of Lake Michigan from LSD was enjoyable, but that didn’t last very long. The entire wretched drive took about two hours in each direction. Traveling by train and bus instead would have meant waiting on train platforms and street corners in all kinds of weather. (Just before we finally moved to California, my fingers were frostbitten while I waited for a bus that never came.)

So, today I can settle back in comfort and listen to those traffic reports. A fender-bender on the Nimitz Freeway, a spill of a mysterious white substance on Route 280, a major pileup on the Bay Bridge. Retirement—it’s marvelous!