Riding the rails

I want to love the Acela. But it just keeps confounding me. Earlier in the fall, I booked a seat from Boston all the way to Washington. I viewed it as an experiment: yes, it takes more time than flying, but you can get work done, and six hours is worth it for the reduced energy consumption and greenhouse gas emissions. I stacked appointments behind my scheduled arrival at Union Station. Somewhere in Connecticut we came to a dead stop; a drawbridge ahead failed to close properly. OK, I thought, a little mishap, but maybe we’ll make up the time. Not only was that not the case -- when we finally pulled into New York an hour late, we were told we would remain in Penn Station for an hour. I asked a conductor and she said something about "missing our slot." The afternoon's appointments were obliterated. On a more recent trip – ironically to a conference, Re-Imagining Cities: Urban Design after the Age of Oil, on the way to New York we were told we would be late because conditions were “slippery” and slowing things down. Doesn't it rain in France and Japan? Don’t high-speed trains work there in all kinds of weather? Finally, after meeting with my editors at Random House, I went to Penn Station to catch a 7 a.m. Acela for the short trip to Philadelphia. Train canceled. No explanation. Finally, a barely audible announcement: there was an equipment shortage. The Carolina was scheduled to depart at 7:05, and Acela ticket-holders herded toward that platform -- only to get attitude about honoring the more expensive Acela ticket on the less expensive service. Several other people were delayed getting to the conference -- the same gathering Jane Jacobs, Lewis Mumford, Ian McHarg and others attended 50 years ago. One prominent topic was of course infrastructure, and the Northeast corridor service is the model for the rest of the nation -- but it needs to work. The original, perfectly reasonable goal was a three-hour trip from Boston to New York. The train can't seem to make three and a half hours. As a reporter for The Boston Globe I covered the various reasons why there were so many problems with the Acela, but I still don't understand them or why they can't be addressed. The staff seems to have a blasé attitude about being on time and going fast. The traveling public needs to go fast, and we need reliable service, for short-haul regional trips by rail to catch on. As reauthorization of the federal transportation bill approaches, and after voter approval of a $10 billion bond issue for new high-speed rail service in California, policymakers will be asking the question: how does it actually work? By the way, former Massachusetts governor Michael Dukakis will be at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy Nov. 19 at noon to talk about the future of rail in the U.S., as a more transit-friendly administration prepares to move into office.

Jane Jacobs and Barack Obama

At this event on the campaign trail, the Democratic nominee took a question from a gentleman who talked about cities and then handed over a copy of The Death and Life of Great American Cities (Modern Library hardcover edition). Obama called it a great book and seemed to indicate he'd read it; he promises a coherent policy for cities and metropolitan areas if he's elected.

Reservations

The pair of hawks soared over the treetops at the Mashantucket Pequot reservation, swerving closer to the scallop-shaped pool with the MGM lion etched in black on the tiled bottom. Were they looking for an unfinished pina colada? We splurged on a weekend at the new MGM Grand at Foxwoods in North Stonington, Conn., staying over after the 9 p.m. Carole King concert. (Yes, it was fine, disappointed she didn't play Jazzman, and boy did the aging boomer behind us get to be annoying singing, out of tune ... every ... word. I'm surprised AARP didn't have a sign-up sheet at the exits). We were struck by how the 26-story hotel tower rose up in the middle of nothing, just woods all around. But Native Americans would surely require, we thought, tough environmental standards for the development. Doesn't seem to be the case. The top of the giant parking garage was a massive impervious surface, and easily could have been planted as a green roof. No swales, no rainwater collection, can't open the windows. The flourescent light in the closet was activated by motion. Of course, the casino was replete with cigarette smoke. The Indians don't care any more than Wal-Mart does.

Tomorrowland

Just back from Orlando, where I spoke at a conference on redevelopment and infill put on by the Orange County Government. They don't make walking easy there, but I hoofed it back from the convention center to the Hilton, along grassy shoulders of dual carriageways; sidewalks begin and end. We could see Sea World out our hotel window, and I insisted we walk there, across a giant parking lot. At the Magic Kingdom, I was struck by how urban the arrangement is. You park your car, get on a tram, and then take either the monorail or a ferry boat into the park itself. Once there, you walk around, and there aren't too many places to sit. Were it not for the sugar- and carb-laden food offerings every few feet, it's a place to burn off calories. The most efficient way to see Tomorrowland is by hopping on the Tomorrowland Transit Authority's Blue Line, an elevated subway. Walt Disney loved highways, but he knew the role of transit, and the virtues of compactness and density. Meanwhile, in Orlando, there's a recognition that they can't keep spreading outward, and instead must turn inward to vacant lots and parcels with great potential. Florida gave us Seaside and the South Beach Diet; maybe the Sunshine State will become a model for re-engineering our car-oriented environments as well.

Hybrid heaven

So we took delivery on the 2008 Highlander Hybrid, submitting to the classic, and so completely backwards, stick-up job whereby pople who actually care about the future of the planet pay out the nose, while the buyers of old-school cars and trucks at Boch Toyota get the deals. It's a big yacht of a vehicle, and we're learning the mores of driving a hybrid: the wonderful quiet, the gentle touch with the accelerator to stay on electric power as long as possible, the joy of being able to park and idle without feeling guilty (the better to let the DVD run a bit more). We needed to accomodate three boys and do mostly city driving, and of course the mileage is better in stop-and-go because the battery kicks in at low speeds, and actually recharges in braking. Any longer trips we take have the whole family in one vehicle so we're always trip-bundled. When you drive a hybrid, it's true, you view the rest of the road differently: all those folks doing exactly the opposite of what we need to do, continuing to practice the great American tradition of driving a single-occupant, gas-guzzling vehicle for long distances. In Boston, as well, there's a particularly interesting cultural clash. At traffic lights and stop signs, I never gun it anymore, because I have one eye on the "EV" display that indicates my locomotion is emissions-free. My fellow road warriors seldom seem to be in this frame of mind. The honking began the instant the light changed to green the other day, and at the next light, where of course I caught up to the offender -- in a big non-hybrid SUV with New Hampshire plates -- I asked, why were you honking at me? To which he replied, "You weren't moving." No, I just wasn't moving fast enough for you. And off he went, pedal to the metal, secure in his ignorance with his brethren in the land of subdivisions north on I-93, unaware that the oil we use and the stuff we spew into the atmosphere is the slightest concern.

Hybrid havoc

An expansion in the family required five distinct seats and storage, so we faced the dreaded middle-aged American dilemma -- minivan, SUV, crossover -- but with a but one mandatory requirement: our new, bigger car needed to be a hybrid. The auto industry, sluggish to respond to the demand from people like us (or equally likely, keeping supplies limited and prices high, knowing we'll pay), only offers a smattering as of 2008. We considered the Mercury Mariner, but they are hard to come by -- September at the earliest, we were told, and that was by a friend in the business. Aside from a Lexus, that left the Toyota Highlander Hybrid; Boch Toyota in Norwood said come on down for a test drive. "Great day to by a Highlander," said the welcoming sales director. "A hybrid Highlander," I clarified. Toyota is an interesting company in the context of the planetary emergency. The Prius has made history, but the showroom that day was full of huge cars and trucks -- the monster Sequoia SUV, the Tundra pick-up, a minivan here and there, some economy compacts, and no hybrids. We were told we got the last Highlander in stock. As such, Boch wouldn't take a dime off the $38,373 list price, despite the bubbly claim on the telephone that inventory needed to move before the end of the month. Why aren't there more choices? Does anyone seriously think we're all going to be driving gas-powered vehicles in 15 years? Toyota refuses to sell its hybrid minivan in the US (for sale in Japan only), though it would sell briskly in these parts and elsewhere around the nation. We don't need a huge SUV; we just need some extra seating. We would jump at the lightest vehicle possible with the most space and the best fuel economy. The Hybrid Center keeps tabs on how the car companies seem to be making this inevitable transition as difficult as possible. On the way out of the showroom, I asked if there was a recycling bin for the can of Diet Coke I had bought in Ernie's cafe. "Nah," said the cashier. "Just throw it in the trash." I squeezed past a hulking Tundra and headed for the door.

Yankee thrift and warming

The next few years, climate change experts agree, are our last chance to start reducing greenhouse gas emissions in order to have some impact on the planet fifty years from now. Putting a price on carbon, wind farms, new technology for cars, and concentrated land use are all important, but perhaps the most pressing need is in changing behavior now: using compact flourescents, turning off lights, eating local food, bundling trips, leaving the car parked and taking transit, and ride-sharing with such services as GoLoco. Yet it turns out there's one behavior I don't have to change, because it's been good for the planet all along: my habit of wearing clothes until they are threadbare, shoes far beyond their life expectancy (record: a pair of wingtips from Scotland, twenty years). And being loathe to throw out any article of children's clothing, because it can be re-used. I have been exposed to much criticism and psycho-analysis about this, but now I have the ultimate defense -- I'm saving on the energy needed to manufacture new things. I knew there was something visionary in the old New England Yankee credo: use it up and wear it out. The New York Times ran a piece in the Thursday Styles section on jackets insulated with recycled plastic bottles and tote bags patched together with rags. Recycling clothes from your own closet, the reporter concluded, may be the greenest statement of all.