I'm typing from the bowels of Wheaton Metro at 11:20 in the morning, the day after the disaster. And I type with nothing but the dull drone of the air conditioning system to keep me company. The parking deck was all but empty when I pulled in: even the lot attendant was absent. Nobody sat at the bus stops in front. There were two taxis parked at the cab stand where normally upwards of ten would sit. I passed nobody walking across the pedestrian bridge to the station.
I ride the Red Line at least ten times a week--five mornings into the city, five evenings home to Wheaton Station. I sit with Asians, Latinas, Hasidim, mothers with strollers, and dozens of riders who--like me--mix business attire with tennis shoes and baseball caps (a classic DC Metro fashion statement).
Today it seems as though I ride alone.
The escalator had nobody on it--I wish I could express what it's like descending the longest escalator in the western hemisphere with nobody else around, but it's an experience I'm simply not able to draw parallels to right now. I simply have no frame of reference for it to be abandoned. Metro workers spent the last six months repairing it, and the three tracks have only all been running together for a few weeks now. Today, they all run for me alone.
Up at the top of the hemisphere's largest escalator, the station agent is talking to a man who seemingly came by for nothing but gossip. Two other would-be riders were staring intently at the information board as I passed, looking for any news besides the usual litany of announcements about shuttle service and unattended bags.
As I've typed this, three people have joined me on the platform.
"A situation outside Fort Totten Station." That's how the announcements have described what happened yesterday. There is no train service on a large stretch of the Red Line, so they're running shuttle buses from Silver Spring down to Rhode Island Avenue.
---
The train is pulling in, empty save for two riders in the center car. I'm getting on board with ten other people--eight of us instinctively move towards the center car. There is no chance of hitting another train today, we all know, but there's a palpable sense of apprehension nonetheless.
We're riding for two stops only, then a transfer to a shuttle bus for four stops, then I'll have another two stops to Union Station. Our driver is making a point of slowing considerably before approaching the Forest Glen platform, even though no trains have gone through in nearly half an hour. Every popping noise or bump turns heads, even if only slightly (and as often as not, mine turns as well).
At Forest Glen, the announcement is "Red Line Train. Destination: Silver Spring. Upon arrival at the platform, this train will go back in the direction of Glenmont. Shuttle service has been provided at Silver Spring for you to continue your trip."
--
I pass between Fort Totten and Takoma Park every day, reading the graffiti from people styling themselves Ju, Rezist, even some leftover Borf (since updated). I usually mark my progress by the spray-painted signposts. I won't see them today.
--
It's hard to know the exact scope of the damage from yesterday's "situation outside Fort Totten Station," with the lives lost, injuries sustained, and--I hate to put it so crassly--the loss of revenue for the already cash-strapped Metro system. Will this put a hold on the Purple Line project? Will scheduled maintenance be delayed?
We stopped twenty yards short of the Silver Spring platform, then slowly inched into the station. We were all ordered off the train and pointed in the general direction of a line of buses about two blocks away. As we left the station, there were three station agents, one of whom directed pedestrians towards the shuttles while the other two sat, silently, with their heads in their hands.
The line of buses we were initially pointed towards was not actually the one we wanted--Metro has buses lined around a block, with shuttles being on the far side from the station. I walked around, past a man with a "homeless+jobless please help" sign, a woman morosely handing out career training flyers to people walking to the buses, a small roadside fruit stand (good price on mangoes), and a few cars with diplomat tags. It took several tries to find the right bus.
[I'm now typing from the third seat from the driver of bus #9781, sitting between another Metro station agent and a kid clutching a TD Ameritrade pen. Traffic is moving slowly for this time of day, even for Silver Spring.]
Yesterday was also slow-moving. My wife, Lauren, works in Falls Church, and I'm working and going to school near the Capitol, so she had to drive into the city to pick me up. It took her well over two hours to get home last night, and well over an hour for me to go the ten or so miles back up to Wheaton.
We just crossed into DC from Maryland on Georgia Avenue. Soon we'll be parallel to the spot where the "situation" occurred. Yesterday, Lauren and I drove up this route and couldn't see anything, but we could track our progress by watching the helicopters over the site of the "situation."
"Situation." Jesus, what a euphemism.
There's a tourist-looking man discussing the collision with the uncomfortable-looking woman next to him, as she slowly and sadly nods along with his words. Otherwise, the ride is very quiet. The driver's radio has stayed silent so far. We're now passing Walter Reed Army Medical Center--I don't know if any responders were dispatched from here or any injuries sent here.
We're taking a side street through a residential neighborhood--a picture of serene suburban beauty. Well-tended lawns, the one bright purple house standing out from its neighbors, narrow streets with stop signs instead of stop lights. It's hard to tell what unfolded near here yesterday.
--
We're pulling into a ghost town now: Takoma station. The station agent just exited (taking his union hat with him - ATU, I believe it was), and three passengers climbed aboard before those waiting for their usual connections realized this was the only way into downtown. Then maybe a dozen more joined us. It's a free ride, and for today only the normally dictatorial Metro system is turning a blind eye to people carrying food, drinks and, in one instance, Slurpees (which are neither food nor drink as I understand the terms).
On the Red Line, our interactions with most of DC take the form of the backs of buildings, spray-painted boastings by misguided teenagers, and an occasional vista of stunning beauty (like the Basilica at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception outside Catholic University, silhouetted against the sky just before the Brookland stop). Today, we're seeing street level. I've ridden these streets before (I even house-hunted in the neighborhood we're now passing through on our way to Fort Totten Station, around Kansas Avenue and North Capitol), but there's something different about riding through here on the bus that I just can't quite place--it's certainly a tighter squeeze than the train, and a slower ride, but perhaps the difference I'm feeling is more one of relative moods than of any lasting significance, the recent trauma making the sunny Summer day seem unduly glum.
Metro advised riders to add a half-hour to our commutes to make up for the delays, but this will be an extra hour without any question. There's a woman across from us with luggage, trying to catch her flight out of National. She might make it--the man next to me says that there's still Yellow and Green Line service out of Fort Totten, which would get her there directly. Hopefully, she'll catch her plane. I'm considering jumping aboard the Yellow Line myself, riding it into the city, then approaching my goal from the other side. It might be faster, and probably more comfortable.
--
We're at Fort Totten now, and thankfully it's showing signs of life. I'm not going to transfer here, either because I want to stay with the Red Line and not let what happened yesterday affect me any more than it already has, or because some eye candy just boarded (yeah, I know, I'm a pig, but I do actually think it's the former reason and not the latter keeping me on the bus if that helps).
Different houses now, duplexes made of brick instead of Cape Codders with aluminum siding. We're heading to Brookland-Catholic University of America Station. There are some days each year when this is one of the busiest stops in the Metro system: the anniversary of Roe v. Wade brings droves of conservative Catholics to this area (in addition to the droves already living here), and they all take the Red Line into the city for their protests.
Pulling into Brookland now, and we're back to emptiness. The domed Basilica is blocked by an overpass, and the graffiti at this stop (which is, frankly, among the best in the city, especially the Sean Taylor memorial, which I swear is more impressive than this picture leads one to believe) is all on the track-side of the station. A one-legged man in a motorized wheelchair is riding around the parking lot, looking for shade while, I assume, waiting for an accessible bus to come by.
--
We're on the final leg of the bus trip now, heading for Rhode Island Avenue/Brentwood Station. There's a boarded up building with a handicapped ramp behind it near the station, clearly visible from the passing trains, where kids gather to smoke pot and trade bullshit every day. I wonder what it looks like from the other side, and whether I'll recognize it if I see it.
I'm now a little over an hour into my commute. I can see Rhode Island Ave (the road), and should be at Rhode Island Ave (the station) shortly. It will be good to get off this bus--three riders just jumped out at a stoplight, and I can't say I blame them.
--
Back on the train. The platform at Rhode Island Ave was packed, and train filled almost immediately (again, the center car getting the most passengers). The Capitol Dome just emerged in front of me as we descended a curved bridge leading to a switchyard. And through the switchyard to New York Avenue-Florida Avenue-Gallaudet University Station.
My stop is next. It's now just after 12:30 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon in DC, and I'm riding in a full train on the Red Line, with no expected delays ahead.
Just another commute on just another day.
[UPDATE: First, thanks mem from somerville and the Rescue Rangers, as always. Second, I can't believe I forgot to include this for reference:
Thanks again, all. -JR]