As I just posted [a bunch of links](http://www.ryskamp.org/psst-all#2760) to a fascinating recent New Yorker article on commuting in America, [There and Back Again: The soul of the commuter](http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2007/04/16/070416fa_fact_paumgarten?currentPage=all), I thought it might be a good time to chronicle my thoughts about commuting.
I haven’t owned a car in more than five years; before that there was a brief fling with a Ford Explorer that sparked, fizzled, and died tragically on the curb outside my first post-college apartment. That experience ended badly enough that I was in no real hurry to repeat it. I had plenty of bicycles, so I just rode them everywhere, as I had before buying the Explorer. My 10-year history of racing bikes didn’t hurt, either.
Since I lived in downtown Palo Alto at the time, everything I needed to survive was a short bike ride away: groceries, entertainment, work (singing waiter variety), lovely girlfriend. Riding was usually faster than driving anyway; I could cut corners, take back roads, snake through traffic. When it rained, I got wet. If I needed to, I borrowed a car, but that didn’t happen too often.
I got a new job in Santa Clara and took the [Caltrain](http://caltrain.com), a commuter train with special cars to ferry bikes, most of the way there. On that train, I saw lots of like-minded commuters, most of them traveling from San Francisco to destinations farther south than mine. For them, the train was an alternative to a 100-mile daily drive; for me, it was a 15-minute convenience.
Moving to Mountain View put me closer to work, though I still took the train most days. I was further from the other important things, however, which meant lots of late-night train and bike rides from Palo Alto in the dark. At the time, I was returning to bike racing, so the 5-7 miles was a simple spin of the pedals compared to my full training load. Still, I remember tearing through darkened neighborhoods with vivid dreams racing through my mind. It’s hard to explain…go riding at night sometime.
I still didn’t seem to have an acceptable explanation for why I rode everywhere. I usually said that I couldn’t stand driving, that sitting in traffic made me feel helpless and trapped, and that I really really loved riding my bike, that the worst day on the bike was better than the best day driving. People didn’t really seem to believe it.
Back to Palo Alto two years later and a new job in Mountain View; now just 15 minutes from work, that ride got much easier, and I set up a bike specifically for it. This made regular commuting easier, but there were still things I needed to borrow a car for (hauling heavy items, driving other people places). My new work commute route took me through a large wetlands preserve that ended about 100 feet before my office; I thought it was the best commute in the world.
Around this time, there was a real shift in the perception of my commuting. Up until then, most of my friends and coworkers told me that they didn’t understand why I didn’t have a car–I had money, a clear driver’s license, and lots of commuting to do. I got funny looks when I pulled up on my bike; people laughed when I told them how I commuted. But suddenly those conversations turned into questions about how I did it; discussions about how they dreaded their commute and wanted to do the same; how they never got any exercise; how they thought my principled approach was, while still crazy, at least admirable.
Maybe it was living with three roommates who also rode to work, or the cumulative commuting hours my friends had racked up since starting work 4 years earlier. My new coworkers certainly seemed to understand, and many of them rode as well. Suddenly my commute was cool, and I didn’t worry about showing up on a bike.
I still get funny looks pulling up to the grocery store on a bike with [my groceries trailer](http://bikerev.com/pg3.cfm); I still have trouble hauling big things. When it rains, I still get wet (though [my new Gore-Tex shoes](http://www.performancebike.com/shop/profile.cfm?SKU=23896&estore_ID=115) help a lot). But I also still love it, and I still think I have the best commute in the world.
So how did it happen? There were a few important factors:
1. I chose to live close enough to a group of important people in my life that I could bike to see them. This meant that my options were immediately restricted to about a 10-mile radius.
2. I chose my jobs by looking only within that same range. This meant my career options were limited by my choice of friends; I was ok with that. I’ve been hilariously successful within those boundaries, though I realize I easily could not have been. But everything you do affects your other opportunities; I just chose friends first.
3. Housing close to mass transportation. Even if you’ve set up the two items above as I did, there will still be times you need to travel further. Living close to the train meant I’d always be able to get elsewhere.
4. Punctuality. The train waits for no man. This schedule actually taught punctuality to me; beforehand I was a terrible laggard.
5. A good bike. A commute bike is an interesting beast–it needs to combine speed and comfort with waterproofness, lighting, simplicity, and packability. It’s really hard to get that mix right, and it’s different for every commuter. I’m still working on my mix, and I’ve started a [bikehacks group on Flickr](http://www.flickr.com/photos/bobman/tags/bikehacks/) to chronicle the cool methods other people are using. Fortunately, since I don’t own a car, I feel very comfortable applying that budget to a good bike.
6. Showers at work. Not a full necessity, but it sure makes a longer commute nicer. I also keep a second wardrobe at work so I don’t have to haul clothes everywhere.
7. Good weather. Yeah, I got wet my fair share of times. But it’s still easier to do this in California than in Michigan.
8. Supportive friends. This all got easier when my friends started supporting my efforts.
The final question: why bother? Cars are easy–they keep you clean, dry, consistent, and fast. But I just can’t handle them. Kudos to all those who can, but I can’t. Given the opportunities I have, I can’t get in that car.
The New Yorker article explains the situation in a way I love:
> A commute is a distillation of a life’s main ingredients, a product of fundamental values and choices. And time is the vital currency: how much of it you spend–and how you spend it–reveals a great deal about how much you think it is worth.
An hour on a bike, in the rain, late to a meeting, beats 15 minutes in a car any day of the week for me. Take those “fundamental values” and smoke ’em.
The ironic part of writing all this now is that I’m moving to Berkeley next month, where my wonderful wife will begin business school in the fall. That puts me an hour and a half by car (optimistically) from my current office. Would I drive it? Never. I love my job, but I’d sooner quit.
Fortunately, the company operates a daily shuttle service from Berkeley. I’ll get to ride my bike there in the morning, and home at night. Add a bike at work to ride at noon, and I’m back in business. I’m excited, too, about the potential of concentrating three hours of my day on focused and isolated reading and sketching.
As before, how I spend this time will reflect my life’s priorities–it’s just a chance to express new ones. That’s why I commute the way I do now, and why I hope to continue prioritizing my commute in unique ways in the future.
