This is the kind of normal question that anyone might ask in any town anywhere. Except if you ask it here, the responder will look at you quizzically. Because honest Abraham of Civil War fame, we don’t have any public transportation in this town.
If you need to go somewhere, you have a choice.
You can walk. You can hop on your bike, assuming it isn’t the middle of winter with roads full of snow and ice and you’re still young enough to do it. You can saddle up your horse (or hitch up the buggy) … or jump in whatever vehicle you own.
That’s it. I’m told that way back before we were living anywhere, they used to have a bus. I would certainly not object to having a mini-bus so old folks — like me — could get into town without having a driver. So far, no go, but I live in hope.
No Uber. No Lyft. No taxi. Nothing unless you drive. There are train tracks, but the trains don’t stop here and anyway, they are all freight trains, not for passengers.
Most people don’t take their horses to town, but it has happened. It makes the horses nervous, though and carrying back the groceries can be a bit clumsy. So mostly, it’s feet, trucks, and cars. We’re about 3-1/2 miles out of the village and we are definitely past hoofing it.
Public transportation isn’t part of the rural lifestyle. At some point, the trains did stop here. I only know it because we have a converted train station that’s now a real estate office. But once upon a time, it was an actual passenger station.
I never went sky-diving (Garry did and I envied him … and wondered how in the world he managed to actually jump out of that plane into the air), but I did go gliding. Twice. I loved flying in small planes and I was lucky enough to have two good friends who flew and took me with them. One of them got permission to fly very close to the ground so I could fly 500 feet over my house and wave to my flowers.
I discovered that when you fly in a small airplane, no matter how hot it is on the ground, at 10,000 feet, you really wish you were wearing insulated shoes. I learned I was too short to see over the dashboard of a Cessna, so if I took up flying, I would have to do it entirely using instruments.
I got to be “co-pilot” on all these little flights and discovered my main job was to “look for airplanes.” With all the technology involved in flying, planes, especially small planes without flight plans, hit each other.
When you are looking for other planes, you have to look up, and to both sides. I couldn’t look down. I was too short but I discovered the world had more directions than I ever imagined.
My cousin Roberta lived in northern Virginia, right outside of DC. From when I was 9 or maybe 10, I used to fly there and back. Alone. That was before they made you wear special badges or anything. You just got on the plane, sat in your seat. Up in the air and half an hour later, descending again. Seeing tiny people get bigger and bigger until they were full-sized and the plane bumped to a stop.
Watching all those cars travel at high speeds through the most astonishingly complex intersections and mostly, don’t hit each other. It’s like an enormous dance done on the roads.
When Garry and I were courting, I hadn’t yet gotten a job in Massachusetts. Most weekends, Garry drove to New York and stayed with me, but sometimes, he’d buy me a ticket. I’d fly from La Guardia to Logan. Once, I was due in at 6 pm. We took off a little late and minutes later, the plane was hit by lightning. Twice. There was only one working engine.
Nobody talked. We just listened to silence, followed by the wail of the engine as it lifted the plane. One of the passengers was a pilot, probably going home to Boston. Everyone watched him, holding our collective breaths, wondering if we were going to land or crash.
We landed. Garry picked me up and started to complain I was late and he’d had to circle the airport a dozen times waiting for my plane to show up. I pointed out that I wasn’t sure I was going to get there alive, so he should be saying “Oh glory, you’re here and alive!” and after that, he fed me lobster for three days straight. I deserved every piece of lobster, not to mention one fabulous North End Italian dinner.
I don’t know exactly when the fun went out of flying. When airports went from being inconvenient and ugly and became houses of torment. When airline seats went from being small to being torturous. When all the little niceties of flying disappeared and then they wonder why people try not to fly if they have any other choice.
Unfortunately, our rail infrastructure has been neither maintained nor expanded. For example, you can’t take a train from Boston to Arizona. There are many areas where the tracks are not functional. Not only can you not take the train from point A to point C, but you have to detrain with all your luggage, take a bus, get another train which may or may not have the same seats or type of seats … all while juggling your luggage. You may need to do this several times and it will take days rather than hours.
I was still willing to give it a try until I read the notice that the train would not provide assistance with transferring luggage. I gave up.
So if you are traveling a long distance, unless you are still young enough to like driving all day — and there was a time when I thought driving was fun — you can fly or stay home. Given one thing and another, we stay home. Mostly.
It doesn’t mean we’ll never fly again. I think now that Garry can hear better, we might fly somewhere, sometime, someday. England or Australia or New Zealand or the south of France. Paris or Tokyo. Who knows?
Meanwhile, a dozen or more Chickadees have discovered our bird feeder and they fly up and over and around it.
As airlines make traveling by air increasingly miserable, unfriendly, and physically uncomfortable, those of us who yearn to travel but abhor airports and airplanes have been waiting for teleportation.
You know. “Scotty, beam me up” and off you go to another place. It might be earth. It might be an outer planet in another galaxy. It might be … well … the bar in Star Wars of that cool one in Second Generation! Who the hell knows? And who really cares?
Although I foresee a limit on luggage, I’m sure I could work with that. They are making gigantic strides in travel clothing every day!
Warning, though. This is one of the many things we won’t be able to do unless we vote very Blue this November and remove the Orange Menace from the White House. Anyone who feels we need a wall at the Mexican border isn’t going to allow teleportation for just anyone from anywhere to anywhere else.
Certainly, I can’t imagine his nibs allowing ALIENSbeaming into the land of the free and the home of the cringing, whining, terrified white people who voted for Orange Peel. If you think brown, red, yellow, or beige people whose native language isn’t English are out to get you, what will you do with a creature with tentacles who loves drinking grout cleaner?
What a bunch of dumbasses. We could own the universe, but instead, we prefer being locked up behind our own walls lest we feel potentially threatened by people who are different than us. And mind you, there is really not a bit of difference between us and the other colors and styles of people. We are all exactly the same, genetically.
Obviously, there are individual differences. Smarter, dumber, more creative, more athletic, totally clumsy — but nothing that you won’t see in any group of people who all have the same coloring or background. Skin and its variations have no effect on intelligence or ability to understand the meaning of the universe.
You know that, right? Nor does not speaking English. Mr. Nobel was Swedish. He didn’t speak American. Einstein was an immigrant. Sam Adams made beer and fomented revolution … and I’m not sure where he was from. Ireland? Scotland? England? Germany? The whole world? And anyway, we are all from Africa because that’s where humanity began. Check it out.
But wait! Orange Gecko won’t be in charge forever! He’s too old! Unless we’ve also invented the no-aging device, he’s going to bite the big one just like the rest of us.
Get those transporter beams revved up. I’m ready!
Let’s open up the world while I’m can still enjoy it. We will take our elderly tricycles and electric wheelchairs with us. Surely they have sidewalks on Betelgeuse.
Let’s transform our cellular material and go with the flow. You ready? I’m definitely ready!
Just when Marilyn thought I’d given up photography, having not picked up a camera since the great storms of March, I surprised her and took the camera with me today. It was a good road day, too.
Before the day was over, I was in and out of five separate valley towns.
Starting in Uxbridge, I went through Mendon to Milford. From Milford back through Mendon and Uxbridge to Whitinsville and the Super Walmart. From there down into Douglas, then back up and finally, home.
But I got a lot done and in the end, that feels pretty good.
Honest Abraham of Civil War fame, we ain’t got no public transportation in this town.
You have a choice:
1 – Feet
2 – Bicycle
3 – Car or truck
4 – Horse.
Most people don’t take their horses to town, but it has happened. It makes the horses nervous, though and carrying back the groceries is a bit clumsy. So mostly, it’s feet and car. We’re about 3-1/2 miles out of the village and we are definitely past hoofing it.
Public transportation isn’t part of the rural lifestyle. I hear rumors that, until the early 1960s, we had buses in Uxbridge! Imagine that! And the trains stopped too. I know this because we have a train station — now a real estate office — but once upon a time, it was a train for people.
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