Straight-eights
My last bus-run I had before my stroke was a straight-eight on the 800-line: 5:05 a.m. to 1 p.m.; just short of eight but I was paid for eight, since we had an eight-hour guarantee.
Straight-eights were very rare, primarily because the Union was against them. The Company’s position was a few drivers were always asking for them, so they accommodated, and the Union acquiesced.
The 800-line was a worker, our second-most successful line after Lake Ave. The 800 traveled east-to-west over the main drag through Rochester (Main St.), and also the streets to the west that would have been the main drag, West Ave. and/or Chili Ave.
The 800 also went west into a far-out suburb west of the city (Chili Center — locals pronounce it “Cheye-Leye) on a transit corridor established long ago.
It also did another branch south along Genesee Park Blvd., a Rochester neighborhood that flowered in the ‘40s.
My bus pulled out and immediately went to Chili Center; far enough to require high-beams. I remember hitting the foot-button one morning, and coming up with nothing at all. Here I was driving 35 mph in the pitch-dark void.
I stomped on the button feverishly, and still had low-beams.
I also crossed the old West Shore — now Rochester bypass — at a railroad-crossing near the end of the line.
The gates weren’t down yet, but a train was blowing for the crossing. All I could see was its ditch-lights flashing back-and-forth as it approached.
I put the hammer down. We were skeedadling out of that railroad-crossing — I had 35 feet a bus trailing me. I don’t think the gates ever started down, but I always had it in mind if they did I was just smacking them aside.
Once started, there was no let-up until about 9:30. I was throwing that bus all over, usually bombing through layovers late and changing the signs on the fly.
The route included out along West Ave. Extension, next to General Railway Signal and the Water-Level Route. I always hoped I’d see a train, and occasionally did, but waiting for one was out of the question.
My first break came at Strong Hospital, where I could go inside and use the john. To do so I had to shut the bus off and close the doors — which could be done from the driver’s window.
If anyone was on the bus, I couldn’t leave.
Back on the road, no let-up. Once I crippled my bus smack in the middle of an intersection. It felt like a front wheel-bearing was packing up.
My only passenger was incensed, but we had just had a wheel break off due to a bearing-failure.
There were two straight-eights on the 800: one (801: 4:35-12:30) driven by Dave Stright, number-one on the seniority-list. Mine (802) had previously been driven by #2, but he dove.
A straight-eight on the 800 was a logistical dream. Pull out and then get relieved at the station.
Logistics always played the major part in my picks. Best was pull-out, pull-in; pull-out, pull-in. If it was pull-out and get relieved, most reliefs were downtown, which meant getting to your next relief-point, or back to the station if it was a pull-out.
If it were pull-out, pull-in and then relieve: you had to get downtown to make the relief. We didn’t get paid for travel-time.
Get relieved downtown at the end of your run, and you had to get back to where your car was — like at the station.
Which is why 802 was a dream: pull-out and get relieved at the station.
It meant all you had to do was show up, work and then walk back to your car.
There were usually pull-out, pull-in; pull-out, pull-in runs that did the same thing, but a straight-eight minimized portal-to-portal.
Throw in a 45-minute lunch-break, and your adding 45 minutes. Most drivers wanted that: ham-and-eggs at the grungy downtown McDonald’s, or beller at the guys shooting pool in the drivers’-room (or visit the infamous cancer-ward [smoking-room]); but not me.
I just wanted to go home. That eight-hour run consumed 12 hours per day. Add a lunch-break and you’re pushing 13. —West Bloomfield to Transit was 45 minutes.
But the stroke ended all that. The stroke was 12 years ago on the Tuesday morning after Jack and I chased 765 (2765) all over New River Gorge. I had driven back Sunday in the so-called soccer-mom minivan — about eight hours — chocolate sugar-cookies and a banana; purchased in the dark.
I drove 802 the next day, but it was a struggle.
Straight-eights were very rare, primarily because the Union was against them. The Company’s position was a few drivers were always asking for them, so they accommodated, and the Union acquiesced.
The 800-line was a worker, our second-most successful line after Lake Ave. The 800 traveled east-to-west over the main drag through Rochester (Main St.), and also the streets to the west that would have been the main drag, West Ave. and/or Chili Ave.
The 800 also went west into a far-out suburb west of the city (Chili Center — locals pronounce it “Cheye-Leye) on a transit corridor established long ago.
It also did another branch south along Genesee Park Blvd., a Rochester neighborhood that flowered in the ‘40s.
My bus pulled out and immediately went to Chili Center; far enough to require high-beams. I remember hitting the foot-button one morning, and coming up with nothing at all. Here I was driving 35 mph in the pitch-dark void.
I stomped on the button feverishly, and still had low-beams.
I also crossed the old West Shore — now Rochester bypass — at a railroad-crossing near the end of the line.
The gates weren’t down yet, but a train was blowing for the crossing. All I could see was its ditch-lights flashing back-and-forth as it approached.
I put the hammer down. We were skeedadling out of that railroad-crossing — I had 35 feet a bus trailing me. I don’t think the gates ever started down, but I always had it in mind if they did I was just smacking them aside.
Once started, there was no let-up until about 9:30. I was throwing that bus all over, usually bombing through layovers late and changing the signs on the fly.
The route included out along West Ave. Extension, next to General Railway Signal and the Water-Level Route. I always hoped I’d see a train, and occasionally did, but waiting for one was out of the question.
My first break came at Strong Hospital, where I could go inside and use the john. To do so I had to shut the bus off and close the doors — which could be done from the driver’s window.
If anyone was on the bus, I couldn’t leave.
Back on the road, no let-up. Once I crippled my bus smack in the middle of an intersection. It felt like a front wheel-bearing was packing up.
My only passenger was incensed, but we had just had a wheel break off due to a bearing-failure.
There were two straight-eights on the 800: one (801: 4:35-12:30) driven by Dave Stright, number-one on the seniority-list. Mine (802) had previously been driven by #2, but he dove.
A straight-eight on the 800 was a logistical dream. Pull out and then get relieved at the station.
Logistics always played the major part in my picks. Best was pull-out, pull-in; pull-out, pull-in. If it was pull-out and get relieved, most reliefs were downtown, which meant getting to your next relief-point, or back to the station if it was a pull-out.
If it were pull-out, pull-in and then relieve: you had to get downtown to make the relief. We didn’t get paid for travel-time.
Get relieved downtown at the end of your run, and you had to get back to where your car was — like at the station.
Which is why 802 was a dream: pull-out and get relieved at the station.
It meant all you had to do was show up, work and then walk back to your car.
There were usually pull-out, pull-in; pull-out, pull-in runs that did the same thing, but a straight-eight minimized portal-to-portal.
Throw in a 45-minute lunch-break, and your adding 45 minutes. Most drivers wanted that: ham-and-eggs at the grungy downtown McDonald’s, or beller at the guys shooting pool in the drivers’-room (or visit the infamous cancer-ward [smoking-room]); but not me.
I just wanted to go home. That eight-hour run consumed 12 hours per day. Add a lunch-break and you’re pushing 13. —West Bloomfield to Transit was 45 minutes.
But the stroke ended all that. The stroke was 12 years ago on the Tuesday morning after Jack and I chased 765 (2765) all over New River Gorge. I had driven back Sunday in the so-called soccer-mom minivan — about eight hours — chocolate sugar-cookies and a banana; purchased in the dark.
I drove 802 the next day, but it was a struggle.
(“Jack” is my brother-in-Boston.)
posted by BobbaLew at 10:19 AM
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