Behind every no-show bus, there’s a story. This is one of those stories.

Metrobus Route 70 runs from Downtown DC to Silver Spring. (Photo courtesy of Caitsith810, via YouTube)

Following my routine Sunday afternoon hike through Rock Creek Park to Silver Spring’s Denizens Brewing, I decided to head down to Timber Pizza (in Petworth) for dinner. My choice of transportation – Metrobus Route 70 – was a second-nature decision. The direct bus route stops within a couple blocks of both the brewery and pizzeria, and is scheduled to operate every 15 minutes even on Sunday evenings – reasonable service, by DC-area standards.

While at Denizens, I pulled up the Transit app so I could synchronize my departure with an arriving bus. I noticed that there was a 30-minute gap in service on this every-15-minute route, which isn’t too uncommon here in the nation’s capital. I took it in stride, and perfectly timed the next bus a half hour later.

The bus was quite full, which at this off-peak hour was a sign that the prior bus indeed hadn’t shown up. But I was able to find an empty seat and settled in for the ride.

We made it a few blocks, then pulled into a stop – and remained stopped.

I soon noticed some commotion near the front of the bus, which didn’t seem too alarming at first. I figured one of the usual culprits – a driver change, a dispute about the fare, a lost soul endlessly asking the bus driver whether or not this is their bus – was at fault, and the delay would be brief.

But several minutes passed, the commotion died down, yet we were still stationary.  At this point, I realized this wasn’t an ordinary hiccup and walked up to the front of the bus to figure out what the issue was.

I learned that we were stopped because a legally blind passenger, while attempting to exit the bus, had stumbled into the row of seats across from her. She needed to cross Georgia Avenue, the pedestrian-hostile street Route 70 runs on, to get home.

Since this would have been incredibly dangerous for her, the bus driver had called in a supervisor who could provide her a car ride home. He informed me that the next 70 bus was coming in 12 minutes, implying that the bus we were on wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

An out-of-service Metrobus. (Photo courtesy of Oren's Transit Page)

I quickly processed the situation. While the purpose of my trip was purely recreational, it’s likely that other riders had more time-sensitive needs, and that some of those riders had already endured a lengthy delay (given that all evidence suggested the bus immediately before ours had also been cancelled).

Thus, I offered to personally assist the blind passenger home, which would have ensured that she reached her destination safely and released the bus to transport other riders to where they needed to go.

The passenger simply sat quietly. But the driver and others near the front of the bus didn’t seem interested in my proposal, telling me that the situation had been addressed to their satisfaction.

At this point, I probably should have resigned myself to the tribulations of American transit.

But I couldn’t get past my desire for a better transportation product. Every time I see transit fail, I feel like a knife is in my chest. I couldn’t stop thinking about passengers down the line, waiting alone in the dark for nearly an hour without any explanation. Having read article after article about riders abandoning transit for various car-based options, I shuddered to think how many people, egged on by a gleeful Unsuck DC Metro, would give up on our bus system for good due to this latest meltdown.

So, I plead my case, clarifying that my intent was to help the blind passenger, as well as everyone else on the bus. In return, I got yelled at. I tried to explain that reliability issues affecting American transit systems are causing people to defect to options like ride hailing, endangering the very concept of mobility for all, but in response, a rider screamed “well then, take Uber!”

An Uber car blocks a bike lane in Portland. (Photo courtesy of Bike Portland)

At this point, the blind passenger spoke up, asking for us to calm down and avoid any further conflict. 

While all this was going on, another issue had arisen toward the rear of the bus, a few rows from where I had originally sat. Apparently, a rider had thrown up. The driver inspected the vomit situation and promptly informed the remaining passengers that, because a single row of seats wasn’t usable, the bus had to been taken out of service entirely (though we could still wait on board until the next bus showed up).

The next bus and the supervisor assigned to drive the blind passenger home arrived at the same time, about 10 minutes later. I checked to make sure the supervisor didn’t require any assistance, then followed everyone else to the other bus.

With three buses’ passengers now squeezed onto one, quarters were cramped, and I was in close proximity to the man who’d shouted at me earlier. At some point (it may have been before we switched buses, but I’m not sure as my mind was racing at this point), I asked him exactly what I had done wrong.

He felt that I’d crossed a line by tying our bus’s situation to broader issues affecting DC-area transit. I acknowledged his views and agreed with him that WMATA had done a great thing by looking out for the blind rider's safety, but before we could discuss the situation further, he became furious that I’d opened my mouth at all and cut off all conversation.

On the second bus, I was able to chat a bit more with other passengers who had witnessed what happened, bonding with people from different walks of life as only transit makes possible. Soon enough, we made it to my stop, I shook hands with the fellow riders I’d spoken with, and then, at long last, hopped off.

Before walking over to the pizzeria, I stopped and stared off into an alley, planning to spend a few minutes reflecting on what had happened.

But within seconds, a ride-hailing vehicle pulled up and parked in the bike lane next to me, awaiting a passenger.

At this point, I cracked under the pressure. I’m never exactly thrilled to see obstructed bike lanes, but in this case, with what felt like a city’s transportation future in the balance, I teared up for the first time in a long time. At least 10 minutes passed before I pulled myself together. 

     

A Milwaukee bus driver helps a blind passenger cross a street in a construction zone. (Photo courtesy of KRDO)

I’ve experienced plenty of unusual delays on transit. For example, on Christmas Eve a few years ago, a passenger on a Chicago-area Metra commuter rail train, carrying bags full of merchandise from Crate & Barrel, refused to pay the at-the-time $3 surcharge (it’s now $5) required to purchase a ticket on board (rather than at a station). He also refused to exit the train, so we had to wait 20 minutes for the Morton Grove cops to show up and take him off in handcuffs. And on a morning commute in San Diego, I saw a standing bus rider fall to the floor when we started moving at a green light. The rider, who’d neglected to hold on to the handrail, was unhurt, but after he got up he demanded to fill out a complaint card on the spot, writing a lengthy essay before we could progress another inch.

None of those experiences affected me as deeply as this one did, however.

Perhaps two-and-a-half years of tolerating DC’s transit negativity have gotten to my head, giving me a sense of desperation and a no-room-for-error mentality. Maybe I’d seen one too many service cuts, which seem to have become the infuriatingly universal “solution” to all challenges – including aging infrastructure, fluctuations in ridership, and, as I saw, the mere presence of a passenger who requires assistance – that transit systems in the nation’s capital can face.

Or I may have become fed up with our region’s lack of basic amenities for handicapped riders, such as stops with benches and level boarding, as well as safe, complete streets.

But as my Sunday evening ride on the 70 has replayed over and over in my head in the days since, I’ve come to believe that what I saw was a simple, but sobering reminder of the daunting obstacles mobility-impaired individuals in our country are confronted with every day. Unless – or until – our lives take a turn that puts us in their situation, we can’t fully understand.