Phoenix public transportation used to provide a good metaphor for life: You got on the line you thought you wanted, but it never quite reached your destination when or how you expected.
The light rail ruins the comparison, but my first ride gave me the chance to see something else, something positive for Phoenix.
I — along with thousands of my closest Phoenix friends — took part in the hype of free-ride, opening week.
Horror stories from opening day warned of trains so full that passengers couldn’t find room to board after the first stop. The Arizona Republic reported 150,000 riders in the first two days and thinking I might avoid the madness, I had planned my ride for the day before New Years Eve.
Like many light-rail tourists, I drove my car to ASU for the experience, somewhat negating the positive environmental impact.
About 10 people loitered around the station, waiting for the next westbound train. I joined the crowd. We all tried to preserve our indifferent coolness, but a distinct flash of childish anticipation occupied our eyes.
The theme-park-esque tension found release when a child cried, “Here it comes, Dad.”
Even from a distance, the train looked packed. It rolled quietly into the station, and we squeezed in like sardines, standing room only.
Inside the car, it felt like an airport — crowds of people, rushing air conditioning, prerecorded voices with less-than-enlightened messages.
A man surrounded by knee-high children responded absentmindedly to their exaggerated observations of scenery. Behind me, two adolescent boys exchanged blows to the forearm while their chaperone gazed out the window — ah, the wonders of public transport.
A college-age passenger in a dark red beanie popped in his ear buds and adopted an overstated pose he no doubt thought must be most appropriate for public traveling — hands in pockets, head rolled back, shoulder propped against the wall.
A teenage girl produced a flurry of activity after briefly fainting. One concerned passenger relinquished her seat while repeatedly consoling, “Don’t lock your knees, sweetheart.”
Everyone seemed aware of one another, sizing up their fellow passengers, thinking: “These are the kind of people who ride light rail.”
These were not the kind of people who ride light rail.
We were counterfeit commuters, enjoying the ride. The real straphangers rolled their eyes and returned to genuinely blank stares, waiting for the free week to end so they might have a seat.
Getting off involved breeching the crowd with pushing, shoving and apologetic afterthoughts. The experience left me impressed, but like a seasoned commuter, hoping regular fees would discourage crowds.
Transit officials reported January passenger numbers in line with their fairly high expectations, which will increase as ASU students rely on the light rail to reach classes.
As the fifth-largest city in the U.S., Phoenix needed the light rail, not only from a functional standpoint, but also as a community catalyst.
The amount of excitement over this infrastructural project represents a great turning point, a time when residents take pride Phoenix’s workings.
As for ASU students, the light rail effortlessly connects Tempe to some of Phoenix’s most worthwhile areas.
Back in the light-rail car, I could see budding optimism.
Phoenix’s future is like a ride on the light rail: crowded and noisy, but exciting, too.
Channing is approaching his stop, exit to the left at channing.turner@asu.edu.
