Interaction
So at... a fairly early hour of the morning... I walk down to the Civic Center to (hopefully) catch the bus back to Golden. Thing I'm noticing about public transportation in the downtown area is that once you've made the ride of significant length, riding vs. walking is essentially a wash -- i.e. you can either wait 15 minutes for a bus that will take you to the stop in 15 minutes, or you can walk the distance your own self in 35 minutes. Usually I elect to walk, because downtown is generally prettier than the inside of a bus, it's probably good for my soul or something, and it reduces the mental complication of wondering whether I'll make the transfer.
As per usual, I evidently arrived at Civic Center just after the most recent 16 had left, and joined a small group of people who were speculating on when (and whether) the next 16 would arrive. This being an answer which nobody -- including the driver of the 0 who came by -- seemed to know the answer to. So we're talking about extended (or not) schedules and the merits of bus vs. cab vs. on foot (only a four-hour walk, for me) when there's an earthshattering kaboom from the intersection of Broadway and Colfax.
Now, It's long been my observation that police officers have a somewhat loose attachment to the traffic laws, at least as regards their own driving. Similarly, I have also observed that a person who is operating a cab in the wee hours of the morning may not be especially well-attached to reality in general, and in particular the sort of reality that concerns the state of traffic lights. So it seems deeply appropriate that what we have here is a rather... forceful... interaction between the front of a cab (accordioned) and the passenger side of a police cruiser ( caved in). Pot smashes kettle -- and although none of us at the stop can tell who was at fault, we do notice that it was not nine cabs which showed up in the next thirty seconds.
Clearly, given that the road has now been closed off -- if the 16 is going to arrive, it is not going to arrive here. On the other hand, there is quite an entertaining show going on -- now being narrated by a retiring firefighter named (appropriately) Frank who has since arrived. Frank might as well have had "firefighter" tattooed on his forehead, even leaving aside the technical comments he has on the condition of the vehicles. He identifies the marked cars, he identifies the unmarked cars, he points out the suit-wearing detective who has just arrived, and he is firmly opinionated that he is familiar with the migration of the 16 bus and that no further examples of same will arrive tonight.
After quite some time, an officer comes around to ask us whether we'd seen anything useful (answer: not really, although I direct him to the other folks who are around). He wanders off. Shortly afterward, some folks come back reporting that the driver of the 16 is waiting a couple of streets over and that we are to meet her there, so I abruptly make my exit. It seems, at least tonight, that RTD extends a fair degree of consideration for the fate of its riders; in addition to the bus driver waiting for us various people to arrive (rather than, say, just silently routing around the out-of-service stop), it seems that they are planning also to send a supervisor around to the station to insure they haven't missed anyone who needs a ride.
The thing that strikes me in all of this (and in the evening generally) is how interesting life is when you actually participate in it. I nearly didn't come out at all last night, as I was tired and aching, and I nearly took my car instead of the bus because I didn't know as I wanted to deal with the hassle. In both cases, I would have missed out on some interesting adventures.
As per usual, I evidently arrived at Civic Center just after the most recent 16 had left, and joined a small group of people who were speculating on when (and whether) the next 16 would arrive. This being an answer which nobody -- including the driver of the 0 who came by -- seemed to know the answer to. So we're talking about extended (or not) schedules and the merits of bus vs. cab vs. on foot (only a four-hour walk, for me) when there's an earthshattering kaboom from the intersection of Broadway and Colfax.
Now, It's long been my observation that police officers have a somewhat loose attachment to the traffic laws, at least as regards their own driving. Similarly, I have also observed that a person who is operating a cab in the wee hours of the morning may not be especially well-attached to reality in general, and in particular the sort of reality that concerns the state of traffic lights. So it seems deeply appropriate that what we have here is a rather... forceful... interaction between the front of a cab (accordioned) and the passenger side of a police cruiser ( caved in). Pot smashes kettle -- and although none of us at the stop can tell who was at fault, we do notice that it was not nine cabs which showed up in the next thirty seconds.
Clearly, given that the road has now been closed off -- if the 16 is going to arrive, it is not going to arrive here. On the other hand, there is quite an entertaining show going on -- now being narrated by a retiring firefighter named (appropriately) Frank who has since arrived. Frank might as well have had "firefighter" tattooed on his forehead, even leaving aside the technical comments he has on the condition of the vehicles. He identifies the marked cars, he identifies the unmarked cars, he points out the suit-wearing detective who has just arrived, and he is firmly opinionated that he is familiar with the migration of the 16 bus and that no further examples of same will arrive tonight.
After quite some time, an officer comes around to ask us whether we'd seen anything useful (answer: not really, although I direct him to the other folks who are around). He wanders off. Shortly afterward, some folks come back reporting that the driver of the 16 is waiting a couple of streets over and that we are to meet her there, so I abruptly make my exit. It seems, at least tonight, that RTD extends a fair degree of consideration for the fate of its riders; in addition to the bus driver waiting for us various people to arrive (rather than, say, just silently routing around the out-of-service stop), it seems that they are planning also to send a supervisor around to the station to insure they haven't missed anyone who needs a ride.
The thing that strikes me in all of this (and in the evening generally) is how interesting life is when you actually participate in it. I nearly didn't come out at all last night, as I was tired and aching, and I nearly took my car instead of the bus because I didn't know as I wanted to deal with the hassle. In both cases, I would have missed out on some interesting adventures.