Depressing thoughts were clouding my day: thoughts of a murdered monorail, thoughts of spending billions for another monstrous viaduct, thoughts of spending even more billions for a tunnel. And all these billions spent so I can have the continued pleasure of sitting in gridlock. Seattle is a great city, and Washington a great state, but we will probably never be world class. Our leaders have no vision. That's what was depressing me.

These thoughts were eating me up one day as I drove home to West Seattle at 5 p.m. on a typical workday. The worst part of my drive is getting from westbound I-90 to southbound I-5. The slow crawl along the left lane at the end of I-90 is grueling. On any other stretch of highway I'll gladly let someone make a lane change to get in front of me. But not here, for this half mile of always-backed-up road turns me into a selfish monster.

As I crawl along I keep an eye on the rear view mirror to watch the steady stream of cars passing by in the right lane. I can usually spot the cheaters. They slowly motor by, like vultures on the prowl, looking for a gap in the line. But I'll be damned if I'll let them in. It is sad, really. They could be lost tourists, realizing too late they need to be in the left lane. But to me they're the enemy, and I hug the bumper of the car in front so they can't get in. I won't relax until I reach the flyover ramp to I-5. Here I revert to normalcy. Here I'm human again. Here the threat of lane cheaters is over. But my crawl is not, for I still have two miles of slow going to get to West Seattle.

I was particularly depressed after one of these 20 mile commutes from hell (Redmond) that took 80 minutes. I tried to look on the bright side; the bus would have taken 90 minutes. But it didn't help. To take my mind off this lost time, and how my commute turns me into a Mr. Hyde, I went for a walk.

The Ghost of Times Present accompanied me as I started out. So I felt old and grouchy, and walking through Hiawatha Field didn't improve my mood. The sight of the light pole planted through the branches of the gorgeous elm tree near the High School never fails to make me mad. Both my mind, and the walk, needed a change of course. I turned my back on the violated tree and headed north along California Avenue.

The sight of the city from Hamilton Viewpoint was as glorious as ever, and my thoughts started to spin away from the negative. I dropped down the hillside to the east and made the steep descent through Marshall Reserve to Harbor Avenue. The smell of the salty air, and the sight of a cormorant roosting on an old piling, its wings outstretched like some prehistoric pterodactyl, was enough to change the polarity of my thoughts completely. The Ghost of Times Present had been vanquished, and the Ghost of Simpler Times Past took his place. The sight of a tour boat brought back memories of trips to Blake Island. And a glance towards the Victoria Clipper dock thrust me further back in time, and I saw myself standing on the deck of the Princess Marguerite, on adventures to Victoria long ago. As I rounded Duwamish Head the city was at my back and the Ghost of Times Past took his leave. It was time to look forward, and the Ghost of Times Future inherited the heavy task of shepherding me home.

I thought of that future as I walked on. I thought that by the time the viaduct issue is resolved, demolished by man or nature, and replaced with some mode of transportation - be it tunnel, another viaduct, trains, and/or a surface highway - I'll be retired. So the daily commute will not be an issue for me. But I do care. Having a city not strangled by cars, and having a living, breathing waterfront, one not continually drowned by the oppressive drone of traffic, is a must. But building a tunnel, spending billions of dollars, just to get rid of the noise, but not the cars, is such a sad thought, such a waste. Think of the mass transit infrastructure such an amount of money could buy.

Regardless of what's built, new ways to get through town will have to be found during construction. Then, one day after we've settled into these new ways, the project will be done. They'll say "Forget about those alternate ways you found, come on down, and be sure to bring your cars." Then we'll be back where we started, a city strangled by its highways.

Is that to be our fate? Probably, and it saddened me. But the Ghost of Times Future wasn't a rookie. He knew his stuff. And as I walked home he decided to help me see what the future might hold 10 years from now. And what I saw made me smile. If a majority of folks vote against both a new viaduct, and the tunnel, what I saw could come true. If not, then we'll get what we deserve, and future generations will curse us. I'll share with you my hope for what might be, next time.

Marc Calhoun may be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com

Marc Calhoun

The Ghost of Times Future-Part 1

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