The View From Nathan’s Bus: Remembering Why We Love Trolleys
Electric trolley buses remain the premier zero-emissions bus technology. They outperform trendy, newer battery electric buses for several reasons that Nathan Vass lays out.
Electric trolley buses remain the premier zero-emissions bus technology. They outperform trendy, newer battery electric buses for several reasons that Nathan Vass lays out.
Nathan Vass shares a vignette gleaned from driving buses for King County Metro in Seattle, talking with passengers, and absorbing street life happening around the bus route.
Nathan Vass shares what inspired him to write his second book, Deciding To See, which just came out. A King County Metro bus operator and supervisor by day, the author has a release event at Elliott Bay Books on Friday night.
Nathan Vass shares his remembrances of fellow driver Shawn Yim, who was murdered during a late-night shift earlier this month. He also urges leaders to prevent future tragedies with robust interventions.
The most lasting advice I received in art school was to “think about how I think.” To question why I respond this or that way, and to remember that the response is always a choice. Now that people talk to each other less on the bus, there’s a lot
Nathan Vass will be joining The Urbanist Book Club on Tuesday, April 4 at 6pm. Sign up is available here. And you can pick up his book, The Lines That Make Us, which we will be discussing. I can still see fairly well without my glasses, but I can’t
Nathan Vass will be joining The Urbanist Book Club on Tuesday, April 4 at 6pm. Sign up is available here. And you can pick up his book, The Lines That Make Us, which we will be discussing. “Nathaniel!” Marlon called out from midway back on my E Line. “Heyyy,” I
The Urbanist Book Club is pleased to welcome Nathan Vass to our April 4th Book Club Meeting, which will start at 6pm via Zoom. He is the author of The Lines that Make Us, a series of essays and observations about experiences driving a King County bus through some of
Was there a soul leftover at the end of this, another nighttime trip on the E Line? I looked in my rear-view mirror. Yes, there was. There are canned announcements you can play to ask people to leave, or follow directions, but I never use them. Just tell the people
“Yes, I have perhaps suffered more than you. Yet I do not succumb to despair.” -Chekhov I prefer to ride in the last train car but couldn’t tonight, as it reeked of fentanyl. Little did I know this would be something I would later be thankful for. I scurried
The world was ending, or so we thought. The malaise people forgot previously existed was once again upon us, a new and bodied thing, stifling our ability to believe. There was the late summer smoke and all the disillusionment it brought, the toxic glory of sunsets with double meanings, a
Look at the two of them swaggering onboard, one man tall and the other short, their arhythmic head-bobbing, shoulder-swagging, pimp-rolling gait living out as large a square of real estate as a few steps can contain. They roved into the bus’s entryway as if in slow motion, giant mythological
I like the ten P.M. crowd. If you drive buses through downtown at the top of this hour, you’ll notice it contains what I call a “rush hour echo” — a spike in activity entirely benign in nature. These folks have just finished their swing shift jobs and they’
1. The Scene I’ve just taken over my E Line in Pioneer Square from the previous operator and am preparing it to my liking. Setting the mirrors, taping up my bright green smiley face to the shield– If they can’t see my real smile, they’ll at least
I don’t consider myself a political creature. The transformation of my perspectives into political views is always a transformation of reduction. I find people too rich and nuanced, the world and its problems too complex, for the American obsession of turning everything into a competition to have any value.
Felt this way before. These are sensations I have before today appreciated. But distance away can clarify things, bring into sharp relief what you’ve forgotten was never ordinary. I’ve been away from the 7 for over a year now for a collection of boring reasons, mostly pandemic and
On the 75. Recently a woman yelled up toward me, “there’s a guy smoking crack in the back of the bus! Tell him to get off!” To which I immediately replied, into the microphone and at the young twentysomething man furtively kneeling over in the back bench, “okay my
This is a big one, but bear with me: the fight described below conveniently happened to touch on so many of our city’s most pressing issues. Refill your coffee. You love procrastinating… He stepped aboard the bus and paused, baldly surveying the interior. I admire people who can stare
You have a name for the voice inside of you. Why do we live at a speed that prevents us from hearing it? Why does it speak only at its own pace? O, pride. What arrogance for us to assume the turning wisdom of the earth will adjust to our
I love that they have an actual day for this. There’s something endearingly old-school about it, and yet who can argue the value of its intent? With COVID upon us, there’s ever more reason to be thankful. Let’s hope the powers that be are working at creating
This was before the pandemic, when getting on through the back was frowned upon. These two teens tumbled aboard through the middle doors anyway, a rough’n’ready young couple jumping in at Rainier and Othello. The boyfriend was already stalking toward the back, casting about for his favorite seat.
“We don’t want RapidRide,” Marcus told me one night. I’d been telling him stops would be eliminated, and how the 49 would be separated from the 7. “We never asked for it, and we don’t want it!” I said, “It’s amazing how much they don’t
No, the conversation didn’t have the urgency or desperation of our first, nor the celebratory airs of the second. But I like to think that’s what made it special: in its relative mundanity it represented the completed nature of her hurdles. Now, finally, we could sit around chatting
What will we call each other sixty years from now? Sixty years ago we thought we knew. We didn’t. Some of it won’t be the same, and some of it will. The delirious human project will continue forth, and from time to time we’ll look back on
This post is a thematic sister to this post. — I will look back on these days with wonder. I will remember the texture of the everyday, the pleasing baseline of where we came from, what made a thing stand out. What is called ordinary now, which our future selves will
I’ll leave it to those around me to conclude whether or not I’m the same person I was eight years ago, when I started my blog. I lack the requisite self-awareness to make such pronouncements. What I can say is that some of my earlier posts carry a
As in several of the posts in this series (see below), I’m sprawled out on a bus home after a long day working. I’m exhausted and happy, sitting near the front, chatting up the operator. Tonight we were talking about what drivers always talk about: schedules. “This one
We were in that special place following the conclusion of a night shift–and by place I mean both physical and psychological. Physical, because walking into the base in those wee hours is a different experience–a beacon of spacious brightness, unusual following everything you’ve just experienced, like a
We went to the Valley. We went back through town. We came up here. How hard can this last leg be? Well, as it turns out, it’s never over ’til it’s over. It might all blow up in your face in the last five minutes, and you want
Where were we. That’s right. We’d just come all the way up from Rainier, and are now in the middle of the right turn onto Pike from 3rd. You activate the switch as detailed in the previous post, and are now ready to do the deed. Turning onto
Okay, let’s get out of here. You got down here okay. Now let’s go back up. (this is the second in a series of posts detailing driving maneuvers on the 7/49. Click here for Part I: the southbound 7 and explanation of terms and assumptions). Henderson * You
This one’s about the physical act of driving the thing. It’s time for tech talk! Two recent posts dealt with psychological and existential problems of doing this route. Another post offers tips on fights and other security issues. Introduction I first drove it in 2009, and have stuck
He was smiling so hard I had to laugh. It was infectious. I’m guessing he was older than he looked; the sort who says it’s good genes that are responsible for their looks, but you know it’s as much their beaming attitude as anything else. Confident happiness
My favorite part of the 5 is the slight right onto northbound Fremont Avenue. You’ve just come all the way from West Seattle, through town, up Aurora, and now you’re coming down Fremont Way preparing for that dip and right, getting onto the uphill. Do it slowly, relishing
“Here is really shitty,” she said. It was an appraisal of frankness I wouldn’t have expected given her appearance—older than my parents’ generation, possibly much older, with an accent hailing from somewhere far away—maybe one of those hidden countries, the kind we forget to remember. She seemed
I used to see these two often. Neighborhood stalwarts both, who each single-handedly elevated the community. Solomon, from Ethiopia, a fifty-something jolly fellow who wasn’t quite chubby, always with a ready smile, worked in catering, generally for high-end hotels. He had a lot of stories. Ed was similar in
I remember being secretly excited, the two of us talking together on a midnight 41. Who started it? Probably him, but I was only too happy to oblige. I was in the first forward-facing pair of seats and he was three rows behind me, on the bench over the middle
“I think he’s getting worse,” I said. “It couldn’t get any worse than this,” Don snorted. “After this, there’s just being dead!” We were talking about a colleague of ours. I don’t spite my coworker friends who have terrible attitudes. I did when I started, because
I forget her name, but I remember the enormous Barnes and Noble Booksellers that once stood here, inside the Starbucks of which she worked. Someday people won’t even remember there was a Barnes and Noble here. But today was before present became past, just another day in Westwood Village,
Northbound 4th and Royal Brougham, after hours. It’s always darker over here, a zone hidden in the open wastelands of industrial warehouses and vacant business parks. He saw me from the bus shelter and scrambled into a standing position, torn with indecision about what to do with all his
“Hey, it’s my guy!” I called out, with pleasant surprise. I only ever see him on the 7, on his way to the 107. What was he doing up here in the U District? He explained about a new job, a different restaurant; Ivar’s, if I recall. “Does
You remember John, of John and Valerie fame, from my book—the chapter called “Fighters and lovers, In and Out of Time.” You can also catch us gabbing the afternoon away here. I usually see him as part of a group—a gaggle of friends, or with Valerie. Getting him
Just a quick video for today, this time my reflections on why my book, The Lines that Make Us, is what it is, what its intentions are, and why I wrote it–in part to put a human face on what we so passionately discuss here at The Urbanist. The
Milan Kundera wrote that our memories are more like glimpses or brief ‘scenes’ than stories with beginnings or ends. They’re closer to photographs than movies. You’ve heard the phrase about life flashing before your eyes in the final estimation; or perhaps you experience something similar, as I do,
I won’t mention the many issues I take with this awful coworker of mine. I’ll merely point out his obliviousness of how to skip-stop, the better to illustrate what happened: I was southbound at Rainier and Holden, nearing the end of the 7 route, and he was right
The first guy didn’t pay, but talked. “How’s it going,” I asked. “Fine, how are you,” he said. “Really good!” The second guy, behind him, paid but didn’t speak. Some might prefer the latter customer. You know which I preferred! Later the first fellow came forward, being
Before we talk about George Floyd, we have to talk about Eric Garner. Taking a step back deepens the picture. 1. The Landscape On July 16, 2019, I walked into a coffee shop at 2nd and Lenora. The New York Times headline inside caught my eye because it mentioned Garner’
“People wait for your bus specifically. They say to me, Oh, I’m gonna wait for Nathan’s bus.” So said Rahgeh, a fellow operator riding home on my night 7 after a long day of driving the E. We were laughing about why my bus was so full. “Oh!
“Hey,” she said slowly, pausing as she stepped onboard. “How long has it been?” Far more people recognize me than I them, and this was another instance. Where had I seen her before? I smiled at her anyway, waiting for my brain to catch up. I said, “twelve years.” I
He was talking about his dog. After rush hour and after sunset, there is time for dog conversations. “I don’t let people pet them though,” he said. He was a younger man like myself, at the in-between moment of your thirties– neither young anymore nor old. You’re merely
We talked about all manner of things. Charles went by Leonard too, interchangeably, though I never learned the reason why; a middle and a first name, if I understand. A squat fellow who looked good for his late middle age, with defined features and a ready smile, a boylike grin
There wasn’t even a pandemic happening when we had this conversation. How quaint. How fabulous. There was a pandemic during our shorter subsequent conversation, wherein we go over everyone’s favorite virus (further thoughts on that lovely conversation and how it ended up being used in some circles here)
“Listen, I gotta tell you a story.” “Sure,” I answered. “Lemme let these people on real quick.” “Yeah.” He was excited, grinning in the dark at Rainier and Othello. By day he was one of those fellows who spin the “Slow” and “Stop” signs at construction sites. Otherwise he was
A huge, huge thanks to Erica C. Barnett for her graciousness and inclusion of all sides of this thorny issue in detail. I feel excited and honoured to be interviewed along side my wonderful bus driver buds, Sam, Audrey and Jeremy; Erica is also a friend of mine from our
Really quick, but very important– The difference between popularity and fame, as I define those words, is that popularity has more to do with being known directly, from primary interactions with the person in question. Fame is when you read about whoever it is in a Newsweek editorial. That isn’
“So how’s that 554?” I asked. Buses are microcosms of the neighborhoods they serve, and the 554 was what this young man was headed toward. That cushy suburban express route with its soft seats and open highways… it seemed a far cry from where we were now, trundling up
I write this for my fellow operators; it is they whom I wish to appreciate today, they who deserve the spotlight, more than myself. They continue showing up to work, signing up to spend eight hours daily in quite possibly the most medically compromised public environment imaginable, while the rest
Well, everyone else is talking about it. Here I am trying to be extra diplomatic while still being interesting and truthful. The Slatearticle is derived from an interview that was repurposed into a first-person account; I didn’t actually pen those words (as anyone familiar with my writing will quickly
Every bus driver has experienced this. There are many reasons people disregard the needs of others. Some are cultural, and some personal, ingrained by role models or lack thereof. Certain folks don’t consider others because they are young, and the last part of the brain to develop is also
I like people. I really do. As a child I liked animals, like all children, but when I eventually discovered people I knew I could never go back. The wildly imperfect, endlessly incomprehensible human beast, all of them searching in the dark for their version of love, of quality, each
Briefly—I’ll be participating in a panel for the famed and lovely organization TransitCenter this Wednesday. If you’re in NYC, stop by! I don’t often make it out there and would love to say hello. Here’s TransitCenter’s description of the event: The job of a
My lectures sound like this. You may not think you like lectures, or maybe the word gives you college flashbacks too boring to recall, but I promise you that’s not what this is going to be. MOHAI’s a lovely outfit, and they’re letting me be, well, myself,
“Do you like pie?” Here’s the thing. I love pie. How could I possibly answer his question? What am I supposed to do? Say I don’t like pie? It’s hard for me to lie, and especially about pie. Look at that crust. There’s a 2013 interview
I don’t know how many operators read The Urbanist, but I know most of us here will at least find this material interesting. And I know I’ve underestimated the vast cross-section of folks who peruse these words of ours here–I have more than one homeless friend who
“How are you tonight?” For certain folks, that phrase means, I respect you. I acknowledge you. And that’s fine. It’s great, actually. I’ve written elsewhere on how pleasantries have valuable meanings totally separate from the words used. But certain other people know when I ask that I’
My primary emotion upon reading Susanna Ryan’s book version of her wildly popular Instagram feed, Seattle Walk Report, other than excitement, was of recognition. As in, someone else also gets excited about these sorts of things besides me? Check out page 77, where differing tops of fences are appreciated,
Trigger warning: Language! It’s a late night on the 7, after all… “Bitchass niggers,” he opined, with fervor. “What I look like? Scared uh me, huh? You got a phone? Phone, you got a phone?” He was asking everyone, and nobody was going for it. Everyone had an excuse.
We’ve all been there. You’re standing over here, and they’re over there, not too far from you. It’s a public space. They’re screaming. You aren’t. Maybe it’s awkward, because there are only a few people around, or because for whatever similar reason you
I love doing these things. Click here for the video—stories from the road, Tom and I on the book, and plenty of Q&A from a lively and inquisitive audience! Enjoy!
What has it felt like, returning to the 7? I stepped away from the chaos to focus on art and school. Those twin pursuits continue, but I’m back to where I most feel the immediate pulsing beat of life. It may not be a surprise that much of these
I walk out to the parking garage, or to the bus stop home as the case may be, feeling the sensations of the day as tactile, lived-in memories resolving in the act of heading homeward; a collective cacophony fading out into the night. It was the present moment, so recently,
“How you doin’!” I exclaimed, immediately realizing that given this man’s appearance I sounded way too enthusiastic. I couldn’t help myself: I was clam-happy and dead serious interested. Haa ya doin!?? I hoped desperately that he was picking up on the genuineness of my inquiry. No sarcasm here,
Thank you, lovelies, for coming out to these things. It moves me in ways I hope I intimate in my overly excited hugs and handshakes. To be a finalist in this year’s book awards still carries the aura of impossibility. Sitting there giggling during the group photo; feeling loved
After receiving an enormous amount of responses in a variety of places regarding the subject matter of a certain recent post, I wanted to add a few items I feel are worth concretizing in a follow-up entry. 1) The best outcome of all of this would be everyone’s voice
This was lifetimes ago. Summer of 2003, one year of high school remaining. I strolled the flatlands of Compton with camera in hand, up early by choice and searching the shadows and light for an angle that would show how I felt. Rush hour had burned off with the marine
KVRU’s Simon Kidde (a friend, and the son of another friend!) sits down with myself and Metro’s Robyn Austin to discuss the impending transition of the 7 to Rapid, and what that will entail (and not entail) for the people and myself. This was a ton of fun–
Saturday, Oct. 12, 2019, 7 – 9 p.m. Seattle Central Library, Level 1: Microsoft Auditorium Free The title kind of says it all. It’s like the Oscars, except, of course, for all the ways it isn’t: you don’t have to pay, it’s not long, and there
This post is a care package for my colleagues and anyone else who was scared or otherwise put off by a recent spate of exaggeration in some recent newsmedia depictions of Metro buses as dangerous places. Neither of this week’s broadcasts emphasized they were: * Actually sourcing their video from
Why do I love scruffiness, when I am not scruffy? Because these are the strangers who are consistently nicest to me, who treat me plainly, as an equal and fellow human. We feel the leading-edge bruises of the immediacy of life together, and we don’t make a big thing
It all started so innocently. Each person meant well, but each had a stress inside them, a bitterness, that they turned on the others without a second thought. The first person got on long before the ride would become unpleasant, well before they knew they’d be the locus point
Hello, Urbanist friends. In the wake of my book being nominated for the Washington State Book Award, I’m having another book talk at the Greenwood Senior Center, on the afternoon of Thursday the 29th. Why there, you ask? Because they’re a swell bunch. They allowed me to rent
What does it mean to be urbanized? What does living in a city require of us in terms of social engagement, and to what degree could we be benefitting more than we are now? Click to watch my recent speech about what strangers can give us that friends et al
Never in a million years. That’s what I thought when we applied for this thing a year ago. A pipe dream. You apply for it for the same reason you apply for Ivy League colleges, the Green Card lottery, or Oscar-qualifying film festivals. It’s not actually about achievingthe
It was the most elegant piece of furniture I’d ever seen dumped at a bus stop. How exciting! “Hang on a second, I just need to look at this awesome chair,” I explained to my companion inside the bus. It was midnight. You can do stuff like that during
Did you miss Wednesday’s broadcast? It’s all here. Host Deborah Wang and I chat about “who (really) rides the bus” in Seattle, and so much more. As a writer for The Urbanist I try to bring a balancing element with my human-interest stories, reminding us that amidst all
That’s University of Washington Professor Jeff Shulman on the right, whose influential podcast has been featured on The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, and USA Today. Dr. Shulman interviews various local luminaries about what Seattle’s economic and population growth means to them. He’s talked with everyone
We’ve grown accustomed to requiring a certain dose of cynicism in our fictions in order to find them believable. “Few people have the imagination for reality,” Goethe wrote. Because truth can be beautiful in ways we have trouble daring ourselves to believe. Said Mark Twain: “Truth is stranger than
This lil’ thing just keeps chugging–thanks to you. We’ve printed a third run of books, in conjunction with my recent TED talk (which will be online shortly; stay tuned!). If you’ve already bought a copy, Thank You!! Tell your friends, your bookstores, book reviewers and others! It’
He had one of those ‘normal’ names. Mono– or duo-syllabic, from the Western tradition: Christian, Jewish, something. Paul. Eric. You know. The kind I can never remember… and also the kind that humanizes a downtrodden face. All names do that, but it’s the ones we grew up with that
“Hey,” I exclaimed, with welcome surprise, feeling the vivacious synergy from the old 7 whose dearth on the 5 I detail here. Encountering affability in an ocean of indifference; maybe I was feeling what they often feel out in the world. If Seattle is to them what the 5 is
I’m giving a TEDx talk on May 4th. (!!!) The details will be updated here, at the home page for TEDxUofW. I’ll be intermittent on The Urbanist between now and then, but it’s not because I don’t love contributing! I need time to finesse this thing so
Just a quick note of thanks today, as only he could say it~ “Listen. Listen,” he said to me. “Please,” I answered. “You got to stop!! You just about the biggest player I’ve EVER seen hustlin’ on the street! You a boss player leadin’ the future, man.” I couldn’
They were out there, figuring it out. A scruffy white van and a broke-down ’90s-era red Ford Explorer stood on the roadside facing each other, doors open and hoods up, jumper cables linking the two in an automotive kiss. Sure, they were sitting in the bus layover, but was I
So this is continued on from a recent post, in which I was listing a few positive moments I’d noticed of late. Wouldn’t you know it–the post was getting too long because there were too many nice things to write about… Must be another Nathan post… — I’
With the saturation state of culture and media being what it is, modern life has become, more than ever, the act of editing. There is simply too much to process, and you have to be selective. Life is short. You’ll never have the time to get to every article,
— *Trigger warning: discussions of street harassment and sexual assault.* — A female friend of mine once got on my bus while being chased by a volatile and unstable man. He was big and tall. She wasn’t. He yelled inarticulately. She was waiting for a bus at a stop different than
You remember the old Breda trolley bus. Dinosaur is an apt descriptor not just because they were old, but because they were gigantic. Majestic. Capable, unpredictable, steeped with the echoes and scuffed scratches of history, repositories of a thousand stories drifting up the boulevard. A UW grad student was riding
Tuesday, January 15, 7pm. Elliott Bay Bookstore. Free. Details and directions here. Did you miss my book launch? Probably not, since there were a million people there… But if you did– or if you want an event more focused around discussion on the book itself, since that show was really
She’s become a good friend of mine. Wavy black hair down to here; a youthful spirit with attitude to burn, at once streetsmart and as well-read and detail-oriented as they come. What were we talking about? We were being silly. The Seahawks game was letting out, and south downtown
Seattle is many things to many people. You carve out a niche, and it becomes your understanding of the place, your very own personal city. All the other ways Seattle can be, ways the city is, recede from view. You get to take part in giving it a name. For