There’s a saying that, by the time he hits 30, every man either gets really into World War II history or starts smoking meat.
The last cut of meat I smoked nearly set my apartment ablaze, and my knowledge of WWII extends barely beyond Wikipedia rabbit-holes into Der Führer’s use of methamphetamine.
Instead, I find myself delving into another dangerously boring quarter-life obsession: public transit enthusiasm.
I’ve advocated for the “15-minute city” ever since studying in London, when this backwoods Pennsylvania boy was first introduced to clean, fast public transportation. Reliable and expansive rail lines opened my mind to a world of possibility after years of traveling by car.
Unlike Philly’s subway, the Tube didn’t have a man in a ratty suit playing the violin, shouting expletives at me. I can’t tell if that’s a point for or against London, but I can confirm that the lack of piss-stench, combined with the affordability of London’s “Oyster Card,” made the Underground far superior to any U.S. train or Uber ride.
“The world is my oyster card!” I’d shout, hard cider fizzing in my belly and a Vonnegut paperback rolled in my pocket.
I found Heaven at Tottenham Court Road station.
Just a couple years later, I was driving 2+ hours every day over the Tampa Bay, imagining why the rest of the world hadn’t ditched the American bumper-to-bumper nightmare in favor of light (or hard!) rail.
By the time I left that job in Tampa, I was ready to hop into the bay and dig the Florida Chunnel myself.
Los Angeles, for all its many, many faults, is somewhere in between.
Hidden under the sprawling freeway traffic is some vestigial of light rail, first opened in 1990. For context, New York City founded its original subway in February 1870, seven months before the National Weather Service issued its first forecast.
While L.A.’s trains are the same age as Ariana Grande, N.Y.C. Metro is literally older than weather.
This age disparity is evident. L.A. Metro rail doesn’t reach LAX, the second busiest airport in the country. Nor does it service major neighborhoods like Beverly Hills, the Sunset Strip, West Hollywood, Koreatown, UCLA, or a million other tourism and business hubs.
Not only that, but until recently, the few rail lines L.A. did have didn’t actually connect to one another
That’s right! To get from West L.A. to East L.A., one had to get off the westbound train downtown and walk an hour to the eastbound train.
Last month marked a major milestone in subway history when the nation’s second largest city realized, over three decades after building them, Wait, trains are allowed to connect to one other?
While you might sneer and hiss at this lack of foresight, I applaud the city’s willingness to finally embrace simple 20th century transit ideals almost a quarter of the way into the 21st.
Reminiscent of my pub-bound trips across London, my pride in L.A.’s new Regional Connector lies chiefly in my newfound ability to drink my way through the neighborhoods that it newly services: Little Tokyo and the Arts District.
Like Columbus arriving in the Americas, plenty of people had already discovered these communities before me, but it was finally my turn to drive a flag into a barstool and loudly declare these foreign territories mine.
Way back in the Stone Ages (May 2023), one had to hike nearly two miles through Skid Row.
The westbound subway terminated underground in our neighborhood and said to the eastern half of Downtown, “Go fuck yourself.”
Now, with the newly opened connection, our subway station hesitantly says, “Well, OK. If I have to…”
On my first trip out after the Regional Connector opened, I found the biggest brewery in the Arts District to be hosting a metro special: ½ off pilsners with display of a valid L.A. Metro Card. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. (Or liver, for that matter.)
I wanted to drink as many as possible, but unfortunately I couldn’t. I had to be responsible. Why?
Because I drove, of course.
I’m humiliated to admit it, but I was already running in errands in Koreatown, which, as we learned earlier, is not serviced by rail. Rather than drive 10 minutes home, walk 10 minutes to a station, and take a 15 minute ride, I drove my car to the grand opening of the Arts District metro station.
Brandishing my Tap Card, I drank beer on a discount to celebrate a subway that I hadn’t actually ridden to get there.
Yes, L.A. Metro is trying to get better. But it still technically sucks.
So, cheers to the next station opening. I promise I’ll try not to drive there.
Shouts out to…
The bartender in San Diego who gave 25+ of my friends and I free drinks and Mac n Cheese.