Last Night
Last Night: Historic Buses, Black Diamond, and a 3,000-Mile Trek
This past Sunday, several dozen folks and I climbed aboard four historic Metro buses for a Metro Employees Historic Vehicle Association-sponsored four-hour tour through Eastern King County, heading down back roads toward Black Diamond, through Enumclaw, and back to Seattle through the Maple Valley. The theme of the tour (MEHVA runs them about four times a year) was "fall foliage," and although we didn't see much color, it was well worth the $5 admission price.
Back on the bus, the guy in front of us announced that he'd come 3,000 miles---from New York---to take the tour. I've seen guys like him riding Metro---guys (and they are all guys) who know every bus route, every model, every driver. I don't really understand it, but I find it kind of charming.
Bus-wise, we scored: Because the other three buses (mostly '70s-era wired streetcars converted for diesel use) were already packed, we ended up on Seattle Transit System's Coach 724, a cherry-red GM "New Look" bus with a rounded, fisheye-looking windshield and an airplane-like construction in which pieces of aluminum were riveted together to support the weight of the bus*.
The windows back then (the New Look buses were around from the '50s to the '70s, and stayed in service in Seattle until 1986) were trapezoidal, giving the bus a sleek Mid-century Modern look. More importantly, they opened all the way---the sort of design that's impossible to imagine in today's litigious society. (I'm also told they tended to gather gunk in the railings---a serious design flaw for a bus that was also designed for ferrying kids to and from school).
The seats inside were two-toned ersatz leather---turquoise and brown---and seemed proportioned for much tinier legs than today's. The back bench seat would've been the best seat in the house, if not for the roaring diesel engine (which, our driver informed us, kicks into overdrive at freeway speeds) and the compression brakes, which roared (illegally, several road signs reminded us) whenever the bus took on a particularly steep downhill slope. The buses also lacked power steering, which may be why our driver was the buffest of the bunch.
Here's the view from where I sat:
We stopped for an hour or so in Black Diamond, which has restored its downtown area to look like the coal-mining town it once was. The museum (whose volunteer clerk informed us, "There are no jobs in Black Diamond anymore") was purportedly devoted to the glory days of coal mining in the area, but it was really an almost random collection of clearly-beloved artifacts (identified in careful, calligraphic handwriting on index cards) from the turn of the century through the '50s. Gas masks and washboards and war ration cards mingled with farm equipment, doilies, and phonographs. And, next door, the jail:
The MEHVA's next trip, a tour of Christmas lights through Seattle apparently fills up fast; more information available at MEHVA's web site.
*Incidentally: I'm not an expert on this stuff, and actual experts are welcome to correct any errors; I just hung out for a while talking to the guy selling tickets, a retired Metro mechanic who worked on buses during the "good old days" of bus construction---"back when they actually bothered to do engineering." Nah, he wasn't bitter.
Back on the bus, the guy in front of us announced that he'd come 3,000 miles---from New York---to take the tour. I've seen guys like him riding Metro---guys (and they are all guys) who know every bus route, every model, every driver. I don't really understand it, but I find it kind of charming.
Bus-wise, we scored: Because the other three buses (mostly '70s-era wired streetcars converted for diesel use) were already packed, we ended up on Seattle Transit System's Coach 724, a cherry-red GM "New Look" bus with a rounded, fisheye-looking windshield and an airplane-like construction in which pieces of aluminum were riveted together to support the weight of the bus*.
The windows back then (the New Look buses were around from the '50s to the '70s, and stayed in service in Seattle until 1986) were trapezoidal, giving the bus a sleek Mid-century Modern look. More importantly, they opened all the way---the sort of design that's impossible to imagine in today's litigious society. (I'm also told they tended to gather gunk in the railings---a serious design flaw for a bus that was also designed for ferrying kids to and from school).
The seats inside were two-toned ersatz leather---turquoise and brown---and seemed proportioned for much tinier legs than today's. The back bench seat would've been the best seat in the house, if not for the roaring diesel engine (which, our driver informed us, kicks into overdrive at freeway speeds) and the compression brakes, which roared (illegally, several road signs reminded us) whenever the bus took on a particularly steep downhill slope. The buses also lacked power steering, which may be why our driver was the buffest of the bunch.
Here's the view from where I sat:
We stopped for an hour or so in Black Diamond, which has restored its downtown area to look like the coal-mining town it once was. The museum (whose volunteer clerk informed us, "There are no jobs in Black Diamond anymore") was purportedly devoted to the glory days of coal mining in the area, but it was really an almost random collection of clearly-beloved artifacts (identified in careful, calligraphic handwriting on index cards) from the turn of the century through the '50s. Gas masks and washboards and war ration cards mingled with farm equipment, doilies, and phonographs. And, next door, the jail:
The MEHVA's next trip, a tour of Christmas lights through Seattle apparently fills up fast; more information available at MEHVA's web site.
*Incidentally: I'm not an expert on this stuff, and actual experts are welcome to correct any errors; I just hung out for a while talking to the guy selling tickets, a retired Metro mechanic who worked on buses during the "good old days" of bus construction---"back when they actually bothered to do engineering." Nah, he wasn't bitter.
