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Rep. Rob Wittman talks with commuters at the lot |
By KELLY HANNON
During her seven years commuting to Washington as a slug, Valerie Bland has chanced into meeting thousands of people--military personnel, federal workers, government contractors.
Wednesday was the first time she got into a car with her congressman.
"It was neat, it was very neat," said Bland, 43, of Stafford County. "He was very nice. I missed my nap, but that was OK."
Shortly after 6:30 in the morning, Rep. Rob Wittman steered his tan Toyota Corolla into an idling line of cars wrapped around the Staffordboro Boulevard commuter lot near Garrisonville Road.
A line of men and women shouldering backpacks and laptop bags had formed next to the bus shelter, waiting to jump into a car. These "slugs" get a free ride to work in exchange for providing the two or three extra people needed to let a driver use high occupancy vehicle lanes on Interstate 95.
Nearly 6,500 people slug to work every day in the Washington area, mostly from parking lots in Virginia along the I-95 corridor, according to a 2006 Virginia Department of Transportation study on slugging, the best numbers that exist on the practice. About one-third slug to the Pentagon.
Wittman represents Virginia's 1st District, which includes the Fredericksburg area east to the Hampton Roads region. It's a district where slugging is a way of life, and he wanted to see how it worked.
Getting a briefing wasn't good enough.
"I wanted to experience it," Wittman said.
A NOVICE'S MISTAKE
As there would be for anyone new to slugging, there are some first-day misunderstandings.
A woman running the slug line Wednesday calls out the destinations of the cars at the front of the line.
"Pentagon, 2!" she says. "Rosslyn, 1!"
The first slugs in line headed to those work destinations get into the cars.
When Wittman pulls up, he says, "Capitol."
"Capitol?" the woman repeats, confused.
"Federal Triangle?" Wittman tries.
"Federal Triangle!" she calls to the line, somewhat reluctantly.
There are no takers.
The woman tells him to try the Mine Road commuter lot, where slugs headed to Washington line up.
Wittman circles back to the end of the Staffordboro line, and picks up slugs headed to the Pentagon.
"I'm learning," Wittman says.
Bland climbs into Wittman's front passenger seat, and Army Lt. Col. Paul Rosewitz, 45, of Stafford climbs into the back seat.
Wittman knows there are rules to slugging, so he starts the conversation first.
He lucks out--many slugs sleep or zone out to iPods, but Bland and Rosewitz are happy to talk.
Wittman tells Bland and Rosewitz he represents their area in Congress, and proceeds to hold a wide-ranging chat about transportation from mile marker 143 to Arlington--why they slug, how it works, and what can be done to improve the transportation system.
Bland says she slugs to the Pentagon and catches Metro to her job working for the General Services Administration at 18th and M streets in downtown Washington.
She tried joining a vanpool, but slugging offered more flexibility to stay later at work when required, she tells Wittman.
She's never ridden with an unsafe driver, and in seven years she has always gotten a ride home. The only drawback? "Every now and then in the summer you get mean people who don't want to turn the air on," Bland says. Otherwise, she loves it, to the unending puzzlement of her co-workers. They can't believe she climbs into a car with strangers and goes to sleep, she says. "But they see every day I'm there and I'm on time," Bland says.
Rosewitz works at the Pentagon, and has been slugging from Stafford for a year since returning to the U.S. after being stationed in Stuttgart, Germany. He tells Wittman he misses the high-speed and light-rail network in Europe. He slugs to avoid the gridlock on I-95.
BREEZING IN HOV LANES
As Wittman crosses the Occoquan bridge traveling at the posted speed of 65 mph in the HOV lanes, Rosewitz points to the cars in the main lanes, at a standstill.
"That's a big incentive right there," Rosewitz says. "Look at that."
Throughout, Wittman wants to know about traffic flow in the HOV lanes: "I guess the HOV lanes move pretty well unless there's an accident," he says. "Do you know when the peak travel times are when you travel in?" and "What do y'all think about the HOT lanes? Do you think they'll change slugging?"
He's also interested in whether they see HOV violators. Wittman says he's pleased to see the Virginia State Police out writing tickets, since he has actually seen a person driving with mannequins. "I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it," Wittman says.
He mentions that a vote is likely next year to reauthorize the nation's surface transportation program, and that he's interested in adding more public transit projects to go with road work, and in beefing up railroad track capacity to move freight cargo off Virginia's highways and onto trains.
"There's only so much asphalt you can put down, and put down in a timely manner," he says.
Wittman tells them he's interested in shaping land development to correspond with a community's transportation options.
"It doesn't do any good to put communities where people still have to get in an automobile to ride to a train or a bus," Wittman says.
Rosewitz, who earlier in his career worked in a Senate office, thinks Wittman gained valuable insight. "I think this is a good example of him getting out and actually meeting with people in an unprepared sort of manner," Rosewitz said.
Afternoon conversation among slugs often touches on the rapid growth in Stafford over the past 10 years, and how it went from cow fields to a bedroom community, he said. "The infrastructure supporting that really hasn't grown in that time," Rosewitz said.
A BIT OF ADVICE
Bland, Rosewitz and Wittman spend the last few minutes talking about their families, and their children's schools and career goals. Then Bland and Rosewitz help Wittman find the drop-off point at the Pentagon and bid farewell.
"Expand the parking lot!" Bland calls out as she leaves, acknowledging the shortage of parking spots in the Staffordboro lot.
Wittman says he'll discuss what he can do to help find more commuter parking the next time he meets with county supervisors.
Five minutes later, Wittman is crossing the Potomac on Interstate 395 and pulling into the parking garage at the Longworth House Office Building.
It's a few minutes before 8. Wittman walks down a deserted hallway to his third-floor office. All the other members' doors are shut.
Wittman picks up the stack of newspapers on the floor outside his office. He unlocks the door and turns on the lights.
He's the first one in, just as he is every morning.
Although Wittman is not a slug, he is an "extreme commuter," defined by the U.S. Census Bureau as someone who commutes 90 minutes or more to work.
When Congress is in session, usually Tuesdays through Thursdays, Wittman drives 90 minutes each way from his home in Montross in Westmoreland County to Capitol Hill.
As early as 4:30 a.m. but rarely later than 5, Wittman leaves his house, crosses the Gov. Harry W. Nice Bridge into Maryland, and winds into Washington using a variety of back roads, Indian Head Highway and Interstates 295 and 395.
That puts him in the office between 6 and 6:30 a.m.
He then logs a 12- to 16-hour day.
"If I can get out of Washington by 10, then I'll come home," Wittman said.
On Mondays and Fridays, he still has a sizable trek--85 miles south to his district office in Yorktown, or 45 miles west to Fredericksburg.
To pass the time in the car, he listens to news programs on satellite radio--he said he likes to get a range of perspectives--or distills his thoughts on a digital recorder. If he must, he will return a call, but only on the ride home. "People don't appreciate 5 a.m. phone calls," Wittman said.
Wednesday was a typical day. After his slugging research trip, Wittman needed to prepare for a House Armed Services Committee meeting, and a bill coming to the House floor that would help military homeowners affected by toxic Chinese drywall. Wittman wouldn't leave until 9:30 p.m.
Then he drove home in his Corolla with 197,350 miles on the odometer, getting maybe five hours of sleep before leaving again.
Not surprisingly, one of his projects in 2010 will be a bill on teleworking, trying to compel federal agencies to let more employees work a fraction of their hours at remote locations.
When it comes to commuting, the policy is very personal, he acknowledges. During his entire career before going to Congress, his shortest commute was 30 minutes.
Commuters are creatures of habit--and figuring out what works means knowing what people will do and what they won't, Wittman said, and that means getting out and listening to people.
"If it's not convenient for them, they won't use them," he said.
"You've got to create opportunities people can integrate into their lives."
Kelly Hannon: 540/374-5436
Email: khannon@freelancestar.com
