Rush-Hour Novice Tests Hateful Roads, but Finds No Rage

For my entire 10-year work life in Orange County, my one-way commute has been 6.5 miles. I never have to get on a freeway at rush hour. I never have to hunker down for the protracted test of nerves, cunning and spilled beverages that marks thousands of everyday lives in Southern California. Free of rush-hour travail, I begin each workday with a spring in my step and a youthful zest for the day’s challenges.

Sure, I’ve heard others describe their commuting nightmares, and I’ve listened with mock earnestness, all the while privately chuckling that my all-time record, doorstep to doorstep, is 12 minutes. On a real crummy day, when everything goes wrong, it might take me 17, 18 minutes to get from my Huntington Beach home to the office in Costa Mesa.

Yet, even while aglow with pettiness, part of me knows I’ve missed one of the great bonding events in our beloved Southland. What’s it like Out There, I’ve wondered, out there on those jampacked drive-time freeways? Could I handle it Out There? Would I have what it takes?

So it was with a bit of perverse anticipation that I girded myself Monday morning for one of the worst commutes of all: the grueling Corona-to-Orange County drive. Legend has it that some Coronans leave home in the morning and are never seen again.

Colleague Jerry Hicks and I were dispatched Sunday to Corona and told to leave at the same time Monday morning for the Irvine Spectrum. Not exactly a race, but Jerry was to take the new scenic toll road that is meant to relieve weary commuters; I was to take the time-honored--with time being the key word--91 and 55 freeways before diverting to the Santa Ana.

The expectation was that I, like the chimps that used to go into space, would simply sit at the controls without much to do except study the scenery and wait for the mind-numbing trip to end.

After downing a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, juice and cantaloupe, Jerry and I prepared for departure. In a motel parking lot, we synchronized our car clocks: 7:27 a.m. We parted, like a latter-day Lewis and Clark on wheels, each bidding the other Godspeed. Knowing he was taking the road less traveled, I thought I detected a smirk on Jerry’s face, even though I had conned him at the last minute into taking the staff car with a tendency to overheat.

We made our way over to the freeway and pulled onto the westbound 91, merging without stopping or being run off the road. And we kept moving, albeit slowly. Based on friends’ estimates, I was hoping for nothing worse than a 90-minute trip, but from the outset I was moving--20, 30 miles an hour. The first dead stop didn’t come for 2.4 miles. That wait was no worse than being at the checkout counter at the grocery store, and soon traffic started moving again, this time 40 to 50 mph, until coming to a brief stop again at the 4.9-mile mark.

What’s so tough about this, I thought. I saw Jerry in the next lane and waved. At the six-mile mark, I was at full speed, 60 to 65 mph. Same at the seven-mile mark, and the eight-mile mark. Right about there, I think, I realized I’d better quit taking notes and pay attention to my driving. But where was the bumper-to-bumper traffic?

I suppose the best metaphor for the trip is to say that I was going 65 when I saw the first sign for the 241 tollway. And I was still going 65 when I passed the exchange for it. By then, Jerry was long gone onto the tollway, having left me in the dust.

The drive into Orange County was effortless the rest of the way to the 55 freeway split. No clenched teeth, no churning stomach, no road rage. At that point, I’d covered the 19-plus miles in about 30 minutes. The southbound 55 slowed somewhat at the upper end, but I was back to 60 mph while approaching the Garden Grove Freeway connector. Nearing the 17th Street exit, traffic slowed significantly for the first time in miles.

Even that didn’t matter, because I soon hopped on the southbound 5 to rendezvous with Jerry at the Spectrum. I clocked in at the Spectrum at 8:21, making the 36-mile trip from Corona in 54 minutes. Had I used all my wiles while driving, I’m sure I could have come in under 50 minutes.

Taking his shorter route, Jerry says he got there in 49 minutes and, yeah, sure, I’ll take his word for it.

If our road test proved anything, it’s that rush hour need not be hellish for our Corona friends who work in Orange County. The relative ease of my drive must have been due to people trying the toll road, which is free this week.

I finished the trip unscathed and confess to a twinge of regret that I wasn’t lodged in traffic for hours. I didn’t exchange a “we’re all in this together” glance with a single driver. I wanted a Bataan Death March and I got a walk in the park.

So, here’s my only cautionary note if people fall in love with the new toll road:

Your rush-hour commutes will get shorter, but so will your war stories.