Thursday, March 10, 2005, 8:17am
Thursday, March 10, 2005, 8:17am
Through the crinkle-wrapped dinginess of this plastic-coated window I have the vague impression of buildings and woods and the expanse of Farm Pond beyond as we once again roll from the west into Framingham Station.
The outbound local is tardy once more, yet it’s hard to imagine a repeat of yesterday morning’s fiasco where this bit of tardiness signaled the beginning of an epic commute.
Just now on the north side rails the local train comes pulling into the station, so unless some train further east is gumming up the works ahead, we’ll continue our trek.
Indeed as the other train rolls to a full stop we are departing without delay.
With these events the first undoing our recent ordeal is undone and as we roll unabated farther to the east I am free to relate previous observations of the new Silver Line subway. Perhaps a few of these are worth reporting.
My first impression is how much the Silver Line is like any other subway with all the trappings of subterranean walkways, escalators and turnstiles – until I actually reach the subway tunnels. Between stations all other tunnels are black from ancient grime and unlit except for barely-glowing bulbs recessed into encrusted cut stone recesses like ageless cycloptic sentinels guarding our route. The brand new Silver Line tunnels break this convention with grime free construction showing nearly white concrete – and instead perfunctory bare bulbs the entire subterranean transit between stations is bathed in sodium vapor light.
The subway trains of Boston range in size from Red Line coaches the size of European main line trains to smaller streetcar trolleys plying the Green Line hinged at the center to get around tight corners like in Zürich. The Silver Line uses two types of buses — yes, buses — one that is big like the trolleys including a central hinge, and the other pretty much a normal looking bus running on overhead electric wires. These ‘trains’ come with steering wheels and all the extra tunnel lighting is there for the benefit of the drivers who must navigate the underground roadways.
Some city buses run on wires like this. Most consume propane, which is one reason why Boston no longer has dense clouds of diesel fumes I remember from my youth. Indeed every city has its own distinctive odor, and I suppose it changes with time like this. In the 1970s at least, New York in the winter always smelled like one giant steam pipe – and maybe still does. The portion of South Boston where I work smells of the ocean — depending on the tides — alternately salt spray and rotting mudflats.
Despite the attempt at running the Silver Line like a subway, the feeling is still little more than an underground bus service. The tunnel is really a winding road – at least the one short section I ride from South Station to the Courthouse Station stop. First it runs downhill to reach beneath the Fort Point Channel then rising once more bends to the right lining up with Seaport Avenue overhead.
Even traveling just one stop I’ve had enough of the uneven concrete paving to long for the smooth steel rails of a regular train. This is not because we are moving very fast. Below ground Silver Line buses hold their speed to less then 20mph. Like one continuous speed bump the concrete roadway is erratically uneven. A smooth rail can be laid without the foundation dead even. So perhaps a rail line had been planned at one time and those who poured these floors saw no need for anything better.
The Silver Line does run plenty of buses. The longest wait so far has been three minutes and no matter the wait or the speed of the journey, I can finally avoid the 1899 Bridge on those days when the Old Man decides to torment street level pedestrians. Perhaps if the tunnel did not leak I might feel more completely safe. It’s one thing to have a leaky roof on a rainy day and it’s quite another when the roof is trying to hold back the Atlantic Ocean below sea level in a tunnel running through a giant epoxy-reinforced mudflat.
Not quite to South Station today’s single-decker train toils on — just this moment passing perhaps the ugliest parking garage in the world. North of the Pike a quarter mile west of the Back Bay tunnel this monstrosity is surrounded by very nicely formed brick townhouses. By their elegant architecture these dwellings merely serve to accent the work of a soulless designer dropping a lasting concrete turd on this city.
First of all nothing of the façade is square. In fact there is no façade beyond views of an underlying assembly — an continuously rising assemblage tilted like spiral-cut ham allowing cars to wind their way up into its higher intestines.
Accenting and enhancing the overall feeling is a dark gray concrete surface texture looking continuously wet – rain or shine, wet or dry. Rather than trimming vertical concrete pillars where they should end, most continue up past any functional purpose — like a how a lazy fence-builder might not bother to remove extra post material no matter how uneven the results.
There are some beautiful brick garages in this city that blend well with established sight lines viewed from any direction. So there is absolutely no excuse for such an affront to all human sensibilities. No matter the extent of this imposing eyesore the obvious goal was simply to build as cheaply as possible. In this regard the garage is a resounding success.
