Commuting by Wits, Thumb

Pressing His Cause

At 6:10 a.m., Schindel gets off the bus on an Arlington street corner as the sun starts to light up the office buildings. It's still drizzling, and he hustles through alleys and courtyards to get to the Pentagon City Metro station.

One ride on the Blue Line and one on the Orange Line and he's at the West Falls Church Station. By 6:50 a.m., when he gets on the 28T Metrobus, he's nearly an hour late for work.

He is rarely this late, he says, blaming it on a desire not to rush this reporter. But it's for a good cause, he says, one he began about three years ago after he spotted an old man struggling to walk along a commercial road in Stafford in 100-degree heat. That's when he started writing letters, appearing at board meetings and calling his Board of Supervisors member, Robert C. Gibbons (R-Rock Hill), about getting more buses and running them early enough for commuters.

"Some people think he's a nut, but I think he has very good ideas," Gibbons said. Many people live in rural areas because it can be less expensive, he said; they shouldn't be without services simply because of where they live.

Another advocate is Schindel's mother, who works for a transportation consulting firm in Fairfax and lives in Alexandria. As a parent, Joan Schindel worries, but she applauds him for making the most of his situation.

"I said to him, 'Look, if you get desperate, you can always come here and we'll take you home.' " But, she adds, "I'm also relieved he doesn't do that. I tell him, 'You are my hero because a lot of people would sit down and give up.' "

When he gets off work at 2 p.m. later that day, Schindel gets a ride to the Vienna Metro from one of his workers. Two subway rides and he's at the Pentagon, just in time for the pouring rain as he takes the first spot at the unsheltered slug line to Stafford. After 15 minutes, a beige Nissan Maxima with a well-coiffed female driver pulls up. She doesn't look thrilled as the slightly soaked Schindel squeezes in and plunks his lunchbox next to her spotless baby car-seat. But once Schindel gets going about bus service, he has her attention, and as the HOV traffic crawls up I-95, they're chatting about what Schindel told Kaine's aide at the forum.

Around Woodbridge, Schindel spots a familiar red truck in the next lane; it's a neighbor. He calls but gets her voice mail and leaves a message. "Mary, can I get a ride back from the commuter lot?"

About two hours and 20 minutes after leaving work, Schindel is picked up by his neighbor Mary Rutz, 42, who works in the District and has been giving him rides for a couple of years.

"I used to see this guy in the mornings, and I'd be like: Yah, right! Then I saw him walking his dog, and I asked about him," Rutz says with a laugh. "Normally I would never pick up strange men."

The two chat about new supervisors elected in the fall, and Schindel says he is preparing to welcome them with a speech about public transportation.

"It's my three minutes of fame," he says, "and I've got to use it now ."

That's because after 10 years, Schindel's status as a minor celebrity is about to collide with his fantasy about driving himself to the VRE. In April, he will be eligible to get his license back.