Driven to Extremes

But a 2005 Canadian study contends that real estate savings for long-distance commuters are lost over the long term because of added gas and car repair expenses. Besides, the monetary costs of commuting may be the least of it. A 2004 New England Journal of Medicine study found that nearly one out of every 12 heart attacks is linked to being stuck in traffic, and that you nearly triple your risk of having an attack when you get in a car. Other studies have revealed that commuters have greater rates of worker absenteeism and more incidents of abusive behavior in the workplace, damaging companies' productivity. "Fewer social connections mean that [commuters] also experience a lowering of stress buffers, and that can lead to more illnesses and [other personal] problems," says Harvard University researcher Thomas Sander.

But no study has yet been able to measure precisely the toll that grinding commutes have taken on intimate relationships, particularly marriages and families. After all, it is difficult for any study to get into the heads of subjects whose woes are so privately felt, in a metal cocoon. As Marc Turner notes, "I guess people would wonder, how do we all cope with this alone?"

DARREN HIERS AWOKE IN THE DARK, AS ALWAYS. It was 5:30 a.m., and he hit the snooze button on his alarm clock, not at all ready to get up. From the other side of the bed, his wife, Vicki, nudged him, just to be sure he wouldn't fall back asleep; he had his 60-mile commute to Sterling ahead, and a delay might make him late. Sleepy and cold, he snuggled all of his 5-foot-11, 290-pound frame against Vicki in search of body heat. She mumbled drowsily at him to move away; he was too hot, and, besides, she wanted a little more sleep before rushing to make her own long drive to a job. She is not a morning person, and he knew better than to press her at this hour. He quietly rose, showered, dressed, had his standard three ounces of an exotic Tahitian fruit juice called noni, and hurried out the door. The sky was black. It was drizzling, with the temperature in the low 40s. He yawned, kind of wishing that he hadn't stayed up so late watching "Sopranos" reruns. He got into his small gray 1996 Ford Probe, turned on his headlights, reached for his stick shift and backed out of his driveway at 6:21 a.m.

"I'm still half-asleep," he said.

It was Monday, which is Hiers's least favorite day of the week. A Monday is always upon him too quickly after a weekend spent recovering from the grind of the previous workweek and the drive that he has been making for four years now. Today, he thought he might be looking at a 1 1/2-hour commute to his job at an auto parts distributorship. Sometimes, when weather got bad, particularly in winter, he had to allow three hours.

He glanced over his shoulder at the object of his greatest pride, a 2,200-square-foot, three-bedroom house with a big back yard, which the 35-year-old bought about 7 1/2 years ago. It sits on an ample one-third of an acre in Bunker Hill, W.Va., about nine miles west of the gambling haven of Charles Town, just another community in the state's eastern panhandle, where development has boomed as refugees from the Washington suburbs flock here to buy affordable homes.

In 1999, just months after marrying, the Hierses arrived at this new housing development called Timberwood Village and bought their home for $125,000. Vicki had recently moved from Damascus, where both Hierses had grown up but where a comparable home would have cost more than $300,000, they said. They could live in West Virginia while keeping their higher-paying jobs in the Washington area. Timberwood Village and Bunker Hill looked like the summit of their dreams. "I'm so thankful for everything we got here," Hiers said, his voice early morning husky. He coughed and cleared his throat. "The drives can get tiring . . . But you got trade-offs in life, right? The commute is part of the trade-off."

But some trade-offs are hard to bear. Hiers sometimes despairs over the toll that the commute has taken on his love life with his wife, especially since they want to have a child over the next two years. "It's hard to think about doing it in the house," Hiers said. "Because, I guess, that's where we're always getting ready for things, you know, the place where we sleep and get ready for work and have to do things. It's hard there now. It's the house. Get chores done there, get ready, bed . We're tired a lot. After you rush home there, and you get things done, it's hard to say, 'Let's make a kid.' It needs to be a change of scenery most of the time, and that way Vicki would feel more romantic and receptive."

He turned on his windshield wipers, and the Probe rolled through Timberwood Village. Hiers wasn't alone. Neighbors backed out of their driveways to begin their own commutes. He knew a guy down the street who left for the Washington area at 4:30 a.m. Just the thought of the man rising at such an unfathomable hour cheered him. "I don't have it so bad compared to some people," he said.

At the exit of Timberwood Village, he made a left through fog onto West Virginia's Highway 51, a skinny, undulating, two-lane thoroughfare on which traffic was thin. The rain began falling a little harder. He sliced through the dark doing 50, cruising past the Bunker Hill Used Cars and Trucks lot and a convenience store and then out into idyllic open country, thumping over a little bridge above Opequon Creek, past miles of cornfields, cow pastures and soybean patches bordered by quaint stone walls. "Not many other places anywhere where it's so peaceful," Hiers muttered, opening the window to smell the air.

At moments like this, he loved what he had. Even the names around these parts charmed him. Now he was passing Shadow-hawk Lane and No Name Lane.

He made a right on Leetown Road -- one of his shortcuts -- and was again out in the country, motoring past an apple orchard, where a herd of deer gathered in dark mist. He glanced at a man climbing aboard a tractor.