Van pools cut costs, stress of commute
As gas prices surge out of sight, more people are discovering the joys of sharing the ride - and the bill
They roll into the Newburyport park-and-ride one by one, ready for the workday.
The legal secretary. The portfolio manager. The insurance broker. The service rep. The partner.
Eight in all. Some days there are 10, maybe 12.
Into the van they go, laptops, newspapers, and travel cups in hand. A few minutes past 7 a.m., key meets ignition and they're off.
Alone, each would face a one-way ride of 36 miles or more to their offices in Boston's Financial District that - with the commute home each day - would end up costing at least $700 a month in gas and vehicle wear-and-tear and maintenance. And that doesn't include the price of parking and the toll over the Tobin Bridge.
And so, for about $500 less a month, they share a ride.
"I'd rather be doing something else with my money," says the service rep, Kathy Harding, who has been van-pooling for about 14 years.
These days, more and more drivers are looking into that route, says Jennifer Walsh Carroll, a spokeswoman for MassRIDES, a state program that helps commuters explore ride-sharing and public transportation options. Numbers are hard to pinpoint, but in the last two months - as gas prices have skyrocketed past the $4 a gallon mark - MassRIDES has seen a surge in interest, with anywhere from 20 to 50 people a day signing up for a database that matches up car-poolers.
Meanwhile, there are 62 registered van pools ferrying 776 riders to and from their jobs in Massachusetts.
For the van-poolers from Newburyport, ride-sharing makes perfect sense. You can practically hear them smile as they tick off the benefits: They save on gas and other costs (the van pool's monthly fee ranges from $200 to $240); they don't have to stress about traffic jams or who they will be sitting next to on a packed bus; they aren't clogging the roads with gas-guzzling cars; and - if they aren't driving - they have some relaxation time.
All have some sort of routine, as is evident on a recent Tuesday morning during the hour it takes for the group's 14-passenger van to whiz from Interstate 95 south, down Route 1 and over the Tobin into the city.
Virginia Boyle, an insurance broker, has the wheel. She and Harding, another of the van's three regular drivers and the one who keeps the van overnight, are chuckling over the antics of other cars from their vantage point in the two front seats.
The others sit farther back, typing on laptops, watching movies, or paging through the morning newspapers. Snippets of conversation float from row to row, muffled by the high seat backs.
"I just remember the cicadas that year . . . they were just everywhere; you couldn't go outside without being bombarded," the van pool newbie, 54-year-old David Archuleta, is saying. He's been riding since February and usually car-pools to the Newburyport park-and-ride lot with fellow Stratham, N.H., resident Eric Robb.
". . . It was crazy going, especially leading up to the finals . . ." Archuleta adds, lamenting the fact that he shares a name with a kiddy crooner who finished second in this season's "American Idol" contest. "I've become a celebrity off his coattails."
A few seats to Archuleta's right, Cheryl McGrail, a legal secretary, knits her way through the second half of a pair of socks. Ahead of her, Lynn Bushee switches from one newspaper section to another (she'll do the crossword puzzle on the way home). One row up, Robb recounts a recent cycling accident for the guy two seats over.
Only the back row is quiet. It's there that Gregg Picillo, a partner in an investment management firm, is ensconced with his DVD player and headphones. About all that's visible of the 42-year-old Newburyport man is his left shoulder. (There won't be a peep out of him the entire ride.)
The van is on Route 1 when Robb's cellphone starts to buzz. It's his sister, wanting to coordinate summer plans.
The razzing begins the minute he disconnects. Since the group discourages lengthy calls while in the van, Robb is infamous for the one time his mother rang, wanting to chat her way through his commute.
Robb - the van pool's self-titled "
"She was going on and on, and so I told her, 'Mom, we're going into a tunnel," Robb recalls. "And my friend, Matt, over here came clean and said, 'Now, don't lie to your mother!' And she heard."
Now, whenever his phone rings, he can't escape the tunnel jokes.
Since most of the riders have been van-pooling for a while - some for more than a decade - they have lots of little stories. There was the time they got stuck in a snowstorm and ended up sharing cheese and crackers. Or the day they were joined by a new rider - for all of five minutes. She disappeared during the Friday morning stop at Dunkin' Donuts, saying she couldn't handle the commute.
Robb calls the ride the "Seinfeld of commuting." As they exit the van after parking in a lot at High Street just after 8 a.m., everyone agrees: Their group is its own little quirky community.
"We call ourselves the damn van family," McGrail jokes as they ride an elevator to street level.
Then the elevator doors ping open and everyone goes their own way. They will meet at about 5:20 p.m. for the ride home.
Erin Ailworth can be reached at eailworth@globe.com. 