I hated driving to work. It took only 30 minutes with no traffic. 45 when there was. It wasn’t the time on the road that bothered me, it was the other drivers.
On the Cross County, where the merge for the Saw Mill intersects, the traffic would either come to a halt or become a game of leap frog. It was there in those few minutes that people, who were separated by a few feet of air and metal, would act as if they were lifelong enemies. Soldiers on the frontline of a war set on asphalt and painted lines.
One car would speed up, make a hard left to cram into the flow like a salmon attempting to hop the falls. Another would honk at the intrusion as if their horn would somehow remove the hundreds of other drivers. Middle fingers and mouthing of words would appear on the driver side windows or in rearview mirrors. All ill-conceived attempts to save a few minutes on the road or relieve the pressure like a hole in the spout cover of a kettle.
I had enough of all that a year ago. So, I began to take the Metro-North. It added another twenty minutes to my commute, but the quiet was worth the time. Usually, I would travel from 3 to 4pm, the off-peak hours, on my way to work. On my way home, I’d journey between 5 and 6pm, sometimes 7, during what was the peak hours. I experienced the open seats where it seemed as though I was a Gilded Age Railroad Tycoon, equal to Gould or Vanderbilt, as I sat in my own private car. It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. Sometimes, I felt as if I were a Twain or Dickens character. I suffered the body heat from jacketed riders, the elbows of maneuvering passengers, and smelt the sweat of hundreds of other travelers crammed into each section of the rail. Even my eyes were not spared. The sights on the blue line left much to be desired. And I started to long for that game of leapfrog, just for a chance to see the Hudson from that bridge that connected Riverdale to the Heights.
…Then I moved.
I relocated to the area of Irving’s Legends, in the heart of Westchester’s River Towns. This is how I came to take the green line of the Metro-North Railroad. The Hudson or green line differs from the blue or Harlem line in that you have two options of vistas, whereas on the blue line there is only one. As you head south to the City, the green line offers views of the River Towns on the left and river views on the right. It is important to know which side of the train you are on depending on what view you’d like to see. On the blue line there are moments of woods between long durations of urban sprawl.
My first ride on the green line, after I moved, was on January 9th, 2025. I had ridden it as a youth many years ago, but this time I was an adult and heading to work. As a kid I tried to ignore the time spent on the train with the games and toys my mother provided. Now, I relish the idea of looking out the window at the small islands of floating ice, the various docks with sleeping watercraft blanketed by shrink-wrap plastic, and the looming palisades that seemed to rise across the river like an ever-growing wave made of ancient rock. I also appreciated that this time offered me the ability to read a book, listen to a podcast, or take a nap as the train lulled me to sleep as if I rested in a gently rocking bassinet.
While I sat on the river side of the train car, I overheard a woman two seats ahead of me. She spoke angrily on her cellphone. Something about directions being misunderstood or other such communication. I could see that the Hudson was choppy. The small waves hit the shore as the woman continued to speak her frustrations into the phone. With each syllable, it was like a spell was being performed. The wind blew hard. The floating ice cracked. The seagulls flew high and away. I began to sense that feeling inside of me when I saw the cars leapfrog one in front of another. I began to feel as though the train would soon become a place of ill-will, a new battle ground or war front. This one, set on rusted tracks, in train cars made of aluminum and steel, with passengers and blue shirted workers releasing their anger face-to-face, rather than through a window or rearview mirror.
To some, the need to take the train has been forced upon them. A new tariff in the form of a toll has challenged drivers who wish to venture south of the midtown meridian known as 60th street. Some commuters have decided to grin and bear the added cost, others have resorted to schemes of stealth with covered license plates or taped over digits. Still, a few have come to find the new tariff as a means to reduce emissions, promote climate change strategies, and open the City to more pedestrian friendly and green commuter options. I hope that the revenue taken from this new congestion pricing will be spent wisely, justly, and economically to enhance its entire public transportation system for the benefit of its current and future ridership. I hope it will allow more commuters to experience the Hudson line as I have come to experience it. I hope the train will remain calm. I hoped all this as I heard the woman on her phone get louder and louder.
The woman wrapped up her conversation in a way that told me she had resolved whatever issue it was. Perhaps her husband was lost in a car at the intersection of the Saw Mill or at one of the many exits that led to the stations along the Hudson. All I know for certain is that when she ended her conversation, the woman turned to another woman who was across the aisle. I had not noticed her as she sat quietly to herself and as I was more intrigued by the view of the Hudson. But as the woman who had spoken on her phone got up to leave, she turned to the woman across the aisle and said simply and pleasantly, “I appreciated your help.” This was something I had not heard any driver say to another as they merged on the Cross County Parkway near the Saw Mill.
They smiled. The aisle woman nodded her acknowledgement. And the woman who had been on the call left the train. I turned my attention back to the Hudson. The water was flat and calm. I hoped it would remain so as I rode the train to my destination.
All photos by Joseph Dunnigan.
Joseph Dunnigan has written articles for the Sierra Club’s Lower Hudson Group and The Goshen News. He lives in Sleepy Hollow.