Throw Down Those Car Keys and Walk! : Transit: Living independent of an automobile is rewarding and easier than you might realize, even in Southern California.

Fed up with dependence on automobiles and the rising population, my husband and I left San Diego 15 years ago for what I thought would be forever. As we took off for Maine in a 1971 Camaro with a U-Haul trailer, I had few qualms about leaving the place of my birth. Although, to be truthful, I cried for the first few hours about the distance we were putting between us and friends, family and the tide pools at Windansea Beach. I wondered if I would ever hear the Beach Boys again.

I should have wondered what one does with a front-heavy Camaro during a winter storm. The car was useless, and we moved into the center of the little town of Boothbay Harbor, within walking distance of anything we might need.

From the local pub we marveled at the tenacity of New Englanders, driving slowly through formidable blizzards, while we were losing the dependence on automobiles that we had acquired in California. The Camaro was sent back home.

In Halifax, Nova Scotia, and later in Montreal, Quebec, we chose to live close to the universities where we, in turn, studied and worked. We walked to fine restaurants for dinner, and rented a car for our annual journey back to Maine. Eleven minutes on Montreal’s great underground Metro, and we were at an Expos game with no parking woes. Our son’s school was just across the McGill campus and our bank was a block away.

It was in our seventh year as urban Montrealers that my husband hesitantly broached the subject of moving back to San Diego, realizing it wouldn’t be a pleasant one.

He explained that his research institute would be closing in Montreal (not a surprise) and that they wanted him to be part of a new one (a nice surprise).

Moving was not the problem. We’d relocated to four provinces and states over the past 15 years, and the possibility of picking up stakes once again would be an enjoyable challenge. Changing our surroundings was as addicting as our penchant for world travel, and less expensive.

The problem was where.

It was as if a cruel joke had been played. The new research institute would be a great opportunity for him, and, admittedly, San Diego would be a swell place to practice my own profession. But could a walker and devotee of a world-class Metro system be converted back into a driver? Could I ever go home again to the mecca of the dreaded automobile?

“You still have the Camaro,” he reminded me.

For two months now we have lived in Del Mar, and I am heaving big sighs of relief, because even though the traffic and population problems seem worse than ever, we have held on to our virtually car-free habits. My husband is 3 miles from work, and he walks, bikes or takes public transit. We chose our bank and grocery store based on biking distance. The beach is as high a priority with us as were the Montreal restaurants, so we are within walking distance. Two blocks away there’s a British-style pub. I work from home, and we don’t use the Camaro much.

OK, we did use the car to visit the annual Miramar Air Show, bemoaning the lack of convenient trolley service but realizing that for special treats like that a car is nice to have. It’s the mobile prison that cars have become that I find worrisome.

I can hear the uproar now: “But a car represents freedom.” Montrealers and San Diegans alike make that statement. It gave me a chuckle as I walked up our street in Montreal--a steep hill, during an ice storm. Drivers bent on getting home “the quickest way” would struggle up the steep grade at a snail’s pace, many sliding back down and getting stuck in snowbanks only to be rescued by a tow truck the next day. It’s the same in San Diego, with a different “spin” on the hardships. Two examples come to mind.

Three people are shot on Torrey Pines beach. Torrey Pines Road is closed the next day to facilitate the police investigation. Cars are backed up for hours on alternative routes into Del Mar. It seems that half the city of San Diego chose that particular day to go to Del Mar.

A few day later a gasoline truck (how apropos) is involved in an early-morning accident at the Del Mar Heights exit of northbound Interstate 5, and the freeway is closed all day to clean up. All northbound traffic must go through Del Mar, a town small enough that sometimes the main road has only one lane for each direction. Torrey Pines and Carmel Valley Roads are packed with almost-parked cars that just had to be somewhere. A friend said it took him one hour to travel a mile. That’s right, 1 m.p.h. What freedom, eh?

That evening we walked to the pub for a pint before preparing dinner, and marveled at the miles of cars--most of them occupied only by the driver, and everyone sweltering in their “freedom.”

In defense of Northeastern winters, many people don’t even attempt to drive during storms, they take mass transit or stay home. California traffic emergencies would be better handled if they were treated that way. Admittedly, it would be tough to call the boss and say “I-5 is closed, I can’t make it in,” but the alternative could be precious work hours spent inching through Del Mar. And doesn’t anyone try to live close to work anymore? Couldn’t the pleasure drivers just stay home?

Not using a car very often is real freedom. Walking enables me to meet neighbors, get exercise, stop to watch a butterfly, collect thoughts. (How do you think I composed this?) In Montreal’s large and vibrant downtown area, we knew our local merchants and our parting with them was emotional.

We’re now getting acquainted with the same within a 2-mile (read: walkable) radius. You won’t find me driving 30 miles because thingamajigs are on sale. There are too many wonderful things to do in San Diego to spend precious moments cooped up in an automobile.