You should click through to read the whole piece, but the summary is this: CTA financial documents show that from the mid-2000s through 2012, transit passes—fare products that give you unlimited rides for one, three, seven, or 30 days—had been growing as a share of all rides, and single-ride tickets had been falling. During this entire period, minus the big economic crash and service cutbacks of 2009 and 2010, ridership growth across the system, even on buses, was pretty robust.
Then suddenly in 2013, the use of passes absolutely nosedives, and continues to crash in 2014, before leveling out in 2015. These years also represent the first sustained decline in CTA ridership outside of a recession since 2000.
My theory is this: In 2013, two things happened that caused people to move from passes to single-ride tickets. First, at the beginning of the year, the CTA massively increased the price of passes across the board, without raising the price of a single ride. Second, later in the year, the CTA began its transition to Ventra, which replaced disposable passes with the (confusing to many people) permanent Ventra card, which could store passes bought at fare machines or in other locations around the city.
My guess is that both of these things are behind the move away from passes. Significantly, the decline continues into 2014, when Ventra fully replaced the old system, before stabilizing in 2015, suggesting that the early 2013 price increases aren’t the whole story.
So what does this have to do with ridership? Well, buying a pass makes your marginal cost for a CTA trip free. That means you’re much more likely to take a trip that you might not if your marginal cost is $2 or $2.25. Studies of transportation behavior bear out that even seemingly small changes in the marginal cost of a trip can have meaningful impacts on choices.
And why would this affect buses more than the L? I can think of at least two good reasons. The first is that navigating the new Ventra system is easiest when you have a fare machine in front of you, plus a CTA employee (who isn’t currently operating a vehicle) nearby to help—something L riders have every time they go to a station, but bus riders don’t. Second, bus riders, on average, have significantly lower incomes than L riders, and so would be more sensitive to the pass price increases of 2013.
Does this explain everything? Definitely not. Is it all speculative? Pretty much. Is the change in pass use extremely dramatic, and would we expect it to have some kind of impact on ridership? Yes, and probably.
Something a little different, a month before the election. But not too different! Though I haven’t written about it much, my interest in neighborhood and regional demographic changes extends to the political effects of those shifts. At some point, I’d really love to look at those changes within Chicago, for example in how competitive progressive candidates for alderman or mayor have been—but I haven’t yet found the data sets to really do that.
So instead, have a bigger-picture look at the shifting political allegiances of Chicago’s suburbs. All this data is from Scott Kennedy’s amazing Illinois Election Data site, from which I pulled Democratic vote shares for statewide elections (that is, everything from Comptroller to Governor, as well as federal elections like Senator and President) going back to 1990. Kennedy has this vote for four regions: the city of Chicago; suburban Cook County; the suburban collar counties (which, in this version, include everything in Chicago’s media market); and the rest of the state, which we obnoxiously call “downstate,” even though parts of it are north of the Loop.
What these lines show is how much more (or less) Democratic each of these regions were compared to the statewide vote. I did that mostly because otherwise you’d see lots of swings that aren’t about changing demographics, but just the different general level of appeal of, say, John Kerry versus Barack Obama.
As you can see, Chicago has remained pretty steady since at least 1994, at roughly 25 points more Democratic than the state as a whole. But the other regions have moved around much more.
In 1990, downstate Illinois was significantly more Democratic than either the Cook County suburbs (by about 7 points) or the collar counties (by more than 10). By 2014, it had become easily the most Republican part of the state.
Meanwhile, the Cook County suburbs were completely transformed, moving from about 7 points more Republican than the state as a whole to being 7 points more Democratic. Movement in the collar counties wasn’t as significant, and they remain much more Republican than all of Illinois, but they’ve moderated enough to become more Democratic than downstate.
In 1990, and certainly 1980, Chicago’s map would have looked much more like Milwaukee’s. But our suburbs have diversified, and Milwaukee’s, seemingly, have not.
Of course, political segregation is kind of inextricable from racial and economic segregation as the raison d’etre of 20th century suburbanization and the splintering of single regions into dozens, or hundreds, of separate municipalities. As books like Crabgrass Frontier or, more straightforwardly, The Formation of American Local Governments make clear, resource hoarding—avoiding the progressive redistribution of tax money through public schools, public transportation, and so on—was a, perhaps the, major imperative for the political fragmentation of American metropolitan areas. The blurring of lines about what a suburb or city is, demographically and politically, might lead to greater regional cooperation, better resource distribution, and the end of ridiculousness like Metra, which has as much city rail infrastructure as the CTA but doesn’t do anything with it because it’s controlled by suburban officials.
Of course, a whole heap of accumulated attitudes and nonsensical, fragmented institutions makes that sort of transition a whole lot more difficult. But it’s something we might expect to hear more about as the suburbs begin to look more and more like the city.
Last week, Ken Davis was gracious enough to invite me on his show, Chicago Newsroom, on CANTV. The actual show lasted only 30 minutes, but we kept talking, and a nearly hour-long video got posted to their YouTube page.
Read Lee Bey on what modernist architecture has to offer—and how to reconcile full-throated advocacy for its artistic value with acknowledgement of its social legacy, including urban renewal and public housing.
When this blog really got going, most of the energy came from a desire to answer questions I had about Chicago, and sometimes cities more generally. Over the last several years, I’ve taught myself (and been taught) a fair amount about finding data, manipulating it, and making maps to help get those answers.
But obviously there are a lot of questions one might have that aren’t best answered through data and maps, and I often find my thoughts bumping up against the borders of what this blog can do. So, on nights and weekends over the last several months, I’ve been putting together a different project: The Chicago Dispatch.
The Dispatch will publish interviews, as well as essays, photography, poems, and other work each month. The goal is to make a place for work that might not otherwise get published anywhere, and that answers, in various ways, questions I have about Chicago—and, hopefully, that other people have too.
I haven’t really done anything like this before, so please send your comments and constructive criticism my way! I want to make this something worthwhile for people, and I fully expect to do a lot of adjustments along the way.
And finally, thanks to everyone who helped me along the way—and a big thanks to everyone who took the time to contribute or be interviewed already. There are too many people to mention all by name, but you know who you are.
This morning, the CTA announced a series of service enhancements to bus lines on the South Side, as well the Green Line L:
As you can see, the changes are mostly improvements in service frequency, as well as significant expansion to service hours on the 26-South Shore Express; a 2.5-mile extension of the 4-Cottage Grove line’s service area, from the current terminus at 95th St. to 115th St., which amounts to a significant increase in frequency to a corridor that was previously only served by 115-Pullman/115th; and the combination of the current 95E and 95W lines, which currently meet, and end, at the 95th St. Red Line station.
These improvements have pretty much been met with a yawn by Chicago media, whose coverage, as far as I can tell, has been limited to an “and also” addendum to the bottom of this Tribune story about Mayor Emanuel naming Andrea Zopp to a new community development position. (Though I wouldn’t be surprised to see a story in Streetsblog Chicago, too.) In fact, one reporter at the press conference couldn’t help but wonder when there would be a real transit story:
Given how reliant the people of New York City are on their Subway, an outsider just looking at ridership data might conclude that the system must be paved with gold, or at least its stations must be decent to look at. After all, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that the comfort of a transit system plays an essential role in encouraging people to abandon their cars and get on the train or bus. That’s why, some would argue, it’s so important to put amenities like USB charging and wifi into transit vehicles.
Yet anyone who has ever ridden the Subway knows first hand that its success has nothing to do with aesthetics or access to luxury amenities. Stations are hardly in good shape, trains are packed, and cell service is spotty at best. People ride the Subway in spite of these things; they ride it because it’s fast, it’s frequent, and it’s (relatively) reliable.
Particularly for people who aren’t regular transit users—which, unfortunately, includes a large number of both decision-makers and reporters on the subject—there’s a sense that real transit improvements must include either new infrastructure, or something that easily translates to the world outside transit, like cell service underground or maybe express service to the airport.
But if you actually talk to regular transit users—especially bus users—about the improvements they’d like to see, you’re likely to hear about how frustrating it is to show up at your stop and see that no bus is coming for 10, 15, 20 minutes or more. Or that some bus doesn’t even run on certain days, or doesn’t run early enough in the morning, or late enough in the evening, to be useful for the trips they need to make. In other words, what matters is whether you can depend on a line to get you where you’re going, when you need to go.
These improvements, unsexy though they are, will make important progress towards that goal. The extension of hours on the 26-South Shore Express means that the line will now be more useable by service workers in the Loop who don’t work a traditional 9-5 day. Riders of the 71-71st/South Shore on the 2/3 of the line below 73rd St. will see average waits for a bus fall by 3.5 minutes at rush hour and 7.5 minutes off peak. From 79th St., that represents an average 9% time savings on the whole trip to the Red Line at rush hour, and an average 17% time savings off peak. (Remember that on transit, trip time is travel time plus wait time. And of course, these are averages—but in many ways, it’s more important that maximum wait times will decrease from 15 minutes to 7 during rush hour, and a completely unacceptable 30 minutes to 15 minutes off peak.)
On Cottage Grove below 95th St., the extension of the 4 means that instead of a bus every 15 minutes at rush hour, there will be one every 3.5 minutes—an improvement in average waiting time of 5.5 minutes. On top of that, those traveling to destinations on Cottage Grove who previously had to transfer from the 4 to the 115 will no longer have to transfer—another savings of 7.5 minutes of wait time, on average, for those traveling southbound.
And the combination of the 95E and 95W lines means that people traveling across 95th St., but not going to the Red Line, won’t have to transfer. These lines run about every 12 minutes at rush hour and 15-20 minutes at other times, meaning these travelers will save an average of 6-10 minutes per trip.
Of course, these improvements don’t answer every important question about transit on these corridors. For one, while waiting time is important, travel time is too—and right now, too many Chicago buses get stuck in car traffic they could avoid with bus-only lanes. Particularly for the 26, which runs express to the Loop on Lake Shore Drive, it’s far past time for the city to dedicate bus lanes on LSD. The number of travelers to downtown on buses rival those arriving by private car, and while there’s no way to ensure fast car travel without paving the entire lakefront, because buses are so much more space-efficient, we could guarantee at least one rapid form of transportation along the lakefront with bus lanes. (Of course, that also ignores the larger question of the existing high-capacity rail transit line along much of the 26’s route, the Metra Electric, which has been the subject of an ongoing campaign for frequent all-day service for decades.)
But today’s announcement is another encouraging sign that the current CTA administration is interested in making the kind of service changes that actually make the difference between lines on a map and transit service that you can rely on to get around your city. Hopefully we’ll see more of these kinds of moves on routes all around Chicago.
(I don’t really have room to discuss it here, but I should briefly mention that the other recent CTA bus news—that the long-sought return of the 31st St. and Lincoln Ave. buses will come in the form of pilots that don’t even run during the morning rush, and have frequencies as bad as every 30 minutes, is seemingly an indication that the agency is not very invested in the long-term return of these lines, to put it mildly.)
A while ago, I wrote a post in response to a) the widespread use of the word “neoliberal” to describe urban policies among my youngish leftish social set, and b) the ambiguity of what that word was actually supposed to mean.
The background here is that early champions of UBI include such neoliberal luminaries as Milton Friedman and Friedrich Hayek. They found it attractive because it replaced a massive, complex bureaucracy tasked with implementing a thousand different programs that each attempted to guide recipients towards some paternalistic end (food for food stamps, homeownership for the mortgage interest tax deduction, etc.) with just one office, staffed by however many people are required to simply mail checks, no strings attached. A universal basic income maximizes utility because it is far more efficient than current transfer programs, in terms of both reducing bureaucratic overhead per dollar of assistance, and reducing the deadweight loss from people who would like to buy a new shirt, but can’t, because food stamps don’t cover shirts.*
I think this is a particularly interesting example because it is both neoliberal and progressively redistributionist. That is, UBI was invented to optimize a government program according to market logic, but would also (probably) result in a transfer of resources from relatively wealthier people to relatively poorer people. The baggier definitions of “neoliberal,” which treat it as a synonym of “laissez faire,” or “bad from my perspective as a leftist,” don’t really have any room for such a thing—and yet, here it is.
But I think shifting to an understanding of neoliberalism that gives it some overlap with “progressive redistribution” actually allows for a much more useful analysis that goes beyond the standard left criticism of right-wing—that is, actually laissez-faire—economic policy. Obviously I’m not about to write a treatise on all of whatever neoliberalism is, but I will focus on one piece that I think is particularly consequential: The idea that giving people more choices cannot make them, or society in general, worse off.
This is pretty much a rule of the kind of utilitarianism you might call “market logic.”** If everyone’s utility is based on their ability to satisfy a set of preferences, then adding more choices to their environment—whether it’s another kind of cereal, or another health plan, or another school—almost by definition can’t reduce their utility. If they like the new cereal more than any of the cereals they currently have access to, then they can buy it, and hurray! More utility. If they like one of the current options more than the new one, then they can stick with what they have, and no harm done.
But I think most people, if prodded, would recognize that more choice is not always better. Sometimes, that’s because the process of choosing is costly in time and mental effort. Late last year, for example, I signed up for Obamacare, and was presented with dozens and dozens of possible insurance plans, not a single one of which I completely understood. Compared to the median person, I have gone through a lot of formal education, and have a lot of practice reading and interpreting complex documents, and have no actual medical condition, or children, or overbearing job to hamper my ability to sit down and weigh the various plans available to me—and yet not only was the process time-consuming, exhausting, and frustrating, but the chances that I actually picked the plan that was “best” for me is basically zero. Competition and choice were marketed as great features of Obamacare, but it seemed clear to me that I almost certainly would have been better off with, say, three or four options—or even one basic plan, with optional add-ons—than the overwhelming menu of choices I actually had.
And yet, Obamacare is a progressive, redistributionary policy! And in my amateur opinion, the country is better for having it. Neoliberalism, in this case, both delivered healthcare to millions of people who didn’t have it before, and created a whole new set of problems related to market logic.
Other times—and I think this is more relevant for urban policy—the problem is that adding choices leads other people to do things that end up negatively affecting you, even if your “original choice” is still available. So, for example, WBEZ finds that opening up “school choice,” both in the form of charter schools and opt-in regular public schools besides the neighborhood default, has led to a situation in which high-test-score students (and presumably the socioeconomic advantages and disadvantages that correlate with high test scores) are moresegregated than they were previously. And students whose families stayed put in neighborhood schools, for whatever reason, are often finding that those schools are increasingly isolated, under-enrolled, and under-resourced.
You can imagine something like this dynamic applying in almost any sort of geographic sorting problem. So, for example, while I’m obviously a big advocate of what you might traditionally call “open housing” (opposing barriers against people of color or people of modest financial means moving to more privileged neighborhoods), it’s not hard to see that an approach to geographical equity that begins and ends with the mobility—that is, the expansion of choice—of people in under-resourced neighborhoods will likely end up with something like the kind of sorting problem Chicago has experienced in its public schools, exacerbating the disadvantage of the “losing” schools/neighborhoods.
This sort of issue is also in play in urban transportation policy, where in many cases, decisions that expand the choice available to one group of people reduce the choices available to another. So a highway that reduces travel time for people with the ability to drive a car, expanding the number of places they can reach, can reduce mobility for people without a car. It might do that in obvious ways, like erecting a barrier to walking—but perhaps the more far-reaching mechanism is sorting.
The construction of the I-88 employment corridor in DuPage County, for example, represented an expansion of the choice set of people able to drive, in the sense that it allowed people to move farther from the city, and therefore consume more land (ie, have bigger homes and yards), while still commuting to a Chicago region job. But it meaningfully restricted the choice set of people who did not drive, who found that a rapidly declining share of the region’s employment was accessible without a car. The construction of I-88 itself—and just as importantly, the vast network of wide, high-speed arterial streets through DuPage and suburban Cook County—created options that led to sorting that put many Chicagoans at a severe disadvantage.
It seems likely that this sort of dynamic, in which a policy that opens up a new choice leads to sorting that makes some people worse off, is particularly relevant in situations with lots of dense networks and resource-sharing that depends on those networks. In other words, cities. As I argued in the last post on this subject, I think an understanding of neoliberalism that focuses on laissez-faire economics is particularly badly suited to understanding the kinds of urban policies, outcomes, and coalitions that leftists are opposed to. Neoliberalism as market logic—or the “market toolbox,” as I put it last time—seems much more useful.
More than half of workers in DuPage County, outside Chicago, say they’d like to get to work without a car. But nearly 90 percent of them drive anyway. What’s going on?
First, a little context.
Your city probably has a DuPage County—if not by name, by profile. Beginning about 15 miles due west of Chicago’s Loop, DuPage boomed in the last several decades of the 20th century, filling the spaces in between 19th century railroad suburbs with low-density subdivisions and office parks, and growing from just 150,000 people in 1950 to nearly a million in 2010. Today, it’s home to a disproportionately affluent slice of the region (median household income is $80,000, as compared to just over $60,000 for the metro area), as well as some of the Chicago region’s largest employment centers outside of downtown, including Fortune 500 companies like Ace Hardware and (for the moment, anyway) McDonald’s.
In other words, DuPage County is more or less a poster child for affluent, “successful” postwar sprawl. That said, its relative economic position to Chicago’s core has been declining recently, as a result both of the growing job base and high-income population of the center city and the growing ethnic and economic diversity of DuPage itself. Thus the poll of DuPage workers, commissioned by the county’s economic development arm, to see what the county might do to attract and keep jobs from fleeing to downtown Chicago or elsewhere.
So why don’t people who say they’d like to take transit actually do it?
It’s not that DuPage doesn’t have transit services. It’s actually pretty transit-rich for suburban America: three Metra commuter rail lines, with 26 stations, pass through the county; a handful of bus lines also criss-cross the area.
But for those transit services to be useful for commuting, they have to actually go where people are going—their homes and jobs. And a closer look shows that they don’t.
Back in 1950, development in DuPage County was focused around the commuter rail lines. If you lived in DuPage, you probably lived within a relatively short distance of rail transit—which gave you access not just to the city, but to every other community on your line.
Since then, however, planners and developers assumed that virtually everyone would use a car to get around, and so the overwhelming majority of the hundreds of thousands of jobs and homes that DuPage County has added in the last several decades have been built too far from rail stations to be accessible. Instead, they’ve been focused along highways and wide arterials built with little to no consideration of transit, walking, or biking.
We can see the effects easily in maps. A population density map of DuPage County shows that there’s no strong correlation between where people live and where Metra stations (the white circles) are.
Nor does the bus network help that much. For one thing, the spread-out nature of development means that no one bus line can have easy access to many homes or businesses either—and even someone who steps out of a bus relatively close to their destination has to navigate roads and parking lots that aren’t designed for walking. Partly as a result, the buses simply don’t come that often: at best, every 15 minutes at rush hour, which may be on the edge of acceptability for show-up-and-go service in the afternoon or late in the evening, but is a burden for someone who really needs to be on time for a job. Other buses come much less frequently, even at rush hour.
This is where you wait for the bus in the jobs-rich I-88 corridor in DuPage.
So someone who wanted to commute to their job in DuPage County by transit would discover 26 rail stations which are probably within walking distance of neither their home nor their job, and a network of buses that aren’t much better, most of which come too infrequently to be reliable for very time-sensitive trips like a commute, and which require getting to and from stops that are located on roads that are hostile or dangerous for walking.
In other words, the decisions of planners and developers over the last several decades have created a land use pattern that essentially locks in transportation choices for all future residents, who are now stuck commuting in ways they say they’d rather not. And DuPage, like other car-dependent suburbs around the country, may be losing some of its economic base as a result.
One response to this, of course, is that for most of the 20th century, car-dependent development is what people wanted. If people wanted to live or work near transit stations, then developers would have built homes and offices there. Which: maybe! But if that’s the case, then it’s odd that basically every municipality in DuPage County has taken the step of legally restricting developers from doing so. Nearly every suburb prohibits apartments, offices, and most other space-efficient commercial uses outside a radius of just two or three blocks from their train station. And even within that radius, density is restricted and discouraged with parking requirements and other rules.
And, of course, over the decades, the federal, state, and local governments have invested billions of dollars in highways and road widening, without which most of the development of the last half-century would have been impossible. The size and nature of the public investment prompted a complementary set of private investments that was utterly, and in some ways irrevocably, dependent on auto travel. In fact, nearly the only people who do commute to work by public transit in DuPage are the ones living near Metra stations.
The point is not that, absent these policies, there would have been no new subdivisions far from transit. Nor is it that the right outcome would be for every Metra station to be a little mini-Loop.
Rather, these policies exist on a spectrum—a sliding scale of how many people and jobs will be within walking distance of high-quality transit, on streets amenable to traveling on outside of a car—and we happen to have chosen one extreme, with the result that 90 percent of people drive to work. Including, at a minimum, four out of five people who say they’d prefer not to.
The problem with that isn’t just that some of those urban Millennials aren’t enjoying their preferred lifestyle. It’s that hundreds of thousands of people—including people of modest means—are forced to pay thousands of dollars more in transportation costs every year. And that people who really can’t drive, because they can’t pay for the costs of owning a car, or because they’re too young or old or have some physical disability, are shut out of full participation in society, or forced to waste hours of their days on inefficient transit.
These outcomes, as a result of changing land use patterns, take decades to unfold, and neither DuPage nor the rest of the Chicago region—which looks pretty similar, outside downtown—is going to slide the scale back towards a more balanced transportation system immediately. But lots of little decisions add up.
Every day, tens of millions of Americans waste tens of thousands of hours stuck waiting on the side of streets for car traffic to get out of their way. We estimate that the annual value of time lost waiting to walk totals $25 billion annually.
Today, City Observatory announces the launch of our latest data product: the Pedestrian Pain Index (PPI). Following the techniques developed over the past thirty years by the highway-oriented Texas Transportation Institute (TTI), PPI uses similar methods and assumptions —to calculate the amount of time pedestrians lose each year having to wait their turn to cross streets to allow cars to proceed.
We attribute 100 percent of pedestrian wait time as “delay” due to automobiles for two reasons. First, our methodology mirrors exactly that used by the TTI, which counts traffic delay as any slowdown in traffic below the level that motorists enjoy at so-called “free flow speeds,” even if the free flow speed is higher than the posted speed limit. Second—and perhaps more importantly—pedestrians are only forced to wait at intersections because of vehicle traffic. In pedestrian-only environments, there is no need for “Don’t Walk” signs. In that sense, traffic lights and crosswalks are not walking infrastructure—in places without cars like inside shopping malls or in Venice, Italy, there is no need to have signals to tell people when they can walk or paint lines to show people where they can walk.
There’s little question that walking has been made a second-class form of transportation—and that pedestrians regularly feel the pain of being subordinated to automobiles. One of the best examples is “beg buttons” can delay law-abiding pedestrians up to a minute and a half in order to cross a city street—a point illustrated by Gizmodo.
Here’s how we came up with our PPI estimate. According to data tabulated by John Pucher and his colleagues from the the most recent National Household Transportation Survey, the typical American spends about 112 hours walking about 37.7 miles per year. We estimate that out of a typical walk, a pedestrian spends about five percent of their time waiting for traffic, either as they cross the street an un-signaled location, or waiting for a traffic signal. Our five percent estimate corresponds to waiting about 55 seconds during the average 18.5 minutes that each American walks on a daily basis. For those in low-traffic, low-density areas, these 55 seconds will likely be an overestimate; in urban settings with traffic lights on most corners—where a disproportionate share of walking occurs—55 seconds will be an underestimate.
We multiply our daily delay estimate of 55 seconds per person by 365 days and by the roughly 300 million Americans five years of age or older to come up with an estimate of about 1.6 billion hours of pedestrian delay experienced by Americans annually. Valuing that delay at $15 per hour—a figure somewhat lower than that used in studies of automobile congestion delay—produces a total estimate of $25.2 billion in time lost in pedestrian pain waiting for automobiles.
The Pedestrian Pain Index is a first, rough approximation of the time lost by pedestrians due to automobile traffic. Constructing this index is complicated by the fact that, unlike the case for automobile travel, we have very limited data on walking travel. As Tom Vanderbilt put it in Slate, “Walking in America is a bit like sex: Everybody’s doing it, but nobody knows how much.” It’s a classic instance of the old adage “if you don’t count it, it doesn’t count.” Lacking any data about pedestrians in most settings, the costs and consequences of land use and engineering decisions on walking are simply invisible——and therefore ignored.
Traffic engineers have begun to recognize that the waits imposed on by signals on pedestrians impose major costs and discourage people from walking. The National Association of City Transportation Officials (NACTO) writes in the Urban Street Design Guide:
Long signal cycles, compounded over multiple intersections, can make crossing a street or walking even a short distance prohibitive and frustrating. This discourages walking altogether, and makes streets into barriers that separate destinations, rather than arteries that stitch them together.
According to the 2012 National Traffic Signal Report Card (yes, there really is such a thing: it gives us a D+), the United States has about 311,000 traffic signals (about 1 for every 1,000 Americans), with an estimated replacement cost of about $83 billion. Most of these signals control pedestrian travel, as well as vehicles. Pedestrians face delays not just at traffic signals, but when crossing roads at un-signalized intersections, and when crossing mid-block (as is frequently necessitated by the serpentine, uninterrupted roadways found in most US suburbs).
Those of you who regard this as a bit of early April data-whimsy, think again. If anything, the estimates presented here profoundly understate the costs travel time costs that our auto-centric transportation system imposes on those who would like to walk. Recent national survey data collected by Jennifer Dill and her colleagues at Portland State University show that walking is a highly valued form of transportation. Two-thirds of Americans of all ages agreed or strongly agreed with the statement “I like walking.” Younger Americans preferred walking to driving, with the share of Millennials saying they like to walk outpacing those who agreed they liked driving by 12 percentage points.
Significantly, the most commonly cited barrier to walking (identified by two-thirds of the entire sample) was the relative remoteness of destinations——and destinations are more remote because they are scaled to the size of automobile market-sheds, and because parking requirements (coupled with bans on mixed use zoning) mean that it is uneconomical or illegal to build communities that are convenient for walking. The growing demand for walkable communities, coupled with their relatively short supply is one of the key reasons that values for walkable residential and commercial areas have been rising faster than for auto-dependent locations.
Like last year’s Cappuccino Congestion Index, the Pedestrian Pain Index illustrated that armed with a modicum of data and a few assumptions, one can easily craft an impressive (or at least impressive sounding) estimate of the dollar cost of some delay that we face in our lives. But being able to monetize delay is not the same thing as saying it’s worth spending scarce public resources to remedy.
In a complex, crowded, and interconnected world, no system can be designed so that no user ever experiences a moment of delay. While it is possible to tally and monetize the value of time spent waiting, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the problem is a serious one, it would be—dare we say it “foolish”—to insist we ought to spend scarce public resources to lessen what are in many cases mostly private costs. That’s something to remember the next time you hear anyone quoting impressive sounding numbers from the Texas Transportation Institute—or anyone else—about the billions and billions lost to traffic congestion.