GOTTA GET HER STEPS IN

We're on the DC Metro, far, far below the streets of the city.  The escalators down to and up from the subway system are enough to strike fear into people with height issues (like me).  Riding up from the station to daylight can be a trek that rivals Montreal's Tower Olympique -- it keeps going and going and going and finally the sights of the city come into view.

One of the stations has an escalator ride out of the deep fathoms that takes about two minutes.  The gears scream, and the ride sounds like the continuous trumpeting of an elephant... maybe even a herd of elephants.  Like all cities, sometimes travelers spill out to bums begging for change.  Most of the time, though, like the Arlington stop and Pentagon City, travelers emerge from the depths to music. 

A couple of the Metro stops are having elevator issues.  Knowing this and knowing the severe slants and lengths of the alternate escalator system, I am surprised to see a woman in a wheelchair getting out at one of the stops that I am reasonably certain has no elevator.  Perhaps she is switching trains, but even that usually requires movement to another platform level.

My niece, with whom I am sitting, and I watch as the wheelchair-bound woman maneuvers out of our subway car and onto the platform.  I'm worried about her, at least for a moment.  As the doors close, the woman leans forward in the wheelchair and starts walking it along while she is sitting, much like Fred Flintstone does to power his car (running along the road while inside the vehicle).

I look at the woman then I glance at my niece, who shrugs and says, "Gotta get her steps in."

Indeed. 

The woman may end up like Charlie on the MTA -- riding forever 'neath the streets of DC, wheeling and stepping along the subway platforms, waiting for someone to come by and toss her lunch from the train car.