Backstory: Where the fastest commuters are ... 'slugs'

On a recent Friday morning, David LeBlanc donned his Army uniform, kissed his wife and four children goodbye, and pointed his blue Mitsubishi toward a commuter parking lot near his home in Lake Ridge, Va. In another part of this Washington, D.C., suburb, Mildred Bowen put food out for her cat, packed a lunch, and, grabbing purse and briefcase, left her house.

Colonel LeBlanc and Ms. Bowen had never met, but within minutes of parking in the commuter lot, Bowen and another stranger were climbing into LeBlanc's Mitsubishi and driving off together.

This is not the first time Bowen has hopped into a car with total strangers – she has done this virtually every workday since 1995 as part of an ingenious commuting system that the Virginia Department of Transportation (DOT) says ferries an average of 6,500 people a day.

It originated during the gas crunch in the early 1970s, when carpoolers in the northern Virginia suburbs unexpectedly found themselves short a passenger. Cruising past a bus stop, they would offer anyone waiting there a free ride in exchange for the extra body that would grant them access to the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lanes. Bus drivers dubbed these pseudo-carpoolers "slugs," after the fake coins used to scam free bus rides.

The name stuck, and the quid pro quo proved such a win-win that morning slug-lines formed at pick-up locations in the suburbs. Similarly, slugs formed evening lines at intersections in downtown Washington as well as across the river at the Pentagon and various business hubs.

Today, riders save up to $12 in fares and parking fees and, along with the drivers, anywhere from 30 to 50 minutes each way compared with driving in the regular lanes or taking public transportation.

"So you have this system that moves thousands of people every day," LeBlanc enthuses as he drives past a river of twinkling brake lights in the choked lanes to his right. "Nobody is really in charge, and it's organized by the people who use it. Where else would you find that?"

Nowhere, it seems – though with gas becoming as valuable a commodity as time, it might behoove others to look to Virginia as a model.

To take hold, however, slugging requires three key conditions, says LeBlanc. He ought to know: LeBlanc wrote a research paper on slugging in 1997, authored and self-published a guide to slugging, and in 1999 launched a website – www.slug-lines.com – that offers information and discussion forums. Slugs, he says, need a handy and free commuter parking lot; a backup mode of transportation, usually a nearby subway, bus, or commuter train stop; and, crucially, a carpool lane separate from regular lanes (the better to be policed) that requires three occupants per car.

HOV lanes requiring only two people don't do the trick. Finding one rider isn't that difficult and, as Bowen points out, there is safety in numbers. Settled in the backseat of LeBlanc's car, briefcase nestled at her feet, she says she "would be far less likely to hop into a car with one person unless I knew him."

Even with the security of a fellow slug, female commuters are cautious. "When I started," Bowen recalls, "if there were two men in the car that I'd never ridden with before, I wouldn't get in. Then you get used to seeing the same cars and the same people, and you get more comfortable."

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