I take the 40 minute drive around the north side of the lake. It’s a two-lane blacktop through a bit of rolling landscape (hard to find in the DFW Metroplex). There are many ranches and I wave and say “Hi” at the horses, cows, and the few llamas or sheep. Also the train if it’s going past. I like a nice commute in the morning and evening to relax, and it’s the shortest way to boot.
I only have about a 10-minute commute, so if I plug my iPod into the car stereo as I’m pulling out of the driveway, I can play – and sing! – Spike Jones’ brilliant “Pal Yat Chee” at least twice, maybe three times.
When we was in the city
We was wonderin’ where to go.
A sign spelled out *Pagliacci *
Up in lights above a show.
We thought 'twould be a Western
Till the stage lit up with lights –
And 97 people sung, without a horse in sight!
Etc, etc, etc.
I wisely use the time commuting (about 85 min.) firming up my plans for world domination.
My commute’s 45 minutes (at least) each way, and I don’t have a radio in my car, so I talk to myself.
A lot.
I bus to work, so I nap in the morning. That extra 45 minutes or so of sleep is wonderful.
I count Loons. Three this morning, in a snowstorm!
I play license plate cribbage. Pickup trucks in Washington have 5 numbers. Counting zeros as 10s, I see how many trucks can beat my pickup, with totals 12.
Listen to NPR podcasts. People-watch. Act surly.
On the way home, same, but less surly.
(About an hour, mainly by subway.)
When I’m working in the north end, about a 20-30 minute trip, I count taxicabs. Since I live near the airport and take a route through downtown favored by taxi drivers, I average about 25 each way. You have to be alert because most of the cabs going to or from the airport are white (with green lettering) and tend to blend in with all the other white cars on the road.
**Fetchund, ** I used to commute by bus across Lake Washington, past the Arboretum. Haven’t seen loons there but there were cormorants that would line the logs in the water, doing pterodactyl impressions with their wings opened up to dry. Didn’t count 'em but I always enjoyed seeing each day.
Heading to work, I go from southwest Memphis to the eastern part of the city; thus I often say, “To Mordor–and war” as I head out.
Returning home, I say, “To the west–and whores.”
PA license plates have three letters and four numbers. I look at the three letters and think of a word that has those three letters, in that order. If it’s a fairly easy combo (FSH), I’ll think of words for all five vowels (FASHION, FLESH, FISH, FORESHORTEN, FLUSH), or if it starts with a vowel (ARH), I’ll see how many words with different initial consonants I can come up with (CARHOP, FARTHER, GEARHEAD, MARCH). Sometimes it’s a challenge to come up with just one, though (GSW – GOSHAWK).
I suffer from claustrophobia. I’ve made myself get accustomed to elevators, but–instead of taking the subway and having a 20-25 minute commute, I take the bus and spend 45 minutes to an hour on the road. :smack:
Other than that… well, I say hi to the conductors, but other than that I mostly read–the newspaper or a library book. I’m not all that interesting. 
(Some of the other commuters, on the other hand…)
I catch a quick nap sometimes. But then the other drivers start honking and raising a fuss… Inconsiderate jerks!
My commute is 1.6 miles and takes me about 3 minutes.
Sometimes I drive fast through puddles to make a big splash, does that count?
Oh, and I honk and drive towards the canadian geese, because they annoy me.
You commute on the 405 too, huh?
My husband I and commute together. We spend a lot of the time coming up with new epithets for bad drivers.
My commute is less than 40 feet, since I work from home.
One of the silly things I do is to say “HI” to all the birds out in the backyard while my coffee is brewing.
They seem to like me playing Tom Petty from the patio, although that may just be a regional thang.
I drive about 20 minutes to work. I shave on the way in. Unless the batteries in my shaver die, then I have to take it in to work, plug it in, and shave there.
I can do this without taking my eyes off the road. I have become very adept at telling where I have shaved by the feel and sound of the shaver. Plus I have very blond hair so I would have to miss the same spot several days in a row before it became noticeable.
I cycle about 38 minutes one way, and 43 minutes the other way each day. Each time, I know the split times to beat when I hit the top of the hill, the bridge, the post by the motorway, Federation Square… The goal is to get there quicker each time I cycle, and I have cut down about 5-6 minutes each leg since I started 4 months ago.
Oh, and I sing along to my iPod. I’m going too fast for people to hear, I hope!
The Swiss DOT (whatever they’re called, and I have no idea whether it’s central or local) likes to play games with us.
You see, about half of my highway drive to the border is getting roadwork. It was getting roadwork when I moved here in November. The roadwork must be advancing, since they occasionally move the cones and the temporary-orange-lines-you-should-follow-instead-of-the-permanent-white-ones and the concrete barriers around. How is it advancing exactly I don’t know, but advance it does.
So on some days (most usually Mondays) I get to play “figure out the new path to work” and “figure out the new path to the house”, as temporary signs and concrete barriers have been shuffled again.
On days when I’m not trying to relearn the drive, I look for exotic license plates.
And when I cross the border, I check out who’s on duty. There was a new officer on the German side yesterday. No idea what rank, I’m not familiar with German militaria.
We smile and wave at crossing guards in school zones. Typically by Christmas we’ve worn down their resistance to the point that they start waving back! By this point, they’ll smile, wave, and stop traffic ***after * ** our car, much to our tailgaters wailing and gnashing of teeth.
DeVena - spreading cheer by pissing off grumpy drivers since 1984 
Oh, one more thing. At one stop light, there is a very fierce-looking bulldog who barks at cars from behind his fence. I make a point of rolling down my window and asking, “Who’s a good doggie?? You are! Such a good doggie!” To which, the fierce bulldog responds with a full-body tail wagging. Makes my morning.