I took the train to a midweek day game against the Tampa Bay Rays. The trip in was easy enough. Fifty-four minutes on the train, a twenty-minute wait for the Dodger Express bus at Union Station, and another twenty minutes riding up the hill to the stadium. I met a fellow Dodgers fan on the train, and we spent the ride talking baseball. By the time we arrived, the trip felt less like commuting and more like part of the game-day experience.
The Dodgers won, though not without drama. In classic Dodger fashion, they tried to give the game away in the ninth inning, loading the bases before finally escaping the jam. The crowd exhaled, the final out was recorded, and thousands of people began the familiar migration toward the exits.
That's when I decided to try something different.
Anyone who regularly attends Dodger games knows that the Dodger Express bus can be a blessing before the game and a curse afterward. Getting to the stadium is smooth. Leaving can feel like standing in line at an airport after every flight has been canceled. Thousands of fans converge on the same buses at the same time, and no matter how many buses Metro sends, there's only so much pavement and patience available.
Instead of joining the crowd, I turned toward the parking lots.
My destination was Chinatown Station.
The walk is about 1.2 miles from the stadium. Leaving from the lower seating area, I headed out through the terraced parking lots, passing through Lot O and eventually toward Stadium Way. The route is mostly downhill. The afternoon sun was mild, and the temperature was comfortable. There was no rush. No traffic. No line.
What surprised me most was what didn't happen.
No bus passed me.
By the time I had left the stadium and was walking down Stadium Way, the Dodger Express buses were still loading passengers. Thousands of people were waiting while I was already moving toward downtown Los Angeles on foot.
Eventually I noticed signs pointing toward Metro's A Line. I hadn't expected them, but there they were, guiding pedestrians away from the stadium. The route crosses a pedestrian bridge over the Harbor Freeway. It feels slightly odd standing above six lanes of Los Angeles traffic while wearing a Dodgers cap and carrying a scorecard, but the path is safe and clearly marked.
Then comes the spiral.
If you look at the route on a map, it appears to loop in circles for no reason. The explanation is simple: a long circular ramp winds down from the bridge into Chinatown. Walking it feels like descending from one world into another.
A few minutes later I was on Yale Street.
The sounds changed. The traffic noise faded. The smell of food drifted from nearby restaurants. Chinatown isn't what it was decades ago, but it still has its character. The architecture, the signs, the storefronts, and the restaurants create a neighborhood unlike any other in Los Angeles. For a brief moment, the trip home became something more than transportation.
It became a walk.
Twenty minutes after leaving the stadium, I was standing on the platform at Chinatown Station.
Had I taken the bus, I estimate I would have spent at least an hour getting to Union Station. Instead, I had already gained forty minutes and reached a station that was actually closer to my route home.
The train ride back was uneventful. So uneventful, in fact, that I fell asleep for about thirty minutes.
The true measure of success came later.
I arrived back in San Dimas around 4:20 p.m. I had time to grab coffee and then walk to a dinner engagement downtown. Two friends who attended the game had driven separately. They eventually arrived at the same dinner nearly an hour and forty minutes after I did.
Think about that.
I walked out of Dodger Stadium, through Chinatown, took a train home, stopped for coffee, and still arrived long before the people who drove.
For seventy-five cents.
The experience convinced me that the Chinatown Walk may be one of the best-kept secrets for Dodger fans who are physically able to make the trip. It eliminates uncertainty. It avoids the postgame crowds. It turns a frustrating exit into a pleasant walk through one of Los Angeles's historic neighborhoods.
My next experiment will be the reverse route—walking uphill from Chinatown Station to Dodger Stadium before a game and then testing the same walk after a night game.
I'll report back.
But for now, I can say this: sometimes the fastest way home isn't the bus, the car, or the freeway.
Sometimes it's a walk through Chinatown.
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