The rushing wind, the deafening roar, the rumbling ground—I feel and hear the BART before I see it. Growing up, my frequent visits to see my grandparents in San Francisco also meant numerous trips on Muni, cable cars, and, of course, the BART. The routine of getting up early with my grandmother and venturing from Balboa Park to the Montgomery Street Station became second nature.
Those rides sparked an early love for the Bay’s public transportation. This summer, I got to spend an entire month in San Francisco. Every morning, like clockwork, I got on my Red Line train to Berkeley. Sitting in the teal seats, I watched the San Francisco skyline disappear behind the shipping containers of Oakland’s ports, blasting Post Malone and Clairo through my headphones. These train rides were never about the destination, but getting to know the sounds, smells, and sights of my home.
Unlike a car, the many modes of San Francisco’s public transportation force people into proximity, the tired finance bros and devoted Warriors fans sitting shoulder to shoulder during rush hour. That is my favorite part of riding on BART—not just the tranquil motion of the train, but experiencing the city come together one stop at a time.