I grew up in a city where the transit fleet had a grand total of three buses. At my young age, rather than applaud that my community had any form of transit at all, instead I found this to be a bit pathetic. I had grown up with rather romantic notions of transit, having watched more than my share of 1940s and 1950s musicals when taking the streetcar, bus, or subway) would feature prominently as the setting where two lovers would meet and then spontaneously burst out into song (Meet Me in St. Louis is an obvious example). Such meetings would not occur if these same two lovers were driving in their single occupant vehicles (unless of course said vehicle were to break down, thus requiring automotive assistance). Anyhow, I continue to hold on to my rather romantic notions of transit, despite having endured (in a number of cities) many a smelly and stuffy bus, navigating backpacks, avoiding ripped seats, trying to tune out and sometimes eavesdropping in on loud and inane conversations, and finally standing and shivering in the cold while waiting for a late train or bus. However, just as often I’ve been able to admire the scenery during long trips (I used to take a particularly scenic route along winding road beside the ocean) or let my thoughts wander idly as I let the train carry me from one destination to another.

So, it’s with a light heart that I eagerly anticipate visiting New York in the next few days to ride on the subway of all subways, to look past any of the dirt and grime and instead live the lyrics of New York, New York. I will be among the people who ride in a hole in the ground.