Underneath A Highway

Sometimes, when you think you've seen it all, something weird will present itself and surprise you. I remember walking along the shore near this highway, and the sun was angled in a manner that allowed me to peer inside the highway's interior. Since I saw graffiti, I knew that it was accessible at one point.

Then, driving by one day, I discovered that the padlocked door had been blasted open, making this spot, which appears to have been untouched since the late 90s, available to explore.

Bringing a flashlight would have made this site much nicer. Instead, I had to jump over puddles of indecipherable depth to prevent my shoes from being sucked into the mud. As I went further down the cavernous space, the walls got lower and lower until I was practically squatting.

My First Bridge: The Dutch Kills Drawbridge

     If asked which bridge is the first one that I have climbed, then I would have to say it is the Dutch Kills Drawbridge. Part of the Long Island Railroad, though close to the Bushwick branch, this architectural disaster (don't get me wrong, I love bridges, but this had a very shoddy design) seemed as though it was going to tip over at any minute. However, I found a set of stairs leading to the top, and the warm air tempted me to go upward. Though it was dark, construction workers were milling about in the nearby sanitation plant. I kept myself as low as I could and took pictures. I left, somehow ending up at a LIRR station.
     I had no idea that by crossing into these tracks I was in Long Island Railroad property! I even pressed buttons on some of the machines to see if they worked, and, surely enough, they were active. My unintentional trespass was made even more sinister by the fact that several police cars silently lurked directly outside the station. However, I managed to slip out undisturbed through a cut in a fence and went on my way.

A few months later, a fellow explorer asked if I would like to adventure with her and we walked the Bushwick Branch, then went over the river to this bridge. We both felt that the bridge was sketchy, and noticed worker crews less than 100 feet away from us, but ascended anyway. Though the bridge is not much of a looker, I guess it was my first, and that makes it special for me.

Social Services Building in Yonkers

     There's an interesting connection between this building and Glenwood Plant, though it is rather personal.

     When me and my exploring partner went to Glenwood, he suggested we go to the nearest hardware store and don construction outfits to blend in with the construction workers that were cleaning the plant. 

     Now, I have never needed a disguise while exploring and didn't plan to start that day. I suggested we wait, looking for something else to do in the meantime. Just our luck that we stumbled upon a building that looked like it was under construction/being remodeled. After not finding any obvious means of entry at the front, we walked through a gate that led to the water.

     Strolling casually past the cameras and "No Trespassing" signs, we made our way to the back of property, and the warm summer air followed us to an abandoned house surrounded by work trucks.

     Now, we had several doubts about this site. Why all the work trucks? What if every worker was on lunch break, ready to come back in ten minutes? 

     Slowly, we peeked our heads inside a cabin, and found it was empty.

     

Before we left, I noticed a yearbook addressed to a boy named Andrew in a locker. It is always interesting to find a piece of someone's history while exploring, and I looked through the yearbook trying to deduce what I could about this Andrew fellow, and the type of life he had in school. It was like being a detective.

Eventually we moved on from the small house to our main target: the social services building. A mess of pipes and wires led to a door, and some of these wires propped that door open. We entered very cautiously...what if these were alarm wires? We stepped silently around the corners to ensure we didn't bump into any workers, which might have happened at any given moment. 

To make matters all the more suspicious, we saw absolutely no signs that any other explorers had ever entered the complex before. It was pristine. Since it was so quiet, every sound was augmented, from the low humming of an alarm in the background (which we learned to ignore and grew accustomed to) to the creaks of the building, which always seemed like workers to us. We were vigilant, ready to dive into one of the side rooms just in case we would need to hide.

There were no signs as to whether or not the site was abandoned, and infiltrating a live site, such as this may have been, would warrant a more serious punishment than infiltrating a forgotten one.

   

As we explored the building further, we still stepped with caution but dropped much of our initial fear. Flashlights illuminated our dark paths as we discovered small theaters and electrical control rooms. Signs on walls too difficult to remove led us to do more detective work: we could discern that the building was intended for social services offices, and there were clues that it may have been shut down as early as the late 90s. 

After the dark, quiet, dusty roam around the building, where few artifacts remained, it was nice to step out once more into fresh, warm, inviting summer air, breathe a sigh of relief knowing that we would no longer have to deal with the prospect of being caught there, and walked over to Glenwood Power Plant..

Red Hook Grain Terminal

A sharp, curved hand digs deep into my shoulder and pushes me hard into the stone-grey pillar. I open my mouth in protest but a hand is placed around it.
"Don't move", my cohort whispers, barely emitting a breath.
He looks around the ground floor, then asks me,
"Did you hear that?"
Still too taken aback, unaware of what is going on, I am confused.
He motions with his fingers that there are people up ahead.
Yes I heard beeping, but that was there the first night we were here...wasn't it?

July 4th

   It had been 6 months from the day I did my first recon of this immense building. Christmas Eve, when I assumed no stray workers would be lurking. As I hopped the fence that day, my shoes rattled the small stones that led to the complex. I heard a vehement, almost purposeful cough. One that clearly said, "Turn back." I didn't have to be told twice, and tailed it. But here it is, summertime, during the Fourth of July, and I'm thinking,
This is probably the tallest abandoned building in the whole city. I'm sure that the view of the fireworks from up here would be phenomenal.
   I called up a friend and we waited out in the park, where several other people were present, most likely also wishing to get a view of the fireworks. In the meantime, a police car drove by as slowly as it could, probably checking for any illicit fireworks.
   Now, my adventures generally occur along the waterfront. This mandates that I check the tide. Unfortunately, little did I know that the time we would be getting in was peak high tide...making the rocks that I skipped along last time inaccessible. Instead, we decided to climb a tall fence to get in there, which would make for a good vantage point along with great cover as we were partially obscured by nearby trees. We hung on from the side of the concrete slabs with our fingertips, and dropped down to the concrete as quietly as we could. My eyes scaled the wall that we had just bypassed. Now let me tell you, it doesn't matter how high you can do a wallrun; you're most likely not going to be able to do it to something 15 feet high. Maybe you can drop down from it, but getting up is another story.
   I pushed the idea of getting back aside in my mind. What mattered for the moment was that we were in. Now, the climb. I would have loved to stop to admire the scenery on each "floor" but decided that would wait for another day...fireworks would be starting soon. After passing through floors with giant busted-out holes as well as staircases that were almost completely obliterated, we made our way to the top and watched the scene.
   As we were admiring the view, from which one could witness New Jersey, Staten Island, Brooklyn and Manhattan, we went back down where we saw some lights flashing in the park.
"Do you see that?", we asked each other, both paranoid.
"Alright", my partner rationed, "these lights don't seem to be coming up here; only along the general work area by the terminal. Still, to be safe, let's assume that everyone is security and head out of here." Considering that we had also heard an alarm-like low beep at the top floor, it was the safe option to get out of there.
So, not being able to fully enjoy the area, we made our climb back down and strolled into the park, putting on as innocent a gait as we could manage.

A few weeks later...

"Dude, I think she's sucking his dick."

   The air was crisp. A thunderstorm was blowing in, and rain was coming down, first in drops, but later in sheets. I thought This is rooftopping weather. 
   The higher up you go, the better the air is, which is why I always like to have meals high up. One thing about going to an abandoned building is that the stale air of the decaying structure will contrast so sharply with the ineffably fresh breeze that greets you at the very top of the building. Another great thing about getting elevated during rain is that, as I believe OM2 pointed out, not many people look up when it rains, decreasing our chances of potentially being seen by passerby below.
   I called up my contact again and told him that this storm was the paragon of an exploration climate, and he agreed. We went out to Red Hook, but were met with a problem almost immediately: workers. That's alright, we could wait them out. After they left, however, a young couple walked by...and sat right by our entry point. Not for a five minute rest, mind you. They were there for several hours.
  Once we decided that we couldn't wait any longer, we decided not to care about public opinion and just go for it. My heart gave its signature skip when we hopped the fence. As we do so, my friend tells me, "I don't think they noticed us. You see how her head is on his lap? I think she's sucking his dick."
  If this were the case, then one fellatio just made the night of four people, and with some daylight behind us, we managed to explore all around the building. When we got to the roof, we kept it low and dined on a chicken sandwich and chips. The wind was not as sharp as I would have expected it to be, but it was still hoodie weather...some of my favorite exploring weather.
  On our way down, we admired the scenery from various windows and checked out some cool machinery within the building itself. Feeling much like detectives, we discerned several things: there are trolley like tracks which span the floor of the terminal which go directly under a chute, and we realized that a mechanical wheelbarrow of sorts must have run along those tracks to pick up the grain.
  A prominent experience in our descent was what I like to call: the sketch room. It is a room where there are boiler-like tanks and absolutely no graffiti spans the walls, because the only way to get a view of the boiler is by crossing a dilapidated metal grate which is in danger of falling out at any second. Tread as lightly as you can with ninja-like steps and hang onto the railing, but it's very little consolation if the floor falls beneath you. And accidents do happen.
   We head down. I want to explore every inch. But we can't. I am slammed into the wall. And my friend says he sees people. We realized he probably didn't, but if there was anywhere to find an alarm, it would be the ground floor. So, we make our way up and around the 150 foot building because so many doors are blockaded, and a straightforward exfiltration is nigh impossible. As we go down this labyrinth, I got complacent at one of the staircases. My hands clutch rail. But my feet do not feel any floor below me. My stomach does a backflip. If I wasn't hanging on to the handrail, I would be falling now. Crashing into the next staircase. I try to throw the idea out of my mind and focus on the thought that, for now, I am alive.
   The building becomes smaller and smaller behind us as we leave the workplace, cross the park, and head back home. Big, old, gray and decaying. Beautiful.

Freedom Tunnel: West Side Stitch

What to do on a dark cold February day? Well, Freedom Tunnel is always a frequent spot for me, and for my sixth time into the tunnel, I decided that I was going to explore the West Side Stitch. The West Side Stitch is what I refer to as the stretch of tunnel that runs from 70th Street down to Penn Station, where the Amtrak trains begin making their rounds. There have been many rumors about the size of the tunnels, so let's clear them up. Attributing this arcane knowledge to personal experience I can personally affirm that the tunnel starts at Penn and terminates at around 122nd street. Though this estimate is approximate, it is the closest guess you will get to the actual breadth of the tunnel.

The tunnel branches off into two from 70th to 60th (again, approximate values); one that the trains pass through and another one which is rail-free. This rail-less tunnel cuts near to the basements of various buildings, most notably the Trump Towers, underneath which a single camera of questionable competence lies. Both tunnels are adorned with lights that give off a strange glow.





I used to never pass the Sniper's Alley that lay beyond 60th street for fear of being spotted. As I showed a friend around the 10 block stretch of the double tunnel, I began to turn back and head for home. But this wasn't life affirming. There was more mystery to be uncovered beyond those stretches which I had already seen. As daylight reduced to dark blue ambiance, I made the decision that tonight would be my time to explore the West Side Stitch.

Now the issue with exploring tunnels is that they get very dark, and at night you are stumbling through pitch darkness, tripping over rails and electrical boxes as you make your way across. While I wished I was armed with a flashlight to circumvent these obstacles, I managed to use the light glow from my camcorder to navigate through the tunnel.

Fortunately, the pitch blackness of the tunnels was quelled with a few sparse yellow and white lights that skirt around the area. The Stitch has several patches which let out into open air and overlook the large residential buildings of Manhattan. Looking up at them from an underground position, it becomes clear why these buildings are known as skyscrapers. Then, after a patch of open air, it's back into the dusty tunnels, where a quality of eerie beauty lingers.











There are no murals here; only some well constructed graffiti pieces and hastily scrawled tags. The real exploration of the tunnel stems from the several nooks and crannies which exist there: pillars and rock quarries. Ladders that lead up out into open air. Excellent hiding places from the bright glow and loud rumble of the train.







Once more the pyramid imparts sage wisdom onto me as it did during the last visit, this time asking, "What is Truth?" I ponder this, and wonder about the several rumors that surround the tunnel. The "Mole People", the homeless that exist here, still do hide out in the tunnel, as I have seen from previous visits, but there is much less of them now. In fact, nothing can contrast more starkly with the non-presence of people underneath the busy Manhattan streets than the abundance of those walking above it, oblivious to the explorers they are striding over.



However, there were two homeless people that we met along these tunnels. The first was a Hispanic who claimed to have paid Amtrak $500 to be given a key to an entrance to these tunnels. He told us that he remembered some people coming around and exploring here a few years ago, with bulky camera equipment. Sitting down on the rails, captivated by his words, he gave us the advice not to walk all the way to Penn Station and to turn back at around 38th street. He then asked us for some food, which we apologized for not having, and then walked on.

As we carried on towards Penn, a low moaning came from a makeshift house. Affirming that we were just passing through, the rambling stopped. Further down we saw another rail skimming alongside us. Out of nowhere, I pointed out, it was a third rail that had suddenly appeared. Now, if a train were to bear down, we could either take its impact or jump out of the way only to be electrocuted.

We still kept going, stopping only by a track fire that we spotted ten yards away. Captivated by the mystic dancing of the flames, and not really sure what to do in a situation like this, we turned back.

As we made our way back, we were confronted by a friendly African American homeless man who had apologized for his prior behavior, stating, "I was a little drunk". Like the previous man we encountered, he asked for food, and I was starting to see that all the homeless want in these shantytowns that they built for themselves was a little bread on their plate. They seem like calm, rational people.

I gave him the last of my water and he asked,

"Don't you guys have curfew or something?"

Consulting my phone, I conveyed,

"It's only eight o' clock." 8:00 PM in winter in New York, however, is incredibly dark.

"Oh. Well don't you get caught here."

"People still come around here?"

"Yeah, the workers...they used to... but not so much anymore. Just be careful."

                      With those words, we made our way back across to where we entered the Stitch.