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.

Freedom Tunnel

    "1...2...Train!" Interrupted mid photo-shoot, my exploring partner ran across the tracks to hide by the wall. I couldn't assess whether I could make it in time to run with her without being splattered by the train, which was careening down the tracks at no slower than 60 miles an hour. I decided not to push my luck and ran to a dark corner very close to the train. I got in a prone position, buried my head in my shoulders and covered my ears as the train roared past. With lights so penetratingly bright, I wouldn't be surprised if I had been spotted.
                                                                            
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     I dipped my tea bag several times into the empty cup, like an angler tempting fish with his bait. As I had agreed to, I would meet with this anonymous stranger who would be shown the tunnel under my guidance. I'll admit that I knew the rudimentary steps to get in, but what happened from thereon in was all adventure.

    We slipped through a gap in the unforgiving steel of the barbed wire fence and came to an artificially lit part of the tunnel. Majestically, a bird swooped down as if to greet us. All of the doors providing access to the tunnel could only be opened from the inside, so we had to walk for a bit until we would reach the open space at 60th street. On the way, there were tags saying, "Big Brother is Watching" (most likely referencing the solitary camera that exists under the buildings) and a picture that I liked of a student getting a good mark.

     This was my fourth and most comprehensive view of the tunnel. From the first time I stumbled by it in the park to my contemplation of doing a thorough exploration, one thing was for sure - this was a place that definitely needed to be hit up someday...and today was that day. 

Our duo was a pair of minds, siblings in paranoia. I feared the trains which creep up silently while she feared running into the homeless. Every rumble I heard, I associated with a train, until I eventually became conditioned to pay the sounds very little mind. Every opening she found, she called out, "Hello?", just to ensure that we were not barging into someone's house. The tunnel has a few places where there is a ladder leading either to the park or is a one-way ticket to nowhere, like this opening that we stumbled upon.

      Most of the areas of the tunnel had accumulated hastily scratched out graffiti over the years, but every once in a while we would come across a well-done mural. One mutual interest was that we wished to find the (in)famous murals of Freedom - the tagger whose moniker had been adopted as the tunnel's unofficial name.

    After I did precision jumps from rail to rail and balanced on the tracks, we came across an open manhole. A stream of water vibrated through the hole. I asked for a headlamp and took a look inside. I climbed down the ladder's rungs and investigated the running water in the sewer/drain system. A good number of spots in this tunnel lead down into these waterways.

    We passed by golden graffiti with the "Illuminati" pyramid which said, "Everybody got a story" and made our way to 70th street - a place where the tunnel lights end and the only illumination comes from the sun shining into the overhead grates. As we walked along a wall, she perceived something to be amiss. A large beam of light. A sudden rumbling. We ducked our heads, straddled the wall, covered our ears and waited for the locomotive to pass. Our first train.

    I explained, "The last train went over that track, therefore, it's less likely that another will pass again over the same track." Somehow, we ended up in an adjacent construction site - one that provided safety from the flying bullets which we called trains. I grew cocky, searching everywhere, and discovered an area where a plethora of bottles laid.
"Wow, this a lot of litter!", I conveyed a bit loudly.
"Shh!", an unidentified voice replied, startling me.
"Sorry", I whispered in response.
Suspicion confirmed. There still were people living in parts of the tunnel.

   We jogged onward, and I didn't know the way out from Harlem, so I was under the impression that our trip would go full circle. Fortunately, this was not the case (as my legs would have probably fallen off afterwards from that much walking). Halfway through the tunnel, we found some more tags, and I noticed a couple made by Trap. I've seen Trap's work around a lot, particularly near places with trains. These other ones were a bit more colorful.
       

                     

Would you like to be a fly on the wall?

    This location had many poems scrawled out over the wall, and song lyrics as well, including bits from Pink Floyd's, "Welcome to the Machine" and "Brain Damage". As I was posing for a picture, I heard, "One...Two...Train!". Not having adequate time to run across the field to the safety of a protective wall, I ducked and covered confusedly like a bad actor in a 50s instructional video about atomic bombs. The dust parted and we met again. But as I walked past the picture, I noticed that something was missing...

"Uh-oh. Hang on."
"What?"
"I lost my phone. It must have fallen out of my jacket pocket when I ditched everything and ducked into the corner."
"Oh."
"Don't worry, this happens all the time. I just feel really bad that I lost your light."
"Let's go back and look for your phone."
"What's the point? Look, let's just forget about it and keep going."
"No, we have to go back and try to find it."
"Okay. Well... I was around here in the darker area to be well concealed."
"Found it!"
"Oh, wow. Thank you. Thanks."
"No problem."

    Freedom's murals were up ahead, but right as we were about to scrutinize them, train lights appeared from both sides and attempted to double team us. We both rushed back to our original hiding spots, where I took care not to lose my items again. One of the trains whooshed past. But the second train...where was it?

"Weren't there two train lights?"
"Yeah. Guess one of them was a ghost train."

    'Faded glory', is a phrase that comes to mind when viewing Freedom's work. A gray wall covers his pieces such as the Coca-Cola and American Way pictures. In their place, a bomber wrote, "Fuck Amtrak." Indeed, I was disappointed seeing his art being reduced from this:

                                                                          To this:

     As I contemplated why Amtrak would blow out their funds ruining the once beautiful walls, my partner discerned two figures walking in the distance (Fortunately, our pair had symbiosis in which I supplied physicality while she contributed acute sensory perception).

    "Fuck.", I swore. "Let's turn back." My mind was clouded with doubts, as I was nearly certain that this pair came to apprehend us. Non-reassuringly, a few signs threatened that those caught here would be detained. I also thought that a train had spotted me and the conductor radioed in the other (ghost) train to have men look for us. I suggested running while she wanted to talk her way out of it. However, if these were officials, they wouldn't be messing around. I suggested tensely, "If we go to the other tracks, we can avoid confrontation." She was as stagnant as the tunnel's air, and kept suggesting that we wait. I implored that we should leave because I didn't want to get arrested. But, defeated, I waited. We waited.

    The figures grew larger until they greeted us, terming us as, "fellow dwellers". Relieved, I told them that I thought they worked for Amtrak. They responded, "Yo, we was thinkin' the same thing about you!". We asked them if they knew a way out, and chatted about the details of the tunnel. The last words of advice they gave were, "Watch out for trains!"

    The light at the end of the tunnel. Sweet, honey colored light shone at the tunnel's end. Our final destination was so close, almost palpable. We saw a tagger run across the tracks and greeted him. In mid-chat, a fifth train came rolling by. He stayed by his wall while we skipped from the tracks back to a hiding place in the tunnel. This area had more visitors than I thought. We bade farewell to the kid and hopped the fence, eventually coming out.

    After being in dark quarters where many things may have hindered your life, the rest of the city seemed beautiful and was definitely a thing to be appreciated. It was like waking from a coma and seeing the world renewed (or rebooted as LTV Squad might say).

    I woke up safe and warm in my little bed the next morning. Was it all a dream? The last thing I could recollect was me being told to, "buy a bubble tea and take the J train." And I would. But for now, I let the sunshine embrace my body as I lay down...down...down.
                                                                         
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(As is now precedent, here is a teaser photo from my urbex files):

                                                                 Until next time, everybody!