Underground L.A.?

Yes. (via BoingBoing)

Urban Stalactites

Spotted on the uptown-bound platform of the 4/5/6 last weekend. At first glance I took them for the usual peeling paint that can appear on the ceilings of the older subway tunnels (and given what paint used to be made of, isn't that an appealing thought?) but I soon recognized these miniature stalactites for what they are.

Natural stalactites are the result of dripping limestone elements that recombine in almost palindromic chemical reactions as they make contact with water and air, respectively. Stalactites can also form, however, on concrete, through a more rapid reaction fueled by the calcium oxide found in concrete. It's interesting how natural processes can inform a man-made structure -- we tend to focus on the reverse, but nature always has the last word.

Chi-Town Underground:

Points, too, for "Pynchonian twist":

Subterranean deluge in Chicago. [via Granta]

Central Grandeur

As I research for more exotic adventures (though never knowingly illegal ones, I have to promise -- otherwise, how could I publish them?) my day-to-day travels through New York bring me in contact with more and more underground features that we tend to take for granted. Grand Central Terminal (not "Station," much to my surprise) is an awfully interesting subset of the underground New York. It could almost qualify as an "underground city," were it not for the fact that its underground portions are predominantly for transportation purposes. The main room itself is below street level on the west side, and then the rest of the complex just keeps going on down. With the addition of the MTA's East Side Access project's tracks 140 feet below the surface of Park Avenue, the whole thing will have dimensions reminiscent of an iceberg.

There have been three different buildings, each of increasing size and complexity, on the same site where Grand Central Terminal now stands. As you can see from the cross-section above, even the plans from the early 20th century structure (the extant third iteration itself) demonstrate an impressive hive of subterranean rooms and passages. Though for a short while in the 60s there were plans to build the Terminal upward, all major additions have continued to burrow further down through New York's famous bedrock. The image below of one of the first excavations of the site alone is an exciting glimpse of dieselpunk possibilities, for those of you so inclined.
I was in the GCT last week to meet up with someone, and we spent much of our time in its truly subterranean "dining" concourse -- I must confess, rather by my own design. This concourse is approximately the same floor dimensions as the main one above it, but subdivided by support arches and other foundational structure into rough two areas: the inner hallway of seating, and the outer circumference of food shops and entrances to the tracks. What immediately struck me as I entered it last week was the problem of lighting; here was a space that would cling to its darkness at every opportunity. By and large, the designers overcame this by the sue of hundreds of regular ol' lightbulbs, at regular intervals.

There were plenty of other, more creative solutions to filling some of those pesky lower areas of murk, such as illuminated poles built into each food shop's structure -- a must-have for any underground market, I should think.

The main seating areas (divided in two by a central open, bar-like shop) are cleverly patterned after older-fashioned train cars, including luggage racks. Actually, the whole dining course has rather suffered from a "Disney-fication" along the lines of Times Square, though they have made sure to include some authentic touches to such cheery nostalgia. The inner seating areas also feature warm-feeling wooden cross beams that serve to make the place feel rather like a well-lit vault but also, more importantly, no doubt serve to cut down on the sheer acoustic assault echoing marble can create in such a bustling place.

There are wall sconces, too! Light, light, everywhere! Below is a shot from outside the seating vault, further accenting its vaultiness with arched, spear-tip-gated portals. I'm unsure as to why there is a grand portal, and that wee imitation beside it. Perhaps it's indicative of some aspect of the original support design for the upper concourse.
Gleam also takes care of some of the lighting, as the polished marble reflects a lot of that bulbed light. A glimpse down one of the many track entrances shows just how significant the color of those incandescent bulbs can be. As you can see, too, most of the tracks are in fact further underground from the dining concourse.

There are a good amount of secrets attached to the GTC, of course. One of the best known (and by extension, least covert) is a secret "platform 61" beneath the Waldorf-Astoria, nearly ten blocks north of the terminal building itself. A great write-up about this platform's history and purpose by Joseph Brennan can be found here. In addition, there are various abandoned and converted tracks, as well as some secreted rooms. Sub-basement M42, though it has been explored by a few television programs (including Cities of the Underworld) is in a location still kept secret. As it provides the traction current to the Terminal, its undermining would mean a whole lot of mess. During World War II, Hitler sent spies with the specific intent to find and disable this key component in troop transportation in the US.

As I headed for the 7 train to make my return to Queens, I was reminded of DC's expansive metro platform tunnels. Most of New York's platforms are very modest, function-over-form affairs, and quite small, but the 7 platform beneath the GCT dates from the same period and has a huge, arching ceiling. It is nothing to paint a portrait of, but I wonder at how it was lit before someone installed its current Brutalist fluorescent lighting scheme.

An incandescent set of headlights saves us all (even the dude in the red sport coat) from the lightsaber-like glare...

Vast, subterranean and semi-submerged spaces hold a certain unique appeal. Not all caves and caverns are cramped, or chaotic in their structure. Some are more like mansions, or cathedrals.

Hidden in Plain Sight

Throughout New York's subway system there are nooks and crannies that go generally unnoticed by the crowds of commuters. The above is a nestled doorway directly off the track on the north end of the north-bound local R/W platform at 34th Street. On the other side of that same platform are a couple of old doors with new locks -- a sure sign of something old and important/dangerous. Part of the charm of the tunnels that make up the transportation system here is the fact that they are man-made, for largely utilitarian purposes, yet over such an extended period of time that some of its crenelations are actually lost. Others, like this door, are mysteries that simply get overlooked a-thousand-plus times a day.

Open your eyes. The underground is everywhere.

Urban Subterranea

When I first moved to New York I lived in Park Slope, which has come to be a rather desirable and expensive neighborhood. At the time it was well on its way up, but I was living with my girlfriend in a windowless, 10'x6' room in a basement apartment. Yes, the rumors are true: In New York you can rent and live in a closet. Actually, this was probably more along the lines of a converted pantry, as it had inner closets and such, each rather narrow and the opening of which meant you had just robbed yourself of at least 20% of your maneuverable space. We were subleasing, of course, and it was one of those subleases that reach back so far along a chain of people that the "property" probably fell under some 18th century law that qualified it as a commune, or coven. In New York, "underground" has many implications.

The F train is the one that most readily runs to Park Slope, and it is famous for being the last of the horse-drawn subway trains. (I once heard a very coherent monologue -- from an otherwise very messed-up and deranged homeless man -- on the F platform at Broadway-Lafayette about the history of the F train, by way of explaining or perhaps excusing the train's lateness that evening. It was coherent, that is, apart from being SHOUTED AT THE VERY TOP OF HIS LUNGS.) One day not long after moving into my pantry, I rode in the front car of the F on my way home, late at night, from a rehearsal or some such thing. On the older train cars, the only window at the front of the train is a small square one, at average eye level, fit into the front sliding door. Very often, this window is blacked out, presumably either to prevent ogling at the outside world or to trick people into thinking there's more train to walk through and laugh merrily at them as they break the rules by sliding yet another between-car door open and plunge to their grisly death. I place even odds. At any rate, this window wasn't blackened, and I slouched into the door and observed our forward progress.

Before too long I realized that I was looking at really very old structures. It seemed almost anachronistic, as I listened to my headphones and saw steel girders giving way to a wooden crossbeam here and there, and the concrete walls growing knottier with age and disintegration. The train lights carried detail after detail into view, and I realized that we were in the section of the train that runs from Manhattan to Brooklyn, under the East River. Under the East River. There's a school of thought that says we take our lives in our hands every day, that even getting out of bed, much less crossing a busy street is risking a chance of death. When I realized just how old the tunnel through which I was hurtling was, I was thrilled. For the first time it occurred to me that there are centuries-old hidden tunnels and chambers and disused passages laced throughout New York's famous bedrock and, odds are, no one person knows everything of what's down there.

I'm very pleased to be joining the enterprise here at Subterranean Design. It's a little like discovering an enthusiasm I had forgotten I have. From time to time I'll be contributing information about Manhattan's underground network -- probably a bit of research, but hopefully quite a bit of personal exploration. The modern world has hidden depths, and it should be great fun to sink to their levels.

Dangers of 'The Game'

Gold mine, Uploaded to flickr by ˙Cаvin 〄 on 29 Dec 08

From The Seattle Times comes this cautionary tale of amateur delving gone wrong. Thanks to Steve Lawson for pointing this one out.

Setup:

The brain trust perched on the dry lake bed seemed able: about 60 bright, adventurous minds from Seattle's high-tech community. Microsoft VPs. Inventors. Start-up founders. Multimillionaires. Serious geeks.

Over the next 28 hours, the race to save Shelby Logan propelled these would-be rescuers across 275 miles, from the arid moonscape of the desert to the neon glare of the Las Vegas strip. They would scuba dive, rock climb, sing karaoke with a drag queen and fire automatic weapons. They would decode the Declaration of Independence inside a prison and befriend a white rat named Templeton, whose shivering little body carried a message.

If this sounds ripped from a Hollywood movie, it essentially was. The race to save Shelby Logan was conceived as a weekend fantasy to be played on the proportions of the big screen, by invitation only.

It was the latest in an annual run of what was simply called The Game. An adventure scavenger hunt. The ultimate test for the Renaissance man or woman. Or just a really good excuse to turn off your Blackberry, forget work, ignore spouses and have a hell-raising good time.

Gear:

Among them was Bob Lord, a then-37-year-old software engineer who'd worked for Microsoft before launching, then selling, his start-up Internet search company, XYZFind. This was his first Game, and when he kissed his wife and three kids goodbye in Palo Alto, Calif., he brought a wet suit, walkie-talkies, laptop, GPS device, extension cords, reference books on compact disc and clothes for any kind of weather.

Note the conspicuous lack of Torch, Rope, or Pole

The Leadup:

The adrenaline kept pumping: a 3-mile race through the pitch-black desert on ATVs; a gun club where a lucky geek on each team fired a 50-round clip from a machine gun; then a gay nightclub where an unlucky geek had to dress in drag and sing "It's Raining Men" on stage. Teams rode the Big Shot, a breathtaking 160-foot plunge from the top of the Stratosphere Hotel, and sprinted down the Fremont Street Experience in old Vegas as clues flashed on a four-block-long screen overhead. At a tattoo parlor, a player on each team was supposed to volunteer for a piercing (extra bonus for a non-ear piercing!) or tattoo (The Game), but the tattoo artist took $50 bribes to hand over the clue.

The Delve:

THE MORNING sun was parching a desolate landscape of sagebrush and broken beer bottles when Bob Lord climbed out of the Team Plaid van on a dusty parking lot in the desert foothills southeast of Las Vegas. This was the 17th clue site, and Lord and other players had slept little in 28 hours, which may partly explain what happened next.

Lord and other players didn't know it, but this was the Argentena Mine complex, a warren of abandoned openings left over from a 1927 silver-mining operation. All Lord had were a set of GPS coordinates found at the previous site — a cemetery in the ghost town of Goodsprings — and instructions: Walk exactly 1,133 feet on a precise compass heading and find something called 1306. It was Lord's job to follow the directions. But, wanting to scout the route first, he veered off course to climb up a small hill, then used recalculated bearings he'd figured out using trigonometry on his handheld computer.

The clue also had an unusual message: "1306 is clearly marked. Enter ONLY 1306. Do NOT enter others." To Lord, this was just another clue, perhaps a head-fake from Game Control. Enter 1306? What could there be 1306 of in the desert, he wondered. Parking stalls? Telephone poles?

Lord led the way until his recalculated bearings pointed directly into an opening. He flashed back to the video dropped from the helicopter: This must be the right place, he thought.

The "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" spray-painted in fluorescent orange was no deterrent. Again, Lord flashed back to an earlier point in The Game: "NO!" had been part of a previous clue. Absorbed in his own musings, Lord missed one other salient clue: the number 1296 spray-painted in blue next to the opening.

Followed closely by other team members, Lord walked into the opening nearly 100 feet, until the only light was the LED screen on his GPS.

His team members heard him slip. Bob? they called. Bob?

Nothing.

Bob Lord didn't die, but his fall down a 30' mine shaft crippled him for life, led to lawsuits for The Game's organizers, and has had tragic effect on the rest of his family.

For delvers, the lessons are obvious. Don't go anywhere without the proper gear. Lighting is fundemental. Belaying with rope is also a good idea in unknown delves. Test the ground in front of you before moving onto it.