Though it was sort of a crazy idea cousin agreed to it. I was excited to share this thing that’s been so special to me with her. We climbed into my conveniently-parked car and drove uptown and across the Queensboro Bridge. After some tentative turns – I remembered the route being more straightforward than it appeared this night and Queensboro Plaza has undergone a lot of construction since my first drive through it – we eventually made our way to the Roosevelt Island Bridge, which connects the island to Queens. As I drove, we continued catching each other up about our lives but I also began to intersperse excited observations and facts about our destination.

I easily found a parking spot on the island’s Main Street. We walked in the cold over to the tram station, swiped our Metrocards, and waited under the heat lamps between the tram bays for our carriage to arrive.

After a few minutes the tram arrived, we boarded, and our magical ride began. We both stared out the panoramic windows; there was so much to see. Cousin was as taken with the sights as I was. I pointed out landmarks to her as we travelled smoothly over the river and above Manhattan’s east-side avenues.

Now it was starting to get late so I walked cousin to her subway stop. “Will you be okay going back by yourself?” she asked. “Roosevelt Island is like my second home. I’ll be fine.” I replied. A block walk and a short wait under the glaringly bright heat lamps later I was back on the tram. I again stared out a front corner window, marveling at the shapes, shadows, and dots of light in the dark.

And so concluded my tiny, spontaneous infrastructure excursion that day. I hope to soon share many more excursions with my closest cousin.

I was a bit sad to see the old span go, and certainly disappointed to hear it was to be sold for scrap rather than preserved. If only I had a barge and a big plot of land I could have stored the bridge on I wouldn’t have hesitated bought it for the dollar the city was offering it up for.

But I suppose such is the life cycle of infrastructure. The new bridge span is a big improvement, and further work continues on it. Presently, the approaches to the pedestrian walkway on the Manhattan and Bronx sides of the bridge are being constructed and appear nearly done. As a motorist though, I was most excited about the recent opening of the ramp connecting the Willis directly to I-87 north.

During the duration of the construction, traffic bound for I-87 had to stay straight onto Willis Avenue, make a left on East 135th Street and another sharp left onto the ramp to I-87. The entrance itself was a dangerous spot with cones; concrete barriers; narrow, unclearly marked lanes; and lots of truck traffic.

While going slowly around the corner from Willis Avenue onto East 135th Street so many times, I’d looked up at the big, beautiful curve of the ramp developing to my left. It was a happy sight when construction progressed to the point that the ramp being built from the highway side connected to that on the bridge side. It wouldn’t be long now, I thought to myself.

And sure enough, one day in January I noticed the ramp was finally open! A construction sign flashed “NEW TRAFFIC PATTERN”, and I merged left and onto the luxuriously wide, unmarred, concrete curve. It was a joy to drive, and I was proud to see this next phase complete.

(Apologies for the quality of this hastily-taken video.)

I now look forward much more to the drive home to the Bronx from Manhattan’s east side. How far this modest crossing has come from the years of grated roadway covered with temporary-turned-permanent metal plates, potholes, and detours. The Willis crossing has matured into something functional and modern, though I can never forget the old metal bridge scrapped in sacrifice.

First excursion to the Spuyten Duyvil train station

First, the blog celebrated her one year anniversary on September 24, 2011. Though I began defining my love for infrastructure somewhat before September 2010, that date marks the first excursion I blogged about: The Spuyten Duyvil Train Station.

The award-winning photo

Second, I felt so honored to have one of my photos selected for the Judges Choice Award in Open House New York’s 2011 Focus on Architecture photography contest. Their post announcing the winners is here, and you can read about the excursion on which I took the award-winning photo here.

Forgotten NY

Last but certainly far from least, my A Walk Down Newtown Creek tour guide (of The Newtown Pentacle) introduced me to the man behind Forgotten NY. Thanks to this connection, my Infrastructure blog now appears on Forgotten NY’s blogroll right on the homepage (scroll down a bit and look in the right column)!

Forgotten NY has always had special meaning to me – it was one of the few sites on which I found quality information and photos of fascinating abandoned places in NYC when my interest was first sparked back in 2003. In the years since then I’ve been a reader of the site, which is truly an important institution for this city. I’m honored to appear as a link on this amazing site and personally thankful for my connection with both Kevin (Forgotten NY) and Mitch (The Newtown Pentacle).

Many thanks to Open House New York, The Newtown Pentacle, Forgotten NY, and all of my readers for your continued support. I know there will be much more wonderful news to come in 2012!

Right after the tour I did a ton of web research on the highway (see below). I became wrapped up in the strange construction of the highway (entrance and exit ramps on the left, dangerous curves), the story of its disrepair and partial collapse in 1973, and its subsequent abandonment. The old photos I looked at told the story of a totally different world there on the west side of Manhattan. Frozen in time, this monstrous but vulnerable, eventually abandoned, structure stared at me out of the photographs.

I strained to compare these sights with the present-day road I know so well. Completed more recently than I knew (2001), the clearly meticulously planned and manicured road of today doesn’t just look different from its predecessor, it feels different. Its flat, open, fairly straight layout; the greenway and pedestrian walkway to its west; and its periodic stoplights are all drastic changes from the old elevated highway. I cannot even imagine a giant, hulking, crumbling concrete structure with carved stone decorations shadowing this geographic area.

But I didn’t just study the history of the highway. The pictures of it jumped out and haunted me, creating something like remembrances of a dream world. It was as if I’d been there, seen it, felt what the space was like, but I hadn’t. I mused on this often.

One day I was driving down the FDR Drive on Manhattan’s east side and out of nowhere a stretch of the southbound FDR between the 34th Street and 23rd Street exits, mostly the left edge of the roadway, caught my eye. Its curves, low barrier wall, heavy lampposts, and elevation nearly matched some of the old Miller photos I’d studied. Between the north and southbound lanes at one point a sort of low gap forms, then disappears as the lanes split further apart from one another. This, I thought, was almost like an echo of a left exit ramp. I wanted to walk up it one day.

Indeed, history somewhat supports my comparison of the two highways: they were built at similar times under similar city regimes, so it makes sense that their physicalities would have common features.

But this short stretch of FDR not only matched the photos and history, it the evoked the feeling of these waking dreams of the old highway space for me; a magical moment. I began that day to call this stretch “the ghost of the old Miller Highway.” Now, each time I pass it I try to get in the left lane, enjoy the trip back in time to my dreams of the destroyed structure, and explain to anyone who happens to be riding with me the story and my theory.

(Apologies for the quality of this hastily-taken video.)

More resources:

• Amazing photos of the Miller Highway in 1979 on Flickr
• Miller Highway photos and a story
• Worthwhile video of the Miller Highway with old photos
• History of the Miller Highway including its present incarnation
• Wikipedia article: West Side Elevated Highway
• “Miller’s Crossing” on Forgotten NY
• Video of the Miller Highway under construction in 1930
• Photos, architecture and history of the West Side Viaduct (Miller Highway)

Last week I’d read on Twitter that the Henry Hudson Bridge’s 75th birthday was today, December 12th. Linked from that MTA post was an event, “MTA’s Scenic Hudson River Bridge: Lecture by Bronx Borough Historian Lloyd Ultan.”

It happened that my day off, the birthday, and the talk coincided, so I got off my butt and headed out the door just after two in the afternoon. My destination was the Riverdale branch of the New York Public Library, one of many parts of Riverdale I’d not ever explored before even after living here for over seven years.

I found a parking place on Mosholu Avenue, a little past the library. Behind the iron fence sat the lodge-like building. This thing could be straight out of Twin Peaks. I timidly made my way up the path and through the less-than-welcoming-looking front door.

New York Public Library Riverdale branch sign

NYPL Riverdale branch

Inside, the building was an explosion of space. High ceilings and wide, open rooms reached out from the central circulation desk.

Inside the Riverdale Library

But I had hardly time to breathe, much less look around like I wanted to. A woman greeted me almost immediately: “Hi! You’re just in time for a lecture!” I probably somewhat mumbled, a little stunned, “that’s why I’m here…” Our speaker was just ahead of me entering the little conference room where the talk was to occur. I was grateful, at least, to be sure of where I was going. The woman asked if I was “with the professor” and I shook my head no, still a little stunned. She introduced herself to me anyway. I don’t recall her name but she had some sort of public relations title.

Just inside the door stood a colorful table spread of boxed coffee, donut holes, and cookies. I was touched – what a sweet thing to provide at this free event!

Coffee, cookies, and donut holes await

I located a desirable seat in the second of four rows of chairs, near one end. I claimed this chair with my coat, hoodie, and scarf; then idled for a minute, looking all around at the other arriving attendees and the dressed-up men and women clustered around the man identified as the speaker. After hesitating (I’d eaten coffee and donuts earlier in the day – did I need more?) I made my way to the refreshments and took a small portion.

Careful not to make a mess, I settled back into my seat and munched my snacks. While I was up, a brown-enveloped packet of materials from the Bronx County Historical Society and a white, folded, card-stock program for the day’s talk had been placed on each chair.

I clutched the materials and, wide-eyed, studied my surroundings: the people and the imagery that made up the exhibits. The crowd that shaped up were a couple of college-age guys (who perhaps knew our speaker from school?) some middle-aged and older women, and the professionals whom I soon learned were representatives from the library and the MTA.

MTA folks talk to our speaker beforehand

Attendees getting settled

I could find myself shaking nervously as I waited for the talk to begin. This happens while waiting for any excursion to begin and I still don’t know quite why. I tried to calm my nerves, act normal, and hold back tears. Being on the verge of tears is also common for excursions. Again, I’m not entirely sure why, but today it was a combination of caring so much about this bridge, its picture standing before me on the exhibit materials, and the love I was displaying by devoting an hour to learning about its history.

At some point one of the women greeted a young man who identified himself as a member of the press. I wondered where from as I glanced over my shoulder to see him place a voice recorder on one knee, notepad on the other, and pen and camera in his hands.

In another few minutes another colorful table was unfolded for the speaker to place his notes on. After a fast introduction by a library staff member, Professor Ultan pulled these notes out of an envelope, wisecracked about the audience falling asleep during the talk, and began his speech.

Our speaker prepares

It was hard to tell how much he read from his papers and how much he ad-libbed or had memorized. The words flowed out of his mouth smoothly and I listened attentively, smiling sometimes, furrowing my brow in thought sometimes, and taking notes on the back of an envelope. (I’d neglected to bring my notebook and it might be rude to take notes on my smartphone during such an event).

I’ll summarize what I learned: Such a bridge from the upper tip of Manhattan to the northwest Bronx had been conceived of much earlier, 1904. Riverdalians were skeptical of such a plan from the beginning, worrying how their neighborhood would be devalued by such a piece of infrastructure. This reminded me of the plight of the area underneath the Long Island Expressway, as told on my Open House New York Newtown Creek tour (blog entry coming soon).

The earliest bridge design called for tall, masonry columns at each end of the bridge, and matching masonry cladding the surface of the structure itself. Later, an engineering student named David Steinman proposed an alternative, a steel arch bridge, in his PhD thesis.

Robert Moses’ vision of a highway on the west side of upper Manhattan connecting with the existing Saw Mill River Parkway intersected with Steinman’s vision, and Steinman’s firm was hired as architect and engineer for the bridge. Originally two decks had been proposed for the bridge, but a deal was struck with financial backers to start with one, with the possibility of adding a second later.

Two facts about the planning and construction especially surprised me: First, Robert Moses ran the bridge and its same-named parkway through parkland instead of claiming eminent domain on residential properties. Granted, this was fairly early on in his career, and the move saved him money in court fees, so perhaps it should not really be taken as an act of kindness…

Second, the bridge came in under budget, by a huge factor. How unheard of in today’s world!

The bridge opened on December 12, 1936, with a 10 cent toll for each auto to cross it. Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia and Moses cut the ribbon to signal the opening of the bridge, at that time painted a forest green.

In these first few months traffic volume exceeded even Moses’ estimates, and just two years later the second deck was added to deal with this demand. Motorists seemed to love this new way to avoid the steep hill down to Broadway and the congestion on the Broadway Bridge.

After World War II, the bridge helped with the growth of Riverdale – big buildings full of condominiums were built alongside the many existing single-family homes. Soldiers returning from the war bought houses, married, and raised families here.

In 1956, the Major Deegan Expressway (a stretch of I-87 in the Bronx) opened and temporarily took some traffic from the Henry Hudson Parkway and Bridge. But motorists came back to the beautiful bridge to escape truck traffic and congestion that, to this day, are common on the Deegan.

In 1968 the Triboro Bridge and Tunnel Authority, the organization that the bridge had been built under, was merged into the newly formed Metropolitan Transportation Authority.

Over the years, the bridge was painted blue, then today’s gray. Starting in 2000 she received a full overhaul at the hands of Steinman’s firm who had originally architected her. The Bridge’s most recent milestone is the advent of gateless EZ-Pass tolling just this year.

The talk was accessible and danced easily between political, aesthetic, engineering, and social factors of the bridge building. All-in-all, a solid overview.

Our speaker listens to an audience question

After a few timid questions from the audience, the talk wrapped up. I stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, wondering whether to try to talk to anyone, and visiting the exhibit materials hanging around the room.

Exhibit introduction card

Riverdale, pre-bridge

The Henry Hudson Parkway

The children's exhibit

I spoke briefly with the MTA PR person and thanked our speaker. I wanted to introduce myself and say more to the library and MTA people, but felt that I didn’t have anything to say or ask. What I really wanted to do was pour my heart out – tell how Henry Hudson was perhaps the first bridge within the five boroughs that I’d traveled over by car, how I spent so much time sitting or standing on the Spuyten Duyvil train platform staring up at it, how much it impacts my life as a Riverdalian, and how I once dreamed of getting a full-back tattoo of the bridge (don’t worry, I would never actually do that). But somehow those sentiments just wouldn’t come out in this formal setting, so I just watched the important people rub elbows with each other and our state assemblyman, who’d also attended.

MTA folks talking afterwards

MTA and library personnel pose with our speaker

Right before leaving I did find the courage to approach the press man. I’d heard of his publication, and he told me he was sort of on the infrastructure beat there. I shyly told him a little about my blog.

Slowly and meditatively I made my way out the library’s main doors and down the street to the car.

Leaving the library

As so long ago – my first post in fact – I felt the urge to go down to the Spuyten Duyvil station. This time, I just had to see my beloved bridge on her birthday. How could I go listen to such a talk and not see her in person today.

Driving over to the top of the road that curves down to the station, I teared up. As mentioned before, I can’t pinpoint all of the causes. This car ride it was something like a release from my stressful previous week and weekend, the history of 75 years piled heavily on my mind at the sight of the bridge, and all my personal experiences with this location.

No one was around. All was quiet except a rustling of leaves as I walked across the street and wondered as I looked up at my beautiful bridge, tears down my face. She had never been so beautiful to me as on her birthday today.

The bridge from the hill

Underneath the bridge

I slowly walked halfway down the hill to the pedestrian bridge that connects to the train station. I put my sunglasses over my emotional eyes as a train let out and commuters spilled up the hill past me.

I wondered, as I had many times before, what it would be like to be them, to live in one of these mansions or luxury apartment buildings looking out onto the bridge and train station.

Beautiful house near the bridge

Bridge support, notice the scale

As I crossed the overpass to the station above the street, I took in the broad vista of the bridge.

Bridge over Spuyten Duyvil Metro North station

Henry Hudson Bridge

Though I was here to see the bridge and not the trains this time, I couldn’t resist taking a picture of a couple of them passing below as I walked through the enclosed overpass above the tracks.

Diesel engine below

Two trains pass close

Through the dirty window of the enclosure, I again gazed at the bridge.

The bridge

I made the familiar walk down the stairs and out towards the southeast end of the southern platform. The platform was empty except for one businessman sitting on the bench and looking preoccupied with his technology.

The bridge

The platform narrows at the end. I was careful to not get too near to the “no trespassing” sign where it dead ends. Though the area seemed deserted I didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. I stood and looked, almost straight up, at the bridge so high above me.

Near the end of the platform, almost under the bridge

Bridge detail

It was cold so I didn’t want to stay too long. I knew I’d pass the man on my walk back. As sometimes happens on excursions, I longed to reach out. In my mind I repeated, “you know, it’s the bridge’s birthday today.” Maybe I could find the courage to say that to this man. But no, he seemed still busy on his phone with earbuds in. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to seem like one of those railiens, showering unsuspecting members of the public with unsolicited “fun” facts.

But the man spoke to me. “Some great shots out here, aren’t there?” I breathed an internal sigh of relief. We chatted for a moment. He told me he was trading stocks as the market was closing – what a foreign world to me! But he had lots of artist friends, he said. And this train platform was an intersection of energy, a place of historical importance. We traded quick, somewhat awkward snippets of the history of upper Manhattan and Riverdale that we each knew. He told me he comes to this platform sometimes to just be, think, and look. I said I do too. The stock market closed. We walked up the hill together, me to my car, he to his fancy condo looking out over the vista of the bridge.

Maybe it’s weird or bad to talk to strangers like that. I guess you never know who you might meet and what their motivations might be. But I thank this man for being there, for talking with me about exactly what I wanted to talk about at that moment, for silently overlooking the dried tears on my face, for not being a scary story of stranger danger.

I tried to warm up in the car as I drove up and around the train station loop. On my way back home I passed Henry Hudson Memorial Park. Our lecturer talked about the bridge being a tribute to Hudson’s voyage, and about the long-delayed placement of the statue in that park. I snapped a sloppy picture of Mr. Hudson up on that pedestal as I drove by. Just one in a long series: Hudson, Steinman, Moses, Ultan, the MTA and library folks, and finally the businessman, who changed my world, and this bridge for me, today.

Statue of Henry Hudson

Both getting there and driving around the Muncie area I always remember freight trains. Often the grownups would be annoyed at waiting for the seemingly never ending stream of boxcars at a crossing. I always watched, fascinated. Freight trains near my neighborhood in Ohio didn’t cross at grade; so I think I was less aware of them there. At night, staying over at my grandparents’ house, I remember hearing the distant sound of train whistles as the freight passed in the night.

This Thanksgiving the family again drove out to Indiana. On our way we encountered the familiar sight of a freight train crossing our path. The sun shone brightly over this giant piece of machinery rolling through cornfields. I watched it with new, infrastructure-aware eyes, though this rural sight was much different than the urban settings of most of my excursions and everyday infrastructure encounters.

Afterwards, we continued on our way towards holiday celebrations.

As I drove around back to park, I thought how this might be a good (and more convenient than Jacob Riis Park) location if I were ever to take a friend to practice driving. The lot was nearly empty; there was only a school bus, two other cars, and an empty semi truck there. I pulled neatly into a spot near the mystery thing.

I hadn’t noticed it before, perhaps because of all of the snow, but a long strip of sidewalk surrounded by thin patches of grass runs all the way through the lot, nearly from the mystery thing all the way to the door of the unoccupied side of the complex. I sat near the “thing” end of the sidewalk, enjoyed the sun on my back, and stared across the expanse in front of me.

Back of Fairway's building

After a few minutes I got up and got closer to the thing’s fence. On my previous quick visit with coworkers I’d appreciated how much closer I could get to it now there weren’t feet of snow plowed up around it!

I again looked for clues to the thing’s identity, which were hard to come by. None of the few markings on the thing itself revealed much. A cap in the ground nearby read “Well Monitoring Observation”. Could this be related to the thing?

Well Monitoring Observation

I walked all around the fence and stared up at the tall thing from every direction. I watched the sun duck in and out of clouds, shedding different light on the thing.

What is that thing?

I also tiptoed near the shore of the Hutchinson River. Here, its banks are held back by massive, vertical, corrugated metal plates. The water didn’t hold any answers about the thing, but I did see some partially sunken shopping carts and wonder about the circumstances that got them there.

Shopping carts in the river

On the other side of the thing, I heard the familiar rumbling of cars and trucks passing over a grated bridge surface. I looked over to see the double-leaf drawbridge I’d walked over on my previous excursion.

Bridge over Hutchinson River

I spent a few more minutes enjoying the beauty of the sun, sky, and weather; and the machines and objects of this industrial landscape – standing silent and restful on this weekend day.

With slight hesitation I made my way back to real life. I did my shopping, stacked the groceries meticulously in the trunk, and headed for home.

This drive is intriguing too – the curving Hutchinson River and Cross County Parkways wind through wooded, commercial, and industrial areas. By mere seconds I missed passing under a big, arched, stone bridge right underneath a Metro North or Amtrak train. I saw its tail disappear through the trees as I approached. Maybe next time my timing will be right!

Train bridge over Hutchinson River Parkway

Especially those who know me personally know that I seize these moments to observe infrastructure, no matter the time or place, in everyday life. These moments bring happiness and inspiration to my day, and almost always make me want to delve deeper and run off on a full-length excursion right away. (Posts on full-length excursions are coming soon!)

See a map of What is that thing? revisited.

Through August and September I regularly refreshed the organization’s somewhat outdated website, hoping to catch any scrap of information about what October’s sites would be. I waited with baited breath until suddenly at the beginning of the month a new, modern, and quite beautiful website began to be rolled out. A couple hundred sites and their descriptions appeared for the public to browse. I agonized over the choices – so many places that I love and already have a connection to were listed and there were also so many I’d not heard of or been to with mysteries yet to be uncovered!

By the next morning I had to book a spot on tours or any other events that took reservations. I knew from my experience with the Transit Museum that I had to be quick, otherwise things would fill up. I shooed off coworkers and frantically reloaded the website (the server load took it down for many minutes) to reserve the events I’d decided on just the night before.

Saturday’s agenda was to be the following: First, an early morning visit to the Automated Vacuum Collection System on Roosevelt Island, then a scurry off to catch an 11AM tour, “A Walk Down Newtown Creek” starting in Queens.

I intended to be up and out of the house earlier than I was.  I wanted to be the first person into the AVAC building, as I knew I’d be rushed getting to Queens afterwards.

Trains were the only way to go on this run-around day, and I took my 1 train down to 59th Street. From there I thought I might catch a cab or even a bus, but when I popped up from the stop at Columbus Circle, I decided to make the trek crosstown on foot instead. Sometimes walking makes you feel like you have more control over hurrying and the passage of time, even though it might actually be slower.

As I walked the southern border of Central Park I noticed the sights around me in the crisp but pleasant morning air. A line of police cars, lights on but no sirens, paraded down the street. Tourists stared. I snapped a quick picture.

Police cars on Central Park South

A bit further, a crosswalk sign hung down, dislocated from its place atop a pole. I may have giggled at its odd appearance. Though I was in a hurry I waited while another young woman took its picture, then went in closer for my own.

Broken crosswalk light

I wondered at how the other people I passed on the street would have such different days than I was to have. Tourists were off early for sightseeing. An organized pack of runners herded by. Fangirls and boys stood in a long line outside the Apple store for the new iPhone release. But I was off to something much more special and sacred than any of them were.

Runners crossing Central Park South

Line for iPhone 4s outside Apple store

I walked further and further east, and finally came around the corner to the concrete structure I recognized as the Manhattan terminal of the Roosevelt Island Tram. With the affection of reuniting with an old friend I climbed its stairs and just barely squeaked by onto a tram that was leaving that minute.

Sign on a box by the tram: "Please do not cut lock, tram station attendant has key"

Tram cable supports and Queensboro Bridge from tram

The morning sun cast dramatic patches of light and shadow as the tram began its ascent up the wire. I tried to absorb all the visual information I could in each moment. I almost wished the tram would move slower (something I’d thought about before) so I would have time to see more of the buildings drifting by, the straight-shot views up the avenues, and, to on the south side, the skeletal structure of the Queensboro Bridge.

Queensboro Bridge off ramp

Queensboro Bridge roadway

Manhattan buildings from tram

Queensboro Bridge

Looking up an avenue

Soon we were out over the water. I recalled a photo I’d taken last year on my Trains and Trams excursion. This picture still serves as wallpaper on my work computer, so its image is imprinted in my brain. I noticed how different the shadows were over the water today, a fall morning rather than a winter afternoon.

FDR Drive from the tram

East River, Roosevelt Island, and bridges

East River and Manhattan

As we began our descent onto Roosevelt Island I turned my gaze to the south side of the tram to watch the Queensboro Bridge and its vehicular traffic. Passing the bridge support, I looked underneath the bridge’s roadway and towards the south of the island. Buildings obscured the Four Freedoms Park under construction – an OHNY site I’d passed up in favor of these others. It was to remain a mystery to me for now.

Queensboro Bridge next to the tram

South end of Roosevelt Island

I felt a sense of home, belonging, familiarity, as I hopped off the tram and looked up for a moment at the great Queensboro bridge and tram support structure. Passing Roosevelt Island in daily life I often cry in third person (and half in jest), “Roosevelt Island, future home of Emily!”

Queensboro Bridge and tram support

I had little time to stop and enjoy the view, unfortunately. I booked it north on foot, with an idea in mind of where the facility was from previous walks around the island and occasional checks of my smart phone as I walked. Minutes ticked by, and I both wished I could walk faster and had time to enjoy the quaint sights of the island’s Main Street, born of the 1970s.

One place I wished I could stop was a sweet little farmers’ market underneath the ramps from the Roosevelt Island Bridge and Motorgate (the island’s parking complex). But I hustled by instead.

Farmers' Market

Just where I thought it would be, the chain link fence in front of the AVAC building came into view on the right. I scurried across the street and paused for a second to look at at the sign on the gate and the perspective I recognized from the photo on the site’s page on the OHNY website.

AVAC Facility welcome sign

Entrance to the AVAC Facility

While the sign was welcoming enough, I walked timidly through the gates, not knowing what to expect. Or, in fact, expecting tons of employees guiding me carefully on a predetermined path into a corral for a timed tour, which was simply not to be the case. I was distracted for a moment by refrigerators and other large appliances to my right on the perimeter of the property. Ah ha, I thought, refrigerators don’t fit into a trash chute!

Refrigerators do not fit in the AVAC system

Back to business, I peered into the garage door mouths of the facility, wondering which to enter through and where exactly to go. I was reassured a bit when I saw a couple of pairs and threes of people, who by all appearances looked like OHNY visitors, exiting the facility. I timidly stepped in, and followed where the foot traffic was coming from.

Here, I was greeted by a man. “Are you here for the tour?” he said. I nodded. “I’ll be right back. I need a drink of water. You can wait right here.”

My mind raced during the few minutes he was gone. Was I the only one here? Had I just missed a tour? How long was the tour – would I have to duck out early to get to my Newtown Creek walk?

My eyes darted around as I waited too – trying to absorb as much as I could in this idle moment. I could see nearly the entire interior of the building from where I stood. Large rollers for moving trash containers formed a path from the back of the facility out to the garage doors. Some sort of glass office hovered above the operation. Two parallel-ish pipes, painted red, entered the building from the garage door side and crossed above the glass office.

Big trash containers

Looking across the rollers to outside

Glass control room up above

Pipes entering the facility

In a few minutes the guide was back. He led me around another corner and up a flight of metal grate stairs. I followed obediently, my mind still wondering what was to come and whether I should tell him I had to leave early.

As we got to the glass office at the top of the stairs, some of my questions were answered. A handful of people were already gathered there, standing and looking around. Our guide motioned at a pile of papers on a high table in the center of the office. “Everyone sign a waiver.” A couple of other stragglers and I shuffled with the papers and found blank ones to sign.

Big map of the system and waiver forms

Nonchalantly, our guide began his remarks. He worked at the AVAC building every day, he said, and tossed off his sentences as if he was speaking about the most routine and mundane thing in the world. I looked around the room as he spoke. Everyone hung on his every word.

He explained that all residential structures (but not the commercial ones) on the island utilize the AVAC system. This means there are no dumpsters and no loud, polluting trash trucks needed. Residents throw trash in chutes inside their buildings, and a couple times per day the vacuum system gets activated. At these times, valves open up in the buildings, air comes through intake points, and the trash is sucked underground and into the facility through two 18″ diameter pipes – one each for the east and west sides of the island. He pointed to the big, schematic map unrolled on the table showing the path of the garbage out of the buildings and through the pipes.

East and west pipes from the control room

The air then gets separated from the trash, he said. The trash is funneled down back behind the control room into giant compactors, then into trucks that haul the trash off the island. And that, he said, is pretty much all there is to it!

It was clear that the room wanted more. A few questions were asked: Could the system be turned on now for us to see it? No, the guide said, he had a man out working on a section of pipe at the moment. Why did Roosevelt Island get such a system? Well, when the island started was transformed for residential use in 1969, it was planned out all at once. An AVAC system like this is a nicety that’s much harder to install after the fact, but relatively easy to put in when a place is being rebuilt from the ground up.

Somewhat satisfied with the answers, but still curious, we were allowed to roam around. I carefully examined the control room that we stood in first. It felt like being in a time warp with its 70′s-looking consoles, well-worn shelf of manuals, and institutional, metal furniture and fixtures.

Control board

Gauges

Manuals and logs

Surprisingly, it appeared that we were also allowed to explore outside of the control room. Or at least a few of the people in my tour group were, so I took the opportunity as well. On the control room level we were eye-to-eye with the big funnels that emptied into the compactors. Their shiny, red paint made them seem cheerful and whimsical, though they had a grim and stinky job to do.

Trash is separated from air and funneled

Another flight of metal-grating stairs led up to a sort of third-floor landing. The others were already up ahead of me. I looked down at the control room where more people were assembling and signing waivers for the next “tour”.

East and west pipes from the upper level

Tour guide and other attendees

On this higher level, we were right next to what I think were the two, big air filters (one on each side of the stairs) that screen out fine particles of waste before releasing the vacuumed air from the facility. The shiny red of these machines matched the big cones below.

I think this is one of the air filters

Part of the filter?

Near the wall of windows on the north side of the building was quite a different scene. Big, exotic, potted plants grew near the window wall as if in a greenhouse. Out the windows, Randall’s Island and the bridges that run over it (Hell’s Gate and the Triboro) were visible off in the distance.

Bridges in the distance from window on the upper level

There was also a great view of the garbage containers on the first level from this balcony.

I slowly walked down the two flights of stairs back to the main level just behind one of the groups of people, looking again at all of the equipment.

Trash containers from the control room level

Big funnel

I’d begun overhearing the conversations of this group – it appeared that the woman was quite intrigued by the facility and the two men with her were tagging along, only semi-interested. I tried to say sort of close to them, not creepily so, but just because the woman seemed to have similar interests as me. I walked nearby them around the maze of compactors and other machinery on the first level.

Old switches

We began to wind our way out of the complex, passing a few people coming and going on our way.

A couple looks out over the container area

I got up the nerve to talk to the group of three that I’d been walking near. I asked the woman about her interest in the facility, and she replied enthusiastically. I may have told her that it’s rare for me to find another woman into infrastructure and the like. She told me what she knew about the AVAC facility before and how excited she was to visit it. It was a nice little interaction, though by the time we were walking out of the complex and towards the open chain link fence, we were drifting apart. I wished the group well and took a last look at the pipes entering from the outside before going on my way. My short time frame was on my mind.

East and west pipes entering the facility

I started my powerwalk, not back to the tram but this time to Roosevelt Island’s only subway stop. I walked on the east side of the street, right next to the Motorgate parking garage. I hurriedly checked my phone for the time. Did I have a second to visit one of my favorite little sights on the island on my way? Yes, maybe just a second…

The two old tram cars, taken out of service in 2010 for a major overhaul of the entire system, sit on the ground outside and sort of underneath Motorgate. One and Two, as they are named, look so lonely and dusty there. I can be thankful they’re not in a landfill somewhere, but what is to become of these historic and beautiful little cabins?

Retired trams - I want to take them home

From this place, there’s a beautiful little view of the Roosevelt Island Bridge (which connects the island to Queens). I took a photo, then quickly moved on.

Roosevelt Island Bridge

I was now on the same side of the street as the farmers’ market. It was so tempting, but impractical to stop, so I kept moving. Walking down Main Street I looked longingly at the 70′s-modern apartment buildings and thought again of my dream of living there. One day perhaps!

Farmers market produce

Apartments

Outside one of the buildings was a feature I’d noticed on my first trip to Roosevelt Island (circa 2007) – strange, wide, brightly-colored pipes coming up from the sidewalk. Today for the first time I was able to guess what they were for: air intake for the AVAC system! I was proud of my guess and wondered what it would be like to be near them when the system activated – loud, perhaps?

I think these are air intakes for the AVAC system

On a grassy stretch on the west side of the island I saw preparations for some sort of outdoor event, perhaps a fair. It was windy out but sunny and not too cold. Tents were set up, crafting supplies were being pulled out of their carrying cases, and perhaps most interestingly, painters were starting to paint on giant canvasses set up right there in the park.

Painting in the park

More painting in the park

Again I felt the pull to stay on this little enchanted island and find out what this event was all about, but my Newtown Creek tour called. I took one more tiny detour down to the pedestrian path that runs nearly the entire length of the island on its west side. Here, views of the east side of Manhattan and the Queensboro Bridge are stunning. I’ve spent much time on previous visits staring across the river at the FDR Drive and all Manhattan’s buildings, trying to identify each and what numbered street is directly across from the place I stand on Roosevelt Island.

Looking across to Manhattan

Looking across to Manhattan

Queensboro Bridge

The funny looking, triangular, concrete-and-steel subway station – the only one on Roosevelt Island – was in my view. I might make it on time for my next tour! I descended the many escalators down to the platform, recalling how I’d heard this station is one of the deepest underground in the entire NYC subway system. Although completed in 1989, the entire station carries through the 70′s aesthetic of much of the rest of the island it calls home. It has a very different look and feeling, much more retro-modern and sterile, than many of the other, older subway stations. I waited a few minutes for my train.

F train station and apartments

Escalators down to the F station

F train station

One of the new, shiny trains came before too long. I rode just one stop, to 21 St – Queensbridge‎, figuring I could walk to the tour’s meeting place just a handful of blocks away.

The station where I got off was also a bit 70′s-modern. I was fascinated by its architecture. Though I’ve discovered that it’s not an uncommon layout, the trains here pass close under and next to pedestrian walkways. Here again I thought I could spend quite some time watching the trains go by, but I had to keep moving!

F train from above

I consulted my smartphone though I know the area a little bit from past excursions, friends nearby, and driving over the Queensboro Bridge for various reasons. It didn’t seem like a bad walk and I thought might see some interesting scenery. The wind whipped through my hair as I walked, first south towards the Queensboro Bridge approach. I only had a moment to admire this part of the bridge and its train and auto traffic.

N/Q/R makes its way across the Queensboro

Queensboro ramp sign

Queensboro ramp structure

I walked under the bridge, admiring its symmetry, and continued on. I was making good time but still had several blocks to go.

Underneath the Queensboro

Finally I made it to the Newtown Creek tour’s meeting place. In a witty email, our tour guide told us to meet across the street from the Court House Square 7 station, just outside a diner where we could get coffee or use the restroom if we needed. I spotted our guide immediately from his description in the email and introduced myself awkwardly. No one else was in front of the diner, but I spotted a crowd sitting on benches and standing outside the station, so I crossed over, checked in with a woman, and got a pamphlet.

Tour participants gather

As the organizers got everyone checked in and we waited for others to arrive, I watched the elevated track above us. Workers were up there, perhaps repairing signals. Periodically a 7 train would pass by, all but drowning out any conversation among the group.

MTA workers at Court Square

MTA workers and 7 train at Court Square

MTA worker

We waited a bit past 11 for any stragglers (of which there were some, hopping out of a car while being dropped off at the last minute) and then the tour began. The man from the email, our guide, introduced himself and a woman who was a city planner from the community board. She spoke first, in positive, public-relations language about the neighborhood we stood in.

She asked us to look up and back at the recently improved subway station behind us and explained its architecture. The angular, modern, glass design was selected to match the lines of the original station structure above while modernizing the look. Here, she said, commuters could now transfer between the 7 and G trains without going outside – and the station was accessible! She also mentioned the row of greenery planted in the median of Jackson Avenue where we stood.

Court Square station

Walking down Jackson Avenue

The woman had to depart, so she thanked the tour participants warmly and our guide took over and walked us to the next site. We stopped at the edge of the tiny Court Square Park and listened. Our guide described two sights here.

Tour participants in front of courthouse

Behind us was the Citigroup building, which he called a “megalith”. He described how this monster structure, a satellite of the company’s Manhattan offices, was allowed to be built here by exceptions granted to zoning laws in exchange for neighborhood improvements being done by Citigroup, like the glass Court House Square station enclosure/transfer point we’d just seen. He was right that the turquoise, glass-clad skyscraper was huge, towering above us 50 stories as we stood just across the street from it. This building, he said, was the tallest on all of Long Island and was visible from as far away as Staten Island and the Hudson River. While our guide gave us sturdy factual information about the building it was clear that he looked upon its presence in the neighborhood with some disdain (unlike the upbeat city planner). He quipped, “[the building] was built around the E and V [now M] trains… all that was missing was the ‘I’ and ‘L’.” I do understand it’s hard for locals (myself included) to look upon the new construction of corporate or luxury apartment high rises in our neighborhoods favorably.

I tilted my head back and studied the corporate building’s greenish skin, glistening in the dramatic October sun.

Citigroup building

In front of us was a sight whose history reached much further back: the Long Island City Courthouse. Our guide told us some history of this area – the forming of Long Island City out of several small towns, Tammany Hall’s stronghold in the area, and the corruption that went with that political power. Though the stories were grim, the courthouse sat as a beautiful backdrop for their telling. The sun shone bright behind the ornate building and fountain in the plaza before it.

Courthouse

Fountain in front of courthouse

Our time here went too quickly and before I knew it we were off, walking this time up the slight incline of Thomson Avenue. Here, new and converted luxury apartment buildings dotted both sides of the wide street and its tributaries. Built with Citigroup employees in mind, these dwellings seemed sterile and abandoned. I’m not sure if they’re actually under-occupied and unwelcoming, but it seemed so as we walked through this area.

Luxury apartment buildings

Soon we approached a covered portion of the sidewalk that appeared to be a sort of bridge over something.

Thomson Avenue bridge pedestrian walkway

There were a couple of holes made in the covering’s wall so one could look out. Below us, our guide said, was Sunnyside (train) Yard, used by Amtrak and the Long Island Railroad. I jumped at the opportunity to photograph tracks and trains through these openings. I could even see the elevated 7 train in the distance!

Train tracks under Thomson Avenue

Tracks

Train tracks under Thomson Avenue

I spotted a couple of strange sights on this stretch too: a sign about hiking Long Island City (this mostly industrial area didn’t seem like a traditional place for urban hiking) and an official vehicle marked for New York State Courts. I wondered what, possibly, this vehicle could be used for, especially on a weekend!

Sign about hiking in Long Island City

I didn't know courts had their own cars

Our guide also pointed out the ends of long approach ramps to and from the Queensboro Bridge here. I was becoming accustomed to his quips and nicknames about the area’s historical personalities and structures, and in this vein he referred to the Queensboro as “the machine” – another blight on the neighborhood.

Exit ramp from Queensboro Bridge

After crossing the bridge and at the crest of the hill we’d been walking up loomed a large building. It was pretty, though still industrial-looking. Large, red, capital letters on top read “IDCNY”. Our guide told us the history of this spot. Apparently some of the fill from New York’s first subway system, the IRT, was dumped at this site! Our guide said that the tributary we stood near, Dutch Kills, used to extend much further inland but had been filled in. The building was built as a factory, and is now used by LaGuardia Community College and the Design Center of New York. I was fascinated by the tie-ins between this spot and the history of my beloved subway system.

IDCNY building

Hearing a noise, I turned around and spotted an Amtrak train pulling through Sunnyside Yard, now behind us. I strained to see it over the fence and parked cars. Perhaps I will return here and find a better spot from which to watch these trains!

Amtrak train barely visible over the fence

Next we took a sharp turn down 29th Street. The industrial character of the neighborhood was quite evident here, with a large concrete factory residing prominently.

Concrete factory

Looking to our right down the cross street (47th Avenue), we could see an incredible view of some of the midtown skyline, including the Empire State Building.

Empire State Building in the distance

As we continued on 29th Street past 47th Avenue (the street numbering in Queens is so confusing to me), the street got smaller, sketchier, and more alley-like. Our guide pointed out several sights and facts while cautioning us to avoid a giant pool of standing water.

Listening to our tour guide

Looking back over the giant puddle on 29th Street

In reference to the puddle, as well as the body of water (Dutch Kills) we stood next to, our guide told of the high toxicity levels. He said  gonorrhea, typhus, and more had been found in this water, and if anyone in the military was exposed to it, they’d be ordered on a six-month-long detox program. He joked about wishing he knew this before being sent out on the Kills in a kayak over one summer. I cringed.

Concrete factory across Dutch Kills

Right close to the “shore” where we were, guide pointed out a couple of sunken, rusted, fuel barges. I strained to see them through the trees and brush.

Sunken oil barges in Dutch Kills

Warehouse foundation and barge in the kills

As always, the Citigroup building loomed tall over the landscape – another recurring theme of the tour.

Citigroup building over concrete factory

Soundstages and cleaning facilities lined this stretch of 29th Street. Walking through, it felt like we were in the backyard of these businesses. A dry cleaner even paused to look out a door at the large group of us. Near the dead-end of this road I spied train tracks buried in the dirt. As would be expected I was excited to see such a relic!

Puddle between old train tracks

We took a right at the end of this street towards Hunters Point Avenue Bridge to pass over the kills we just walked next to. Here, we were joined by an charismatic young lady – director of the Newtown Creek Alliance, a nonprofit dedicated to educating the public about and cleaning up the creek.

Hunters Point Avenue Bridge control

Hunters Point Avenue Bridge

NCA Director speaks to the group

I listened carefully and took frantic notes as the director spoke, trying to absorb all of her wealth of information about the creek’s pollution. I learned that New York has a combined sewer system. This means that rainwater and household wastewater (yep, ew) go into the same sewage system. This antiquated system unfortunately means that whenever it rains, the sewage treatment plants are overloaded and cannot process all they take in. Therefore, they’re forced to let this polluted water out into local bodies of water (more ew). New York City releases 29 billion gallons of this wastewater, called combined sewage overflow (CSO), annually. 1.5 billion gallons of that is released into Newtown Creek. The director pointed out a sign we could read right by the bridge warning about contact with this water after storms. I remembered seeing a similar sign on my Newtown Creek excursion last winter and wondering about it then.

Wet weather discharge point sign

The creek, she said, also suffered from historic pollution by industries lining its banks.

So what to do about all this? The director spoke of two possible approaches: improvements in “gray infrastructure,” meaning an expansion of traditional water-treatment infrastructure (pipes, treatment plants, or maybe even a gigantic underground wastewater storage tank!) and starting to explore “green infrastructure,” turning the creek back into a more natural habitat by restoring plants and making the banks more organic. In the latter solution, plants could naturally help filter out toxins and restore a more healthy river.

She said there’d been some headway getting the DEP to realize the value of some kind of combined “gray” and “green” solution to the problem of pollution in Newtown Creek. This seemed like tentatively positive news, though it was clear by her concern there is still much to do.

The tour group milled around a bit on this north side of the bridge, studying the CSO sign and the view of where we’d just been. People asked the director follow-up questions. I thanked her and told her that I learned a lot.

Looking north from Hunters Point Avenue Bridge

We bade farewell to the director, and the group was herded to the other side of the street (south side of the bridge).

Group looks south from Hunters Point Avenue Bridge

Here, our guide began to talk about the Long Island Expressway (LIE), which was elevated high over the Kills here. Like the Citigroup building and the Queensboro Bridge, it seems this massive piece of construction blighted the neighborhood it runs through. Once this highway was constructed, local businesses suffered as trucks bringing produce and other goods from Long Island farms to Manhattan no longer had the option of stopping over in the area and bringing revenue to it.

While I feel sad for organic neighborhoods ruined by corporate commercialization or overzealous development, I also find the structures that these techniques created fascinating. They’re feats of engineering, tributes to man’s impact on spaces, and they change places so fundamentally that their histories become all the more intriguing.

So I stared out over Dutch Kills at the LIE and its mostly bare billboards with mixed feelings.

Long Island Expressway from the bridge

Long Island Expressway and billboards

Long Island Expressway over the kills *

We took a left onto 27th Street and our guide pointed out further desolation of the industrial area. Within sight of the shiny Empire State building, these factories and warehouses sit grim and some abandoned.

LIE and Empire State Building

One such building burned recently. Its fascinating remnants sit behind a newish chain-link fence and nearly underneath the LIE. I wished I could have explored it.

Burned out factory under LIE

Burned out factory

Sidewalk by burned out factory

We walked by the remains of the burnt building quickly and I skipped to keep up. We headed underneath the LIE structure and took a left.

LIE support structure

As we approached another bridge our guide told us about the kind of industry in the area. Fresh Direct (the grocery delivery service), other food companies’ warehouses, and UPS are all located here as their base of operations for serving Manhattan customers. It made sense because of the space available and the proximity to the island. I remembered seeing Fresh Direct’s building and huge LED sign on my previous excursion to this area.

We continued over another structure I’d seen on my previous walk: The Borden Avenue Bridge. This bridge was built in 1908 and overhauled quite recently. I remembered seeing construction workers there last winter, in fact. Our guide told us it was a retractable bridge, which means when opened it actually disappears into a pocket on the shoreline.

LIE, Dutch Kills, and Borden Avenue Bridge

Borden Avenue Bridge plaque

Coming off the bridge our guide pointed out a makeshift shack composed of tarps, plywood, and various other found materials. He said this wasn’t the only such place where people lived on the shores of the Kills. We all wondered if these dwellers knew how filthy this body of water was, and if so, whether they’d pick another place to settle.

Makeshift home

As we continued, Borden Avenue drew closer to the LIE, nearly paralleling it. The huge structure and its almost-all-empty billboards loomed over us.

Empty billboards

Curve in LIE above Borden Avenue

We passed a row of buildings to our left, including one with peculiar, very personalized, named parking spots outside of it.

Reserved parking

Just past that we stopped outside a deli. Our guide instructed us that this would be our chance if we needed anything to eat or drink. I still had water left, so I milled around outside the shop. Others came out with various snacks and drinks.

We continued on Borden Avenue, which now paralleled the LIE exactly.

Skyline, deli, and LIE

Long Island Expressway

Our guide took us down Starr Avenue – what a glitzy name for an industrial street! He pointed up at a big, blocky building painted white and green and told us of history he’d recently uncovered on it. Apparently this building was part of a complex owned by General Electric, which manufactured the then-popular electric truck there. It was then converted for use in building aircraft for World War I, and is at present a much-less-glorious storage facility (one of many in the area). Our guide’s passion for researching the mysteries of the area shone through strong in this tale. It’s something I feel too – though less specifically about one geographic area and perhaps a bit less academically.

Former GE factory

Further on Starr Avenue we passed Silvercup East, a branch of Silvercup Studios whose sign I always see when driving over the Queensboro Bridge to Queens. The juxtaposition of so much manufacturing industry and warehouses with glamorous movie and TV shoots was still rather strange to me, though we’d seen that sort of thing through much of our walk.

Silvercup East and former GE factory

Pan Am (the TV show) parking permit

We walked up a little cobblestone-y section of sidewalk and turned onto Van Dam street for just a second. There was more traffic here and every direction seemed to hold something to explore. If I wasn’t with the tour I would have stopped here and given a lot of thought to which direction to head next.

Cobblestones

Wares outside a shop

But that decision was made for me. We walked towards the John Jay Byrne Bridge (another place familiar from my former excursion here), but then veered off to the right to walk next to the bridge instead. Here under the bridge run railroad tracks, the same ones I’d seen on that previous excursion.

Train tracks

Railroad tracks

We came to a stop just outside a building. Our guide told us of the icky history of the area: along with polluting industries producing things like sulfuric acid, dead horses also used to be dumped here. What a sight and smell that must have been!

Freight trains run through here, and our guide told of Dead Man’s Curve, southeast of where we stood. Here, Review Avenue dead-ends sharply into Laurel Hill Boulevard while the train tracks take a more subtle curve. According to our guide, many motorists were killed by oncoming trains after failing to execute the sharp turn.

Building on Railroad Avenue

Train tracks under John Jay Byrne Bridge

We walked under the bridge and up next to the other side of it, rounding a sharp corner to get onto the bridge’s approach.

The group rounds the corner up to the bridge

There were many sights as we walked over the bridge. One of the first was a top-down view of the freight train tracks we’d just crossed down below.

Freight train tracks from the bridge

Soon, the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant and other industry on the water to the north of us came into view. Even further in the distance was midtown Manhattan’s skyline.

Looking northwest from John Jay Byrne Bridge

Manhattan skyline from the bridge

We stopped near the point where the bridge becomes a drawbridge, looked out, and listened to our guide.

Drawbridge gate

Drawbridge bell and smokestack

He told us of the recycling plant barges to the north of us (a flithy industry, he said) and related another story of corruption in Long Island City. This tale had to do with the fire hydrants being built to incorrect specifications (due to a politician showing favoritism for a dishonest contractor) and therefore being unable to put out a major fire in the area.

We continued our walk across the bridge, looking down and across at the industry below us.

Kosciuszko bridge in the distance

Looking southwest across Newtown Creek

Our guide pointed out a big, white building looming over the scene. “Miller Building,” its odd-shaped tower read. But despite that declaration, our guide told us he had been unable to trace the exact history of the structure.

Miller Building

As we descended from the bridge we were right in the lap of the Wastewater Treatment Plant.

Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant

Walking by, we got a rare unobstructed glimpse at the plant’s digester eggs through an open gate. Our guide reassured the security guard that we were with an OHNY tour and we were allowed to snap photos.

Digester Eggs

Digester Eggs

Officially our tour ended at the plant’s visitor center. Our guide told us we could use the facilities there. Other OHNY volunteers stood outside, waiting for the arrival of those participating in a tour of the facility. There were a couple of extra spots, they said, if any of us wanted to join! Though it was tempting I opted not to go, knowing I was already exhausted and had plans for the evening.

Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant Visitor Center

Our guide offered to take anyone who was interested over to the plant’s nature walk. I did volunteer for this since it required a shorter time commitment and I was sorry that it was closed last time I was here. The crowd thinned out and by the time we were ready to leave it was just the guide, his friend, and me for the nature walk.

We walked the perimeter of the facility, the reverse of what I did on my first trip here. I tried not to take the same pictures I had then, but did snap a few on our way around, including one of a cat behind the facility’s gates. I wondered what this feline’s story was – did he or she live inside the plant?

Giant pipe at the treatment plant

Wastewater treatment plant kitty!

Finally we reached the opposite side of the plant and the entrance to the nature walk (PDF). Behind the open gates a flight of stairs and a metal ramp led up to the first leg of the walk.

Nature walk ramp

From atop, to our back, there was a great view to the Empire State Building.

Empire State Building from nature walk

The nature walk began with a long corridor bounded by concrete walls.

Nature walk entrance

This path turned 90 degrees left, continued, then spilled out onto a sort of plaza. Steps ran the length and led down into the creek, though signs warned about fishing here and contact with the water.

Water warning sign

Views of the skyline, LIE, recycling barges, and the plant’s digester eggs across the water were fantastic here. Our guide talked to me a bit about what we were looking at, and I told him about my blog.

Skyline from nature walk

Train bridge and LIE from nature walk

Recycling barges
 

Digester eggs

Guide and his friend stayed put, but I explored the rest of the nature walk. This was comprised of a skinny path bounded on one side by Newtown Creek, and on the other by the big, modern buildings of the treatment plant.

Treatment plant building and sky

Within its narrow boundaries, the walk had twists and turns around exotic foliage planted on all sides. At points there were benches, picnic tables, and maps.

Greenery at the nature walk

Metal map

Across the little inlet the digester eggs, a section of the plant under construction, and a Department of Sanitation facility were clearly visible.

Treatment plant from nature walk

Construction at the plant

Department of Sanitation building

The nature walk dead-ended suddenly and diagonally into a wall surrounding one of the plant’s buildings. I stood at the acute angle formed by the metal fence and the tall concrete wall and wondered about this odd architectural choice.

Dead end of the nature walk

Just a couple of other visitors passed me as I walked to end and back. This experience was sort of awkward – if they were walking to the dead end we’d have to pass each other twice on the narrow path.

I made my way back to the plaza more swiftly. Checking the time, I realized I needed to wrap things up. I talked with guide and his friend for another minute, then, after promising to stay in touch, left them to sit there and went on my way. Walking back through the entry corridor, I noticed how perfectly the architect had centered the view of the Empire State Building between the concrete walls.

Exiting the nature walk

I made my way on one errand in Greenpoint. The part of this neighborhood nearest the treatment plant was just about as industrial as the other places I walked through this day. Warehouses and auto shops dominated the area around McGuiness Boulevard. One such was a taxi repair shop with its garage doors left open. I stared in for a moment, looking at all of the miscellaneous yellow parts.

Taxi repair shop

After my errand I headed across the Pulaski Bridge to the 7 train, which I took into Manhattan for dinner. Exhausted and hungry, I took just one last picture, of a tile sign in a subway passageway at 14th Street. It read “H&M Tunnels”. I didn’t know what H&M stood for, I’d have to look it up, but it must be a piece of history. Upon researching, I discovered that the Hudson and Manhattan Railroad was a precursor to today’s PATH trains.

Hudson & Manhattan (now PATH) tunnel sign

This was a fun little tidbit to end a day full of history and industry. I was exhausted but energized, and ready for my next day of exploring (Open House New York day 2 post coming soon!)

See a map of Roosevelt Island AVAC System and a walk down Newtown Creek.

Our guide’s blog: The  Newtown Pentacle.

* This photo was selected in Open House New York’s 2011 Focus on Architecture photography contest, Judge’s Choice award. Read more… [back to where I was]

Though she and I weren’t very close, I’d visited her and the rest of the family sometimes, and more often as of late.

Over the past month or so, sometimes when driving in places I consider beautiful with music I consider beautiful blaring, I burst into tears. I can’t put my finger on exactly what triggers this, but I think it’s a variety of factors: the beauty of the world, my own struggle to figure out how this infrastructure project fits into my life, day-t0-day stress (which has been high as of late), and sorrow for my cousin and her/our family. It’s been cathartic, though I remain sad.

This day was my cousin’s funeral. I listened to the tributes, cried, and tried to do anything I could to help the family. But I knew my true mourning was not to occur in church or in the arms of a family member.

I drove home from the day with the extended family across the George Washington Bridge just as the sun was setting. I was struck again by the tears and knew absolutely what I needed to do. I took the Henry Hudson Parkway exit off the bridge and then the Fort Tryon Park exit just a mile or two north of that.

Though I’d been to this park a couple of times before, I didn’t remember its layout so specifically, so I just chucked the car into a random parking spot and headed vaguely south on the path towards my destination. The sun sank lower and lower, threatening to set before I could get to my spot. Tears were in my eyes already. I hurried.

I almost powerwalked right past an uncommon and tender scene. A man stood next to a low stone wall, dishing cat food into plastic bowls. Three cats – I’m guessing strays -flocked around him. I was struck so much by the selflessness of the man’s act and the way he took care of these other living creatures. This reminded me of my loving cousin, whose first priority had always been to take care of her tiny daughters and look out for others around her.

This man fed three stray cats

I couldn’t spend too long here though, the sun insisted on continuing to set.

I stopped once more, near the place where this image was taken. I remembered first seeing that picture, thinking it looked like something out of a fairytale, then putting the pieces together about where exactly it was taken.

George Washington Bridge over trees

Sunset over the river

I continued my brisk walk, passing scattered people whom my brain didn’t have time to process. I finally arrived on top of Billings Terrace, my intended destination.

George Washington Bridge

I’d been here before – one of my best friends shot photographs of my sister and I inside this structure almost a year ago. We gifted these photos to our parents for Christmas. My recollection of this experience was strong now, although today I was 50 or more feet directly above where the photos were taken.

This memory of being with my sister here seemed so appropriate for this day – my cousin’s brother and sister had both read moving tributes to their sister that morning. I know she was as important to them as my sister is to me.

Bridge and Henry Hudson Parkway

Henry Hudson Parkway northbound

I was a bit distracted from the beautiful view and sunset by herds of young people in formal wear, maybe on their way to a homecoming dance, being photographed by slightly smaller herds of photographers. But even among the bright flashbulbs, I found a way to smile about it. Because of our age difference my first real memories of my cousin are of her as a cool preteen and teenager. This was her once – getting dressed up and ready for those exciting milestones in her young life.

I stood and watched the traffic rush by below on the Henry Hudson Parkway. So many times I’ve driven that stretch and looked up at the enormous terrace structure.

As the teenagers in fancy dresses migrated, I moved to the northern corner of the terrace and watched as the streaks of pink in the sky got dimmer and dimmer. I could see both towers of the George Washington Bridge now, a proud bridge that used to take me to see my cousin.

Bridge and sunset

Parkway and bridge

I watched until it was quite dark, sadly too dark to go inside the terrace, though I looked around the corner to see if I could make out anything of its shape – not so much.

Tree silhouettes

I knew it was time to start my walk back, this time at a slower pace. My mood shifted. No longer was there a rush to see the sunset. The darkness gave the sadness on my face cover, but was also almost scary in a way. I’ve always wondered how safe parks are at night, and now I realized I was alone in one. The darkness was a metaphor for death, with its dual sense of peace and potentially frightening unknowns.

Fort Tryon Park exit ramp and dark sky

As I continued to make my way back to the car, things looked different without the sun’s light. I hoped I’d actually be able to find the small parking lot. I kept a lookout for the place where the man fed the three cats, wondering if they’d still be there. The spot wasn’t where I thought it’d be; the landmarks looked so different only by the light of lamps on the path.

But I did find them. A young couple watched him and the cats, and I did too. The man petted and brushed one cat as the other two lounged.

Lounging cats

I watched for a long time, until he packed up to leave. I wanted so badly to ask the man about why he took care of them, but I felt I couldn’t without bursting into tears or oversharing my experiences of the day. So I let him walk down the path first and followed some fifty feet behind. Maybe one day I’ll see him again here and get up the courage to ask.

Still overwhelmed by the whole day’s experiences and now feeling the exhaustion too, I got into the car to complete my drive home. I know my fits of crying won’t stop just because my cousin’s pain has stopped. And I know, for whatever reason, thoughts of her will always be tied to these places of beauty in my mind. Perhaps one day I, and her family, can find some peace in this connection.

In happier news, I’ve added a Contact page. Now you can get in touch without commenting on a specific post. I’d love to hear general thoughts and feedback, how you happened upon this blog, and anything else you want to share via this form.

You can continue to recommend places for me to check out on the Future Excursions page.

Many thanks for your continued readership!
—Emily