The collected works of ScottyB

I remember back in the days of Primary School, going outdoors and riding push bikes to pass the time was paramount. Riding was life. Everything before and after was just waiting (yup, those of you who have seen Steve McQueens ‘Le Mans’ will know that quote).

Me and my mates would ride around the Lake in the afternoon. We’d ride through the bush, find bush tracks, or create our own. Go as far as we could before a wall or fence got in our way. Occasionally we got ourselves into trouble, wandering into the back of someone’s property and getting chased away with a broom-wielding adult. And other times, we’d get so lost that we thought we’d never see our families again.

We’d play the infamous game of ‘tips’, but modified to play it on our pushies, and nominate someone to be ‘it’.. then ride for our lives (and dignity). You’d make someone else ‘it’ by essentially riding as hard as you could and touching the other’s bike (or wheel, or simply crashing into them as it happened).

This was back when you could stay out after dark and not worry about getting mugged, or knifed - and when the neighbourhood wasn’t tarnished by cars drag racing up and down our street. We used to be able to cross the road in safety, encounter someone walking through the bush and not have to turn around, or accidentally wander onto someone’s unfenced property and not have to worry about a lawsuit.

We got scratched up, dinged up, wet, dirty, torn clothes, damaged bikes, snapped chains, flat tyres - but it was all in the name of the game. All part of the experience. After each experience, we’d learn. The next trip, one of us had bought a tyre repair kit, a spare chain.

It was always a hell of a lot of fun.

Once, a group of us - probably no more than 4 or 5 made for the hills at daybreak. We rode into the bush as we always did, carving a new path through the rocks and scrub, seeing just how far we could go before the going got too tough.

I remember we came out into a clearing, probably a fire trail or something, with only one main vehicular dirt track entrance other than the felled shrubbery behind us. On the far side, was a big storm water drain.

Always did I have a fascination for the underground. Secret tunnels, lost pathways, forgotten drains.

We all threw our bikes down and peered through the bars. Yelled down the tube ‘HELLO’ and waited for the echo to die down. I can’t remember who came up with the idea, but suddenly, we were squeezing through one of the bent bars and entering the world of the unknown.

At one point, we lost track of the light - the drain was slowly curving off at an angle, cutting us off from the tiny white spot of light of the entrance. Narrowing also to the point that we all, even as short as I was back then, had to hunch over to keep going.

One or two of us lost their nerve and turned back, the claustrophobia becoming too much, the ever-increasing darkness and growing doubt in finding the other end of the tunnel unsettling those without the heart of an explorer.

Two of us kept going.

‘Watch the bikes!’ I remember yelling.

I can’t remember for how long we walked, but it seemed like an age. Backs starting to get sore from the almost crawl-space we were in and the air cold and damp.

Then we heard it. The sound of running water.

At first, the thought was ‘RUN’… we both stopped, paused, weighed up the options. Listened to see if the sound was getting closer or if we were hearing something static, far away.

The latter was decided upon and after a good, safe, 30 seconds of waiting, we pushed on, spirits buoyed by the fact we might be seeing something at the other end of this little tunnel.

As we neared, the roar of the water was all we could hear - and eventually, we came out into a huge ‘meeting’ area of tunnels, just like our own. A big amphitheatre of networked tunnels, some pouring water out into the space below, others like ours, almost bone dry; Some trickling water from mossy, vile looking, weed filled openings.

Far above, there was a flat metal grate. No way of getting up there though - and no path to any of the other tunnels. The far wall of the box had some metal handles, a ladder of sorts, fashioned onto the concrete - but all too far for us to reach, climb up, see what was above, or where we had ended up.

Below was a swirling mess of frothy, dark water. It seemed to lead to another tunnel below, this time a square gallery with narrow walkways to either side. But the drop from our tunnel was a good two metres and the slimy walls of the chamber, plus the water bottom made it seem an unlikely option too.

We had no choice but to turn back.

The adventurers had found the end of the Earth. Peered over the edge. And decided it was too risky a proposition.

As we hobbled back, I remember feeling disappointed by the outcome. Where was that water going? Did that tunnel spill out into an even bigger main chamber like the one we saw?

Like all kids though, after telling the tale of our adventure and what the other blokes missed at the end, the experience was forgotten and we moved onto the next conquest.

I’ve not thought about that adventure until today, when I stumbled across this site, ‘The Vanishing Point’.

It’s an ‘Urban Exploration’ format, but this bloke goes underground, to old tunnels, storm water drains, compounds etc.. And as well as there being some great adventures, there’s also some amazing photography.

This is the stuff I always wanted to see as a kid.

The site seems to be loading horrifically slowly here, but if you’ve got some time, its definitely worth a look.

Link: The Vanishing Point