Censored

It is illegal to trespass on the High Line. I would never talk about it in a visible font.
***The High Line was a High Light for Sister, Birmingham and me. Remnants of the former train tracks are accessible through a truck yard on 33rd St. & 11th Ave. You walk through the lot like you belong there, sneak behind the trucks, and enter the rails where they curve to the ground. In the first leg of the journey, the rails are in disappointingly good shape and no vegetation grows. The scenery picks up past the Hudson Rail Yards on 30th St. Grass peeks out from the rail ties; you walk level with 3rd story apartments. A few yards in, we came upon the first fence. Metal and graphitized, it spans the width of the elevated train tracks and would block the way but for the hobbit-sized hole someone cut in the side, allowing passage. Beyond the fence lay the real magic of the high line. The grasses grow higher, the dumped trash becomes picturesque, and the views more Metropolitan. We felt elated, and then we came to the second fence, the fence with no door. Thankfully, some intrepid souls who came before had peeled up the metal and dug down the rocks to create a hole just about the size of a person. One by one us three got on our backs to shimmy head first through the hole. What we saw on the other side was more majestic than we could imagine. First we were greeted by a two foot pine growing out of the ground and decorated for Christmas, and then a box of stolen cell phones. Later, a forest of scraggly trees, and then a section of tracks completely surrendered to peat moss and tall grasses. At points the tracks veer off into the sides of buildings that may not have existed when trains once roared above Chelsea. Artists of all types have left their marks along the way with metal sculpture, spray paint, and broken glass. The trains end abruptly underneath a building that smells a little too much of decay, reminding us travelers that we are in the most known of unknown areas, a wild wasteland both accessible and foreboding. After an hour and a half, we made our way back in the rain. As we geared ourselves up for the trip back under the fence, a kind soul lit the Christmas tree for us, his wave hello from his 3rd story window affirming we weren’t trespassing as much as having a worthwhile adventure fitted for approval by the New Yorkiest. I took a lot of pictures, and tonight I will post them on Flickr.***

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