Don’t get me wrong I’m thrilled to have conquered Kings Park. And conquered, I believe, is the appropriate word here. The place is massive, humongous, really, really, really, super-big (I think you get the gist, it’s quite large) and tough to gain access to. But being the tenacious middle-aged explorers we are, and having been foiled twice already by non-existent, inaccessible places, we weren’t going to be defeated for a third time (well I wasn’t anyway, my exploring partner was, however, a little apprehensive, but if you’re a regular reader you’ll know that’s nothing new). And we weren’t. I had bruises appearing in places I didn’t know you could have bruises for days afterwards. I know I won’t forget those spiky window things in a hurry. Ouch!

The comedy of errors continued on Sunday with our next stop being smack in the middle of a golf course (what’s left of it anyway) and boarded up so well that even had we have found our way in we would have been in total darkness. So we officially had one place out of four and not a lot of options to increase that number.

All was not lost though, we spent Sunday in NYC and I had a great time just being a tourist and taking touristy photos of nothing in particular in my most favorite city in the world. I should do it more often. It makes a healthy change from dark, damp, mouldy, asbestos ridden abandonments. But alas it doesn’t really present the same challenge and I do love a challenge.

Kings Park did teach me something other than the odd places you can get bruises — how animals in a zoo feel, or rather how they feel being stared at through a wire fence and talked about as though deaf. More about that next time…

Building 93, Kings Park Psychiatric Center, Long Island, NY

We planned The Bennett School as our last stop before heading into New York for New Year’s Eve. I can’t recall, now, what made us swap Hudson Valley Psych. for the school.  I think it was the impending snow storm, and a “what do you want more, if we have to not do one” kind of thing. I think it was also a case of Poughkeepsie being closer to New York than Millbrook, whatever, we swapped days, and I am so glad we did, I wouldn’t have missed the school for anything.

I know the decision must have taken a long time—all our decisions take a long time. To an outsider we would be the most exhausting pair of women to listen to. Our conversations generally go along the lines of, “well, what do you think?” “I don’t know, what do you think?” Well, what do you want to do? “Well, I don’t know, what do you want to do?” “You make the decision.” “No, you make the decision.”  This kind of conversation can sometimes go on for 20 minutes. In hindsight it’s amazing we actually ever get into anywhere let alone take any photos, or for that matter ever eat—restaurant decisions take even longer—and usually result in no decision, followed by an hours silence, followed by severe hunger pangs which drive us to give in to another round of decision making.

At Bennett, however, I wasn’t buying into our inevitable and circuitous should we, shouldn’t we bullshit—I was going in, that was it. And so our first and only and very minor disagreement of the trip occurred. I should be more respectful of other people’s hunches, I respect my own, but sometimes I, maybe, suffer from a little tunnel vision when I really want to do something. My fellow explorer developed her first case of “I don’t think we should do this one.” She was convinced the school was leaning in on itself from both sides and would collapse around us. I think maybe she was just over-tired.

I didn’t even volunteer to begin a will we, won’t we discussion. I simply, in an exasperated tone, stated, “fine, go back to the hotel room, I’ll call you when I’m done and you can come and get me." Of course this didn’t work. If I was going in she was going in—but ohh man the whining—I think the 20-minute decision making process is less torturous. To her credit she did apologize at the end of the day. And I was right—lo and behold the building didn’t collapse around us. My theory is this: if it’s been there 100 plus years and it’s still standing the odds of it collapsing on the day we’re there must be slim. I’ll take my chances. It’s gotta be safer than taking 95 home, late, on a Saturday night.

So, the Bennett School, where to start the story, I guess with our unexpected but very sweet visitors. But I’ll leave that until next time. I have photos calling me.

If you’re a reader of this blog you’ll know I like the funny moments stuff. I occasionally digress, but not often.

The residential and recreation areas of the Pines are joined by very long, very wide walkways, bordered on either side by large windows. We were photographing one of these walkways when we encountered our first visitors of the day.

The grounds surrounding the resort were a mix of sheer ice and snow. I heard the spinning of tire upon ice, not the usual inner city, “I have to concentrate and get out” spinning. But very aggressive “I’m gonna burn my clutch/transmission out” spinning. It was very loud and very desperate. Next came the clanging and banging of metal falling. I immediately went into my 007 mode—get down, hide now! I am so ridiculously not spy material I make my self laugh. But I read too much Nancy Drew as a kid, and I’m having so much fun doing this I might as well be ridiculous.

So, as we nervously peeped out from the walkway—our noses barely above the windowsill—we encountered our first scrappers of the trip. Their truck had a trailer attached and it was full of their acquired stash: copper pipes, stainless steel, maybe some porcelain, anything worth stealing /selling. And they were stuck and losing their loot. They eventually became unstuck and floored it out of the place. We were relieved to see them leave.

We didn’t, however, hear or see them return. But while we were photographing the outdoor pool complex we became aware of the sound of hammer pounding steel, or crow bar or whatever it is these pathetic scavengers use to desecrate other people’s property, begin to taunt us. We watched from the outdoor pool complex as they completed another load and left. We wondered if they would return. The grounds became silent once again.

I don’t think we were the only ones who heard the constant noise throughout the day, as our next visitors were the police. Maybe neighbors called them, who knows? I doubt they do a regular drive through of a deserted complex. But trust me, on a scale of one to ten, the thought of talking my way out of what I’m doing with police versus scrappers, well the scrappers win hands down. I probably wouldn’t even talk to scrappers— I’d just run like hell. 

We had made our way into what was once the entertainment complex when I spotted them. I was up on the stage area, drooling over the sunlight beaming in, when I saw red and blue flashing lights. You guessed it—007 mode. Get down, NOW, it’s cops. This is all yelled in a whisper (I know I can’t yell in a whisper, but I try) combined with exaggerated hand gesturing to my exploring partner. I swear she would not make it a minute doing this on her own. She’s totally oblivious. I admit to being preoccupied when I’m taking photos, but I have explored and photographed alone so often I have learned to become acutely aware of every sound and shadow. She is so blissfully unaware I could kill her sometimes. Thank goodness she responds well to my 007 antics.

We hid. The police continued their search for the scrappers. I lost concentration for 30 mins and missed out on some great light. But at the end of the day we waltzed right out of the Pines—just like we had Middletown Hospital and Wheatsworth Mill—three down, two to go, and my lucky exploring charm seemed to be still in place. Ya gotta love it!