Today I went out shooting on the three hour break between my classes. I needed some shots of a traffic circle (success, maybe) and took a few others which may end up coming in handy later. About halfway through my wander around Rosedale, I came upon the Glen Rd. bridge. I may need some shots of undersides of bridges for my major, so I figured I’d blaze a trail into the ravine. Not ten steps down, through a few small bushes, I find this hole in the ground.
The temptation to explore it was almost overwhelming. Common sense prevailed, as I was carrying my fancy new camera and my still pretty fancy old iPod, should I be attacked by Morlocks or somehow stumble into a vast underground hobo society. Perhaps a supervillain’s lair, the back door to which left open by a careless initiate or by a marauding hero. Maybe just a sewer, the rungs mounted loosely in the bricks and mortar, I would tumble in and never be seen again, unless some drifter noticed my waterlogged corpse wash out into the Don River five days later, he could find out exactly how water resistant my new camera is before selling it for a new bindle and fifth of whiskey.