New York City, New York State //
A view from the bridge
Illegally climbing New York City's Brooklyn Bridge
Date September 2009
Posted December 2010
Posted December 2010
A series of dull thuds signified the arrival of Arthur Miller's well-known play into our fraught teenage lives. It was either on the syllabus that year or a class-wide plot (to covertly remove all of the Shakespeare and Dickens books from the shelves, transport them to the back of the classroom and summarily dispose of them out the windows) left only Miller's works for us to read. This lesson was my first encounter with the New Yorker accent (poorly imitated as it was) and more importantly with Brooklyn Bridge, the form of which adorned the tattered copy of Miller's play that had been dropped onto the desk in front of me. Of course at that time I had no particular fixation with the bridge, but things were to change.
Elsewhere I described the motivation for climbing bridges in general but as far as NYC went, this was the most talked-about. Many have climbed the bridge; a slightly smaller number jumped off it. One of those who had no intention of leaping, well known ex-city resident Steve D, penned his own story fueled by an emotional break-up and pasted online refreshingly devoid of pictures.
At some point in 2008 dsankt half-jokingly asked me about joining him sometime to climb 'BB' and then endure a supposedly inevitable cavity inspection (and much, much more) by the NYPD. A close call with 'the law' back in Paris a few days prior to landing in the US had made us reconsider pushing it too far in NYC. Often the odds weigh heavy against the successful accomplishment of outlandish dreams like these, the night requiring some additional catalyst to bring things to life, to tip the balance and at least make it seem worth a try. And as we were now in a bar a mile from the bridge knocking them back it was hard to keep temptation away. Later that night the crate-load of $2 PBRs fuelled myself, Shane and dsankt as we meandered back and forth across the streets heading roughly in the direction of the river.
The trick was to avoid being seen by pedestrians, motorists and the police (river-, road- or air-bourne), counter the steel guards built around the cables and then negotiate the big wires themselves. The PBR took care of the first one (i.e. it removed the worry, not the risk), leaving just the second two, either of which could claim lives. Our lives.
None of us knew quite when to go but suddenly it was happening, sparked by some unseen, unheard trigger. A mettle-testing walk up the cables ensued, time too much of the essence to allow harnesses, ropes and other hinderances. A good grip on the wires and a sure step would have to do whilst eyes fought for focus between the cable and the ever shrinking road deck below. The final ladder, scaled boldly under the immediate gaze of an unidentifiable but nonetheless suspicious-looking box on a stick, presented us with the top of the bridge. Atop this mightly sandstone pylon it was just us and the ghosts of Roebling and son whilst the remaining inhabitants of NYC continued to wander around or ride the subway or do whatever it is they do all night. They sure as hell didn't seem to be sleeping.
Almost unexpectedly we made it back onto the bridge deck without falling off or being illuminated from above by the cop chopper, which was off milling about somewhere over Manhattan. Still not knowing much about the box on the stick and with the ever-present NYPD sirens not too far away we made good our escape, riding the 4 Train to Sal's in Crown Heights for only the best edible post-escapade rewards.
Elsewhere I described the motivation for climbing bridges in general but as far as NYC went, this was the most talked-about. Many have climbed the bridge; a slightly smaller number jumped off it. One of those who had no intention of leaping, well known ex-city resident Steve D, penned his own story fueled by an emotional break-up and pasted online refreshingly devoid of pictures.
At some point in 2008 dsankt half-jokingly asked me about joining him sometime to climb 'BB' and then endure a supposedly inevitable cavity inspection (and much, much more) by the NYPD. A close call with 'the law' back in Paris a few days prior to landing in the US had made us reconsider pushing it too far in NYC. Often the odds weigh heavy against the successful accomplishment of outlandish dreams like these, the night requiring some additional catalyst to bring things to life, to tip the balance and at least make it seem worth a try. And as we were now in a bar a mile from the bridge knocking them back it was hard to keep temptation away. Later that night the crate-load of $2 PBRs fuelled myself, Shane and dsankt as we meandered back and forth across the streets heading roughly in the direction of the river.
The trick was to avoid being seen by pedestrians, motorists and the police (river-, road- or air-bourne), counter the steel guards built around the cables and then negotiate the big wires themselves. The PBR took care of the first one (i.e. it removed the worry, not the risk), leaving just the second two, either of which could claim lives. Our lives.
None of us knew quite when to go but suddenly it was happening, sparked by some unseen, unheard trigger. A mettle-testing walk up the cables ensued, time too much of the essence to allow harnesses, ropes and other hinderances. A good grip on the wires and a sure step would have to do whilst eyes fought for focus between the cable and the ever shrinking road deck below. The final ladder, scaled boldly under the immediate gaze of an unidentifiable but nonetheless suspicious-looking box on a stick, presented us with the top of the bridge. Atop this mightly sandstone pylon it was just us and the ghosts of Roebling and son whilst the remaining inhabitants of NYC continued to wander around or ride the subway or do whatever it is they do all night. They sure as hell didn't seem to be sleeping.
Almost unexpectedly we made it back onto the bridge deck without falling off or being illuminated from above by the cop chopper, which was off milling about somewhere over Manhattan. Still not knowing much about the box on the stick and with the ever-present NYPD sirens not too far away we made good our escape, riding the 4 Train to Sal's in Crown Heights for only the best edible post-escapade rewards.
