Topic: The One That Got Away

"I Don't Want to Go to Canada"

We circled the building a few times before formulating a plan. Right off the bat, we saw flashing lights; an undercover police truck pulled up and parked nearby, an officer quickly handcuffing a couple of teenagers. We'd seen them cut a hole in the fence and try to run in. They had made it all of 10 feet before the police pulled up. Amateurs, I thought.

"Turn down this street again and park over there. Let's walk around the block," I suggested. Jacob made a quick left and pulled up behind a parked car. He locked the doors as I grabbed my camera bag and we headed down the street, careful to stay on the side opposite the train station.

Michigan Central Station.

A 15 story now windowless building on the outskirts of downtown Detroit, the old train depot could be seen from miles away. In fact, with the right vantage point, the absence of all windows made it possible to see clean through the train station. Jacob and I had discovered that the previous day, when a glance out of the window of an abandoned hospital had revealed the monstrosity in all its glory.

I was determined to find a way in.

The station's main gate was a quick and definite no. Every minute or two, another carload of tourists pulled up in front of the building, its inhabitants hopping out to take pictures with Detroit's Greatest Eyesore. A quick walk around the building revealed large cameras on either side entrance, but the station backed up to several sets of old train tracks. That looked promising.

"How about we drive a few blocks down the tracks and walk them back?" I asked. "Maybe we can find a way under the fence and in through the trainyard." A few minutes later, we were doing just that. After climbing up the side of a hill and wandering through a few crumbling buildings, we found ourselves on one side of a slowly moving train. This is perfect, I thought.

And it was. We followed the train's procession down the tracks, nearly reaching the gate to the trainyard by the time the caboose appeared. As it faded into the distance, my heart sank. The same silver undercover police truck we'd seen handcuffing teenagers earlier was barreling toward us.

"What do we do?" I asked Jacob, as he continued to step from railroad tie to railroad tie.

"What do you mean?"

"Do we run? Do we hide? Do we just keep walking and pretend like we're supposed to be here?"

"Let's keep walking and see what happens."

It wasn't long before the truck reached us, red and blue lights flashing. "Please approach the vehicle," a voice boomed over the loudspeaker and we walked over to the truck.

"IDs please," the officer said, climbing out of the truck. "What are you doing here?"

"We were just going for a walk," I said, handing him my ID.

"A walk on the train tracks?"

"Yessir. I like graffiti - taking pictures of it, I mean, not doing it, and there's lots of it around here."

"Clearly." He collected our IDs and quickly returned them. "How did you get up here?"

"We walked up a hill."

"You walked up a hill?"

"Yessir. A few blocks over that way. My car is parked over there."

"And where are you going?"

"Nowhere, just around. Just taking pictures. Of the graffiti."

"Do you see that bridge over there?"

"Yessir."

"That's the Ambassador Bridge to Canada. Are you trying to walk illegally to Canada?"

"No sir. I don't want to go to Canada."

"It is a $500 Federal trespassing charge to be where you are standing right now. Do you understand that? Just for being on these train tracks I can charge you both $500 each. Now get in the truck. I'm going to give you a ride back to your car."

Jacob and I climbed into the backseat of the truck, my camera bag in my lap. Thankfully, he hadn't asked to see my bag. I briefly thought of the mace and knife stowed inside, the camera with thousands of pictures, and beneath it, the list of 30+ places we'd been exploring that weekend.

"Why are you guys in Detroit?" The Canadian Railroad Officer asked.

Jacob and I looked at each other uneasily.

"Vacation."

"Have you ever been to Detroit before?"

"I played some shows in Hamtramack," Jacob said.

"Okay. Well, be careful. And stay off of the train tracks." We climbed out of the truck and ran down the side of the hill, waiting for the truck to drive off before walking back to my car.

"We can try again tomorrow," Jacob said, as we turned down a nearby street and made our way toward another building. "If you think it's worth it."

It wasn't.

The promise of a $500 ticket and a federal charge were enough to persuade me to give up my dreams of standing on the roof of Michigan Central Station. At least, temporarily. Thankfully, when Ford Motors purchased the building a few years later and opened it to the public for one weekend, it was no longer the one that got away.