The tunnel wasn’t something I was expecting. About a quarter of a mile down the road, an old, sun-bleached sign covered in ‘for sale’ notices directed my attention to the underpass seen on the left. As I had driven past that particular sign, some pseudo beachy font spelling out the name Hideaway Bay Restaurant jumped out at me and so I turned down the road towards the now defunct restaurant. I drove for a very short time but it seemed like I had driven far out of town when I arrived at the old tunnel. It’s like the houses, now behind me, had abruptly stopped being built far enough away from this precise spot to keep a safe distance. I know from living around the area that there is a set of rail tracks running adjacent to the
Lake Erie coastline and that this tunnel was a part of that system. But at the same time, I felt as if this border, this thing, didn’t belong. So what was I expecting? I’m not really sure to be honest, but it definitely wasn’t this division between residential and coastal. It felt foreign and strange. Though the opposite end was beckoning me onward, and so I heeded the call.
CONTINUOU DRIFTING
USLY