Brock University’s campus is relatively remote, surrounded only by a few recently developed plazas on one end and kilometers of woodland trails on the other. The design of the structures is a mix between the concrete Brutalist architecture that flourished in the 1960s and the modern additions which emphasize the use of glass and metal. Even though the campus isn’t very big, I always found that fringe hallways and classrooms are generally left empty, prone to the wanderings of a curious mind. Late at night, university campuses have a certain ambiance that really isn’t similar to many other places. It’s like the whole thing is finally getting its moment to breathe once the sun sets, and my presence is disturbing the whole process.
What makes Brock a unique university to explore is the nature of its steam/utility tunnels. As Ninjalicious described in his entry in Infiltration.org from 1999, "The Brock tunnels are the safest, coolest (temperature-wise) tunnels I've ever visited. Physical plant workers are in the tunnels all the time, and ride quickly through them on bicycles. In spite of this very tame quality, the Brock tunnels were quite interesting. They are very closely integrated with the school itself; whereas most steam tunnels just hook up with mechanical rooms underneath various colleges, these tunnels opened right out into the main hallways of the campus."
Last year I spent a lot of time in these concrete catacombs at night, escaping the monotonous cycle of daily activities. Often on my way over, I would run into loud and giggly groups of drunken peers. The dudes are always dressed in those button downs or some hot brand, and the girls are in those same skimpy clubbing outfits that get worn no matter what time of year it is. As for myself, I’d be in the weathered pants and long sleeved shirt that always accompanies me on these sorts of missions, along with a backpack and gloves tucked in the water bottle compartment. As we passed each other on the sidewalk, there was always a brief moment that became part of the whole ritual; once it became clear to them that I was wearing peculiar clothes for 1 am on a festive Saturday night, they would quickly eye me up and down with the strangest look on their faces. And every time, I couldn’t help but smile; being lonely sucks but sometimes it’s nice to know that at least your life is, at times, that out of the ordinary.