A bellying glob of orange gelatin-like substance was pulsating on the mold infested wall. This dollop of unidentifiable material looked like an infected boil, if it were full with an egg yolk, ready to burst at any second. Poking the substance with my finger caused it to jiggle back and forth as the goo swirled around inside, protected by the outer translucent sac. I felt like I was looking into some type of demented snow globe, naturally I had the urge to break it. I picked up a rusty metal coat hanger from the ground and straightened out the hook into a suitable prodding device. Slowly, I applied pressure to the glob with the far end of the coat hanger, yet the sac refused to burst, instead the rubbery material conformed around the metal hanger.

When I pulled the coat hanger back away, the bulbous blister slowly inflated back to its prior shape. Determined, I poked around the mysterious substance for second try, this time being a little less gentle. With a stabbing motion I was able to pierce the outer fleshly layer of the boil and in response the cyst popped like an over inflated balloon, excreting tiny particles of orange ooze in all directions with the force of a human sneeze. I looked over at my friend standing directly to my side as he jumped backward in horror, but it was too late for the sludge misted the left side of his face. Instinctually he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped the material away from his eyes.

The gooey mass remaining attached to the wall began to sag, excreting the remainder of the inner eggy matter as it slowly dripped down the wall. The orange ooze appeared quite vicious, mimicking the texture of maple syrup, but there were no pancakes in the world I'd dare lather this special sauce over. I joked with my friend as he clearly took the brunt of syrup surprise, fortunately he appeared to be in good spirits as we both laughed over the unexpected outcome. However, a couple days later I received a text message from my friend stating that his left eye was completely swollen, inflamed with a similar blister like sac of goo as to what was on the wall. A doctor told him it was a bacterial infection and with some antibiotics the contagion would clear up. Fortunately, in a couple weeks time his sight returned the the infection dissipated.

I've learned never to play with unidentifiable wall blisters again. I've also come to realize that Preakness Healthcare Center was by far the most disgusting abandonment I have ever explored. The place was more black mold and fuzzy fungus than it was an actual building. In my youth I didn't quite realize the health hazards Preakness truly encapsulated. Unfortunately, in years past I've heard similar horror stories from other explorers who have been stricken near deathly ill from wandering the mold infested halls at Preakness. Here's to a hell hole that faced a welcome demolition for once and here's to future good health!

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A nearly impenetrable forest of dense phragmites scratched at the skin on my exposed arms and legs as I slowly pushed through the thick brush. The reeds were so concentrated that I wasn't sure if I was making any noticeable progress, however, I suspected I was gaining closer to my destination as the stench of brackish water began to fill the air. A terribly foul scent indeed, a mix between rotting fish, crude oil sludge, and sewage water, that I never did become nose blind too. After an intense losing battle of getting bitched slapped non-stop by the elastic stalks slinging back up at my face, a shimmer of light caught my attention. I trudged deeper through the reeds towards the light source, soon realizing it was the reflection of the sun off the river water; a sign that I had made it!

My timing appeared to pan out as-well, for it was most certainly low tide. As I emerged from the thicket of wetland grass hell, I was able to witness the true extent from my battle with the reed monster. Short sleeves and shorts was no doubt a terrible choice of armor. My once white socks were stained red with blood that had become diluted from sweat dripping down my legs from the many dozens of small paper-like cuts bestowed upon me by the abrasive wetland vegetation. My arms were just as much a bloody mess, the fresh wounds smarting from the salty, humid summer air. Across the muddy river bed, a noticed a cast of hundreds of fiddler crabs dancing atop an oily sheen gurgling up from the depths of the thick muck. Then the crabs in unison scurried sideways across the oil rainbow, quickly burying themselves beneath the brown sludge upon detecting my presence.

I placed my right foot on the mud only for my ass to hit the ground instantaneously, it all occurred before I could even think about moving my left leg forward to take a full step. At this point I was coated in an oily ooze, slicker than the smoothest ice. Worse, the mire muck had a consistency of clay, for it stuck to my clothes and reeked of a fetid, gag inducing odor. I had truly become one with the swamp despite my best intentions to stay clean. The good news was the hulking ruin of the landlocked yacht was just ahead of me, it too battered and bruised by the quagmire. Time was now working again me though, for unless I could get vessel afloat, I'd be battling the reeds again, but this time at high tide. I'd rather die, I thought to myself. And so with much brevity I explored as captain for the day.

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As the ground begins to thaw and the ice and snow cover melt away, the forest floor finally starts to awaken from its Winter slumber, the first signs of Spring begin to appear. Thick neon green carpet-like moss and skunk cabbage sprouting leaves the size of a dinner plate rise up through the mud, adding the first bit of color to a nearly six month stretch of an otherwise monochrome world. Streams overflow their banks, the strong currents wash down sediment and dense mud which becomes lodged behind fallen branches and trees limbs creating natural dams and deep ponds. The newfound Spring sun begins to warm the winter mud, awakening a cacophony of Spring Peepers who joyously find new homes within the ponding water.

As the ground continues to defrost, additional Spring surprises continue to emerge from hibernation. The white wall of a 1970s era tire peeks out from the muck adjacent to a large truck tire, the tread worn unevenly, wires in the steel belt sharply exposed and rusted. Just a little further downstream another tire, bald as an egg, erupts from the mire like a swollen wisdom tooth which will never be pulled. Spring showers continue to wash down additional tires as they float through the seasonal floodwaters before becoming anchored beneath downed detritus. The strong sun bakes the mud off from the tires, exposing the black rubber to the elements, which cracks and deforms with the changing temperatures. April showers have filled the inner tire wall with stagnant water, creating a luxurious retreat for Summer-time mosquito larva.

Reaching down to scrape off some green mildew from the outer wall of a deformed tire reveals a seemingly cryptic series of numbers. I am able to decipher the code as "1002" indicating the tire was manufactured during the tenth week of the year 2002. Yet twenty years later, in a stream somewhere in Eastern Pennsylvania the tire barely rots, useless but still as recognizable as the day it was removed from its rim. Hundreds of such tires can be spotted all along the river bank, popping up from the fresh Spring muck like perennial flowers. Unfortunately, these rubber flowers never bloom into anything except perhaps as a somber reality of the byproduct of the American dream.

The automobile is perhaps the epitome of American culture and represents an ultimate sense of freedom. However, the more I continue to explore the industrialized world we've created, the more I begin to ponder if the American Dream is simply just unsustainable at length. While a tire is really nothing more than a hunk of rubber, once its usefulness has been extracted it simply becomes a useless discarded hunk of rubber, the aftermath of a dream; a nightmare. Fragments from the American Nightmare can be found jettisoned everywhere all across this country. I suppose time will tell if the society we've created or the waste we've left behind will become what America is remembered by.

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