Altimore City

I like telling people from out of town that I’ve always believed you can’t really call yourself a Baltimore native until you’ve spotted a tunnel dragon. Mainly because of the amazing looks they give you when you say this (optimally, without a hint of irony). Of course they’re not real dragons. They’re actually the size of bats, and it’s unlikely at tunnel driving speeds you’d be able to notice that they’re lizards, not mammals, unless you were looking for them. The only real noticeable difference is their long snouts. I’ve been told that they were actually fairly common in the 60s, right after the tunnel first opened, but their population has slowly dwindled, so although most people have heard of them, the only dragons people have actually seen are those paddleboats in the Inner Harbor.

I’ve actually managed to spot tunnel dragons twice so far: once was a total accident, and the second time was after a couple months’ worth of experimentation. (This little fascination was the main reason I got an E-ZPass.) Here’s some advice:

• I’ve only had luck in the Fort McHenry tunnel… maybe they hang out in the Harbor Tunnel too, but I’ve never spotted any.
• Late at night is your best bet. They’re nocturnal creatures and I think the noise from heavy traffic tends to scare them off.
• Drive a little slower than you normally would. This is for the aforementioned noise reasons and it also gives you more time to spot them as you drive.
• Turn the treble all the way down on your stereo and the bass all the way up, roll all your windows down, and blast some music that has a steady beat to it. I realize this sounds like this is totally random, but when I did this (Kanye West’s “Good Morning,” no lie) I actually got one to leave its roost on a tunnel camera and buzz the car. It was really cool, and yes, of course no one else was in the car to corroborate my story.

Have your own tips? Share ‘em in the comments.

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Tagged animals, cars

They looked like any other couple arguing in a parked car. They were both in their late twenties, maybe their early thirties. Even though they were obviously pissed at each other, they still had an aura of helpless optimism nobody can hold onto forever. She had on a tank top and jeans, rested her feet on the windshield. He wore a dusty black t-shirt with HERO stenciled across its front in ironic block letters. If they were in love, you couldn’t tell it. The radio was on, had some kind of classical music going so low you could only really hear the violins.

“Just ask somebody — like that guy,” she said, pointing at me. I smiled sort of guilelessly, trying to pretend I hadn’t heard them while I was walking up the street.

“We’re trying to find Monticello Lake,” he said. “Do you know where it is?”

“Montebello,” she corrected.

“Montebello,” he repeated, hating every syllable.

I’ve only been to Montebello Lake once, just drove a lap around it near dusk while a friend was showing around that part of town, a part I almost never visit. It was strange, driving around the pedestrian track like I was some kind of chase vehicle for an imaginary race.

“Sort of,” I said. “It’s over on the east side of the city but I forget what road it’s off of. Eastern? You should take Pratt across to President, and then it intersects there with Eastern.”

They seemed sort of satisfied at this, if only because it gave them a direction to move toward.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked. “What are you doing over there?”

“His dad left something behind there,” she said. “It’s a freaking curse.”

“Well — good luck,” I said. I realized an hour later that they should take was off Harford Road, not Eastern, and I’d sent them completely the wrong way. But — I guess I was just one more unreliable village native to them, another interlude before they got to the interesting part.

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Tagged cars, misdirection