29 Nov 2002 - Updated style and format.
I had the pleasure of an overnight visit in an Atlas E launch control center. For privacy reasons, the owner of the site asked me not to divulge the identity or location of the site. So, this is a sanitized trip report, which will describe the experience without giving specific site info. Thank you for the cool experience, Mr. Anonymous Missile Site Owner!
Approaching the site, the first visible clue was the fencing, then the ventilator hoods and light poles. As you get closer, you notice that the contours of the land seem a bit different from the surrounding area. When you get on site, the sunken "garage door" is an obvious clue that you've stumbled onto an Atlas E site. The spray pond is easily seen; the vintage sign in the weeds was less obvious. The blast pit at this site has been filled in. The overhead door is in place, although not sealed shut properly -- but fixing it is no Saturday afternoon chore!
Heading into the personnel entry door, you can go left into the missile area or go right toward the control center. The heavy doors, originally interlocked to prevent both from being open at once, clang shut with a resounding crash. The access tunnel leading to the control center has its own fascinating echoes, making this an auditory as well as visual adventure. It was warm during my visit, so the cooler temperature inside was nice.
As with most Atlas sites, this one has had its share of vandals and other explorers over the years. There is plenty of graffiti and petty destruction inside. Plus, the process of removing equipment upon closure, and resultant salvage operations, also took their toll on the condition of the facility. This site has had considerable cleanup work, in anticipation of future renovation. The generator room has been cleaned out. Some old stenciling remains on the walls, such as this reminder to not smoke in bed. This ladder leads to the escape hatch from the ready room. This was my guest room for the night.
My host uses a gasoline generator topside to run electricity downstairs to a few lights. No running water yet. The sewage facilities still work, and the toilet does flush if you manually add water to the tank. At this point, a visit here is still pretty much camping -- in a concrete tent, underground! After a late evening of good company and lively conversation, we called it a night. The trick is to get yourself situated in bed before the gas runs out and the generator quits! Because when the generator sputters out and the lights fade, you are suddenly in darkness.
This is not the darkness I am used to at home; the glow of starlight and the glare of streetlights filtering in through the drapes, a night light showing the way to the bathroom, the glow of VCR clocks. This is darker than that -- this is underground dark. This is utter, pitch darkness that has you seeing vague lights inside your eyes -- like when as a child you rub your eyes to see the neat patterns and colors. This is why silo owners keep plenty of flashlights around, and always have one within reach.
And the only thing more oppressive than the darkness is the silence. Usually, the closest thing to silence I ever experience is a quiet night with only the hum of the refrigerator, the churn of the neighbor's air conditioner, and the traffic on the nearest highway in the background. Rarely do we experience such intense quiet as you do underground. Having tinnitus (ringing in the ears) made this a very uncomfortable situation for me. Without the background noise to drown out the ringing, it seemed as if my own ears cranked up the volume on the ringing. And I heard new tones, varying pitches, and changes in volume I normally never notice. I have new appreciation for the phrase "the silence is deafening." I actually regretted that my host did not snore! The comic (tragic?) relief came during the night, when a mouse stumbled into a trap. Yikes! The way the yelping and thrashing pierced the air and echoed in the concrete rooms, you'd have thought Big Foot was caught in a bear trap!
This was great fun. I would like to visit again in the future if my host goes through with renovation plans.