Halloween??
Old thread from some website. http://forums.ghosttowns.com/showthread.php?t=5666
Ive yet to go, but I heard its pretty cool. The only reason why I dont want to go is because of the peckerwood situation. But its all depends...
Ive yet to go, but I heard its pretty cool. The only reason why I dont want to go is because of the peckerwood situation. But its all depends...
I work pretty close to that intersection, I should go check that out!
Haha! I know, it was starting to give me a headache. I might go this friday after work. But that depends if I feel like driving/chickening out. Plus I have to ask my buddy if he wants to go too.
I found this...
THE LAWS OF GRAVITY HILL OR WAITING FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
by Erik Himmelsbach
As I hit the steak-knife-sharp hairpin turn near the top of Lopez Canyon Road, Heart's "Bebe Le Strange" kicks out from my Volvo wagon's CD player. Just like the old days, except I don't have a Michelob between my legs and I'm trying to relive a memory I never really had. It's a hole in my teenage Valley saga that I can never fill, so I have to do it decades later, sober and vicariously. Damn.
I'll cop to it. In my barely beyond mild youth, I never aimed my '68 Camaro toward Gravity Hill, the Valley's most sinister hang. I did, however, think about it. And quite often, after I celebrated the greatest day of my life, birthday No. 16. In Suburbland, life truly begins when that brand-new driver's license assumes a prominent place in your Velcro wallet. Suddenly, there are options: You can throw eggs or toilet paper at the houses of kids you hate, then peel out at high speed. You have instant access to a triple cheese at Tommy's at 3 in the morning, when your stomach and mind are already about to explode from too much skunk and booze. Those car keys open a lot of doors.
Gravity Hill was a myth. An epic myth. But it became real when I had the means to get there. Which made it that much weirder.
'Course, I use the term "myth" loosely. It merely gives mystique to a communal place to get wasted. But it sure makes it seem ******* cool. While the good and popular kids did their best to spit on the Valley by driving their parents' cars on Friday nights (non-football season) to Westwood, walking like sheep up and down its WASPy streets and spending too much for movies (was the Peppertree not good enough? Was the Americana too ghetto?).
I wasn't much for Westwood, other than to sneak bottles of Bacardi into the Nuart for midnight screenings of Eraserhead or Pink Flamingos. More often, I was either vomiting on the pool tables of friends' houses in Arleta, or gingerly navigating the rocks of Chatsworth's Stoney Point, taking my sweet time on the climb so as not to drop the six-pack I carried under one arm. Or at home, getting high with my parents.
Never made it to Gravity Hill, though. Located above Lakeview Terrace, where Lopez Canyon Road meets Kagel Canyon, the Hill has long been a late-night freak show for wasted youth. But I'm here now, and I'm trying to feel the vibe.
In the light of day, it feels as innocuous as the end of the earth can be. Driver's education teachers schlep their students up to the hill for long and winding behind-the-wheel challenges. If you pass the Glen Haven Memorial Park and make a right at Kagel, you quickly find yourself seriously off the grid and on a dirt road with rickety houses, pickup trucks, and toasted mobile homes. You know what I'm talking about - meth lab central.
But roll down Kagel a bit, and things start to get weird. Allegedly. At the appointed spot, you make a U-turn, park pointed north, put your car in neutral and strangely enough, the car appears to roll uphill. But that's not the creepy part. You can check out ghosttowns.com, which has an elaborate Gravity Hill message thread that involves the KKK, Mexican gangs, and all sorts of weird ****. But I'm all about the PG-13 version.
So, without further ado, here's some bizarre Gravity Hill folklore (with grateful shoutouts to Ed Nieto and Steve Shaw):
• If it's late at night, you've been sucking down beers, and you're stopped in front of Glen Haven Memorial Park for too long, little men will run out of the main building with white billy clubs and pound on your car. Ouch.
• A bunch of little kids were allegedly killed on Gravity Hills some years ago, and if you sprinkle baby powder on your car bumper, you'll see little handprints from the young ghosts who push your car uphill.
• At the top of the hill sits an abandoned swing set; if you're there at 11, and your cars lights are dim, you will see a little girl rocking back and forth. Remember not to honk: If she looks at you, you'd best go home. If you stay, she'll be riding with you. And then lord knows where you might end up.
• You can allegedly hear babies crying in the distance from inside the cemetery; that is, if you keep the Pat Travers to a quiet roar.
• Not a myth: If the cops catch you parked with drugs or booze, they can be ********. They poured stray beers into my friend's radiator.
Oh, and there's a really good view of Hansen Dam.
THE LAWS OF GRAVITY HILL OR WAITING FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
by Erik Himmelsbach
As I hit the steak-knife-sharp hairpin turn near the top of Lopez Canyon Road, Heart's "Bebe Le Strange" kicks out from my Volvo wagon's CD player. Just like the old days, except I don't have a Michelob between my legs and I'm trying to relive a memory I never really had. It's a hole in my teenage Valley saga that I can never fill, so I have to do it decades later, sober and vicariously. Damn.
I'll cop to it. In my barely beyond mild youth, I never aimed my '68 Camaro toward Gravity Hill, the Valley's most sinister hang. I did, however, think about it. And quite often, after I celebrated the greatest day of my life, birthday No. 16. In Suburbland, life truly begins when that brand-new driver's license assumes a prominent place in your Velcro wallet. Suddenly, there are options: You can throw eggs or toilet paper at the houses of kids you hate, then peel out at high speed. You have instant access to a triple cheese at Tommy's at 3 in the morning, when your stomach and mind are already about to explode from too much skunk and booze. Those car keys open a lot of doors.
Gravity Hill was a myth. An epic myth. But it became real when I had the means to get there. Which made it that much weirder.
'Course, I use the term "myth" loosely. It merely gives mystique to a communal place to get wasted. But it sure makes it seem ******* cool. While the good and popular kids did their best to spit on the Valley by driving their parents' cars on Friday nights (non-football season) to Westwood, walking like sheep up and down its WASPy streets and spending too much for movies (was the Peppertree not good enough? Was the Americana too ghetto?).
I wasn't much for Westwood, other than to sneak bottles of Bacardi into the Nuart for midnight screenings of Eraserhead or Pink Flamingos. More often, I was either vomiting on the pool tables of friends' houses in Arleta, or gingerly navigating the rocks of Chatsworth's Stoney Point, taking my sweet time on the climb so as not to drop the six-pack I carried under one arm. Or at home, getting high with my parents.
Never made it to Gravity Hill, though. Located above Lakeview Terrace, where Lopez Canyon Road meets Kagel Canyon, the Hill has long been a late-night freak show for wasted youth. But I'm here now, and I'm trying to feel the vibe.
In the light of day, it feels as innocuous as the end of the earth can be. Driver's education teachers schlep their students up to the hill for long and winding behind-the-wheel challenges. If you pass the Glen Haven Memorial Park and make a right at Kagel, you quickly find yourself seriously off the grid and on a dirt road with rickety houses, pickup trucks, and toasted mobile homes. You know what I'm talking about - meth lab central.
But roll down Kagel a bit, and things start to get weird. Allegedly. At the appointed spot, you make a U-turn, park pointed north, put your car in neutral and strangely enough, the car appears to roll uphill. But that's not the creepy part. You can check out ghosttowns.com, which has an elaborate Gravity Hill message thread that involves the KKK, Mexican gangs, and all sorts of weird ****. But I'm all about the PG-13 version.
So, without further ado, here's some bizarre Gravity Hill folklore (with grateful shoutouts to Ed Nieto and Steve Shaw):
• If it's late at night, you've been sucking down beers, and you're stopped in front of Glen Haven Memorial Park for too long, little men will run out of the main building with white billy clubs and pound on your car. Ouch.
• A bunch of little kids were allegedly killed on Gravity Hills some years ago, and if you sprinkle baby powder on your car bumper, you'll see little handprints from the young ghosts who push your car uphill.
• At the top of the hill sits an abandoned swing set; if you're there at 11, and your cars lights are dim, you will see a little girl rocking back and forth. Remember not to honk: If she looks at you, you'd best go home. If you stay, she'll be riding with you. And then lord knows where you might end up.
• You can allegedly hear babies crying in the distance from inside the cemetery; that is, if you keep the Pat Travers to a quiet roar.
• Not a myth: If the cops catch you parked with drugs or booze, they can be ********. They poured stray beers into my friend's radiator.
Oh, and there's a really good view of Hansen Dam.
