The Mountains Of Detroit

     We know that nature is slowly reclaiming Detroit.  We know about the grasslands, the vine-entwined homes, the trees growing from the tops of buildings.  We know about the falcons and the pheasants and the foxes.  But no one seems to be talking about the mountains.  We have reached an exciting epoch in the evolution of Detroit's landscape—the city isn't shrinking, it's growing.
    Now, you're probably thinking mountains can only be formed by some sort of volcanic eruption or continental collision or something to do with tectonic plates shifting.  And yes, you'd be right, however, it takes a more advanced and forward-thinking geologist to acknowledge the formation of mountains caused by lesser acts, like say, freeway construction.  Regardless, the Oxford English Dictionary defines a mountain as "a natural elevation of the earth surface rising more or less abruptly from the surrounding level and attaining an altitude which, relatively to the adjacent elevation, is impressive or notable."  Not one to argue with the Oxford English Dictionary and, being a true flatlander, I find Mount 23rd Street (above) to be both impressive and notable.  It is best viewed just before the Vernor exit heading south on Interstate 75.  The  view pictured, however, is of the eroding southern side which is prone to avalanches. 
    In the same range you'll also find Mount 20th Street (below), an alpine wonder of magnificent beauty. This is the more difficult to reach, and therefore less touristy, of the two.  It's tucked away off a secluded, unpaved (by that I mean brick) road and the peaceful mountain pass which is 20th street, just before it dips into the tunnel (by that I mean viaduct).

    Over on the east side, in the old warehouse district, you'll find a mountain which has been forming for a few years now.  It started as a soft gravel pile gleaming in the eye of a developer, until inactivity caused by the poor economy resulted in its exposure to too many rainstorms, which caused clumpification.  This was followed by the rooting of hardy vegetation which now gives it a wild, Ozark-like appearance.  It is called Nevermind Mountain.  If it keeps growing like it has been, this could be the peak that finally gets Detroit's mountains noticed in a few years, bringing in those untapped ecotourist dollars.  Keep an eye on it.

    Unfortunately, although it should not come as a surprise, all these mountains have a fence around them; which might make people reading this in Nevada or Colorado scratch their heads in wonder, but around here it is necessary. As I've already explained in a previous post, a foreign casino stole our sky, so it would not be out of the question for them to take our mountains too.  Right now the fences are protecting these young mountains until they have grown to a safer, unstealable, size. 
    There is good news though for the urban mountain climber.  Possibly the city's largest mountain, Mount Atwater, just southwest of Nevermind Mountain, doesn't have a fence around it (well, not a very good fence anyway) and can be climbed at any time. When I scaled it last weekend, with the help of only two Sherpas, the summit held a most unusual surprise. Although the rest of the city had about a foot of snow on the ground, the flat top of Mount Atwater was mostly grass.  This is obviously the opposite of regular mountain behavior and, I believe, means it is either radioactive, or it is the redoubt of an evil scientist,  or it is actually a volcano.  There is also a slight possibility that it is merely a mystery spot.  I'm leaning toward volcano.
    The reason to climb Mt. Atwater of course, is for the view.  If you make it all the way to the top (don't listen to the Sherpas when they say you should turn back) you'll be about 60 feet higher than you were when you started.  That might not seem like a lot, but remember, Detroit is only about 600 feet above sea level to begin with; so you've actually increased your altitude by 10%.  To put this in mountainous terms, it's like taking Michigan's tallest mountain, the mighty Mount Arvon at 1,979 feet, and putting it on top of Mt. McKinley. 
     Be careful though; while standing above the treeline and looking down into the valley that is Detroit, altitude delirium can wreak havoc on the mind.  For a moment I thought I saw two larger peaks off to the east; then I realized it was just the Chene Park amphitheater and I came to my senses.  I mean, I know a mountain when I see one.