DATELINE–San Francisco, CA

Raves in San Francisco’s subway tunnels go unnoticed by Bay Area officials.

“DOS” is twenty-three going on seven. Prescription drugs, that is. Percocet, Zoloft, Xanax, Demerol, Prozac, Valium, Ritalin. Both he and his boyfriend have developed an intricate routine that allows them to mix and match pharmaceuticals without too many side-effects. Tonight, DOS is “tripping on phase 3.” In other words, he can’t remember whether he just swallowed a downer (Valium) or an upper (Ritalin).

With a babyish grin, DOS, who does not wish to divulge his real name, shrugs his shoulders and zips up his neon orange satchel. “I don’t know if I’m going to Heaven or Hell but I know I’m going down!” His circle of friends bursts into laughter. Among them are a college student, a commercial banker, two club promoter types, and a 17 year-old girl they just met.

What DOS and his friends call “down” is not a drug-induced state but rather the labyrinthine tunnels of San Francisco’s subway system. The Bay Area Rapid Transit system, known locally as BART, consists of an 81-mile long network of underground and elevated tracks. It serves the three million residents of San Francisco, Berkeley, Oakland and surrounding communities at government subsidized rates.

But these days, or rather, nights, young people like DOS and his well-to-do friends are taking to the BART system in search of an alternative, heart-stopping ride. They are risking life and limb to walk along active and electrified tracks in order to reach little-known service stops located between subway stations. The vacant stops, intended to serve as temporary repair bays for disabled trains, are seldom used and come equipped with working electrical outlets, ventilation ducts and even bathrooms. Dank and dangerous, they are nonetheless the hottest party spots in San Francisco.

Dressed in a retro Gianni Versace leisure suit and shiny Gucci loafers, Alamo99 is not your typical railroad engineer. Yet, he claims to have organized over a dozen all-night (and day) reveries in San Francisco’s subway catacombs. Over a scotch on the rocks at the Sheraton Palace, the thirtysomething Alamo99 boasts about his collection of videos documenting the illegal gatherings. He has even created a fly-by-night Web site (www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Gala/8699/) to promote upcoming blowouts. This week he’s calling his company of two part-time party planners the “San Francisco Underground Urban Dance Party Circuit.”

“You know, what we’re doing, it’s not being done,” confides the goateed professional host, “In New York, they’ve let the tunnels go to the homeless. Here, we’re giving them over to the post-preppie diaspora.” Taking in a mouthful of Laphroig, he winks and points at the Maxfield Parrish canvas above the bar. “Parties are real-time, three-dimensional paintings. Some people paint with numbers, we paint with people. That guy was on San Francisco, sure, and we’re under it.”

It is unclear whether or not Alamo99’s “party circuit” is known to local authorities. Neither the San Francisco Police Department nor officials from BART have made public any record of the large-scale underground gatherings supposedly being thrown by Alamo99 and his staff. The emcee attributes his spectacular yet low-profile success to “the intelligence of my people.”

On the night that DOS and his friends went underground, they waited almost twenty minutes before stepping down on the tracks. They then used tiny MAG lights and a faxed map to find their destination. Because BART stations are heavily monitored by surveillance cameras and security patrols, partygoers are told in advance how to access the chosen site. Organizers say they can create a 12 hour-long window of opportunity by disabling select security systems and planning around scheduled inspections.

Once inside the repair bay, invited guests are greeted by a state-of-the-art light show featuring video projections and subliminal laser displays. After paying an undisclosed fee, guests can enter the dance area. There are non-alcoholic drinks for sale as well as sleek Walkman-type radios. There is no audible music. Instead, the soundtrack is transmitted to the revelers via a low-wattage FM transmitter. It is a haunting scene to witness – hundreds of blue-lit bodies wearing headphones dancing in silent harmony.

According to DOS, who like many of Alamo99’s devotees was reared on the East Coast, there is no better club in the entire world. “The best, the absolute best,” DOS shrieks, “was when we were dancing until 8am on a Monday morning and then the lights went out and a train filled with commuters, you know, lit from the inside, slowly rolled past us. Everyone on the dance floor was screaming.”