Road Trip of the RP Part I: THE JOURNEY
Ah, those were the days.
40 maniacs
crammed in a charted bus
and headed for excitement.
but first, the fuel...
30 each and an LBS means that
this puppy is juiced and ready to rock.
On the road, the games begin.
Kaiser soon loses fans to
blackjack for shots.
A run of bad luck means 14 ounces in five minutes,
a possible combination pointing to things to come.
Three hours in and the
hunger strikes.
This is where the show begins
for one
and all, or at least those who can still
see.
The mystical KFC across the highway
offers life to all.
Those first few off the bus head for
the ribbon of pavement
separating them from the servings of deep-fried
destruction.
but they soon find that not only is that snow on the ground,
its filled the deep ditch.
If they were too drunk to make it across,
they just made snow angels
until reinforcements arrived to pull them free.
Most just stumbled, fell, and added to the snowy silhouettes.
A blackjack induced haze conveniently fills
the next three hours
as day transitions into night,
hiding Calgary until its all around us.
The bus rolls quietly into
the hotel that this band of
nutjobs
will call home for the next few days.
A breezy whisper of airbrakes...
then every possible opening of the bus
pours forth dazed and drunken bodies
eager to claim a piece of floor to call
their own.
One quiet evening at the local nightclub
getting blitzed on green beer and bargain shots
belies the coming storm of insanity.
-WindRider 07/97
Road Trip Part II: INTERLUDE
Morning comes.
Its time to take a tour of
the target area.
Wandering around the snow-covered
campus
in such a large group makes reconnaissance easy.
A quick trip to see the Olympic Oval.
We find the puffing Zambonie cleaning
the speed skating tracks
while Pee-Wee hockey teams practice on the center
rinks.
This is gonna be great.
Exiting the great structure and passing the
Olympic monument out front
brings the target into view.
15 floors of brown bricked terror called the
Engineering building.
Our trek towards the imposing entrance drags us
past one of the many campus parking lots.
The student tour guide says there arent any
in and out
privileges for it.
That sucks.
Were taken for a little spin around the building.
A select few slip away to check the important details
and jimmy some locks,
while the rest stall with questions about the
campfire sculpture
outside the student lounges bay window.
The piece sits in the courtyard.
Apparently an enigmatic force paints it a different colour
every year.
It better resembles a 3 foot high pile of blue crayons
than a fire, but thats okay too.
Silently the missing members slip back
into the fold
and signal that everything is according to
plan.
A jump on the skytrain
we didnt pay, of course
brings us to the Mountain Equipment Co-op.
Thousands of square feet of
fun stuff and
useless crap.
More importantly, the tools needed to get the job
done.
- WindRider 07/97
Road Trip Part III: GROUND ZERO
2 am and the strike team assembles
for action.
Two loads of crew driven to the destination
in a beat-up old Datsun, rumbling through the deserted streets.
Truly the stealth vehicle of choice.
A rolling exit from the car ensures that no one is spotted.
Blasts of white fog and a million needles
greet our bodies.
Its starting to seem like its either too late
or too cold
or both
for this operation.
But what the hell, go out with a bang.
Team one heads for the rigged doors and bolts
up the stairs
through the blinding fluorescent lights and
eerie silence
in order to get things rolling.
Team two is meant to cause a diversion
so that the real action goes unnoticed.
Commando crawls over 10 foot walls
and through groves of frosted pines,
with a bag full of unstable fireworks,
feels like a journey across the arctic to
blow up Santas workshop.
A quick radio call and the plan goes into motion.
Unfortunately, it seems Duracell didnt bother to
test their batteries to -30 Celsius.
Those bastards.
The prickling numbness starts to creep through the
gloves about 20 minutes later.
Every flash of headlights means another dive into
the firs.
Making the move to the fireworks ground zero
goes for not.
A glance up the silhouetted tower reveals
four
new, thin shadows against the harsh street lights.
Soon the darkened figures join them, sliding of the side.
Jason gets tangles in his gear, hanging halfway between heaven and hell.
Minutes pass like hours until he manages to get free.
The numbing has passed.
That couldnt be good.
Sludgy muscles scream resistance in an attempt
to find an open door inside to the healing warmth.
No such luck.
Now ready for what is to come, it moves out into
position alongside the four.
Shapeless wire frame instantly transforms into a
new constellation of stars.
But theres something wrong.
These arent stars.
Its a ten foot tall E
and its row on row of twinkling Christmas lights.
From far above, a cheer wafts down to greet us.
The awe of the moment passes when our jaws
wont move in response.
A vain bang of the radio.
A tentative yell to the others.
Finally a door opens and safety from the elements
is ours.
Even the heat of the stairwell lights warms the heart
as we desperately hope to feel the linoleum-tiled stairs
under our butts.
Team Captain gives the sign to move out
more of a nudge really.
Mission complete, the E has been hardwired into the buildings
main electrical system.
Who says danger isnt fun?
Campus Security picks a bad time to show up.
Hell, they almost run right into our scout as he
exits
the building.
His thundering bootslaps coming up the stairs
and the yells of RUN!
were enough to get everyone impersonating Donovan Bailey.
Two flights of stairs in 8 seconds and across the
building in almost the same.
Then dead quiet.
The Pigs hadnt seen our scout, or didnt know where
we were.
...begin full stealth mode...
Now seemed like a good time to
leave.
Out the door and right into the concealing bushes.
The heavy wooden beast closed with a thunk and a growl.
Victory,
for now.
Keeping to the snow-laden undergrowth was
a brilliant move.
It was also equally funny.
Every blink of headlights in our direction sent
10 bulky bodies diving into a
5 foot shrub.
Lets head back inside Lanny says.
Seemed like a good idea.
A quick charge though an oddly unlocked door
brought us face to face with...
a directory box.
Jackpot.
Too good to be true.
Some sweet finessing pops the lock open.
Within moments, the Engineering list has been
raped
of all its Es I still have mine.
The rest of the tiny white letters rearranged to proclaim our greatness.
Its really time to go.
Day is beating night into submission.
Inching through the building towards the skytrain,
every sign becomes a spoil of war.
Arms filled with posters, letters, warning signs and office signs
when we finally reached the station.
1.50 into the ticket machine and we can head back
to our hotel sanctuary.
After all, we wouldnt want to be caught
doing anything
illegal.
Now would we?
- WindRider 07/97
The First Day
Dawn breaks too early now.
A sun
so eager to light the world
simply springs forth in full intensity,
another unwelcome visitor on this sleepy morning.
A morning like any other.
The iridescent sky pokes its head
in my window, a
blue hue
bordering on the surreal.
Perhaps this is a dream.
Dreams are things that lives are made of.
Mine wears me like an old suit.
Where ever it goes I will
follow,
because it makes me happy.
-WindRider 07/97
And on the Second Day
Im impressed.
A quiet whisper in my ear
makes me roll my eyes open
and see another brilliantly blue sky
smiling down at me.
The day cant wait to tell me
what it has in store.
White wisps of cumulus clouds hint at
another
refreshing
rainfall.
The sweet static hiss of the sprinklers speaks
of chores to do
and those that can wait.
Back to my left, the Beatles suggest
we should spend the night together,
then Peter Noone tells me that Im into something good.
Theres been an undulating roar for over an hour
of rubber and road
when the metal monstrosities make their way
from a warm, cozy bed to a
small sterile office,
resisting the days call to frolic in the sunshine.
Listening to this odd orchestra
and breathing in the wet, heavy, tantalizing scent lingering
from last night,
Hermans Hermits proclaim what a wonderful world this would be.
-WindRider 07/97
Untitled
Round.
And firm.
Just the way they ought to be.
A truly miraculous sight to behold
and be held.
Gently caressing the curves and feeling the
innate heat contained within
sets the mind racing about what is to come.
A delicate and tentative reach below contacts
a warmth both sticky and oily.
Hesitantly bringing the lips ever closer,
pausing briefly to inhale the mingling scents
then diving headlong into ecstasy.
This is a great pizza.
-WindRider 07/97
The Chicken
The yellow and brown chickens
played around the red
fallout shelter
on the day that the second sun appeared.
Unaware of the world around them,
the frittered and frolicked the hours away
doing those chicken things
that chickens always seem to do.
The second sun came closer and closer
to the land where the chickens did their thing.
It wasnt really a sun at all,
but an advancing wave of radioactive energy
released by the first attack of World War III.
The farmer on the porch looked from the chickens to the second sun.
His jaw dropped.
His shoulders slumped.
His pupils became pinpricks.
A second before the shockwave hit,
the rooster looked up at the farmer
and laughed.
Scientists believed that cockroaches would be the only survivors
of a nuclear holocaust.
But nature demands that chickens rule the world.
- WindRider 07/97