Road Trip of the R&P 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, it's 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 it's 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. It's 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 aren't any in and out privileges for it. That sucks. We're 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 lounge's 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 that's 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 didn't 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. It's starting to seem like it's 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 Santa's workshop. A quick radio call and the plan goes into motion. Unfortunately, it seems Duracell didn't 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 couldn't 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 there's something wrong. These aren't stars. It's a ten foot tall "E" and it's 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 won't 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 building's main electrical system. Who says danger isn't 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 hadn't seen our scout, or didn't 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. "Let's 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 "E"s (I still have mine). The rest of the tiny white letters rearranged to proclaim our greatness. It's 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 wouldn't 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 I'm 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 can't 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 I'm into something good. There's 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 day's call to frolic in the sunshine. Listening to this odd orchestra and breathing in the wet, heavy, tantalizing scent lingering from last night, Herman's 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 wasn't 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 SAUCE00Lit-1997 WindRider ACiD Productions 199805 6t3