In a concrete pipe, only your buddies can hear you shout.
I’m writing this in the middle of a long stretch of 24″ R.C.P.
This has become the norm for my Friday nights – laying in complete blackness, in a pipe, underground, waiting for my turn to move further down the pipe on the one skateboard we brought with us. It’s attached to both of the smaller, 50ft 5mm ropes that we have as back up ropes to our main 100ft 10mm. These two ropes provide for 100 ft of pitch black loneliness between me and the guys waiting for the wheels.
I’m first on this stretch of pipe followed by Mike, Jack,then Jeff. Mike is already freaking out… We’re not too concerned about him giving us away – in a concrete pipe, only your buddies can hear you shout.
We’re trying to find the source – a 2-6’x10′ main-line that runs under a road that you and I will know as Alvo. Having looked briefly for an entrance to the main above ground, we decided that it would be best not to waste time seeing as we don’t mind a bit of exploration anyway. Checking the county schematic – we found several entrances comparable to the one we finally decided on but picked the one closest to our place of residence – a 24″ R.C.P.
Convenience isn’t the right word – but it’s the first word that comes to mind.
Kids riding by on their bikes look on in wonder – What are we doing? I throw them a tennis ball that I find in the road gutter as a peace offering. Perhaps they won’t tell their parents about what they’re watching – the last thing we want is the fire department hauling us out of there involuntarily. Mike, like the FNG he is, flipped the cover rather than sliding it. It takes me longer to get going seeing as I get to flip this obscenely heavy steel object back over, above my head. Second to last thing we need is someone falling down this hole and calling the police – they’ll be out here with the fire department in tow.
Responsibility isn’t the right word – but it’s the first word that comes to mind.
I roll in last to the staging area… the piss-pot. Poor Jeff had the distinct privilege of going down the pipe by hand whilst I take a much needed piss on the ledge of this room. At the time it seemed like a good idea but gravity did it’s work and it started draining down the pipe after him. For the record, he can haul ass in the 24 inchers so it wouldn’t have reached him but I was sure to tell him anyway. He won’t admit it but he enjoyed it.
The piss is dried up now and when I roll up into the piss-pot there are three guys sitting on the ledge above me.
“After you Mr. Stoli”, I offer.
“No, after you”, a reply from the silhouette above me.
And there I was – bending into angles I’ve never managed before, on a skateboard, in a tactical vest and climbing harness, in near darkness, with these three goons looming above me – waiting for their turn to begin the long stretch. The dark blue backdrop of the piss-pot ceiling, coupled with it’s dark silhouettes, was the bit of daylight I saw that day.
- Fact: 300-400′ inside of a pitch-black 24″ R.C.P.
- Fact: 6′-8′ under the road
- Fact: Pipe hasn’t been seen since 8/5/1987
- Fact: Flash floods
- Fact: CO2
- Fact: 10-15 minutes per 100′ traveled
Claustrophobia isn’t the right word – but it’s the first word that comes to mind. Plus I really need to piss again.
I’m pretty solid on situations like this. Stuck Elevators. Dark basements. Whatever. But in here I start feeling it – the queasy, nervous, ‘What the hell am I doing’, feeling. The ringtones on my phone are somewhat oboxious but they help to get my mind off of these facts.
The video on my phone of my niece takes me above ground.
The metalic “Wham, Wham” of the road grates ahead keeps me under.
Unless you have balls of steel, don’t think about the facts. The brain is a great tool to have but the imagination will shoot you in the foot before you know what happened. You WILL lose your shit if you start thinking too far into the situation.
Then, in your perfect moment, just prior to your enlightenment, your nirvana of dark solitude, you hit the edge with the lead wheels of the skateboard. Bracing yourself with your legs you call out for rope tension hoping that you won’t fall in the storm water below head first.
I won’t lie – I was partially relieved to be done with that pipe, but more so, I was happy to be the first one into this larger tunnel. I trust that mike was the opposite – more relieved with the ‘end’ than having the rare privilege of exploring a new tunnel.
JSM Exploration 