THE INTENSITY NEWSLETTER
THE
INTENSITY NEWSLETTER
THE INTENSITY NEWSLETTER
|
November
2003
LETTER
FROM THE EDITOR:
Dammit!
Fuck! I’ve just been notified that I haven’t been swearing enough in
TIN! Fuck
that shit! I’m fuckin’ sorry about that! Perhaps I’ve been making the
coffee to
thin or maybe I’m slowing down in my old age but whatever it is I
promise to
turn it back up a fucking notch. The
important thing about swearing is to use the words effectively, the
word must
be only used when necessary to advoid people calling you a “potty”
mouth, while
at the same time using them as often as possible to make sure people
know you
are fucking serious! It’s a delicate balance.
Ok, with that out of the way we’ve got an excellent issue for
y’all this
month. The featured race of the month
is the Chippewa Valley Adventure Challenge (http://www.team-enterprise.com)
as
participated in by yours truly and Mr. Pete W.
A truly “ fucking adventurous” experince. Also
included is the report on a new sport entitled “Crapping” (like
rapping) Look to Pete G’s review for the skinny on this exciting new
pastime. In addition is the pic of the
month which well…brings a tear to my eye. Read on…Intensity is here.
ADVENTURE RACING:
Intense Report
October
24, 2003, 12:56pm. Rhoads has just finished up a lecture when fellow
adventure
team member Pete W, steps up and, very non-chnantly, says: “So, uh
maybe we
should get this thing together?” Rhoads: “Huh?…Oh yea, ummm…got your
gear
together?” Pete: “Sort of.” Rhoads “Ummmm…I’ll pick ya up at 2:45?” Pete: “Sounds good.” At
2:45pm Rhoads goes and picks up Pete and
they proceed to dash all over town during rush hour to find all the
shit they
have forgotten to obtain. 5pm: We’re on the road with the entire four
door
Honda packed with clifbars, clothes, water bottles, camelbaks, bikes,
shoes,
coffee, and a partrage in a pear tree.
8pm: The team arrives in Eau Claire, WI and proceeds to find
they very
cleverally hidden park where they are to be at 5am Saturday morning to
drop off
their pfds. 9:15pm: Pete and Rhoads
rough it out for sleeping conditions in the park. 12:15am, Saturday
morning: Rhoads is awakened by…”Police
department. Park closes at 11!” Rhoads:
“Huh? What? Fuck!…ummm…ok (fucker! We were sleeping! It’s not like we
were
drinkin and shooting bottle rockets out of our asses, causing a
ruckus!).”
12:45am: The team has located a nice quiet, dark residential
neighborhood to
get some much needed shut eye. 4:30am: We proceed to the canoe then
bike, then
race start. 8am: The race starts with a quick jaunt threw the forest to
find
check point 1. Apon arriving at check point 3 to pick up the bikes
we’ve got a
healthly lead as we head for th mountain biking section. The mountain
biking
turned out something like this: “Fuck! Where’s cp 5! Mother fucker! Oh
shit
sand! This isn’t a mountain biking trial! Dammit! Fuck this shit!
There’s no
fucking way I’m walking through that river!” you get the point.
11am(?): After
a 20 mile ride we end up at the orienteering section (Which we shot
past, and almost
missed!) The orienteering went something like this: “Ummm….I have no
clue how
to do this. What the fuck? No way the cp is in that fucking thicket of
thorn
bushes! Arggg…my ankles are fucking bleeding!…Man ya know what? Fuck
this shit!
Fuck cp 5! Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
From there we were sent to local ski area to run to several
different
cp’s spread out over a 6mi course. We were told it would take one hour
and that
we were in second to last place. I’m happy to report that we blazed the
running
course in 45 minutes and probably passed around 4 teams. Apon exiting
we were
informed that the couse had been shortend for everyone due to a
projected 16
hour finishing time ina supposed to be 8 hour race. Unforntunutly we
still had
6 hours to go. Our next task was a 12mi
bike ride in 40 degree weather directly into the wind to the river so
we could
pick up our canoes. This is when the
hurt came on, we suffered like animals, each of us bonking, breaking
down,
eating a gel pack, then recovering to finally arrive at the river at
around
2:30. 4pm: we were 8 hours into our “8
hour” race and we were still on the water completely delirious and in
grave
danger of flipping the boat for an early,chilly, death.
I’m not really sure what time it was but we
came out of the water chilled to the bone as the weather had turned
sour and we
were then sent on another 6mi ride in which I was litteraly screaming
in pain
from cold hands. We completed a rappel
then were sent to another mountain
biking park for another round of cp’s. At this point it was getting
dark and as
I pushed the button on my bike light it flew off it’s mount and smashed
in the
street forcing me to flip my lid with such utterances as “Ahhhhhh!!
Dammit!
Mother fucker! Could anymore shit go wrong!!!!!” I
was forced to ride the rest of the time in total blackness
along treacherous trails and 6 lane streets. At 7:30pm and 11 and a
half hours
of racing we arrived at the finshed line in some place but not last and
just
plainly happy that is was fucking over….but the intensity continued….on
the way
to pick up my pfd we were blazing down the highway when we heard a
clunk, bam!
“Shit!” One of our bike tires had flown off the back of the car and was
bouncing down the highway at breakneck speed with cars swearving to
every
direction! “Oh shit!” I bellowed as I took evasive action and swong the
car
around to retrive the lost dignity. I’m
happy to report that the wheel was retrived in good condition and Team
“fucking
intensity” arrived back in Madison in time for the extra hour of bar
time and
stories to boot! (Editors Note: It’s been confirmed that Pete imeaditly
hit the
bars when we got home and maxed out bar time. Way to go Pete!)
Crapping
By
Peter Gentry
After
a night of drinking most people eat greasy food and go to sleep. A lucky few might even get to share their
bed with a member of the opposite sex.
That is all well and good but I propose an alternative activity.
Over
the past couple of years, on nights that weren't extremely exciting, I
found
that I needed something a little more intense than Ian's pizza or Qdoba. A good friend of mine, Tim Lindl, suggested
one night that we sneak into a construction site with one of those huge
200
foot cranes, climb said crane, and rappel off of it.
I thought to myself "what a great idea, trespass, climb a
tall object, tie a small rope to that object, and then hang off of the
side and
let go. And all while drunk of
course."
Since
then several cranes at several different sites have been rappelled from. On our last outing Tim and I decided to
bring our "sport" to the mainstream and TIN for a little
exposure. You see, about two weeks ago
we had been drinking at a fine local establishment by the name of
Paul's Club
on a Wednesday. This Wednesday was a
little less intense than it needed to be so once again, Tim and I
decided to
throw our bodies off of a tall crane.
We had to go back to our house to get our gear and scouted out a
fine
construction site on the way. Right
next to the cop shop and county jail there is a large building going up. I thought that trespassing right under the
cops' nose would make our experience more exciting and to top it off,
this site
had two cranes so we could add more than one to our list.
So
we get to the site with all of our gear at about 3:00 in the morning. We wait until several police cars pass and
slip through a fence and down into the construction site.
After weaving through rebar and piles of
wood and metal we reach the first crane.
There is usually some kind of wall or door that you need to get
around
before you can get to the ladder that leads to the top of the crane. Once we got past that it was simply a climb
up a very long ladder to the top platform that contains the control
room.
It
was at this point that crane rappelling evolved into Crapping. It was only logical, especially after I took
a crap off of the top (don't worry I brought a bunch of leaves). You see, crane rappelling turned into
C-Rapping
and then, with the actual act of shitting, Crapping.
After
a few pictures and a lot of laughs about how this would be "fucking
perfect for TIN," we set up a single rope and Tim rapped off the
edge. Because Crapping is usually done
at night, you usually can't see if the rope has reached the ground. This makes for an especially intense rush
when you are still ten feet off of the ground when you hit the end of
the rope
just as Tim did. Without a stopper
knot, Tim shot to the ground but in true Lindl form, survived unscathed.
So
then it was on to the next crane where, upon reaching the top, we
realized that
there was a cop car parked below just idling.
We decided to wait it out for a while so we had some time to
discuss our
new "sport". The name, of
course, is Crapping. The idea is to
affix a sticker of your own design or choosing at the top platform. This is a signal to all that the crane has
been "crapped" off of. The
objective is to be the first to Crapp from the crane.
If you aren't the first, put you sticker up there too so you can
get some credit. That way, when the
sport takes off, you can say you were one of the people who started it. Currently my sticker is a Gregory Backpacks
sticker, which is not fucking cool. I
am working on a much better tag though.
You can just draw your own and get them printed on sticker paper
at
Kinko's or go to makestickers.com and order some.
After
Tim and I discussed the logistics of Crapping the cop was still parked
below. We decided to go ahead and
rappel off anyways so down I went. I
hit the bottom, gave the rope a few tugs.
Tim sent it down, I wrapped it up and we got out of there as
quick as we
could. And that is Crapping.
So
give it a try next time you've been out and need something else to do
before
you go home. E-mail TIN with stories
and pictures or show everyone what your sticker looks like so you can
get
credit for all of those first ascents.
Please
note: Trespassing at a construction
site constitutes a felony. Please
engage in this activity at your own risk.
Also, since the enactment of the so-called "Patriot Act" I
realize that law enforcement agents (A.K.A. "the Fuzz") may be able
to view this document. Because of this
fact I would like to add that all of the acts described above are
fictitious
and never actually occurred so fuck off!!
PIC
OF THE MONTH: Rhoads has gotten a new toy! Peers predict death within 2
months!
If
this isn’t intense I don’t know what the fuck is! I finally shot off
the money
cannon this past month and bought my dream baby, a
1999 Honda CBR F4 crotchrocket! (Yea mother fucker!) Basiclly
this is what I’ve always wanted and I’m willing to eat oatmeal for the
next two
years to pay for it. Some people think
buying a rocket is a stupid move but I say fuck that because it makes
me godamn
happy! That’s all life is good for any way! Feeling good about yourself. I’m reminded of a quote that my high school
class president said at graduation, “If you dig it, do it.
If you dig it a lot do it twice.” Well
that’s exactly what I did, I dug ‘em so I bought two. (Oh yea, the 85’
NightHawk is for sale if anyone’s interested) Oh’ and for those of you
who
think I’m gonna die, I’ve got an explanation of my risk taking. I am what some people call a “calculated
adrenaline maniac.” Meaning, I know my limits, I know what I’m capable
of and I
know what I’m not capable of. I free
solo rock climbs with the gurantee of instant death if I were to fall
because I
know I’m not going to fall. (Besides, I’ve only gotten the thing
to
125mph) The rush is not in the danger,
it’s in the awesome display of absolute confidence in a risky situation. Am I going to die early? Absolutly. But it’s
probably going to be while doing what I love. So, at least I was
fucking happy.
QUOTES:
“A man…can lose his balance!”
Rhoads, slightly intoxicated, explaining to others why he almost pitched backward into the entertainment center while attemping to grab some pretzels.
“It’s all about the benjimans!”
Rhoads, to Jason L as he handed him a thick stack of hundred dolla’ bills.
Halloween Hashers Run!!!: A.K.A. Rhoads gets fuckin’ blitzed!
Halloween night 6pm: I arrived at the infamous Todd “Lord pie” Mei’s house for the beginning…of the end. For those of not familiar with “hashing” It has a
little to do with running and a lot to do with drinkin’. Basiclly we run from bar to bar having the drink of choice at every one until we’re too drunk to stand.
Sounds fun! Right! Anyway, Todd, Jason H, Pete G and I polished off manhattens then hit the road at around 6:45. This run was to be
a “bootleg” meaning we weren't really "hashers" (there's an actual exclusive club) but we are going to run and drink anyway. Thus we arrived at the Greenbush on
Regent St. and slamed back a couple of “whiskey waters.” Next stop was the Lural about a mile down the road next to Edgewood. Another round of whiskeys.
Then on to the Village Bar on Speedway next to Glenway golf course for another round of whiskeys. Here, two important things happened; they had Jim Beam
Rye and we were all getting good and liquored up for the 3 mile jaunt to Le Tigre lounge on Midvale Blvd. next to the Belt Line. On the way Todd wiped out in
grand fashion, we stole those street crossing flags, and we went trick-o-treating for “nourishment.” Whiskey at the Le Tigre went down well enough and we were
off for the hundred yard dash under the beltline to…some bar I can’t remember the name, for more whiskey!!! Here, me and Pete chomped on beef jerky in true
drunk fashion. Next to Tony Frank’s where we ate saltines like they were going out of style. Next thing I know we’re running threw the Arberetom, it’s 11pm
and I can’t see a fucking thing! I really not sure but I believe we ran about three miles to The Great Dane right off the capital square to find it completely cluster
fucked and thus we decided to order some za so we wouldn’t pass the fuck out. When asked if we found this type of activity fun I replied “Well, yea! In my own
fucked up way I really do enjoy this! Plus, its fucking intense!”
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