Day: September 22, 1995

Glade Cave

Three aspirin, a killer hangover and some second rate clothes are all you need for a day of caving. I don’t know about everyone on our trip to Glade last Sunday, but I had all three of the aforementioned items. We all met behind Burruss Hall around noon. Brian and I wondered where everyone was. Well, it was cold, damn cold and the rest of the group was inside the building waiting for our, I mean everyone’s heroes. The first surprise of the day was learning that Brian would be leading the trip. How little our entourage knew what dangers lay in bestowing our lives in Brian’s hands (note everyone did return relatively unscathed, repeat, no casualties). Regardless, we all set out for Glade. There were other side-tracks involved of course. The standard drop-by Rich’s house for gear. Brian and I secretly set out to avoid Mr. J’s bagels at all costs, but this didn’t set well with our fellow cavers and we all know better than to piss off a group of hungry, hung-over cavers. So other than destroy what has somehow become a cave tradition we decided to hit Mr. J’s. Finally we were on our way. People seemed to think that we didn’t know how to get to the cave, but we were only taking the scenic route and practicing our five-point turns. After some spirited games of “Hey Cow” we found the cave. While we were getting ready, we had the exclusive pressure of listening to a rare and outdated Orphan Annie import soundtrack. Indeed, tomorrow was only a day away and by then we wouldn’t have to listen to that wretched music anymore. We cautioned everyone to extinguish their cigarettes during our journey to the cave, lest one of the butts fell and ignited one of the many cow pies littering the field. Being that we were experienced and skilled cavers, we flew through Glade. Brian and I knew every step of the way, just like when we were actually driving to Glade .We proceeded to the Mud Room and a festive round of mud-wrestling ensued. Some cavers had a hard time keeping their lights out when the time came. We’ll call them Sheri X and Grace Y to protect their identities. After much mud slinging, our fearless leaders decided it was time to flee. The trip out was uneventful save for the usual poor renditions of Vanilla Ice, Sir MixALot and other early 1990s has-beens. The trip ended with our hangovers in recession until next weekend or in some people’s cases: Tuesday. What a great day of Caving!