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<title>Cambridge Underground 1996: From Expo Novice to Expo Leader</title>
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<center><font size=-1>Cambridge Underground 1996 pp 15-16</font>

<h2>From Expo Novice to Expo Leader:<br>
The Tale of My Decline</h2>
                                    
<p><b><i>by Steve Bellhouse</i></b></center>

<p>I can picture it clearly. I was sitting next to the beer barrel at the
CUCC squash, talking to a gorgeous lady with long blonde hair who kept
filling my glass. That was when I first heard of expo. At the time it was
an enigma, a garbled mass of nonsensical phrases. "Potato hut",
<span lang=de-at>"G&ouml;sser"</span> and "Wadders" were concepts
completely alien to me. Now, over a year later, I know that the beautiful
young lady is in fact a man called Petel, and the institution known as
expo has also become clearer to me, although many mysteries still remain.
This is the tale of my expo enlightenment. (How I found out Petel was a
man is another, more sordid story.)

<p>Halfway through my first term, the entire club decided it was intensely
amusing to shout "Whose car am I going to expo in?" at a nice
little man called Nick. Nick had been nobbled as 'Expo Leader', and this
apparently made him a complete mug. What kind of sucker would volunteer for
a job like that? At the time, I was blissfully unaware of the true extent 
of the horrific ordeal facing him, but alas no more, as this year's mug is
me. The trials and tribulations of expo leadership are also another story,
though.

<p>By this time it was clear that expo would be happening and that I would
be going. Easter term and exams flashed by me largely unnoticed as my life
became intertwined with the whirlwind of drama, comedy and romance that is
expo. A month climbing in the Alps seemed dull and uneventful as I waited
impatiently for the big moment. Then it finally arrived. It was time to go
to expo, and three weeks of excitement and adventure lay ahead of me, with
danger lurking at every turn.

<p>I discovered the Potato Hut a few small seconds before I discovered
<span lang=de-at>G&ouml;sser</span>, the true drink of the Gods. This utopian
nectar has to be disguised as fizzy Austrian lager to stop over-consumption
by those unappreciative of its subtleties. I, however, was very appreciative,
and I over-consumed accordingly.

<p>Next, I discovered the expo dinner, which I had cunningly arrived just
in time for. The singing of <a href="../../../archive/song.htm">'Wild
Caver'</a> was more raucous and less tuneful than ever before, a girl stole
my heart away by eating ten chocolate puddings, and only one person had to go
to hospital. I woke up next morning with a massive hangover, thinking that
expo was great. Then I had to go caving.

<p>Twenty minutes drive up a chunderous toll road, an hour's walk to top
camp and another hour to the cave, all carting caving gear, left me
knackered before even going caving. However, once I was there I suddenly
became keen, and that first trip turned out to be the best of my expo. We
whizzed down France, past the legendary free-hanging rebelay in Algeria,
one more pitch, up a mud slope, bang a quick spit in, and...

<p>...CAVE! Fat wads of stonking great new passageway in both directions.
We stomped off happily, I found a pitch and got to dangle precariously and
put a spit in, whilst the others did some surveying. Altogether we were
underground for thirteen hours, and we got back to top camp just as the
sun was coming up. Next day we headed back to base camp to drink beer and
spread wild rumours about how our find would link KH to
<span lang=de-at>Stellerweg</span> and make our cave one of the finest in the
world. Our dreams of international fame and fortune were soon shattered by
Olly's computer that showed us our sense of direction underground was about
average ie. non-existent. It was still an important find, though, and I was
still happy.

<p>A few days later expo changed my life for ever, when I met Robert the
Wonder Caver, a dashing Austrian policeman who caves like a demon, drinks
like a fish and is quite possibly hung like a grand-national winner. No
man could have a finer r&ocirc;le-model. This man splits his time between 
heroically fighting crime on the violent, vice-filled Austrian streets,
and pushing back the boundaries of human exploration in relentless
subterranean sorties. The time he spends bombing round in his car whilst
tanked up on Schnapps is minimal and excusable, especially as he's so hard.

<p>More caving, more <span lang=de-at>G&ouml;sser</span>, more sunshine, more
rain (oh how fondly I remember the chirpy tuneful pitter-patter of Austrian
raindrops), more lies and exaggerations, expo flowed over and around me like
the water in a Swildons duck. I was never entirely sure if I would survive.

<p>Time passed and the end of expo drew inexorably closer. Everyone tried not
to think about the massive piles of assorted caving shit at top camp and the
cave entrance that would soon have to be brought down. People coped with the
stress of the impending Carries of Doom in different ways. Some frantically
ticked off <span lang=de-at>G&ouml;ssers</span> in the bier book, hoping not
to wake up until it was all over. Others lay on their backs on lilos on the
lake, staring blankly up at the sky and murmuring "Wibble" very quietly. The
car battery up there which was completely unused all expo, and the 16lb tub
of syrup which had seemed like a good idea at the time, were not going to
walk down the hill on their own. I discovered the problems of owning a
rucksack which was widely regarded as infinite, but slowly, surely, the end
drew near. The bubbling metropolis of top camp became a simple field once
more, and <span lang=de>Kaninchenh&ouml;hle</span> was allowed to sleep.
She's not a beautiful cave, a little tiresome at times and slightly muddy in
places, but we all love her and she deserves her rest. Expo was over.

<p>The gear fitted in the car for the journey home, then we remembered
that I had to fit in somewhere as well. Hours passed in a half waking
nightmare of sleeping bags and radio equipment falling from the sky, and
finally I arrived home. Next year I shall return a hardened veteran, and
novices will gaze at me in awe and wonder, and I won't reveal to them the
tale of my past, when I too first tried to make sense of the CUCC annual
expedition. I now know the secret. You don't try to understand it. You
just go there and do it.

<p><center><a href="../../1623/161/l/pipecp.htm"><img alt="Beehive Camp -
8k jpg, link to 85k jpeg" width=184 height=116
src="../../1623/161/t/pipecp.jpg"></a><br>
<i>Steve Bellhouse, Martin Sabry and Kate Janossy enjoy a refreshing cup of
hot chocolate (ahem) at the underground camp in Beehive, 1994.</i> [Photo:
Andy Atkinson]</center>

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<!-- LINKS -->
<ul id="links">
<li><a href="http://cucc.survex.com/jnl/1996/index.htm">Table of Contents</a>
for Cambridge Underground 1996</li>
<li>1995 Expedition info:
<ul>
<li><a href="index.htm">Index</a> (more detail than in this list)</li>
<li><a href="report.htm">Cambridge Underground report</a></li>
<li><a href="log.htm">Logbook</a></li>
<li><a href="excsrp.htm">Preliminary report</a> (exCS newsletter)</li>
<li><a href="bcracc.htm">BCRA Caves and Caving</a> Report</li>
<li>This year's <a href="sponsr.htm">Sponsors</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><A HREF="../../../index.htm">Back to CUCC top page</a></li>
<li><A HREF="../../index.htm">Austria expeditions</a></li>
<li><a href="http://cucc.survex.com/jnl/index.htm">Index</a> to Cambridge Underground<br>
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