Bath Gas Silos
lights flooded the compound in white light yet anachronistically no cctv cameras revolved or watched in silence. The three gas silos on the Lower Bristol Road had reached functional obsolescence and though unlit steely one was left standing at the time I was under the belief they were all to be destroyed. Bath has some beautiful buildings but few exposed industrial architecture that I love. Workmen were cutting through sections of the Victorian frames with oxy acetal one torches, reducing these beasts of engineering to transportable chunks to be weighed in. One silo was already gone and I cursed myself for not being abreast of this operation. These men were some private firm hired in, not council workers happy to stretch jobs out. If we didn't act swiftly these icons of industrial past would be gone.
Surveying the area under the pretext of being an art photographer the security allowed me to take thirty odd shots from outside the chain link fence. I wasn't lieing, I do photograph cooling towers, communication transmitters, water towers, anything of beauty despite itself. Never buildings of self consious wealth but that patch where civil engineering hands over to stylist architect. Here is where one can find the beauty within the mundane.
My recy complete i stashed away my mini compact camera and assessed the ease of access and scaling the still perfect third silos majesty would depend on the enthusiasm of the security. Their days are dull and sa wish so the deconstruction had put a spring in their tale however, in my wide experience of what has come to be known as urban exploration, they will be focused on making sure the metal isn't stolen for resale. They can't conceive of why anyone would want to climb the structures just to see from the top. Just to place oneself at a point in the city no one else goes.
Lipton was residing out at a traveller site of loose vehicles hidden behind a large public car park and a cheap eating pub, wither spoons or some such establishment. His own trailer and truck were back over shepton way and he'd come stay in town where cash could be made or free food found by stating in a vacant caravan. Unlocking the chained gate and rolling on to a new traveller site is always a mixed feeling of reforming old freindships or facing protective hostilities. No where can you just roll on to site in van or truck in to an established village without invitation, explanation or confrontation. Heavy rains had formed a vast puddle sped across. I only had a transit and their single rear wheel drive is notorious for getting stuck in muddied grooves. Fine on hard standing and summer days.
Lipton was polo nosed. Ketamine was popular at the time and the tell tale nostril halos and reddened strained eyes suggested the boys had been at it for a few days. It ceases to deliver the profound depth of k hole with repeat use and dimishing return leaves a rush of sensation but users fully able to talk to a straight man. I was offered a line but rejected. My mind was on the silos and distraction is all too easy on site.
Lipton is familiar with my missions and his bravery without question. He sometimes doesn't get why I need to do something but always grasps it is a serious and sincere operation. I explained about the demolition of the silos. How it was our duty to climb the final one, to walk around the top circle. To see the city lights above. To outsmart the security below. At this time the phrase urban exploration had not been coined and though other teams were out there I still felt it was my art form, not the fashion it became. It was not only the increased numbers out exploring but an event that shook me to the core. The Fall of Solomon as we came to refer to it saw a solo guy we'd often see out on building sites or railway embankments fall to his death from a half built office complex. He was not close but a freind. This put a damper on our enthusiasm for climbing and ultimately led to the later subterranian adventures in our hunt for jesse Presleys underground rock and roll empire. More on that later.
My plan, such as it could be described as such involved passing off our van amongst the workers. These boys were going all night and drove a mix of makes and colours. From the car park to the chain link would be easy booted up in our uniform hi viz jackets. The footprint of a gas silo is massive. The cutters were working dismantling components of the others and their unusual presence on site had the regular mundanity of the security engrossed. We should be fine scaling the seven or eight feet of checker link fencing crowned by those spiteful razor wire rolls. These fences weren't even vertical and nothing we hadn't bypassed ten or more times before. A rope ladder and a thick blanket for the razors, timed right should get me and Lipton inside in under a minute. Professional pride was at stake.
Shaking off the wannabes took a few minutes as all wanted to go. But this was my special work and I didn't want any k'd up or drunk ruining our one chance because once the security jobs worths have seen you try they'll be looking on for your return for weeks.
Parked up we treat it exactly as if we are at work. The no silane and boredom of the worker must be evident. No prickly nervous movements or scanning for dangers. We are supposed to be there. In a sense we have more rights than the workers as our aims are artistic, spiritual, adventures taken for no personal gain. Our only enemy the growing greyness of the everyday. Each morning we wake on a sumptuous planet crammed with strange and resplendent animals and plants. On a sphere spinning through space surrounded by stars and galaxies. Yet man chooses to polish shoes, look at only the mess, think only of money, constantly in search of distraction from the beauty and wonder of existence. It is our duty to see the world. We are aware for this briefest of windows and thus it is ours to look, to smell, to taste the wonder of existence. For sure, Solomon did not want to die. But he died in search of wonder, and that is no bad death.
My fear of heights is well known. Fortunately im not a freezer. They can cause you any kind of problem. But I step slowly. It feels unnatural. Lipton suffers an underground claustrophobia so neither of us is perfectly equipped.
We were over and in unseen. All activity was around the footprint of the now disassembled silo.
I've seen these since I was a boy and they've always fascinated. The differing heights of the gas dome, it's rings of walkway, it's curved linking ladders. Finally I had my own. I'd guess it's frame height at 150 feet. Not vast but enough to be inthe fall kill zone. Just the frame remained tall, the containers long empty sat at the lowest divide. Four sections criss crossed with triangulation frames held all steady and straight runs of zig zag stairs led to the top circle, our goal. Seeing our freedom we chose opposing sides of the silo.
It must have been nine or ten by now yet still the cutters worked on. The ground flooded with light meant soon we'd be out of all sight. Ripping up his side Lipton reached his top way before my ponderous stepping. And there, above the cities arse end, we looked across towards each other, either side of a hundred foot circle a hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Weirdly, despite the distance we could speak such was the activity below. Across that vast ring in the sky our bond was made. We knew what we must do. We must always be ready to abandon the mundane for adventure. Looking down space curves and new perspectives on routes you took each day became apparent.
We walked round and met up on our circle above. We cracked a can of special brew each and seldom has it tasted so invigorating ly pure and life affirming. A fair breeze reminded you not to let go easily. Though no giant it's still a one slip death monster. I can't remember us saying anything special. Pointing out landmarks. Me excited to see his glee. 'Glad you came?' I asked. 'Fucking right, where we off tomorrow?' Lipton was initiated into my world.
After half an hour we were cold enough to come down. Scaling an in leaning fence is another matter. We'd stolen nothing. Hurt no one. So called the two security guards to let us out. They found our actions funny and let us return to site. But we'd ignited fire in our bellies. New plans formed from our excited minds. A touch of ketamine and more beer rounded off a perfect start.
Of course we had no inclination we were on a spiritual journey. That we had taken on a responsibility for mankind. We just thought of buildings and tunnels, bridges and structures. The city had become our playground.
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