Draper Dungeon
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I’m reaching the outer limits of acceptable time away from the gym -- five days without a workout and counting. I need it -- the time off -- and confess, as a full-blown ironhead with ball bearings for brains, I would not volunteer the valuable pause for rest and recuperation. But duty calls.
Here I sit scribbling my thoughts on a legal pad at a panoramic rain-streaked terminal window fronting the Evansville Airport runways. It’s a modern terminal and the airfield below me is as neat as a pro golf course and about as large. I see one aircraft, a jet designed for short hops, taxiing in preparation for takeoff. This is the first sign of aircraft activity since I arrived an hour ago and I’m envious.
My fight is not scheduled to leave for another three hours.
Ha. I was told the same tale yesterday, Sunday, as I sat in this very same spot. As soon as I was comfortable, the airline agent called me to the front counter, apologized and cancelled my flight. "Sorry, sir. We can get you out tomorrow at noon." Swell. No problemo. What’s another day? I’ll sleep in a corner. Sometime before noon -- that would be today -- I received another apology. "Sorry, Mr Dapper, we’re looking at 5 PM."
Not to worry. My life’s an empty space. I’ll walk. Which way is west?
I’m out of Bomber Blend, down to two cans of tuna, one Cliff Bar and a dwindling pile of food supplements. There’s a vending machine dispensing junk next to assorted blinking and beeping arcade machines, and the sound drifting from the terminal’s speakers is ‘80s disco, a small step up from rap in my world of musical appreciation. I’m in heaven.
Airports are prime venues for people watching, but here there are no people to watch. I situate myself before the liveliest gate -- a janitor is emptying trash -- and wait. My practice goes beyond watching. I inspect, scrutinize and analyze people as they troop about the corridors; I all but go through their luggage. Two hours and no one embarking and no one disembarking; no busy workers scurrying about humming aircraft bound for destinations unknown. I’m alone.
Chicago O’Hare will be different, count on it. I will race frantically to catch my connecting flight to San Jose. I will become one of the people "people watchers" watch, panting, neck straining, eyes red with desperation, an over-stuffed bag tangled about my staggering legs. Rats.
My muse is interrupted. "Yes, I’m Dave Draper. What’s that you say? Forget Chicago! Why not?" I’ve been rerouted through St. Louis, where I connect to Dallas for a midnight special to San Jose, estimated arrival time 2AM. Why should I have a problem with that? I’ve lost my pump, I’m entering phase-three catabolism, enzyme functions have ceased, my blood sugar is perilously low and I’m having blackouts. I think of this as a totally cool, awesome adventure.
Please. Store me with the luggage.
Reminder, bombers: I’m writing as I make my way home from Indiana where I visited Odis Meredith and Torque Athletic. Odis and his loyal team of metal-crafters engineer and manufacture hunky, no-compromise custom muscle equipment. They’re building the Draper Dungeon. They closed shop and we dedicated three solid days to uninterrupted brain-storming, designing and redesigning until the rough completion of the project -- a mission, more correctly, begun three years ago.
The grizzly power cage fitted with an overhead and low-pull cable system stood in a bay of the 5,000-square-foot machine shop. A beastly inclinable flat bench sat to the side next to an all-purpose utility bench and various other attachments in different stages of completion. The whole catastrophe was beautifully ugly in raw steel, brutish welds, rough edges and thick protruding bolts. We sat back and gawked affectionately. A bomber’s dream.
The truth is in the details, and so is the pain: Is it thick and beefy enough, have we overbuilt and thus compromised function, are the musclebuilding attachments sufficient and suitable for the big brute and his hard-working petite sweetheart, do they affix to the cage simply, conveniently and snugly? What’s missing and what’s too much? We want all we need, but we don’t want a mess. We want a clean, mean dungeon without excess, novelties and tricks.
This is what we have so far, muscle builders hoping to escape the crowded, frivolous world outside your castle grounds:
1) A power cage larger and thicker than most commercial models fitted with the following assets
• adjustable spotting bars capable of supporting a ton
• equally strong adjustable duel-direction bar supports
• side mount plate holders
• hooks for out-of-the-way handle and chain storage
• receptacles for convenient upright storage for extra Oly bars
• base rail attachment for heavy band training
• an outrageous chinning bar system and, last but not least
• a sweet plate-loading overhead pulley system. Wow!
2) A gnarly yet streamlined inclinable flat bench, zero to 90 degrees
3) A tough multi-purpose utility bench with back support and preacher curl features
4) A hefty low-pull attachment with seat and leg-supports
5) A thick (2 inch) dipping bar attachment with variable width and height
6) A leg-up attachment for midsection work
7) Six very cool 1.5" thick handles designed by moi for various terrific needs
I believe that’s it (in raw steel) so far. The Dungeon breaks down into movable pieces to access normal rooms though typical doorways. It assembles simply with half-inch bolts. We have (on paper) a Smith press attachment, a leg curl and extension, and hyperextension. Colors come in a broad range and one can mix and match powder-coated paint jobs as they please (for example, black cage, red benches). The rest is in the hands of the user.
Push that iron! Lift that steel!
I’m excited. It’s like building a monster bike with all the space, metal, massive machines, tools and expert manpower to do the job right, now, the way you want it and without compromise.
When considering the Dungeon’s footprint, imagine the length of an Olympic bar for its width and length, and add a foot to the height. It will be fairly priced and it won’t be cheap. But then who buys a B-52 bomber and worries about nickels and dimes?
The thrust of the jet engines has decreased and the attendants are collecting the remaining loose items from the passengers -- the beginning of the end of a long journey. I have just enough time to tell you it was a pleasure flying with you (I selfishly concealed my identity so I would not be imposed upon to take the controls -- boring) and perhaps we can do it again sometime. I’ll return to Indiana in three or four weeks for a final "final inspection" of the DD (Draper Dungeon) before it’s allowed in the hands of ferocious and enthusiastic lifters.
It just occurred to me: This unit is perfect for fire stations and police departments and personal trainers with limited space and inspired needs. I think I’ll become a cop. Wait. There’s more: we’ll have a total Dungeon at our pumped and hot fingertips in July at the Bomber Bash. 150 bombers can give the monster the supreme test.
You can glide, but you can’t slide. Blast it, bombers!
God’s speed... Double D
What’s that, Flight Attendant Jane? We’ll be landing 10 minutes ahead of schedule at Miami International Airport (MIA). Swell, early for a change. Can I jump out here or do I have to wait till the aircraft comes to a complete stop and the captain turns off the seatbelt light?
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