bunker of doom

BUNKER OF DOOM


I went down to the Carson City area this weekend to visit my dad and son ( the boy was visiting grandpa for July ). I’ve been trying to visit my folks every summer since I moved up here, and this year I got the free bonus of visiting my son who I haven’t seen in about four years. We had a very nice time, sitting out on the patio smoking and joking ( Joking 'n Smoking ) until the wee morning hours, catching up. I’m 6’2” in height, and now I’m the midget of the family ( at least the male side ). The boy has shot up, and only seventeen. I have everyone who bought through my Amazon links to thank for the extra cash that paid for the visit. Yes, we are engaged in a commercial enterprise here, you paying to read my writing ( most of you, the free loaders are the ones who complain the loudest about every imperfection ). But don’t think for a second I’m not grateful. I know you all love me the best, as you are all very supportive. And now that our required ass kissing is out of the way, on to today’s article.

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I believe it was Mohave Rat who asked for some more details on The Pit. I would have replied in the comments section, but had no time. Luckily, this allowed me to blow off the cobwebs and start up the rusty brain. I had a few days for the idea to formulate that this was indeed a golden opportunity to substitute an informative article with more Captain Obvious ( Captain Obvious Dark T-Shirt ) Drivel. So, for those lusting after more ideas on how to be just like your hero ( me, not Obammy ), here is the complete and mostly true tale of my Bison Bunker Of Doom. Two years ago when we moved out to Elko ( motivated half from fear of imminent financial meltdown and half from being unable to afford rent in town on low wages and high ex-wife car payments ) I decided with less than clear motives to start digging a pit. Mostly I wanted to see if the ground was hard enough to support the walls without shoring. Obviously, if this was a cave or tunnel I would have shored it up, but this was to be a roofed over pit. Four to five foot walls on an eight by eight pit are in little danger of burying me. I dug about one or two foot down the whole way around and down to four feet in a one by three foot section. That weathered many a “pouring buckets” storm, so I decided that the soil here was suitable for my needs. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted it for. Perhaps a root cellar ( Root Cellaring: Natural Cold Storage of Fruits & Vegetables ). At the time it was a nice foxhole, a defensive pit I could dive into as attacking ninja’s from the ATF stormed the trailer. I picked away at the depth on and off in good weather for about a year and a half, mostly digging at a rate of a half inch a months or something equally embarrassing. Then, before this last winter ended, I decided to get serious about finishing the thing.

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I’m pretty skinny. Lean muscle, not bulky. I wasn’t really that weak that I couldn’t dig much, except that my calorie intact barely matches my outtake. I just never had the stamina to do much. But the last few months I forced myself to finish digging. I was going to go down four feet and up another three with pallets, but their supply dried up. Just as I was about to start digging more, it was decided that Number Four would come back to the Compound. I was thinking about actually living in the pit, but not with two people and two cats. Which is what motivated me to finally skirt the trailer ( about a hundred bucks in rigid foam insulation, propped up under the overhang pressed against extra propane bottles and such and partially covered with dirt ), the universal motivation to make the housing more comfortable to make the little lady happy. I knew I wanted to finish the pit. I had sold my Arizona lot ( the Texas one is still available if anyone is interested ) and so had half the extra cash I needed. My main motivation at this point was to survive without propane ( Stansport Propane Appliance to Bulk Tank Hose (5-Feet) ). Not IF I needed to but WHEN I needed to. Not enough wood in the area means the only rational long term plan for survival is underground with solar heat, with the sage brush wood for cooking and emergency back up heat ( not primary heat ). If you look at the pictures you notice four PVC pipes. One is a propane hose and 12 volt wire intake ( even though the propane is temporary ), one is for air and the other two are an in and out for a solar heater.

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The pit is far from perfect. It doesn’t have enough insulation or dirt on top. But it serves its purpose, which is to provide a lot more comfort in emergency heat conditions than the trailer. Once the pit was dug, I lined the top sides with pallets, two high on three sides and one high on the forth. I dug a central post hole, and made a post by nailing three 2x4’s together. Three bags of QuikCrete into the hole. The brace across was two 2x4’s nailed together, one pair in each direction from the center. Then I put 2x4’s from the center to one side, so that the roof extends over the pallets. The roof was plywood, one on each side of the center and half lengths all around the sides on top. The entrance is a trap door over a three foot tunnel off of one corner. I glued board insulation to the plywood, covered with overlapping pieces of four ply plastic sheeting and covered with a couple/few inches of dirt. During the winter I’ll need to shovel the snow off because of the weight. If time and finances allow I’ll cover the inside walls and floor and place more insulation up. If not, it is another Better Than Nothing.

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While we await the Apocalypse ( Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse ), the pit is now a storage shed. I spent about three hundred bucks on it, so this is a very cheap shed. To commemorate its ( near ) completion I bought 250 pounds of feed store wheat and placed them in buckets and stored them in the pit. I’ll add more quickly ( no, I don’t trust the global grain supply to remain sufficient ). With wheat in there I don’t feel like I wasted the money. Yes, I used Home Depot buckets. And, yes, I understand they might have toxic plastic additives. I put the grain in garbage bags and refuse to worry about the risk. Better dead in twenty years from cancer than in five minutes after from lack of stored food. That’s the story of the Bison Bunker.

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