WILD RIDERS OF BOARDZI
THE BIGGEST BOYS DOU
THE ROAD HOURS WERE
TRECHEROUS AND LONG. DRUNK
DRIVERS ROAMED THE HIGHWAYS,
LOOKING FOR TARGETS. SO THE
BOYS MOVED QUICKLY, MAKING
TIME. FINALLY THEY PULL INTO
TUCSON, ARIZONA. A GIG SET FOR
THAT NIGHT HAS THEM QUIVERING
IN ANTICIPATION. THEY GO TO A GAS
STATION FOR DIRECTIONS.
"It's an armadillo. Hey y'all. We too are
skateboarders. Yeah, we're from Texas.
Austin to be precise. How is the skate
scene 'round these here parts?"
The toughs looked at each other, then
at Biskut then back at each other,
wondering if this guy was for real. It was
then that the other tough spoke up. "We
has got good skate scene here. None
better, eh. We got da pool, thank god. We
always skate aggressively you know
man.
Biskut's eyes lit right up at the sound of
"POOL." "Hey, would y'all tell us where
your pool is? We haven't skated a ground
pool in ages."
Then the second tough came back with,
"Look man. You don't understand from
how we come, eh. This our town. Our
territory. Our turf, man. You don't skate
nowhere, no how in this town, 'cept
unless we be dere with you and make
sure you follow our rules to ride in dis
here town."
Half-way through this guy's speech,
Tim walked up and, along with Biskut,
became confused as all hell. They looked
at each other, then at the pair in front of
them, wondering if these guys were for
real. Finally Tim spoke. "Hey, you guys
wait over here and me and Biskut will go
talk it over with the rest of our GANG.
Then we'll let you know."
Back at the van the decision was easy.
They hadn't skated in a pool in so long.
that they were bound and determined to
skate at any costs. They motioned to the
toughs to come and hop into the van to
show them the pool. Five minutes down
an old abandoned road brought them to
an old condemned health club. The van
was parked and the crew made for the
fence. Scaling the fence in determined
commando-esque style and vigor, the
small skate mass halted at the edge of an
olympic-size square pool.
The Big Boys hopped into the seven
foot deep shallow end and readied for
skate heaven when the second skate
tough stopped them and said, "Remember
what I said it was how for it to be, so you
can skate here. You be skatin' to our
rules, our standards. No Gold Cup
maneuvers here, bub. Straight on full
aggression name of da game here, I tell
you neighbors."
This suited the Big Boys right fine and
dandy, fo' sho'. Chris wailed away into the
environs, kicking up the scum-line dust as
he surpassed the transition, up the five-
feet of flat wall with barely enough speed
to pull off a meager two-block frontside
grind. Then hair balling out of that vert,
down to ground zero. The first skate
tough snapped his fingers, pointed at
Chris and said, "That boy knows from
what we talk."
Skate havoc ensued. Wild impressions
of common moves, taken beyond all pre-
conceived impressions. No limits. No
room for stupid little mistakes, only full
ballsy commitment. Corner air was the
main contesting move. Everyone was
trying them, drawing away farther and
farther as they progressed in accuracy,
some covering four or five feet in distance.
The session blazed on for hours and
hours, as the entourage powered the
devine strokes. After the Boys skated
fully, they had to bail because they
suddenly remembered about the show
that they had scheduled for the night. All
piled into the tour van and headed 'em up
and moved 'em out to the club. The skate
toughs definitely were invited to the show
with the promise of putting them on the
guest list.
Five minuted before they are to go on
for the first of three minute sets, Biskut
prepares himself for the show donning
ghoulish make-up and pink cowboy boots.
The rest of the band is busy setting up
and gets it just in time for showtime. The
band comes onstage as, at the door, two
young skate toughs spoke to the lady at
the ticket window, "Hey, lady. We are on
the stinking guest list, eh man."
"Yeah. The guest list man. We know
the band."
Rushing to the dance floor, the toughs
performed the volatile Tucson Slam.
Fingers snappin' and eyes a-poppin'. The
band crazed on. "Identity crisis, who am I.
Identity crisis, I wonder why. Identity
crisis, what's my name?"
THE EPISODE GOES ON UNTIL THE
BAND IS FINISHED. AT THE END OF
THE LAST SONG YOU MAY RESUME
CONTROL OF YOUR READING
FACILITIES. THIS ENDS ON A CALM
AND FESTIVE NOTE. SKATERS SKATE
TOGETHER NO MATTER WHAT AND
PARTY TOGETHER MORE OFTEN
THAN NOT.
MOFO?
40
"Fred, why don't you ask where the club
is. Chris said, brushing Cisco's tail out of
his face.
"Oakeydokey," was Fred's reply as he
went in search of the pump jockey.
Tim and Biskut stepped out of the van
to stretch their legs and get a little
exercise. On his way out, Tim grabbed
Cisco for a little game of catch. Cisco, in
anticipation, rolled up into a ball, ready to
get airborne.
Biskut ran out towards the sidewalk
mocking the best of tight ends. Tim
dropped back and lobbed Cisco out
towards Biskut. The sound of skateboards
coming down the sidewalk stopped Biskut
in his tracks. Cisco flew right over his
head and landed in the back seat of a
convertible that was parked at the curb.
relieving himself on impact.
Two local skate toughs powered down
the street. As they came towards the point
where Biskut stood, Cisco bailed out of
the convertible and cut-off the oncoming
drones.
The lead man, extremely startled.
pitched it sideways and skidded to a halt.
with the other skater doing the same.
Cisco ran and jumped up into Biskut's
arms.
"What in the hell is that?" the first skate
tough said to Biskut in an unpleasant man-
ner.
EXAS
1981
FALL SERIES
OF SKATEBOARDING.