خیالی
After the day's activities were over, it
was obvious that hotel terrorizing was
next on the agenda so as to vent out
their aggressions not yet used up in
the contest. It only took a couple of
hours to get a call from the hotel
manager complaining about the ruckus
coming from No. 280. Being the good
citizens that we are (also a threat
about calling the cops), we took
activities to a ditch between the
"THRASH-INN" and the Holiday Inn
next door. Skating that ditch raised a
powerful thirst in Micke, so, as a cure,
he removed a Coke from its machine,
the hard way. It's amazing how easily
they turn over. (In case Micke's mom is
reading, this is a fiction story.)
After all of the noise subsided, we
went about our business of sessioning
the ditch till the wee hours of the dark-
ness.
Sunday came with, you guessed it:
RAIN. IT'S ALWAYS THERE. I DON'T
GET IT. THERE'S NO JUSTICE!!
Anyway, the banked slalom was
cancelled because the ditch was
flowing. So we all settled for a ramp
session after the rain had stopped. A
few hours of skating was enough for
the people still left in town. Thus wraps
up the last of the Texas contests in
1981. Stay tuned in 1982 because
Texas is coming on strong.
RESULTS
Jeff Newton
SKATEBOARD 19 and Over
15 and Under
1 Andrew Lopez
2. Shawn Rhein
3. Mark Bridges
16 to 18
1. John Gibson
2. Jeff Phillips
3. Craig Johnson
4. Dan Wilkes
1. Gerald Burris
2. Keith Rodgers
3. "Bugger Cram
4. Brete Anderson
ROLLERSKATE
1. Allan Guimond
2. Lee Daniel
5
3. Elise Vander Borght
4. Derek Van Duyne
Now is the time for thanking
everyone who has helped me through
this year with these contests. A special
thanks goes to Larry Wilson of G&S
and Fausto of INDEPENDENT for
sending Micke and Billy out here to
Texas to help with judging and to
stimulate the skating and overall
atmosphere. Also thank you to all of
the sponsors for their help with the
prizes.
SON
John Gibson re-surfaced to take first in his division on the ramp.
E
WILD RIDERS OF BOARDZI
THE SUN WITHERS AWAY THE
HEARTS AND SOULS OF MANY
MEN. THE DESERT TUNDRA SEEM-
INGLY PIERCES THE BRAVADO
OF THOSE WHO BRAVE UPON
THEMSELVES THIS CHALLENGE
OF FORCED DESPERATION. SOME
ARE NOT IN THEIR RIGHT MINDS,
WHILE OTHERS SEE OR KNOW
THAT THERE IS SOMETHING
BEYOND THIS WICKED WASTE-
LAND. A CERTAIN KIND OF RICH-
NESS, GOLD, WOMEN, LOS
ANGELES, SAN FRANCISCO,
WOMEN.
The Big Boys rolled into the Los Angeles
area early Friday evening. The night air
clung to their skin causing their shirts to
go dramp. As they entered one of the
many ethnic areas, Biskut twitched and
groaned as he felt that he couldn't sup-
press any longer.
"Pull over, I gotta go real bad!!" Biskut
squelched as if someone had him by the
throat.
Tim, who was at the helm, knew that he
couldn't just pull over anywhere for the
dump. He sped up and searched out at
service station for its proposed toilet
probabilities. He looked over at Biskut
who was by now turning red with exhaus-
tion. Not even a slight amount of pity was
shown as everyone laughed. This only
made things worse as Biskut, having the
great sense of humor that he does,
started in also, making ejection all the
more imminent.
Tim's keen eye spotted a plush Hol-
lywood style pump station that was
decorated in basic garish neon. Speeding
past the pump jock, he headed for the
desired rooms.
Biskut never moved faster or as cauti-
ously, flashing towards the head and
busting open the door with his mass.
Once again the van rolled with laughter.
In a way that a match goes out when
you blow on it was the same abruptness
in which the laughter ceased. All eyes
were fixed upon the heaven that lay
before them in the bright beams of the
headlights. A four-foot bank that spanned
the length of the lot. At the top was a 5"
curb, ideal for Rockenrole sliders and Butt
grinders. The entourage piled out of the
van and onto their respective boards,
aiming themselves towards the upward
rush.
Tim took three very strong pushes, then
lightly letting the instep of his back foot
set on the tail of his board, he hit the
slightly abrupt transition and shot up to
the top almost executing a "Ping-Pong
Rockenrole Buttslider." Over the edge and
into the fence he went with a slam.
"ZIKES!!" he yelped as he felt the pain
in the small of his back. After recoiling, he
reached back to feel what it was that he
landed on. What he supposed to be a
rock was instead round and smooth. A
YO-YO. He shoved it into his pocket,
rubbed the now subsiding soreness of his
backside, then rolled on back down the
bank towards the rest of the crew.
Just as Tim regrouped, Biskut came
thundering out of the 'Head'. "There
wasn't any toilet paper, so I had to use
this." He held up a soiled and crumpled
piece of paper. "Sez here that that there
band, uh, "Black Flag," is playing not far
from here tonight," he said as he wiped
the flyer on the van's rear tire, folded it
and placed it in his back pocket. "I'm
saving this as a souvenir from Los
Angeles."
"Hey, y'all! What are we waiting for?
Let's get cuttin'," Fred said, throwing his
board in through the van's back doors and
intentionally relieving Tim of his driving
duties. "Let's go."
The Texans were on the lookout as
their ride took them through Hollywood.
They were on the lookout for celebrities
and stars of the silver and video screen.
Chris and Biskut were pretty sure that a
bum behind a posh Beverly Hills liquor
store was really Baretta in one of his
many disguises. They made Fred pull
over and they got autographs as a pre-
caution against authenticity.
Upon arrival to the venue, the Boys
entered with a full-on ferocious 'Blitzkrieg'.
The local THRASH-RATS' FEATHERED
away from the Texas Bohemoths. The
'Goose-step-slam', high frontal boot kick,
made many of the self-proclaimed
Gnarlers' back down. Soon the Boys
captured and occupied the 'Thrash zone'
right in front of the stage. It was four
against forty, until the locals opted to
thrash with, instead of against, the 'Lone
Star Boys', whose boots thundered above.
the others on the dance floor to the pulses
of "BLACK FLAG."
Wild youths climbed the P.A. stacks
and committed to Kamakazee dives and
twirlers into the frenzied audience.
During "Louie, Louie," the final tune of
the night, Fred found himself perched on
top of one of the stacks. Below him, the
crowd twisted and writhed in unison, not
unlike that of a rattlesnake, whose head
has been severed with a gardener's
shovel.
'A Louie-Louie
Whoah, whoah,
We gotta go now-
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah'
Fred went. He twirled head over heels
into the churning crowd. The mass sepa-
rated below him, revealing an inapprop-
riate railing. Fred slammed hard and in
agony. He screamed loud, but it only
pitched the mob into more furious fits of
climactic frenzy.
Right away, the rest of the Big Boys
were upon him. They slung the battered
and badly bruised drummer boy over their
shoulders and receded back to the vehi-
cle.
At the van, Biskut unveiled his private
beverage cooler and offered Fred the
THE BIGGEST BOYS ROLL
comforts of cold barley suds for soothing
of the throbbing hipper.
Chris, in a meaningless gesture,
vouched the driver's seat, and upon
opening the driver's door for entry, he
surprised 'Cisco', who had been tena-
ciously chewing on the brake pedal. Cisco
had turned it into a soggy black pulp.
"Cisco, I think I should've named you
'MUD'," Chris said in an amused disgust.
Feelin no damnation and expecting
none, the Big Boys settled into their seats
as Chris clicked the van into gear and
lurched onto Interstate 5. "Next stop, San
Francisco, boys. We have a sound check
at five o'clock tomorrow evening," Chris
said over his shoulder to an already
snoring bunch. Cisco, the only conscious
member of the entourage other than
Chris, perched his front legs onto the
dash and stared out through the windshield
at the oncoming roadway. Cisco had
come to do this often, because it was this
that made him dizzy the most. Chris
laughed and then opened the vent window
to clear the van of the scent of sweaty
bodies.
Upon crossing the Bay Bridge into the
Big City, the Boys stirred about, one by
one.
At his first opportunity, Chris pulled into
a formidable service station in the Mission
District. Everyone bailed to stretch and
relieve their bladders. Cisco ran behind
the station, twinkled on the leg of a
sleeping transient and licked the dribble
from the lips of the same.
37