Micke Alba
Steve Caballero
The plan for the weekend of June 26-27
was to cover a contest in Whittier.
Where's Whittier and why Whittier? Well,
through map analysis measures and a
few phone calls, I found that Whittier lay a
bit east of Los Angeles. Also, through the
very same means of communique, I found
out about Skate City, the site of the con-
test.
Now with all of the pertinent information
shoved into my possession, my directive
course and coordinates were set for the
before-mentioned destination.
The vehicular style of transportation
was provided by a foreign green machine.
The pilot, Mr. Ginit Pique. A rather
pretentious fellow who has hardly
anything positive to say about anything
that is halfway positive. The trip was
loaded with guffaws, larfs and numerous
classic unquotable comments about
various high-liners in the skateboard
industry. FUN. FUN. FUN.
En route to our eventual destination, we
stopped in one of the hamlets of Los
Angeles' greater outlying suburbia. There
we picked up Lowboy.
Lowboy demanded that we make one
more stop before proceeding to Skate
City.
We left the 7/11 in a hurry, the clerk hot
on our asses. We couldn't help it if our
Iranian vocabulary consisted only of
blasphemous homosexual slurs. At least
we got what we needed. Gnit hit the click
and we were out of there quite "Ricky
Tick."
Gnit steered into the Skate City parking
lot as I cranked on the sound system to
announce our arrival.
The place looked like a legit skatepark,
so we propelled our bodies towards the
entrance. My keen sense of smell alerted
my brain tissue, signaling the presence of
Mexican food. Turning around right then
was the most exhilarating moment of the
whole weekend, because right in front of
me was a larger than life, full blown
burrito stand with all the trimmings. A
Duane Peters
"Chorizo y huevo" burrito later, I felt fueled
and ready to cope.
Once inside the park, it was evident
that all the action and attention was
centered around the keyhole, the bowl of
competition.
Bill Ruff and just about all of the rest of
the G&S team were practicing hard and
lean along with much of the Variflex
squad, Lance, John Lucero and Fred Des-
ota.
Various types began to keep their
distance whenever I approached. I guess
word got around of my burrito ingestion.
This only prompted me to more trips to
the burrito stand.
My third burrito run this day, I noticed
that the place was packed with contes-
tants. Mike Smith, Duane Peters, Micke
Alba, Neil Blender and Gator. One by one
in the time I was there, they came up to
rpe asking my opinion of the food. I told
them that the "Chorizo Burrito" was killer,
but the "Green Chile" burritos weren't so
bad either. At that moment, someone in a
corner booth threw up. Everyone looked
at me with eyes of betrayal.
I reassured them that it was definitely
due to the smog and heat. They calmed
down and resumed ordering the delicasies.
With almost every rider involved in this
contest fueling themselves up in this
manner, I knew that this was going to be
an interesting if not fragrant-contest.
By this time I was getting somewhat full
and stuck the remainder of my burrito
(roach) into a handy plastic sack that I
had for occasions such as this, for later
consumption. It was at this time that Gnit
and Lowboy entered. "Let's go. We have
to drink a lot of beers and find a hotel,"
Gnit said in a manner that was not unlike
that of Moamar Khadafy the tyrant. In fact,
I now begin to note the similarities.
Two cases, two brushes with the law,
and four mother nature calls later we
arrived at a tropical paradise hotel, the
Mahu-Mahu Lodge. Lowboy's informative
localized information tells us that this joint
Mark Rogowski-Friedman Photos
is frequently used by Hollywood movie
star types. "I don't care," I told him. "Just
show me where the room is. I got to go
really bad."
Too many burritos.
The next day is somewhat vague in the
memory banks, though a haze of minor
distinction does seem to permeate
through to reality. As recollections
allowed, the first activities I was able to
witness (somewhat clearly) was the
banked freestyle (freestale to members of
the Variflex "Pool & Freestale Team")
event.
Here for the event were the most
prestigious manual manipulators of the
four wheeled rolling board. Also entering
were several all around skaters. Actually,
the question is, "Who didn't enter the
Banked Freestyle?"
Anyway, the standouts were (for no
other reason than that they skated past
where my eyes were looking) Steve
Rocco, Rodney Mullen, Per Holknekt-
visiting here from Sweden, sustaining
himself by working as a parking lot
attendant-Bill Ruff, Primo Desiderio,
Folmer, Frank Blood and another oldtimer,
Fred Flavell. I remember seeing Fred in
old issues of the now defunct
SKATEBOARDER magazine, riding on
SS Comp metal boards. Now here he
was, competing again. Still riding an SS
Comp board.
Everyone seemed to have their own
approach to riding the banks for competi-
tion. The hard-core freestylers did most of
their routine on the flatbottom. I thought
this to be a little strange, because I
could've sworn that this was a banked
freestyle contest.
Frank Blood, Billy Ruff, Lance Mountain
and others of their persuasion, attacked
the reservoir banked area with calculated,
wreckless abandon, utilizing the banks for
high-speed slides and converted pool
tricks.
Advocating and carrying out the "beer-
drinking, banked-freestyle approach" was
Rodney Mullen-Mofoto
Christian Hosol
Paul Hoffman. You remember Paul,
Dogtown Boy and master of the one-footed
nose 360s. Yes, you remember. During
practice for this event, Paul led numerous
chaotic skate trains that sizzled around.
the reservoir. Behind him on many of
these were numerous luminary/dignitary
types. Stacy Peralta, Frank Blood, David
Mock (visiting from Australia) and even
George Orton. That's right, George Orton.
George (you remember George, Mr.
Slam) flew in from Utah to judge this con-
test.
Speaking of judges, Steve Olson, Chris
Strople, Steve Roccos' brother Pat, and
some other guy whose name I forgot (he
knows who he is) were also there to
perform the dirty task of scoring runs and
being the brunt of many of the contestants'
comments.
Getting away from the norm, as far as
freestyle or banked riding goes, were the
Three Stooges from Variflex. Names
withheld, they introduced "Skateboard
Performance Art," a new concept and
bold step for the future of the sport (art?).
An example, one of the three (I'll call him
Curly) dropped in for his run, while the
other two (I'll call them Moe & Larry)
would proceed to flail several skateboards
into the reservoir after him. This soon
caught on as a maelstrom of boards
descended into the rezzi, thrown by
spectators and Paul Hoffman. Curly
displayed expert balance, accuracy and
bravery as he maneuvered his way
through the moving obstacle course. Of
course, something of this grand calibre in
originality is not always accepted right off,
at least not with open arms. Curly did not
score very well at all. I guess the judges
just don't understand or appreciate art.
The Variflex guys are tired of being just
ordinary skaters. They're out to put their
mark on the sport (art), so you better
watch out for these guys. Especially when
one of them points to your chest and tells
you that your shirt's unbuttoned. Cover
your nose.
Lance Mountain
After the qualifying was completed in
the banked freestyle portion of the
contest, everyone dispersed and filtered,
over towards the Keyhole, as the vertical
riders warmed up for the pool qualifying.
Myself, I retired across the way for a
much needed burrito.
Vertical riding styles have evolved
considerably fast within the course of the
last few years, sprouting many arms that
extend into various facets, which basically
are just local scenes that tend to lean
towards particular body motion character-
istics. Also, time frames have a lot to do
with the way certain riders handle
themselves inside the pool environs. For
instance, if a skater was nurtured alongside
some of the older heavies, or followed the
actions of the same, he would tend to
skate more aggressively. Malba and D.P.
are good examples of this style.
The present generation of vertical
competitors lack a bit in the wreckless
abandon aspect, but are nonetheless very
straightforward, but in a more precise,
calculated manner. Falling into this
category are Bill Ruff, Tony Hawk,
Christian Hosol, Steve Caballero and
Chris Miller, just to name a few.
As I was shoving a burrito end into my
roach sack, I overheard some types
behind me who were talking about the
competition. One of them said, "Hey,
Mohammad, I didn't know that Tony
Hawk, Christian Hosoi and Lester Kasai
had turned pro."
"That's right, Vlaadmir, they have
turned pro. They must be after some big
money. That's all they said. I turned
around to offer my two bits, but when I
turned and looked, there was nobody
there.
Too many burritos.
The eliminations are a hard and
grueling process, especially under today's
weather conditions. It was about 3:30 and
the smog was unbelievably thick. The
sun, unrelenting and I saw no signs of any
let-up. The coolest spot to be right now
Neil Blender-Friedman Photos
was over in the air-conditioned burrito
stand.
The eliminations finally, after intensified
ride after intensified ride, whittled down to
a select chunk of 15 hardened and proven
skate troopers. The chunk included the
likes of Desota, Gray, Mike Smith, Chris
Miller, Lance Mountain, McGill, Hawk,
Hosoi, Rogowski, Caballero, Malba, D.P.,
Ruff, Blender, and at the head of the
chunk today was Lester Kasal. Lester, if it
will be recalled, was second in last
month's R.H.S. contest number one, at
the Pipeline.
Now was the time for one of the feature
events, the longest rock-n-roll board
slider. All one had to do here was to slide
as far as possible in two attempts. In
practice, some of the riders formed rock-
n-roll slide trains with as many as five
skaters hauling ass, one right after the
other, four or five feet between them, along
the coping of the pool. Almost everyone
gave it a try. The big guy, Neil Blender,
took the honors with an overwhelming
distance of 27% feet. Not far behind him
was Steve Steadham at 25% feet. Next
was B. Taulbee at 21 feet 8 inches.
It was a long hard day, everyone was
tired and I just had to go somewhere to
scrape some of this smog off of my skin. I
was just about to step into the car to leave
when I remembered that I hadn't yet tried
the "Burrito Supremo." It was only two
bucks-I had two bucks-I was in there.
Getting into the car, Lowboy pointed
something out that I really hadn't thought
of. He said, "You're going to need at least
a six-pack of Moosehead to wash that log
down."
Very much impressed with Lowboy's
ability to look ahead, I was inclined to
agree. The way I figured it though, I
couldn't just eat this burrito and drink a
sixer while Gnit and Lowboy sat and
watched and smelled and drooled. We got
a case.
On our way back to the hotel, we drove
around Hollywood and ended up in front