WINE
Budweiser
Clockwise from above: Duane Peters powers this backside
before Kiwi and Nicodemo.
Sam Cunningham begins to settle down from a long frontside
air over the channel.
Assorted landing gear, fuel and entertainment displayed only
for posterity.
Identified only as Schultz, he was responsible for many of the
casualties amongst the "soldiers." His comment: "Swim,
buddy."
Jerry Garcia in optimum altitude (notice autographed
head-foil).
"But we're not brothers. Really, honest." Tony Hospital (left)
and Street Scott (right) muse, as Tony flashes "No Gel-heads."
Late into the evening, more skaters arrived with winding road terror tales. The night turned into a giant slumber party and nobody
tried anything.
The birds were barely chirping on this day of rest (for some people), Sunday. Over in one corner of the living room, in front of the TV
came the smell of Rats Ass' dirty socks and the sound of the photographer's serrated snoring. With cat-like agility, the creator stepped
through the living obstacle course of sleeping-bagged skaters. Cassette tape in hand, he slipped it into place in the player. The volume
was up high. The customary, ceremonial wake-up call. "1-------1-1-1-I'm SORRY..." The extended introduction version to MINOR
THREAT's "Guilty of Being White!" Three times in a row.
After ironing out the kinks and tall-mountain breakfasts, the skaters were rearing to go. It was really cold, hedging back and forth
around 40°. The creator declared that the white stuff would come down by the night or the morrow. Sniffing the air, he said, "It's gonna
come down hard."
The suiting up for foul weather skating was under way. Some skaters were sliding into long johns and sweats to try to fend off the
cold. Others more boldly chose simply to skate in shorts and tee-shirts.
After an hour or so, the skaters were pretty well loosened up. Several sporadic shark-frenzied rallies ensued throughout the course
of the day. Like a pack of sharks entering a feeding frenzy. The skaters do just about the same, one after the other, they drop in, some-
times onto each other. The Frenzies.
R.K.-One of the ones who has this ramp wired. Randy has every line perceived to such a precision aspect in his mind that he skates
the ramp in his thoughts at all times through his waking hours.
Folslam Could mimick anyone that he chose. "Oh, it's cold outside, my ears hurt," his interpretation of Junior. His harsh grinders and
cool channel airs prevailed.
RASI
Tony Hospital-The almost identical twin of Street Scott in mannerisms, apparel and gonzo attitude. Severely hedging the razor's edge
constantly, T.H. rides in the definitive T.A.-ish Dogtown style.
Street Scott-Every time he'd drop in, everyone would run for cover or close their eyes. This is an indication of his squirrelly rides and
constant bails and near bails.
Rat's Ass-Like Street Scott, but with more experience, R.A. would seem to beef on every ride, only to somehow fall back on his board.
Joe Joe has his own ramp back in Hayward and is no stranger to vertical terrain. Riding some newstyle trucks, thusly enabling him to
ride the ramp as if he were a local.
Fish-The big guy seemed to have no bounds or limits. Tail sliders down the walls, gnarly sliding quick tail stalls. He was also riding
the new style trucks, which he claimed gave him the quick turning and stability that was apparently needed for the predicaments he put
The sessioning went on for hours, until the sun began to deny the mountain light, which made the temperatures decline. The pilgrims
opted to get another session together down in Roseville, at Martin Mormon's ramp. His parents weren't home, so about twenty of the
riders sessioned there for another hour or so before the sun went down.
himself in.
Joe, Mr. Eric, the photographer, Fish and Street Scott gassed up and made the necessary motions to go back home. Everyone was
pretty tired. Street Scott was just leaning back on some sleeping bags and checking out the centerfold of the new OUI magazine in the
back of the truck as the truck rolled onto the highway west. Sign says San Francisco, 99 miles. The meteorologist on the radio said that
snow was beginning to fall in the mountains.
The end of a skate adventure. The beginning of many more.
THRASHER
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