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referring to my, now lost on route 66,
comrades? Of course not. After cutting an
illicit deal with the mag corporate controller
I awoke the next morning in Denver,
Colorado at the airport. Once there i
contacted the highway patrol and
attempted to locate our traveling sports
stars. No such luck and it got even worse
because as I stood there I noticed skate
stickers covering all the airport signs. At
last! Civilization I reckoned. But what I
didn't figure on was what I soon was forced
to face. Across the air terminal the crowd of
gray business suited travelers shrank back
in disbelief, the cause of this disturbance
was none other than the man called
G.S.D., his attire was skate rag, his
demeanor was suspicious and his two year
old skate pads stank. Small wonder no one
would sit next to him. I couldn't and I
caught another plane. Paradoxically I ran
into him again in Nebraska where the
locals couldn't figure him out either. Was
he really the editor from Skate Fate, or just
another corporate advance man? Having
no answer I just told them about the time
Davis and Big Larry tried to give me a free
1961 Cadillac convertible...just haul it
away. Turned out the Caddy belonged to
some psycho bushongo who had mur-
dered several people!! What's so disturb-
ing about this tragic tale is that it is true and
that for Gary Scott 'Surf' Davis this sort of
occurence is life as usual. Like I said there
were lots of travel stories. Newton and Tex
coming up from Texas...it seems
everywhere Newt stopped he set up shop
and sold a few dollars more of products out
of his mobile store. Or the Ohioans who
skate assaulted every McBathroom in
Golden Archland seeking tile rides of a
newer sort. Or the freestyling Floridans, or
the insane lowans, or the Chicago crew, or
the Michigan marauders, or the gang from
Wisconsin or anyone else you can name.
They had come from all over to skate and
witness the event, and each had a story to
tell.
Lincoln, Nebraska is roughly in the
center of Amerika. It's a nice clean town;
the kind of place you read about on picture
postcards. The skate types are ultra
hard-core issue. They obtain their equip-
ment via mail order and the social scene is
pretty much divided into you skate or you
don't. There aren't a lot of social skaters or
polo poseurs. In Nebraska performance is
valued. Football is the prime diversion for
much of the local populace. They play
Football in a big way here. The 'Com-
huskers' are picked to go all the way this
season and everybody knows it. One fall
evening the cast and crew of our epic
adventure, ventured into a downtown
Lincoln pizza joint for a carbohydrate
binge. The university team, AKÁ "Big Red,"
was beating up on some other team from
Minnesota on TV. The restaurant was filled
with maniacal pigskin proponents who
were all wearing red and white, the school
colors, and chanting in unison, 'Go Big
Red.' 'Go Big Red, go, go, go.' It was a
strange scene to us and a few of the crews
short haircuts caught the eyes of the local
beefpackers. Sensing the immiment
Micke Alba
Steve Caballero
domain principle in action Lance Mountain
began leading cheers for the opposition
team, which in a perverse sense of humor
he called the Weasels. The Weasels
unfortunately never regrouped and were
beaten by 70 points (which probably saved
our lives since the immense locals, bouyed
by the spirits of victory, decided we were
an amusing diversion rather than a major
threat). However, perhaps as a result of
our unpopular partitionism we were denied
service in the establishment. Rumor has it
that the Pizza Swill Village staff is still
removing stickers.
And speaking of cultural diversions
then there was the band gig in the old
diary building just off campus. Hundreds of
post punk modern youths had gathered at
this spot to listen to music. An abundance
of local low types had also gathered. As a
result there were predictably a few
enforcergent incidents. (One was Newton
being arrested for a crime that wouldn't
have been a crime in his home state of
Texas. Local skaters bailed him out and a
skate aficionado judge, later helped Jeff to
deal with it.) The only reason I even
mention this gig was that it was the world
debut of the band 'No Practice,' with
Gibson on vocals, Mountain on drums and
the guitar tandem of Roscopp and Ruff,
this group produced a sound like no other,
the crowd particularly responded to the
song "I'm a friend of Christian Hosol."
Christ, who was present, had doused
himself with some foul smelling "love"
potion which instead of attracting women
earned him only a slam dance bloody
nose. Still it was a popular song, the gig
was suitably alive, G.S.D. skated off stage
and McGill totally ran amuck. And just to
prove that professional skaters are indeed
responsible types, Malba and Ruff lined up
later that night to devote hours to the
pursuit of doing their homework.
Not that this account is in any way
chronological but the next day was the
main event. As morning broke we were
amazed to find Hosoi decimating yet
another new shirt with his scissors. As we
all sat down to breakfast we all again
narrowly avoided death, as Christ wore
only two pairs of boxer shorts as suburban
street attire. As we arrived at the Flowerday
home we encountered a couple of hundred
frenzied skaters, enthusiastic parents and
worthy types. The crowd buzz and other
word of mouth was that Steve Caballero
was jetting in for the session from a
Faction' gig out on the coast. Mr. Steve,
very much a topic of conversation
wherever knowledgeable skate types
gather, had the crowd going hours before
he even arrived. His rep is just that heavy.
SITE SPECIFICS
The ramp in question is pretty much
standard issue. It is exceptionally well
braced and surfaced and it held up well
under the onslaught of four days of
continuous sessioning. After a quick
coping change everyone present agreed it
was highly suitable for the task at hand.
THE RIDERS
This crop of characters represented a
general cross section of our modern
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