Lance
-Photo: Stecyk.
Products of the
American heartland.
Photo: Stecyk
Craig Johnson, barefootin
at the party jam.
plenty. Again, the action moved. This
time a couple blocks away, behind a Pier One
imports. At first sight, in the murky
darkness, was a large, cement wall that
went into a corner. It was banked. Closer
observance determined that, at the very least,
it was a 55° to 60° incline. In less than two
breaths, Billy Ruff proved to us that the corner
was makeable, in the dark, which is just as rad
as doing it with your eyes closed. This area
was torn apart for a bit, then the action moved
to another corner of the area to another, rather
mellower, 45° hook-shaped bank. More
shredding, some beefs and an end to a session.
Jeff Phillips was blazing well. Even pulled off
a couple "McTwists." First ones I've seen
done on a ramp. He shredded up until he
tweaked his ankle pretty bad. Enough to have
to sit this contest out on the sidelines.
AFTERWARDS-It was dark out, the
boys were definitely "IN-TOWN," and they
needed something crazed to do. Obliging, and
with one-whole keg mind you, was Scott
(Bouwens). He has his own pad, and in the
backyard a small, yet formidable, halfpipe. By
ten or eleven, the place was nearing capacity
load. Jeff Newton instigated an imprompptu
contest with a handful of the more partying
pros. He asked me if I'd match his ten bucks
for the winner, who'd be chosen by
audience response.
"Sure," I said.
Standing somewhere out on the
rolling plains of Nebraska in
Precision Skates Scott Bouwen's
backyard. The high pitched
whine from the missile silos, out past the
edge of town, could be heard over the
crowd's din, if one carefully concentrated.
As the night evolved innocent bystanders
posted thirty bucks cash and an impromptu
contest was held with the audience as
judges.
It was really outrageous, Micke Alba,
Christian Hosoi, Caballero Blender, Miller
and...and...damn, I forgot who else. Oh,
Gibson, Johnson, Steadham and Billy, I think,
were all guys who entered. They kept it
lowkey, as far as "going-for-it," was con-
cerned. Heck, Christ was wearing those
cheap-black-Chinese-slippers and pajama-
clothes, and Johnson was wearing some
"Beverly-hillbilly-granny" shoe-boots. Christ-
ian was doing frontside-ollies and little two
foot backside airs. Most of the guys were
trading off on Lance's board...oh, yeah,
Lance was in there too...I think. I did notice
some potential wife material standing over by
the keg.
"That's a coon-tail hanging off the shoulder
of your leather jacket, isn't it?" she queried.
"No. It's cats," I replied, politely.
"That's not your white cat tied to your back
too, is it?"
"No."
"I was worried," she said.
"It's my neighbor's cat."
"You killed your neighbor's cat and sewed it
to your back?"
"No."
"That's a relief."
"My mom killed it, and I skinned it then tied
it to my back. You want to touch it? It's pretty
soft.
"Eeyoughahuh! Are you one of those guys
out here from California?"
"Yeah, sure. Pass the nozzle!"
Then Craig Johnson took off his shoes and
started ripping barefoot. We're talking rad
frontside footplants, airs, "guh-narly" (what a
lame word) grinds. After the time limit im-
posed by Newton, the contending riders
assembled on the flatbottom facing towards
the large assemblage of new-believers, and
die-hard enthusiasts. Jeff Newton put his palm
over each rider's head, drawing some sort of
applause, to see who the crowd had thought to
have won. Well, everyone thought that
Johnson took it by far, and ended up raking in
some desperately needed cash, when he finally
collected all of what the crowd threw to him.
Hah, and the sucker was flat broke, too. Weird
thing, that fate. A mysterious traveller from
"El Lay" approached and addressed me,
"There's this hysterical broad over behind the
ramp, swearing that you kill cats and sew 'em
onto black leather jackets."
"Hmmmm...."
rest of this beer?
"I thought. "Do you want the
Sometime later the crowd loudly voted
the bleeding Johnson the prize money. For
many it was a party, for others it was the
best contest ever seen. Henry Hester would
have been stoked, Johnson kept bleeding.
Things petered out, the energy level was low,
or should I say, the keg croaked. Somehow a
bunch of us ended up crashing some other
Kasal-Photo: Stecyk. party where there was a giant five-foot tall
HISTORE
Monty Nolder, one of the burliest
riders of this decade.-Photo: Mo.
dog. Billy threw little round, clear stickers
onto its back, and the beast couldn't figure it
out. Ahh, entertaining oneself in Lincoln,
Nebraska. We went outside, sat on a car,
talked to some local talent, prime wife-mate-
rial, and told them lies.
"Yeah man back in California, all the cops
use drugs. Everybody knows that."
"Really?"
FORGOTTEN STUFF THAT'S SORT OF
OUT OF ORDER-Jeff Newton, man from
Mars, via-Dallas, Texas, kindly hauled a cool
cow-skull all
the way up
here to
deliver it to me
Gator. Tattoo,-Photo: Stecyk.
Loal and catch (right). Gator
(far right).-Photo: Stocyk
compliments of Kandy Turner of the Big
Boys (Big "Thanks" Boy). But that's not all.
Newton has a bunch of these strange space-
aged Sho-gun warriors in the back of his new
car. They shoot out bullets and rockets, and hit
you in the side of the head, when you're not
paying attention.
HISTORY LESSONS-
DISTORTED/REVERSED
INFO-FOOTBALL-
THE CONTEST-IDOL
WORSHIP-THRASHER
BUCKS-AND CHRISTIAN'S
PRIZED UNDERGARMENTS
Competition formats, a thorny question
for certain, yet a necessary one to be dealt
with. The sport/art is at a crossroads.
While the vast majority of skate practition-
ers perform on streets, banks, sidewalks
and curbs et al. Certain factions of the
'sport' seem intent on perpetuating the old
skate park myth. (Is not the question of how
many contests can be held in one season at
Upland or Del Mar about as useful as
determining how many bible texts can be
engraved on the head of a pin?) Skateparks
are invariably.chosen as contest sites be-
cause they offer quick and easy organized
solutions to promoters. Parks function as
good to excellent skating terrain and they
provide a known gathering point for locals
and global travelers alike. I've got nothing
personal against parks. What I worry about
is the strict adherence to the "Conventional
Wisdom" of 1977 that more than a few
of our sports'/industry
leaders usually
exhibit.