After my partner and I worked our way down into the "flats" of the
wash, we were told to hand over our weapons and that we had 5
seconds to engage a silouette with one of the "weapons" at the table.
On the table were rocks, a pipe, some cactus and a stick. I picked up
a healthy rock and sidearmed it, fully "lincolning" a camoflagued
target behind me. I was later told I should've gone over there and
bashed the thing cuz I threw my weapon away and maybe only hurt
the target. They should have had a skate on the table anyway! We
split up, armed again, and worked our way down the ramainder of
the course. I was losing what light I had to the shadows. The wash
just seemed to suck me in deeper.
The ditch that contains "the End" is like that: it sucked us in deeper
even though it was more and more of a bust. It's rippable the whole
way! We usually make these excursions at or near sunset, even into the
full night sessions. This tactic reduces the probability of being seen
and it's way cooler temperature-wise, too. The deepest part is right next
to the freeway. Take off next to the road, shoot down a cement rain
gutter, acid-drop the ditch, carve for speed, eventually grind the perfect
quarter pipe which forms where the ditch narrows. Over the hip and
you're on your way to "the End," even further it branches into two
ditches with a few hollow "bush tubes" to tuck into at speed and
scattered parking blocks. Oh yeah... the hole to grind over about
midway...
"That's what it looks like, a big hole," I thought to myself,
shouldering the M-16. I need a very specialized weapon for this
terrain, I speculated as I walked from the gorge into three huge
cement Ameron pipe sections assembled into a big dark tube. These
were "the real McCoys," the monster sections like the ones skated in
the 70's by people like Alba, Peralta, Biniak, Wally, Shelton and a
few privileged others. So this was where some of 'em went. Only
problem was all the dirt in the bottom. The last section was especially
clean except for a few stickers from old sessions (including a high
THRASHER). Later in the weekend I would show Lloyd where I
thought it was and we would find it anyway. On the way back we
would hit a couple of good pools. The first was a 6' kidney. The
transition was perfect, though it could have used a little more shallow
end. Rock (aka Lloyd'singer JFA) would remedy the situation by
skating across the backyard, through the gate, grabbing a backside
air flying over the stairs and into the pool to do a no coper grind
across the deep end. It was way hot (over 100°) so we would lincoln
to another pool. It was way hot also (both ways). Afterwards, Rock
and I would lincoln for the time being to "wait for the blackout".
Night sessions are a must when it's hot out. Weird little street banks
named things like "the wave," "the hump," "the bricks" or whatever
and an assortment of cool curbs become comfortable and fun at the
same time. Hmmmmm, maybe even a longboard...
Taking my eyes off of the THRASHER sticker high on the roof of
the pipe, I clicked the M-16 on "rock and roll and ran out of the
pipe into the evening heat. Damn it's hot! I'm glad I have a nice light
M-16 instead of one of those heavier guns we shot earlier in the day.
Some of those guns included: a Thompson submachine gun, a
MAC-11 submachine gun, the new U.S. squad level M-249 machine
gun (which could be belt fed), an old Mauser "Broomhandle," a few
shotguns, a very old Steyr Solothurn model 30 and an AK91 fitted with
a "starlight" (night scope). I lincolned to the last few targets, meeting
my partner in the process. We were picked up at the end of the course
by Jason, a skater and a guy from S.O.F. on ATC motorcycles and
driven back to the camp to find out how we did. On the way I fell into
an exhausted trance and flashed back on our last pool mission.
The first pool- a boomerang shaped one, was way rad. It had two
shallow ends and a perfectly transitioned deep end with a carvable 90"
corner in it. It's pretty hairy in there! Lost a couple of recon-kids.
Apparantly the kids next door bailed it out and skated it and they said
lincolns with suits, shades and weapons drawn stormed the place and
took them away. It was the Lincoln's pool!! The neighborhood drums
said a guy lincolned his wife there on some holiday or something.
Shelton knew all of this, saying only "A boomerang? Hell- it's
probably the only one on this rotten nightmare coast - we're going!"
Most skaters have one foot in their graves anyway. A member of the
pool assault team wanted to leave as soon as he arrived. "No way! If
I said it's safe to skate here then it's safe to skate here! You either skate
or you're a look out," Shelton said, ripping off his shirt. "I love the
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smell of urethane in the morning." He kind of had this eerie glow
around him, like he knew nothing was going to happen to him.
Next stop: "the Pool." It's still a bust, but staying alert, securing a
perimeter and using hit and run tactics usually produces "the kind"
sessions: quick and simple. Driving by, we noticed all kinds of
"rollers" (cop cars). They were all over four units at the pool all
strategically parked, two blazed by us as we drove by, three more were
at the usual parking place and at least two were roaming the area on
motorcycles. As we passed the donut shop we noticed more cops (4-6
units) had surrounded a local restaurant and not a single unit was at the
donut shop. Something was definitely wrong. Close inspection
revealed a good majority were highway patrol. It looked like someone
had been chased and abondoned their car at "the Pool To the skaters
it must have looked like Armageddon.
Plan B was only a few more blocks; so, without a word exchanged,
the vehicle was retargeted for a gutted trailer park complete w/square
pool. Except for two guys who showed at the end of our session, we
were alone. Escape routes and contingency plans were silently locked
This pipe dream was a nightmare.
Ditchland, Hmmm, there's those palm trees again.
500 72
in the minute we entered the premises. Seeing all those cops converge
on "the Pool" kinda bumined my life.
The square pool was o.k. Both the side walls and the face wall were
grindable. The bottom was kinda slow and there was tons of weird
grafitti all over the place. There was the standard "hammered" couch
and the usual strewn debris common to an urban skate spot. Shelton
blows me away! One of him rips and the other one doesn't even realize
the heavily tipped lapped over table-top re-entries he pulls off. Anyway.
we left.
Back on the road and we're searching for what has been described
to me as the ultimate pool. I heard about the clover from my friends
locally and heard something about it from Salba and Malba. We drove
miles inland on odd numbered freeways (even ones are supposed to
run east and west. Is this an omen?) and we're in the heart of nowhere.
I swear I think the time changed an hour. We were getting off the
freeway somewhere near the forbidden zone where they ask you if you
have fruits or vegetables. "Mexican Beach Pebbles-$10," a sign read.
What's a Mexican beach pebble?
Salba, ready for the downhill kill.
YOU
DIE
Scanning the local tree and fence configuration we deduced where
the pool should be and was. It was partially filled with water but just
seeing it made my day. It's a clover type pool with two 8 or 9' bowls
and a shallow end. The whole thing is way grindable with hips like
Whittier's old clover leaf. Not the kind of pool you find every day. We'll
have to call in the guys with the pump. If you've never emptied a pool
(full of rocks, glass, dirt, shopping carts, water, slime, infectious
diseased smell drain gook or whatever...deadcat locals in AZ once had
to pull a whole car out of the deep end) then you've never skated.
Search, skate and destroy not pay to create. Anyway, the clover pool
looked way fast. It compares to the Fruit Bowl, not the same shape but
unique and perfect in its own way. After we left I realized I spaced and
left my camera on the wrong speed when I popped in a fresh roll of
film. Oh well, the pool was burly: that bitch will project.
On the way back to the beach (into the sunset) we decided to check
a pool Scott had been turned onto. When we arrived there were lots of
heads. The main guy Scott knew was John. He had the full permission
to ride from the owner and pretty much controlled the place. You could
tell, the pool and surrounding area weren't hammered. Most skaters.
won't deliberately get a spot busted, it's usually the wannabees who
just hang around and get bored. (Sound familiar?)
The mood says it's cool so we climb into the shallow end with the
rest of the crew. The pool is a way smooth, left hand kidney about 9"
deep with perfect transitions and cool, hard, rounded coping with rocks
that hang way over, interspaced around the bowl. According to John.
the pool was in the old mag (before it went gay) and was called
"Ledges." Any line was possible in this wide and fast pool and we tried
them all for a while. My personal power spot was over the stairs which
were located way into the transitioned shallow end. I guess John and
his friends have done that one for years. We left when he had to go to
church. He was pretty far along in his studies to become a Pastor, We
traded stories of old (some might still be around) and new spots. He
too skated the Fruit Bowl, the Fish Bowl and all the other old spots.
He even gave us directions to a resevoir. We left thanking him for the
session (he said God told him to let us skate!) and headed home. He
didn't bog down or get all religous and stuff: he wasn't a wannabe who
had to put on a big show for everybody. John's one of the nicest skaters
we've ever met. He "has it down" inside (where it counts).
Afterwards we left for the ditch that shall remain nameless because its
rightful name can locate it for just about anybody and it's already a big
enough bust. The ditch has a rounded bottom and way grindable lip
that sometimes takes you through "bush tubes"- a rough equivalent of
a surfing tube only not as much of a rush. The whole time, since it's a
bust, we remained on alert, ready to lincoln at the drop of a hat (or at the
sound of the word "freeze"). The key to any guerilla campaign is to
win the support of the people. In guerrilla skate excursions this means
not pissing off any of the neighbors (if possible). When skating a high
risk area, park well away. Make sure your car isn't a dead giveaway for
a skate-car. If busted never run straight back to your vehicle-split up
and meet later. Above all, travel light and don't stand out. You have to
be able to grab everything and bail in an instant. You can't wait around
and gather up all your precious trendy day-glo accessories. Oh yeah.
if they do catch you don't give your name as Tony Alva anymore. Either
the cops are already hip to this alias or it will get you into more trouble
than you were before.
We left the ditch like we found it. Mission accomplished: we
searched, shredded and left undetected to search and shred some more.
In the last light we found ourselves at "the Pool" for a casual no-pads
unwinding session. Hit and run and we're checking out one last ditch
on the way home. It was around in the old days but was blocked by
bolted down pieces of metal. "Hell, we'll just unbolt it and skate awhile
then slide the bars back in place so nobody knows," I thought silently
to myself. Anyway, it's an alright ditch...it sucks out to vert on both
sides.
As the two ATC's rolled into camp, my partner and I were told by
the grader that we were killed twice. I guess that's pretty good
considering the course was tougher than the one this other guy faced
in the French Foreign Legion. "Well at least I didn't get a ticket," I
muttered. They didn't understand the remark, come to think of it,
neither did I. I tossed and turned all night, having nightmares about
being busted at skate spots. I awoke in a cold sweat whispering, "the
Horror, the Horror..."
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