48
HOURS
OVER
By Billy Runaway
"So, tell me Bill, how did you wind up
here?" "Here" happened to be the operating
room of Valley Presbyterian Hospital, and
since the man asking the questions was
about to cut me open, I decided to humor
him. "I'm not quite sure, Doctor Snyder.
See, I was on this plane, then I was in this
car, then I was doing fastplants..." "Whoa,
slow down son. What's a fastplant?" "You
know, Doc-skateboarding. I Wilsoned-it
must have been the jet lag. "You Wilsoned,
eh? Hmmm. Well, don't worry, we get your
kind in here all the time. I try to tell you kids
that skateboards just aren't safe, but you
never listen... The sodium Pentothal.
should be taking effect soon, just keep talk-
ing and I'll see you after surgery. You said
something about being on a plane. Where
were you?" "Tokyo," I said, starting to fade.
"Tokyo? Great place! I was there in the
service. I imagine it sure has changed
though....fade to black.
The Doc was right about two things; 1)
Skateboards aren't safe, and 2) Tokyo has
changed. In the last decade, Tokyo has
come to the forefront of both the technolog-
ical and fashion fields, to name only two.
In an even more diverse sociological
phenomenon, Tokyo also possesses a thriv-
ing skate populace and more than its share
of skateable terrain.
Friday Afternoon, South Tent, Yoyogi
Park "The Beginning."
When: Year of the Tiger
Why: Fall/Winter 86/87 Collections, Coun-
cil of Fashion Designers
Where: Backstage-Tête L'Homme Fash-
lon Show
There's a break between rehearsals, so
I'm killing a couple of free Kirin's (compli-
ments of the designer) and stress-testing
my Walkman with some Agent Orange, but
the latest top 40 lameness from Dire Straits
is belting out of some dude's squawk box
in a serious attempt to bum my life. All-of-a-
sudden-like, this guy strolls up and taps on
my left earphone-very irritating. He's trying
to tell me (in Japanese) that there's some
guy out back with a skateboard who wants
to talk to me, but he's not doing a very good
job of it. On the other hand, maybe it's just
that I have virtually no working knowledge
of the Japanese language... Anyway, I go
outside and sure enough, here's this guy
with a skate. So what, right? The next thing
I know, he's telling me he's Bruno Peeters
and he scammed backstage by posing as
a Belgian fashion designer. It's just enough
to impress. After dispensing with the for-
malities, I flow him a few beers from the
KYO
cooler and tell him to meet me after the
show. I'm starting to appreciate the true
beauty of a free beer arrangement...
The fashion show was your basic, well,
fashion show. Merely designed to give cer-
tain individuals who make funny clothes
60-hours a week, year-round, the chance
to inflate their egos for about 37-1/2 min-
utes. It pays good though, and the drinks
are free, so I keep my mouth shut and walk.
Friday Night
I hook up with Bruno after the show and,
after relieving the cooler of the remaining
free b's, we head for a Mexican food place,
only a 5 minute stagger away. We decided
to make an appearance at the post-party
show, so we coughed up some yen and
voided. Bruno tried to skate his way around
the corner to where the party was, but
previous merry-making had reduced Bruno
to a fungus-like state. We arrived at the
LaForet Espace basement and gained en-
trance to the festivities without incident.
Making a beeline for the free food, we
began to partake of the fantail shrimp and
other edibles while exercising extreme cau-
tion in sampling the quiche molded into a
shape which was later reported to be the
designer's profile. A video of the show was
playing so that all concerned could increase
their hat size, while this serious DJ from
London who responded to Gaz was layin'
down some hard Rock 'n Blues. Gaz was
turning the Japanese on to the newest
Euro-rage, which was a refreshing break
from the constant stream of top 40 disco
ka-ka that most fashion types love to sway
to. About the time Issey Miyake showed
up, we left and decided to do some night
skating at the Shibuya Banks, which ended
with Bruno getting stuck in a 5' diameter
pipe while attempting an El Rollo.
Saturday Morning
Bruno relates that, due to last night's
chain of events, he had conveniently forgot-
ten to tell me that we had to be back in
Yoyogi Park in about two hours. Not for a
fashion show this time, but an event entitled
"World Sports Fair," which was showcasing
sports from around the world, including
(what else?) skateboarding. The skating
demos were well received, despite the fact
that calling the wooden structure a ramp
was stretching the definition quite a bit. This
didn't stop the locals and Bruno from ripping
it up. A streetstyle demo ended in complete
anarchy, with every skater in attendance
joining in a free-for-all. This didn't make the
rule-ridden WSF officials too happy; appar-
ently someone had failed to inform them
that skating knows no rules. As the syn-
chronized disco-rollerskaters started their
demo, we felt, among other things, the sud-
den urge to leave. At this point I informed
Bruno that there was something I had con-
veniently forgotten to tell him, which was
that a friend of mine from the U.S. had
arrived in Tokyo and there were two things
he should know: 1) the friend was a she
and 2) she was very interested in meeting
foreign types like himself. He seemed to
understand so we headed off in the general
direction of her hotel. As luck would have
it, Bruno impressed my friend just enough
for her to extend an invitation to dinner, as
long as we knew of a place to go. We
admitted that we had extensive knowledge
of local dining establishments and set out
for the most expensive sushi bar in Tokyo.
Saturday Night
Location: 50th floor, Sumitomo Building
Nina seemed impressed enough with the
view not to notice that Bruno and I were in
the process of eating about 100 dollars
worth of sushi. Somewhere after the third
round of sake, Bruno and I agreed that our
waitress bore a close resemblance to Moby
Dick and I attempted to tell her but was
drawing a blank, which was just as well. It
was at this time that the lady seated next
to us let out a small whimper as she noticed
Bruno eating a piece of sushi off of the
floor. Another sake victim approached our
table and offered to marry Nina. She politely
declined and we vacated, due to the fact
that Bruno and I were planning on a trip to
Kiyose the following morning.
Sunday Morning
An a.m. phone conversation with Bruno
revealed him to be in a semi-comatose
state, unable to do anything more than
drool as he hung up the phone. Still feeling
the need, I phoned a couple of my bro's
from the agency who claimed that they
could skate and called their bluff. I was in
luck, as they were more than willing to have
a go at the skatepark. Unfortunately, the
last time either of them owned a skate, Billy
Carter was drinking his own brand of beer,
so after a quick trip to Murisaki Sports in
Harajuku they were the proud new owners
of quality skates and we were off to Kiyose...
Sunday Afternoon
Enter on David Charles, alias Hagar.
Comment: "I haven't skated since I sold my
Lonnie Toft, so I know I'm gonna bleed
today." Hagar provides entertainment en
route to the park with some classic dorking
that includes bag ladies, skating in trains,
ACLIN
間車接場 (株)松下
デストンタイヤ
整備は
まかせ下さい
R
and small Japanese girls. By the time we
get to the park everyone is ready to rip. We
attempt the ever-popular "skate-don't pay
maneuver, but the crazy man in the green
sweat suit who separated me from my yen
has caught me again. We meet some of
the local skaters, including Toyota, who sets
the standard of blazing for the day with
extended handplants, Indy airs and lofty.
backsides, just to name a few. Hagar took
to the upper half-pipe and surprised me by
pulling off some wicked, surfy, snap-back
grinders that were way stylish. Not bad for
a man whose last board was a Lonnie Toft.
Enter John Mc... he gets in the pool and
after wiring the earthquake induced transi-
tions, he's pulling off some tasty double
axle grinds. John: "Am I ripping yet?" BR:
"Yeah dude." John: "Then take some pic-
tures before I hurt myself." The day did end
with John Mc in serious pain due to a severe
leg cramp which left him writhing on the
bottom of the half pipe. The man needs
more salt. End of report...
Sunday Night
Bruno is out of his coma and tells me
that even though he has decided to train
for the EXPO by secreting away to a private
mountain resort, he would like to spend
one more night of frivolity in Tokyo. This fits
in with Nina's plans too, as she's off to
Hawaii the next day, so we decide to have
a "sayonara" rage in Roppongi. After about
six orange sours and some appetizers,
Bruno, on a dare, decides to order the worst
things on the menu, which include fried
grasshoppers. When the dish arrives he
Hegar, frontside lipper at Kiyose.
looks a bit squeamish but true to his word
he munches them all. Nina even swallows
a couple and I start to feel a bit ill. We end
the night's festivities in the local Pachinko
Palace, trying to win back the money ill-
spent on grasshoppers and alcohol. Bruno,
Nina and I say our goodbyes as they stum-
ble into a taxi and disappear down Rop-
pongi-dori Avenue. I stop at the latest "in"
nightclub to see what be. Tonight must be
"The Night of the Stars," 'cuz Charlie Sex-
ton, Grace Slick and Stephen Pearcy are
all in town and in attendance. Their pre-
sence pales in light of the past few days
events. I start to reminisce as the most
important man in the club heads in my
general direction. "Waiter, I'll have a Kirin
please. I laughed a little when I realized.
that I was finally going to pay for one...