The old 'out a hole in the top of your
helmet and pull your hair through
backside-air trick, as demonstrated
by Craig Johnson
The Trashmore ramp's newest surface was questioned:
"It sounds like a wash-board."
"It makes too much ugly noise when you ride it."
"This isn't your practice session. Get off the ramp."
"What are the cops doing here?"
The ramp is brown.
"It's slick as..."
It is practically impossible to describe the social behavior that sur-
rounds a ramp during an event of this stature. Young skateboard en-
thusiasts closely mingling in a condensed environment. The thoughts
that are exchanged; the culture affected and exchanged; the new
words learned to be said.
In almost any environment, when these personalities mix, high
levels of mischievousness can be expected. Human nature. Energy
to be spent. Points to be made.
On the ramp rode the attractional behavior. Seasoned pro and am
vertical enthusiasts, all very adept at most altitudes.
Ramp-side wasn't the only nucleus of activity at this time. While
vertical practice was taking place, a 'hands down' spontaneous ex-
pression session was flickering in the nearby parking lot. Christian
Hosoi had predicted the occurance, and momentarily flashed upon
his accuracy, before joining in.
The call was a bunch of scraggly young street-rats holding court on
the flat with sickeningly mind-blowing handplant variations. Christ
later admitted to an inability to accomplish a few of the unique
maneuvers.
The proof is in the pudding.
A paunchy, blonde female version of a Smokey the Bear looking
thing, attempted to disband the dance, until discovering it was like
trying to punch a hole through water and having it stay.
A brush with the law.
In Va. Beach it is unlawful to skateboard on public property. It is a
crime.
"Hide the kids! It's skateboarders a comin'"
"All right boy! You're coming with us. We saw you skateboarding."
"You can lock up my body cop! You ain't gonna harness my spirit."
That'll tack another year on your sentence, punk!"
"Make it ten. Half of it solitary. I'll lick this system. We'll see who's
still laughin'."
"A wise guy, huh?"
"That's right elephant neck. Step on it, I'm dying to see what you
over-reacting fools got for me ahead. How about a firing squad for my
heinous deed?"
Am contest day. Saturday.
There's no parking." a tin-star toting bullfrog would say when perti-
nent personnel attempted access to the contest site, which was con-
veniently road-blocked off.
There's two spaces right over there!," a group of people who were
supposed to be there, would respond.
There's no parking."
"Look, two over there."
"OK."
Too easy. At first.
Attendance at these events is reaching phenomenal proportions.
The crowds are aggressive and expect satisfaction through quality
visuals. Needless to say, the amateurs provided quite the antidote to
the malady.
Throughout eliminations, the local "muscle with badges" inspected
back-packs, coolers, paper sacks, etc., for the lowly substance
known as beer.
In Virginia Beach, it is illegal to imbibe alcoholic substances out-
doors. If an individual was sipping a cold one, enjoying the weather
in the privacy of his own yard, someone could call the police and say,
"There's a man drinking beer in his back yard. Please hurry!" and the
cops could come get the guy.
Regardless, many of the "skate-important," cleverly quaff from un-
marked cups. Some, only to be fingered, were losing their beverages
to the grass while others opted to be continually on the move.
"Hey, I didn't know the cup was loaded."
That's just too bad, boy. Isn't it?"
It looks like there's been some amateur sleeper-talent fermenting
in the lower, more secluded pockets of the Eastern coastal areas.
The Virginia Beach locals alone comprised a majority of the strong
riding being done. New contenders, such as the Guiterrez Bros,
Henry and Eddie. Sergie Ventura, Mike Cresini and John Fudala.
Dan "Booger Brown of Pa., hoisted some respect as well as a
couple of guys from Fla., Buck Smith, Mike Speranza and Kevin Lam-
bert. New Jersey's Jeff Jones rejoined the competitive ranks after a
bit of an absence. Then there's the inland good ole boy from Tenn.,
Brian "Batmite" Beauchene, who showed that day, only to make the
ramp his slave.
As the gruel dragged on with eliminations spotted with bouts of
technical difficulty, a siren wailed up the road, coming from the block-
ade, in hot pursuit of what must be some sort of maximum offender.
The blueberry topped oink-operated vehicle screeched to a halt not
six feet from the Powell/Peralta Summer Tour station wagon in which
Mr. George Powell hisself had just slipped into the driver's seat. He
was just in time to witness a drama unfold before his eyes.
The uniformed bovine pounced upon a vehicle, two cars over from
the tour wagon, slinging open the car door and ripping the driver out
of the driver's seat.
Nothing up his sleeves, presto! It was Gator, the pro skater from
the Southern California valley that's hidden. A bunch of words were
exchanged.
"Listen Mack, do you wanna go to the hospital?," said the cop.
"Do I wanna go the the hospital? Is that a threat?"
"Blah, blah, bla-blah."
"Blah! Bla-blah blah."
"Blah-blah!"
"BI..."
POLICE
Rap At D
va PUBLIC USE
82 791
Veg Beach
POLICE
Virginia Beach
A1
POLICE
1
Then push came to shove. Nightstick to Gator's back. Gator avoid-
ably twisting. Cop's aviator hyper-inteceptor shades go a flyin'. The
handcuffs go on.
By this time, a large crowd has amassed, surrounding the im-
mediate area. "Let him go!" they kept yelling, along with other en-
couraging words.
It began to get really ugly with the arrival of several more
blueberry-topped bacon-cruisers. These overweight, baton swinging
upholders of law and order managed to connect with more than a few
little kids (who were witnessing life in the real world for the first time)
in their frenzy to establish a perimeter.
Gator sits in the back of a severely-stickered squad car, wondering
what had gone wrong. These cops don't look like real cops. They look
more like rental cops. A real misrepresentation of authority. An honest
mistake on Gator's part.
When it was over, Gator was on his way downtown with Mr. Fausto,
Mr. Dorfman and Sr. Lowboy in hot pursuit as the bailing force. One
police window is mysteriously smashed in, and a few little kids are
wondering what hit 'em.
What are the police doing, enforcing a ramp contest anyway?
Where's the sense?
The results came as no surprise when the amateurs wrapped up
their display of anarchic turbulence. The top five were credited as fol-
lows: Sergie Ventura snagged the fifth place slot, and rightly so. He's
young, quick and bio. He shredded hard in this, his first major con-
test. He's almost like Hosoi, in his fluid style, punching out high one-
footed Japan airs and some solid layback roll-arounds. Buck Smith
latched onto fourth place by way of some extremely high lein airs.
Henry Guitierrez, third, is a guy who stays on board, somewhat remi-
niscent of a Tom Inouye style. He has the extensive trick-quiver,
which includes finger-flip frontside airs and big, big boneless ones.
Layback airs, finger-flip varial roll-arounds and more attributed to Jeff
Jones' fine second place slot, but it was Mike Cresini who rode like a
wrestling anarchist and virtually body-slammed himself into first
place. He did some tough finger-flip inverts and no-handed lip slides
with a vicious array of aggrosity. Easily a hands-down first place.
Less than $450 and a few hours after being arrested, Gator is on
the ramp practicing with the rest of the pros for the big event on
Sunday.
By noon the next day, there was twice the crowd surrounding the
fenced-in ramp structure than there were at Joan of Arc's burning at
the stake. The big difference here is more than twenty times the
amount of executioners were present.
Rumor was that most of these over-zealous men with guns and
clubs volunteered for this hazardous duty. Now they sat, waiting for
something to happen, some disorder.
Well, all hell did break loose. Only thing was, there wasn't anything
the Deputy Dawgs could do about it.
Nothing in the lawbooks pertains to the chaotic hell on wheels that
scorched the ramp and the existing atmosphere. The law was merely
the observer at this point.
The resulting explosion on the ramp was caused by the heavies
present-Staab, Caballero, J. Johnson, Phillips, Kasai, Grosso,
Magnussen, C. Johnson, Gator, Gibson, Malba, Hawk, Kendall,
Groholski, Nolder, Hosoi, McGill, Mountain, Spidey, Lopes, Baucom,
the Godoy brothers, Lucero, Lake, Blender, Roskopp, Gray, Parks,
Wilkes and, from the U.K., Danny Webster.
Almost anything can happen when you get a session of this caliber
going. One must be alert.
Monte Nolder and Lance Mountain collided on the flat bottom,
sending Lance into the infirmary.
The sessioning continued, those gathered to observe displayed
their abundance of spirit by vibrating the air with a constant "ROAR."
They were so energized, at one point, an intense aluminum can
war broke out during one of Mike McGill's runs, lasting almost a solid
minute, until squelched by the Force.
Achieving the line-up for the final ten man jam was an interesting
process. At the end of the qualifying heats, the top five riders were
seated firmly in the final jam. They were Jeff Phillips, Tony Hawk,
Christian Hosol, Lance Mountain, and Mike McGill.
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