If the skater did
not like it, he
would simply
write something
on it and throw
it back.
AUSTIN CRUZ
SKATEBOAR
W-ROLL E
Nice Strong Arms.
night, but I retired while the skies were still
black and starry.
By the time we awoke, the sun had
already begun its descent into the deep blue
waters of the sea of Texas. Dick had just
risen when Tim knocked on the door.
Tim led us down the path to the cor-
rugated colliseum where the jubilation
would go down. He explained that Austin
was "an island of weirdos," and we
shouldn't be alarmed because "at night
everyone turns into Stinko the Clown." We
weren't sure what this meant, but realized
it had something to do with the potent
68
tropical punch the townspeople inhaled like
oxygen.
The sounds of hammers, saws and shouts
echoed out from the building. The event was
due to start in a couple of hours, and the
ramp was not yet complete. All the
templates had been cut the day before, but
the actual construction had not begun until
that morning. A great crowd of restless
natives waited outside.
We took the between time to visit Tim's
pad, which was a virtual museum of island
artifacts. He showed us his voodoo corner,
where he kept many trinkets and amulets.
He had a most impressive collection of
statues representing the local deities. These
metal monsters could transform themselves.
into many shapes to keep bad mojo away.
When we returned to the ramp, the pros
were already showcasing mainland moves
for the Austin islanders. A good number of
pros had sailed the seas to join the rejoic-
ing. I searched for Carter, hoping to
congratulate him on his spectacular achieve-
ment of these festivities. When I found him,
he said he owed much of it to Jackie Roberts,
a local witch doctor.
The ramp stood tall and smooth, boasting
a 24-foot width, a fine amount of flat bot-
tom and large round transitions. It was ob
vious that the pros approved as they sailed
high into the island air.
A few rippers had voyaged from the near-
by volcanic Island of Houston to flaunt their
brand of isle style. John Gibson flowed
gracefully hither and tither across the great
ramp. His rolled-out laybacks and smooth
grinds demonstrated the fine art of coping
terrorization.
Prince Todd ripped likewise, skating
smooth and under control, having fully
recovered from the previous night's events.
Jeff Phillips skated in a simple unassuming
yet bio style, leaving not one bit of coping
or air space undisturbed. He twisted
layback and fakie layback airs, out-
rageously high drifters and a backside air
to butt which stupefied the crowd.
The announcer, a local boy named
Nathan Gates, described the pros' rippings
in precise island gibberish. The festive local
expressions sounded strange, but somehow
made sense. "Wahl" was a native exclama-
tion meaning approximately "Yeah dudel"
"Krakatoa" referred to the sound a tail
makes when slapped against coping before
a high and fanciful flight. All in all, the
announcing was descriptive and informative
while bordering on obnoxious.
Fred Smith tore hard with a good selec-
tion of fluid lines and slides, clocking max-
imum air time and healthy tail shavings. Ken.
Fillion caught air like a seagull gliding high
on the offshore breeze. Tony Hawk pulled
some unheard of and downright un-
thinkable moves, including a five-foot-high
ollie to tail grab and a frontside air to nose
pick. On one of Hawk's lofty ascensions,
Nathan pointed out that Tony wouldn't have
touched the board with his fingers if he
hadn't wanted to.
Lance Mountain cruised long and floating
frontside airs off the extension as well as cir-
cular 540°s which seemed to rotate in slow
motion above the skate surface. He held the
coping tightly with both hands on a ho-ho
plant and then handled his board back
down and onto the ramp. The natives went
wild.
A curious crowd custom the riders had to
deal with was the "scream and touch
hands" ritual. Whenever a pro strayed too
close to the barricades that separated ramp
and rider from spectators, the whole front
row yelled and waved their hands about in
a frenzied manner. The correct response to
this type of behavior seemed to be a slap
of each hand before again hitting the ramp.
Later the yokels initiated t-shirt offerings to
their favorite skaters. Members of the
(Above): A member of an obscure tribe who pride themselves on their saguaro
cactus-styled hairdos. (Top): Steve Caballero lifts a lofty lien well over Lance's
head before an inspired Austin crowd.
populace literally threw the pros the shirts
off their backs. If the skater did not like it,
he would simply write something on it and
throw it back.
The rough riders retired after a couple
hours of hard sessioning and Nathan an-
nounced it was time for a few "strings of
melodious dischord."
While Will Sexton and The Kill began to
set up their equipment, Dick and I
meandered off to the beer garden to quench
our slathering thirsts. Fred Smith joined us
for a round, and we studied his colorful and
permanent skin markings.
Soon Will and The Kill began their set of
twangy, rebel rousin' rock. They incor-
porated just a tinge of rockabilly into a basic
blues feel. Skaters faded into the shadow
world of the now dimly lit ramp and t-shirts
flew from the crowd to the few pros sitting
on the rollout deck. All in all, the deck
looked like the best vantage point from
which to view the shakin' sounds.
When The Kill wound down, the way was
cleared for more skate rockin' to begin. Nice
Strong Arm flexed its muscle next and gave
a loud and encroaching set worthy of the
initials NSA. Kevin, an Austin islander and
69