A
Every day Spike would eat nothing but Cheez Whiz
and beetles, waiting for the answer. Until finally, after 5
weeks, he saw it. A young child rode happily on his
Nuke Boy until he went flying off a curb, misjudged his
landing and fell into the street. A passing cement truck
turned his fat head into a microwaved pomegranate.
Spike grabbed the board and stole off down the street.
Now, with the exception of Mike Fox's run in Back to
the Future, Spike had never seen skateboarding. He
went to the turnpike and waited at the toll booth,
chomping beetles and Whiz. A carload of drunken
youths came and Spike grabbed on to their souped-up
hot-rod. The drunks loved it! Spike was quickly travel-
ling at ninety-five miles an hour. After a few miles the
drunks came to a detour and swerved the car suddenly.
Spike shot under a "road closed" sign. He tried to bail
into a sand pile but the orange goo that resembled ear
wax more than cheez had created an unbreakable
super glue bond between his hand and the board.
Spike saw the bulldozer ahead...He shot straight up
the curved but not quite vert blade, over the construc-
tion site, over a house and into a backyard halfpipe.
His astronomical velocity sent him forty feet above the
ramp, twisting and spinning uncontrollably the entire
way, to an overhanging branch. He grabbed onto it,
but his momentum carried him 'til he was stalling
perfectly upside down with his mouth gaping. A beetle
passed by, saw the left over chunks of Cheez Whiz
glued to his teeth and flew in.
Spike bit down and got the rush he was now ad-
dicted to. He let go of the branch, plummeted back into
the ramp and flew out the channel onto the house's
gutter, grinding the entire thing until he smacked face
first into the chimney.
When the bodycast was removed Spike wandered
down to the toll booth drinking a Cheez Whiz and beetle
milkshake...and waited.
Onwards To The Sun
by Michael McEntire
The ancient beat was strong in his ears as he
looked upon the delirious dancers. They moved in
the disjointed sweaty unison of the ritual. Perhaps
once their ways had power, he thought, as he picked
up his skate and started walking toward the desert.
A medicine man who was too old to dance smiled
knowingly as he watched the boy melt into the dis-
tant heat waves.
The sun was hot and heavy as it had been for
months. It seared the barren land with no hint of
respite. Plants in their last vestiges of life drooped fur-
ther still. The time of usual rain had long since gone.
Summer still raged.
Beads of sweat were already forming as he made
his way through the stifling air. It was madness at this
time of day, but still he pushed on toward his destination.
The giant U-shaped structure loomed monolithic on
the desert plain. As he reached the edge of it, he took
a deep breath of the scorched air. He laughed to
himself as he felt the beginnings of cotton- mouth
before his first run.
A trail of sweat drops followed as he began to fakie
his way to the top of the ramp. He rolled out at the top
of the ramp and stood on his board, resting. After
regaining his breath he dropped in and began a
furious aerial assault.
Gracefully, with long hair flowing, he did fly. As he
dropped from the peak of his highest air he felt the hot
winds of speed surround his body. He stopped on the
other side of the ramp, panting hard. He tried to
swallow but there was no moisture in his mouth.
Rivulets of sweat ran freely down his chest, dropping
like bombs to his board below.
The heartbeat in his head was loud and strong. The
beat was also somewhat primal, almost familiar. He let
the thought go as he dropped back in. In the midst of
a method-lien he noticed a hawk soaring effortlessly
around and around. Once again he paused at the top
of the ramp.
He watched the hawk as it floated upon the light
desert gusts. The way the bird flowed through the air
made his own efforts appear crude and ugly. Perhaps
this is why we skate, he thought, to catch the feelings
of grace they exhibit, if only for a second. Pity it's
such a short while, he thought as the hawk soared far
above the ramp. It seemed to dance upon the sun's
rays, oblivious to the heat.
Conjuring the image of the hawk's flight in his mind,
he dropped in and soared higher than he had ever
imagined. Yes, he thought, as he landed perfectly and
started up the opposite wall. Yes, it is quite obvious
now. I have been trying too hard. I just have to float,
soar, no effort, no trying.
He was at least fifteen feet above the coping before
gravity began to beckon once again. He laughed aloud
as he again landed perfectly and continued on. Now
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