SKAT
DOGS VALES
Howlin
in the hollows
of the Amarillo pipe
is John Gibson,
Photo by Kevin J. Thatcher
by Bobaba Jones
Somewhere in the depths of the city a
coyoteserenades a sliver of silver. The moon
shines high abo@athin 3-pipe with perfect
transitions. The west wind brings a scent of
sulfur smoke from a nearby smelter, as well
as the ever present smell of man. The sounds
of laughter cary from a nearby hotel, and
the creature of the night creeps closer to steal
a look at the makers of mirth
Inside, a pack of partiers talk of taking
severe risks to live freely, and the animal
yawns; he knows it is the law of the land Joe
Coyote moves on and finds an upturned,
dumpster in an alley. He is happy to discover
it contains a good supply of vittles.
In the morning, Mr. Coyote pokes his head
out of his den and discovers the same group
he spied the night before emerging from a
vehicle down the hill. Within an instant is
obvious to the prairie wolf that these humans
and he are similar species: he is Canis
Latrans-desert coyote, and they are Canis
Skatus-skate dogs.
The rabid riders quickly clutch their wheels
as they survey the abandoned skatepark.
One of them is drooling long strings of spittle,
another is foaming at the mouth, while yet
another is letting out a sustained how
C
After a while, their tummies begin to
rumble and grumble, and they decide to
heed the call. They target a helpless pizza
joint and feast down. The "all-you-care-to-
eat lunch special turns into a skateboard
smorgasborg with slices being devoured left
and right. Even the dreaded "Peach Cobbler
Pizza" suffers a few bites.
to
Soon after the concrete canines pay a visit
a group of their relatives living across the
way. It seems the infamous "Prairie Dog
Tow (not to be confused with the "Prairie
Sadlands") is located conveniently next to
the park. Here, a group of prairie dogs live
and hang in a communal-type atmosphere
under the protection of Uncle Sam.
Everything is cool, quiet and peaceful-like.
The prarie doggies arise from their below
and bowls. Whoever designed it had speed ground Yown-homes to greet their rolling
The park is a masterpiece of moguls and
banks. Built before coping was a common
commodity, the deserted desert oasis con-
tains a fine selection of snake runs, banks
carves in mind.
A medium-sized snake starts at the top of
a hill and winds serendipitously down and
around to a point where the rider (who by now
is booking) can choose to follow a horseshoe
curve and shoot back up to the top or des-
cend yet deeper into and through a semi-
lumpy -pipe and onto a few moguls and
a banked beginners' run. Another featured
line follows a sinking entrance into a big bowl
that propels the rider through a long face wall
carve and into a bowlful of sweetness.
The coyote, perched upon a precipitious
rock, peers down upon the happy skaters,
who are now sessioning the pool. The big
one takes a few good pushes and cuts a cur-
vaceous frontside carve. He follows it with
a grind in the shallow end and flows back
into the bowl and over the hip. Next, his bro
slices the same clean line with speed and
control. Like playful pups, the skate dogs yip.
yell and roll about.
Over near the over-vertical half-pipe, two
of the wall wolves drop in from the top of a
tall bank and dart downwards. Instead of
merely carving the overhang, they roll out
and over it, one in tight pursuit of the other.
The coyote cannot help but sneeze at such
a sight.
Like foxes in a hen house, the riders eat
it up. Barks and bites reverberate from their
hungry trucks, chomping away at the cold
hard cement. A few moguls become the new
romping ground as the skates borrow wings
and take flight. Every sessionable inch of
concrete is put to good use as Joe Coyote
looks on.
relatives and exchange frozen stares.
The riders return and soon the ripping
resumes. A new crop of locals joins the action
and all is pushed to new froumovs Like the
desert coyote in his native habitat, the skaters
shredding this abandoned park are a prime
example of wild life doing its thing as God
intended it to be done. Unbothered by the
outside world, the group rolls freely. But the
sun begins to sink low on the western horizon
and the time for "lazer, bros" closes in The
coyote, with nothing better to do, follows the
pack to their new destination.
Like the prairie dog, the skate species
prefers to inhabit dark, underground.
passageways... especially when these are
exceedingly large and excellent tubular
tunnels of cement construction
Upon entrance to the aforementioned
concrete caverns, the boarders discovered
they must descend a tall wall to enter. One
of them, drunk on the wine of excitement.
thought nothing of throwing his board over
the twenty foot high fence and jumping down.
Unfortunately, the deck went first, hit bottom,
bounced once, landed on its wheels, and
began a slow but accelerating roll down a
long, steep slope toward the lake. All his
howling and growling would not stop it from
taking the plunge. It shot into the water,
floated a good fifteen feet out and then sank,
nose first. Shedding his clothing like winter
fur, he followed it in. Upon his first step into
the icy cold waters, he discovered that the
silt was so fine that his foot sank about three
feet. Needless to say, the board did likewise,
somewhere in the depths of the lake. After
a half hour of searching, the deck was given
up for dead.
Such a loss did little to discourage the
instinct to ride. Finding themselves face to
face with twenty-seven sections of perfect
pipe with a large elbow at the top and a
gradual incline on towards the bottom,
featuring kinkless transitions decreasing to
nothingness, the skate dogs knew what they
had to do.
Starting at the top, they traversed long
lines all the way to the end. Carving or
kickturning, they circulated and undulated
to ever higher extremes, bridging the gap
between speed and style with smooth and
screaming runs.
Upstairs, the coyote stuck his long nose
over the top and peered a hundred feet down
from the plateau of the elbow, where it is
rumored Duane Peters once had to be
detained from rolling in, for his own good.
Mr. Coyote betrayed a dog-faced grin as he
watched the little litter cruise hither and
thither across the great pipes.
But from the other side, the boarding bow-
wows heard a sound that made their sharp
ears stand straight. It was the terrifying
squaw of a state trooper's walkie-talkie.
They froze in their tracks, knowing that if their
gig was not already up, it easily could be with
the slightest murmur, or mutter. An eternity
or two later, a voice from a bullhorn cried,
"Hey y'all c'mon out of the Gloryhole. We'll
send you down a rope..." Like wild animals
stuck behind cages in the zoo, they could do
nothing other than exactly what their captors
demanded.
They found themselves facing $100 fines
for trespassing upon other people's public
Property. Luckily, two of them had gone to
fetch grub, thereby cheating Uncle Scam out
of two-hundred big ones.
Their friend, Joe Coyote, just frowned from
alar. He had seen the same too many times
before, only in different forms-wild animals
punished for having nowhere else to go. It
is not the law of nature, it is the law of man.
Like the coyote, skaters must forever remain
courageous and cunning or else face certain
extinction in a world that is not fair.