AND
Above: Tony Hawk takes an Indy air
tweaker to the Arizona sky during a
warm-up session. Right: Opting for a
change in the course, Christian Hosoi
positioned a launch ramp toward the
natural transitions and earned a
couple of oohs and ahhs with this
high-flying ollie. Photos: Luke Ogden.
Far Right: The Desert Duel ramp
scene. Photo: Kevin Thatcher.
WEALD
the
"Everyone had a sore groin from pushing like cartoon characters
running in place."
Sand, dust, desert...a contest...a
giant empty wave machine...dried up
chlorine...reminiscent of a toilet at low
tide. No water in sight. Seven bucks a
head. No chance but romance, no seats
in the sun. Bare Cover...a sponsor of
sorts. Denizens of the bikini biz, cash and
carry. Go for broke, bucks for bruises. The
NSA. Again, the ramp? A step back? Not
as good as Palmdale? Where is the
shade? Better stand next to Hester. Half
of Venice waits in the wings, J-Boy, Los
Suicidals. Andrecht flys. El Gato returns,
Red Dog, Salba and other veteranos meet
the new social order. Bert LaMar directs
the latest video extravaganza. Frank Lloyd
Wright rolls over in his grave as Kinnear
plunders the ruins. What year are we in?
Why is the audience separated from the
skaters? Are we not the same? Formated
concessions to give the illusion of order.
Control equals power in the minds of
some. Contain and maintain. The creed
"Welcome to the Hospitality Inn, Mr. Muir.
Would you like the rooms to be poolside?"
"Of course."
"All right, that's room numbers 201
through 204. If you find anything that's not
to your liking, please don't hesitate to give
the front desk a holler."
"WaaaaaaaaaaAAAUUHHGGGHH!!!!!"
"Mommmmmmmm. Billy painted nasty
naughty pictures on my grip tape!"
The nude brunette figurine smiled at any
guests who ventured to look into her eyes.
Two skatemen stood across from her, waiting
for the elevator.
Ding. The doors slid open.
"25¢ beersill C'mon, let's go!"
The elevator was crammed with the most
dreaded team in the world-the Alva Boys.
From their midst, three elderly ladies
emerged. They were surprisingly unshaken
by their encounter with Team Alva. They were
actually laughing about something.
"HA, HA, HA. Well, Captain, we made a
pretty good haul this bunch. We've charged
them with misdemeanor trespassing and
fined them $150 each. Also, all those who
live in Arizona will have to appear before
a judge."
"You be the judge, Mom," said Billy. "My P.E.
teacher says the human body is the bestest form
of art ever, so these drawings ain't nasty.
They're art."
"Well, I don't think he meant what you have
- Tommy Guerrero
of the status quo. Why are we here? To pro-
mote? Identical images tend to dilute im-
pact. Are we not here to meet with other
skaters? Why the Fourth Reich plastic I.D.
arm bands? Is not a street contest the an-
tithesis of boundaries, fences and restric-
tions? Doesn't the normal ped interact with
the skater in a street situation? Is fascism
fun? Chip Morton offers social alternatives
having been kicked out of another hotel
for the offense of being near Rocco. The
crime of fun is often punished by the
minions of a commerce. In the final
analysis fun is all there is. Perhaps some
organizational types are incapable of
realizing this. As they say, if you can't say
anything nice...Contests are good
because they bring people together.
Perhaps alternatives exist to make them
better. Competitive terrains must equal or
surpass the common concrete of every-
day life. Progression not regression. Live
in the future, not in the past. Lowboy
drawn...and listen, mister. That skateboard
isn't yours. It's your brother John's. I've told you
a thousand times to leave his stuff alone, and
now I'm going to ground you."
"But Mom..."
"No buts, Billy-boy, unless you want yours
paddled. I said you're grounded, and that
means no skating, no phone calls, no T.V., no
radio, no contest tomorrow and no swimming."
Splassssssshl
Bryce's cannonball soaked the cerveza sip-
ping skate rats and their nubile young lady
friends as far back as the shuffleboard court.
In the jacuzzi next to the pool a few pros
sat contentedly, discussing life, women,
skating, and even the very transition of the
spa itself.
"It's got good walls but too much flat bottom," Jeff
Phillips said.
Tony Hawk ogreed: "The flat bottom is weird-too long
and the surface is slippery. Twice today I was going up
the wall for a frontside grind, slid out and landed on my
back."
"Yeah, the masonite's a bit too slick," said Hugh Boyle.
"You guys got anything to eat?"
A platter of oranges stuffed with turkey and crab meat
and a plate of assorted fruit sat on the dresser. Boyle took
his fill
"Hey, man, leave some for the rest of the
world!"
Malba was on his fifth piece of barbecued
chicken. The pool scene was incredibly
mellow considering Teams Dogtown, Santa
Cruz and Schmitt Stix were all staying in the
Lee Ralph, all alone in the danger zone with his
crowd-pleasing aerial antics. Photo: K.T.
same locale, the very hospitable Hospitality
Inn. A quiet game of shuffleboard was going
on. The only noticeable noise occurred when
a stray puck hit a bottle of stout.
"I don't care if you ARE guests of the
Tempe Mission Palms. The management
doesn't want you hanging out here. And no
skating on the sidewalks."
CLACK!
clickety-clack, Clickety-Clack, CLICKETY-
Three skaters sped past the group of
visiting pros. One of them was Steve
Pingelton. An AZ skater from way back. The
only time you see him ride is at something
way burly.
"You going to the contest at Big Surf
tomorrow, Steve?"
"Nah, I'm not going to pay $7.00 and
fight little kids to watch some other dude
rip. I'm going skating."
He sped away toward a medium-sized jump ramp, hit
barely missing another rider who shot past to blast a backside
it with good speed, then twisted a frontside into a 360°,
floater across the main wall.
The empty wave pool at Big Surf was filled with action.
A couple jump ramps, a platformed plaything with on-romps
and dual PVC pipe stair rails (another re-hash of the Savan-
nah Slamma concept), a large banked ramp to vertical and
a horseshoe-shaped PVC slide rail helped. The "Hump"
though not too adept at producing surfable surfaces, was
da kine for skating. The slick blue plaster wall was about
five and a half feet high with a sound, round lip at the
top. The transition was just right, barely going to vert.
The absence of kinks made it damn near perfect except
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