Sequence: Chris Miller alley-oop flight.
Photo: Keenan. Below, Left to Right: Mrs.
Lance, Lance and Lance Junior Valley's
valiant backsliding board slides caused
a major disturbance. Author Brannon
(right) hangs his head during another
write-up in white county. Outlaw antics
a la Chris Cook.
PARERE C
D
once again the whole thing was as slippery as Vaseline on ice.
As with the ramp situation, the question that once again
comes to mind is, were the skaters consulted before the
site was chosen? Did someone, anyone, even skate on this
surface before the contracts were signed and the contest
was underway? Was it just another "Well, it's too late to
do anything about it now, so we may as well just skate
it" dilemma for the skaters?
Another unforseen but very real obstade in the street
course was the presence of a blue chlorine dust cloud that
swirled around the area with every slip and slide. It was
washed down once during practice, but as skate wheels stirred
the deadly stew, skaters began to hack and hew. Some
weren't bothered by the potentially harmful fumes
whatsoever-not yet anyway. The Environmental Protec
tion Agency might have been interested in covering this
event. Several more water wash downs may have been the
answer, but no one was taking responsibility.
""We want to see your bracelets."
Two jock-type security commandos were
hassling some pros at the gate. Their
bracelets were back at the hotel. In the
parking lot a friend of skaters in need was
handing out countless counterfeit bracelets
to unshackled riders.
Also in the rulebook regarding what
passed in and out of the VI.P. gate was a
stipulation that no food or beverage of any
kind could be brought in by the skaters.
team managers or anybody else. NSA of-
ficials claim they resorted to sneak-in tac-
tics along with the rest of us and passed
the buck to Bare Cover. Bare Cover passed
by saying that food and drinks (i.e. sugary
snacks, cokes and hot dogs) could only be
distributed by the Big Surf concessionaire,
who passed blame to the insurance com-
pany, stating "We are liable for anything
brought in." Liable to lose a couple of
dollars in sales, no doubt. Excuses like this
should be saved for high school swim
meets, not professional skate events.
The street finals were nigh at hand. Because of the absence
of bleachers, any spectators who wanted a good view had
to stand along the fence behind the announcer and scoring
table. Nary a kid in the second row of the twelve-deep
throng could see above his front row counterpart's head.
Worth seven dollars the view was not.
Frank Hawk put more gasoline in the generator. It was
louder than the music, and, to their credit, the crowd was
even louder than that. Skaters and judges alike were easy
targets for autograph hounds and catcalls.
"Yeah man, I couldn't believe it, they played
12XU during my practice run."
It was Duane Peters, back in action.
Micke Alba ripped a long, long wheelie and turned it into a
space walk. This brought loud cheers.
Caballero skated as smooth as vanilla icing, lofting a high, effort
less frontside tweak and throwing a nose wheelie for good measure.
The Cob scored high.
Tommy Guerrero power popped mammoth allies off the jump
HOVER
ramps during a well-rounded run, but a small fall set him back.
Christian rode dear and clean, committing a mean cess slide
on the vert wall adjoining the banked ramp and sailed a way
high ollie over the whole platform affair.
Chris Cook donned a bandito's bandana and skated like a masked
marauder. His hunger was apparent as he ravaged the street course.
On his last run he rode the wall off the banked ramp, up the
vert, into the corner and down the baby blue hump
"You gotta be hungry to skate in contests today," said Alva.
"That's the only way you can do all this sick shit."
Natas pulled on ollie from the top of the platform and landed
in a backwards 50/50 down the PVC. When the judges' notably
low score come in, it drew boos, after which, the tunes were cranked
Roskopp flew past the judges and showered them with enough
confetti to make it look like snow for a second. He spat a couple
pieces out of his mouth and rode on.
Eric Dressen wanted it bad. He ripped the street course at high
velocity and let no romp stond in his way. He sailed flights of
fancy off all the meaningless plywood. He powered high bocksides
onto the vertical wall. He 50/50'd down the PVC railing like it
was a corner curb. With Caballero's score down from a fall, Dressen
took the trophy, leaving Mr. Christian in second, the Cab in third,
and Jeff Kendall and Mike Vallely in well-deserved fourth
and fifth places.
Dressen, with a contest conquest under his belt, considered signing
on with his dream team of all time-Team Gummi Bear.
Left to Right: Neanderthal clan-Ralph, Jimenez and
Gonzales. Roskopp's, confetti
shower gets the judges'
attention. D.P., deranged
revert from invert. A desert
flower in bloom. Laying Low,
-E
Somewhere, Mike Smith asked, "What's a ho-ho?"
Some skaters work for a living. Some don't.
A good amount of the grond old guard came to Tempe, for the
vertical ramp challenge
Lonnie Hiramoto, a Kanoa Surf-style skater from days gone by,
tells of skating through a window recently as part of an ad for
company. He was out of the contest due to a slammed knee.
Howard Hood, also a refugee from Team Kanoa, didn't make
the cut, but he'll be back.
a
Dave "the Rover"" Andrecht, immortalized with the Andrecht
handplant, now a G&S sales rep, planned to enter but took a bad
shoulder wipe during practice
Mike Folmer was seen throwing Miller flips on the "bump" in
the street contest.
Duane Peters just missed making the cut but stood as "first
alternate," meaning if anyone wiped in practice, he'd be in. Peters
refused to wish tragedy upon a fellow skater. But as fate would
have it, Jeff Phillips withdrew and DP slid in.
Jason Jesse stood perched and ready to drop in. The music blared.
The crowd screamed. Jesse flew down the wall and up the other
O'NE
side. He launched a high Moe-donna, hung, and slammed instantly
with a strong and solid thud. It was a discouraging first trick,
but Jason was not deterred. He remounted his ride and ripped
hord. He seemed unfazed, the crowd didn't,
The Master of Disaster was back after a good three years in his
first vert contest. Reports say his departure was due to a knee
injury suffered from a meeting with the fuzz in a parking garage
They were coming from all sides on the third floor. Things looked
good for the low, but with a bottle of Tequila in one hand and
skate in the other, DP yelled "Fuck you, cappers!" and jumped.
He landed safely below, except for a hyper-extended knee, in a
dumpster. He remained there until Socto's swinest split the scene.
"They never thought to look in the dumpster" remembers
Duane. ►