HAUNTED HOLE
by Tony Alva
There's a spirit of adventure in search-
ing for and discovering a new place with
skate potential. The aura and mystique of
a newfound, skateable pool has been a
driving force for veteran tile men and
backyard novices alike. Concrete and
plaster bowls, designed specifically for an
activity other than skating, always pump
up the adrenalin, stir the imagination,
and renew the challenge for any ad-
vocate of vertical skating. I have one
special place in mind at this moment.
A forbidden zone. A forgotten place.
Once lost, then rediscovered. A young
skate scout named Tonan sat and
contemplated the potential of the slime
coated mass of stagnant water. After
rounding up a few dedicated confidants,
he set out to empty the pool of its water
obstacle. Rumors of death and
destruction circulated about the estate
that surrounded this haunted hole. They
obviously did not hinder these skaters'
determination, though. Running a garden
hose as a siphon for four days, they took
turns hiking up the hill to make sure it
was flowing constantly. After sweeping it
clean, the crew stepped back and examined
the hole. The results were unbelievable.
A plain fool could see this place was of
the bueno, da kine variety! There were
no ghosts or devil worshipping souls
skating here. Maybe when the sun goes
down and the moon comes up. But why
push it that far? It lasted for a while. And,
like all good things, it came to an end.
The few who enjoyed the energy and
solitude know what went down while it
existed. Another secret spot, here today
and gone tomorrow. Some paid dues,
some respect. The energy was immense.
Riding the fine line of disaster, stepping
lively along the edge of a razor. A con-
crete soldier surfing on a haunted wave.
The Alva boys must have been good last year
'cause Santa brought them a perfect pool for
Christmas. Opposite Page: Eddigul finds the
thick grind line over the steps. Right: You don't
see many backyard backsides like this Dave
Duncan blast. Photos: A. Sedway. Below: Papa
Tony-no grabbing, just grinding the nasty rock
coping that kept the light-footed honest. Photo: K.T.
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