the skim board squad. The beach is
angled, so wave ripping is there to be had.
A few blocks away, in Isla Vista Park, is
a bowl-shaped grass amphitheater with a
stage and electricity. Some Deadheads:
(and I use the term loosely) are supposedly
going to rent it to us for a price.
We skate over and establish our claim
on the territory. Troy is the drummer for
S.B.'s Bitch Magnet. They take the stage
by storm and dominate with a heavy rock
onslaught. With victory in site, they sur-
render the action to comrades in rock,
S.B.'s Under The Weather (including Alpo,
ex-member and coiner of the name RKL).
U.T.W is led by Anna, the most wonderful
barefoot bassist/singer in the realm. They
maintain the good time pitch and proceed
to turn it into a feeding frenzy. A food fight
ensues. The Deadheads, who had treated
us as mere underlings in previous en-
counters, were in complete disarray. We
choose this time to pack up our gear and
skate off in a cloud of dust. Our hit and run
tactic works like a charm. We get away with
the I.V. Park sortie scot free.
After assembling back at our beach-
head staging grounds, we advance into the
hills to battle the Tea Gardens again.
The huge bowl was, in more decadent
times, the lowest reservoir of a series of
seven pools whose water flowed through
a thousand and one clam shells to the bot-
tom. We engage its aura with fury. Our full
force banzai attack produces inspired:
skating with rounds of commendations
and a few purple hearts for our hearty band
of Jaks. After a while, a squad of home.
squeezed skaters shows at the site.
They're fresh off the waves, with juicy fluid
style. Mike Taylor from Skater's Paradise
is with them. Having long posessed a
mastery of this conquest, Mike takes a
small patrol over the top.
Our destination is the sacred secret
bowl above. We proceed through the brush
with anticipation, marching along the top
of a castle-type parapet wall that angles
up the hill. We scale up an eight-foot vert-
ical stone wall with our fingers. Here we
find an ancient overgrown stone amphi-
theater. We ascend the steps and then
climb six feet up a pipe. From here we trek
past pool ruins up a vine twisted, winding
jungle trail. Upon busting out of the trees,
we spy the heavenly pinnacle. It is the
highest bowl in the ruins and it's half as
big as a football field. It has banks, hips,
moguls and a curved grind pipe in the mid-
dle, all surrounded by a wall that's ridable
in a few spots. It is old with some cracks,
but that's almost irrelevant because there
are so many lines to rip. Our enthusiasm.
runs wild. Again, the few, the proud, the
brave session to our hearts content. It is
unreal. Thanks, Mike.
we get
there it seems that the first Cana-
dian platoon is dominating the tourney.
It's time for a new game and I'm a cap-
tain. Naturally, I pick Nosmo King, my S.F.
hockey partner in crime. Knowing the
Canooks have hockey in the blood and
road trip aggressions to release, I pick E-
mon, Casual and Simon Snotface as the
rest of our five-man team. We face a fresh
team of all US. players, led by Mike Hill.
He happens to be the best skate hockey
player in the world at this time.
We're playing to five. Our game starts.
Casual scores for our team. First blood is
important. Then Mike Hill scores right off
the line. Mike continues to dog us and
despite both teams playing really tight, we
score two more times. Then, a miracle
happens, Casual slap-shots the puck and
right into Mike's gonads. He's
Left to Right: Troops dig in for the duration. Hobbit sports his combat
camouflage. Tactical tent headquarters. Some members of the "Tea Garden
Batallion." Genuine Jaks garage rock.
injury-Patton would have been proud.
They charge the front line and provide a
heavy curtain of musical salvos. We're
slaughtering kegs in a homicidal frenzy.
With absolute music as cover, we plan
our next major campaign; to send a pla-
toon of team petitioners to Leadbelly
Beach in S.B. proper to secure and hold
a beachhead for our glorious country's
Independence Day firelight.
Troy and I volunteer to lead this platoon
of raw recruits. House of Wheels and the
Mudpuppies come along as advisors.
Luckily, we infiltrate Leadbelly before mid-
night. This is none too early, because
thousands of Santa Barbarian earlybirds
are already entrenched there and hoard-
ing real estate.
bag, water balloon style. Just before dusk,
he engages three pert yuppie chicks who
are sashaying their bikinis about the pits.
I don't blame them for refusing his offer
to be our prisoners, but they make the
mistake of snobbing him. They are about
two pits away when Paul lets fly with his
bag of beer. His perfect lob nails the mid-
dle one right in the back of the head and
douches them all.
The cops have been harassing us all
day long, but haven't penetrated our
trench line. This time they get through,
however. They haul Paul off for assault and
nab Seattle Dave Muesch for some phony
minor charge. Both are made POW's for
the duration of hostilities and beyond.
V.S.B. Day.
Darkness descends. Our pit happens to
be right below the S.B. city rocket laun-
Monday, July 4: Rockets Red Glare...
We establish our stronghold and start ching site. And then it begins. D-Day is
digging in. We know it has to be deep here with bombs bursting in air. Their
because we've spotted random rockets be- pyrotechnic display of firepower is awe-
ing fired into other pits, and skins (I use some. When their barrage is over, we
this term literally) engaged in hand to hand grunts in the trenches get to turn it on.
combat with other people. After sunrise, Shells start raining the foxholes.
John Thaxton and Kee-Too arouse Rockets and M-80's are flying everywhere.
The air is thick with smoke. Our recon
everybody within earshot with a ten-minute
acoustic guitar rendition of "Santa Bar- patrols and intelligence reports are ac-
bara S-cks, All You Jocks Are F-cked" curate as to which direction most incom-
and most S.B. rocket launchers are dialed ing barrages are launched from. We con-
in to our coordinates within seconds. centrate our defenses and firepower there
Soon, fifty thousand Santa Barbarians
A'S
That night, the first Canadian platoons
arrive at our stronghold. It's rough in the
combat zone. For instance, our cliffside hot
tub has gone cold. Select people either fall
or get pushed into the "cold" tub. Several
kegs bite the dust.
Sunday, July 3: International Skate-
board Hockey Tournament, Relentless
Rock Blitzkrieg and Establishing of the
Southern Beachhead for Our Two-
Pronged Offensive.
As the waves roll in, the day rocks on.
A sizable squad skates to UCSB to set up
a staging grounds for skate hockey. After
a while the law comes down. The cops say,
"It's too close to residences." So they
escort the players to this great plaza in the
center of campus and say, "Play here."
Meanwhile, the second platoon of Cana-
dians pulls in to the beachhead, direct
from Vancouver, BC. We muster another
squad and roll to the campus. By the time
it bullets
laid out screaming, down for the count. We
score. Mike is replaced and we score the
game point. It's ruthlessly brutal.
After the anarchy tournament, we skate
back to the beachhead. We've com-
mandeered an open air garage with an
observation deck by an empty lot, right
across from "combat surf," for our rock
blitz chaos. U.TW. liked us so much Satur-
day (and vice versa) that they play again.
They are even tighter this time and the
garage effect gives their barrage max-
imum impact. Next, Mr. Hobbit brings out
his comrades called Eyeball from S.F.
Poor Litha Vasquez takes a rocket blast to
throng the half-mile long network of gigan- the leg. Under fire, Rosetta Arsenault is
tic pits, trenches and walls on the beach. like Florence Nightingale with her first aid
Luckily, our reinforcements arrive like kit. By the end of the battle, the Jak's team
huns from the north. We bury our kags in flag flies high over Leadbelly Beach and
our pit and dig deeper. One fool on our side our fair nation is still free.
keeps mooning the other pits Hobbit is the
star of the beach, though. With his shred
With our new beachhead secured, our
forces charge into S.B. for the second
ded newspaper grass skirt, twelve-pack prong of our pincer action. We locate a
box on his lid, psychedelic face paint and warehouse on Santa Barbara street of
circular mirrored shades he cavorts in and which Troy has previously kicked in the
out of strange holes throughout the entire door. After ensconcing ourselves inside
beach. People either love him as a star with all necessities, we set up shop. It's
from some other galaxy, or hate us all for initiation time for three petitions: Jaime,
Kevin and Zeke. Lawless party anarchy
follows. The rest is Jak's history.
With the mission accomplished, the en-
tire operation is an absolute success.
All tolled there were two POW's, eight
purple hearts, a dirty dozen commenda-
being with him.
We have invested hundreds of dollars
in July Fourth firepower from an S.F.
Chinatown gang (I use this term loosely).
These Deadhead lookin' dudes punch out They have supplied us with everything in
the most thrashin' hardcore rock I've heard
Petaluma band for which Mike Hill drums)
the Chinese arsenal, except Silkworms.
in awhile. Coffee and Donuts (the After placing all our skate sticks around our lions for heroism, and thirteen kegs were
wall like a parapet, we're prepared for killed in action.
lead the second seige after Eyeball's rapid
outpouring of artillery fire abates. Mike
doesn't seem hindered by his hockey
anything.
A small price for one team to pay for ex-
Well, almost anything. Paul Casteel lending our nation's frontiers of freedom,
can't find a cup, so he drinks from a Dorito independence and fun.