that my body and soul could do this.
Besides, all eyes were now focused on
me as I positioned myself atop the nar-
row plank, one foot on the nose and one
on the diving board.
I looked over at the crowd, only to
hear Andy Fleming's big mouth scream,
"Come on pussy, you're weak! You can't
do it. Eat shit, wimp!" I wished I was
older because I would have busted him
right in the chops.
Right then I felt this amazing
adrenaline rush through my whole body,
and I lifted my back foot to push
destiny.
It felt like I was doing 90 m.p.h.
as I flew by the right side of the
drain. The G-force while negotiat
year-old's came over and slapped me
high fives. I didn't know if they did this
because I busted the line over the light
and hit tile or busted the ego and teeth
of the big-mouth neighborhood bully. At
the time it didn't matter, but looking back
on it, I think it was the latter, for I had
become, at thirteen, a hero of the hood.
"Wow, what a story," said the moun-
tain biker.
"Yeah, I got a lot of 'em," was my reply.
He asked me what that had to do with
me going to Hawaii.
pools do you have right now?" I asked.
G.O. said two empty, two full and Bryce
Gibo's Paolo Valley ramp was being
resheeted with fresh Masonite, including
a new spine.
As the Hawaiian sun started to set we
made our way to the neighborhood of
Kahala, home to Magnum P.I.'s Tom
Selleck. As we drove, G.O. spotted a
river of fresh water making its way down
the street gutter. Though it was raining
up in Paolo Valley, down in this hood the
gutters were dry except for this one. "Oh
down the diving board, toward my My board flew across the bottom,
up the wall, out of the pool and,
yes, it connected at an alarming
velocity with Andy Fleming's
mouth. Wow! What a shot.
ing the transition must have been
at least ten. I bent my knees and
looked at my wheels to see them
not only clearing the light, but I also
saw my right front wheel run over
the blue tile. It made a sound no one had
ever heard before.
When I dropped back into the pool
after reaching the peak of my carve, I
felt my knees gel out. So as not to fall
backward on my ass, I thrust my skate
forward and stepped off the back to wit-
ness perhaps the greatest moment of
my life.
My board (with its Gerry Lopez-
inspired shape) flew across the bottom,
up the wall, out of the pool and, yes, it
connected at an alarming velocity with
Andy Fleming's mouth. Wow! What a
shot.
For a moment dead silence hung over
the entire backyard. Nobody knew what
to do or say. When he got up, I jumped
from the pool and ran toward him, say-
ing, "I'm sorry!" (Thinking he and his
friends might break my neck if I didn't
show some remorse.) Blood pumped
from his toothless gums-I had knocked
out no less than four teeth from his per-
fectly straight conniving smile.
As all jaws dropped, eyes stared in
disbelief, waiting for his reaction. He
reached up with his hand only to feel
large gaps of air, chipped and jagged
teeth and plenty of blood where, "Come
on pussy, you're weak" had passed only
seconds ago. When he saw the blood
and some of his teeth on the coping, he
held his face and started squealing and
hollering like a little girl: "My face! My
teeth! Call the hospital! Somebody call
my mommy." He ran down the side of
the house, holding his mouth and leav-
ing a trail of red blood on the cement.
When he was out of sight everyone
started to cheer and the big sixteen-
50 THRASHER MAGAZINE
Well, to make a long story short, I told
him my surf/skate/artist friend Gary
Owens had told me of a neighborhood
hero. Since Thrasher needed a pool arti-
cle, I thought it might be interesting to
hook up with this cat.
"Let me get this straight. They're
sending you to Hawaii to find this guy
and skate empty pools?" "Yup. I know
I'll find him. Gary knows him well. His
name is Kale Sandridge. He's sixteen
and supposedly the hottest skater to
emerge from the island since Billie
Deans."
The plane landed, I said good-bye to
my new friend and bummed the whole
plane by pulling my skate out of the
overhead compartment. I skated
through the terminal, disregarding all air-
port security attempts to halt my efficient
mode of transportation.
"Team 16" was waiting for me outside
in an island beat Datsun B-210. Their
names were Laugh-a-Lot Lydia and Tell-
Another-Story Lori. I noticed a nappy-
headed dread in the backseat next to
Lydia. Lori, whose mouth never paused,
introduced us. His name was Kale
Sandridge. He didn't say much. I figured
he was living quite large in the backseat
with Lydia. G.O. (Gary Owens) had sent
them to greet me in the Hawaiian-style
limo.
When we reached G.O.'s pad he
played a homegrown skate video of all
the unreal pools him, Kirk Muruka, me
and Grant Fukuda had drained and ses
sioned over the last two years. Kale was
busting some serious moves on coping.
We were psyched. I immediately sug-
gested we make a move. "How many
yeah!" I exclaimed as we
cruised by, noticing some
workers in and about the
house. We decided to come
clear. All we could picture was
hand kidney, already being
back later when the coast was
a perfect ten-foot-deep left-1
drained for our surf/style ritual.
We drove down the street
to the next pool. The Haubush
pool is so named because of the
humongous haubush hanging over the
deep end. The pool was seven feet
deep, square, with perfect blue tile and
nice hard coping. The tranny was tight
with lots of vert. I had to really thrust to
bust a frontside gnarler, but I watched
in disbelief as Kale effortlessly took the
place apart with moves like his deep-end
comer acid drop to five-block slide and
roll toward the shallow end. He backed
that up with multiple forever lines, work-
ing the sides and face wall with moves
like feeble-to-takie on walls of vert that
were difficult for me to wheel (oh, to be
sixteen again). He was truly the neigh-
borhood hero in my book.
G.O skated fiercely. Quick snaps of
the frontal kind and razor-sharp quarter-
edge wheelers were some of the moves
he unleashed on coping. I couldn't leave
until the obligatory frontside slasher was
dialed. I even had to acid from the deep
end corner like Kale and, to my own
amazement, busted a frontside ollie-to-
grind on coping on the first attempt.
With that, I suggested we bail. The thin
plaster on the pool walls was slowly dis-
integrating with each pass of every run,
creating clouds of white plaster dust hov-
ering at coping level.
We picked the plaster boogers from
our eyes and noses on our way back to
the car, trying to conceal our boards for
the block-long walk. G.O. spoke of a
nice egg-shaped bowl he dubbed the
"Sold Out Pool" and suggested we
check it out. He had been casing the
house for weeks and concluded that the
sold sign on the front lawn must mean
the owners were (Continued on page 82)
CALIFORNIA
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SUNNYVALE, CA 94087
PHONE (408) 735-1137
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SESSIONS
SKATEBOARD SHOP
CHICAGO
SESSIONS SKATEBOARD SHOP
800 WEST ALTGELD ST.
CHICAGO ILL.
PHONE (312) 787-4146
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