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STILETTO
(From page 67)
At the park the competition was in
progress, with over 60 contestants
from all over Mexico. It is named the
III M.S.A. Skateboard Champi
onships. There were three divisions
and two events, mini-ramp and vert.
Steve, upon observing for only
moments, commended the abilities of
our south of the border neighbors.
Even the beginners had a lot to offer:
they were seen flying all over the
park, which provided numerous ines
through a succession of mini-ramps
and the like. In the far back area of
the park, almost hidden in its own lit
tle comer, were two cement bowls: a
capsule and a salad. Immediately,
Midget and Steve got to carving the
bastard for all it was worth, which
wasn't a lot. The coping, a metal pipe
unevenly cemented into the lip, pro-
vided a dangerous diversion of
roundhouse carves and tailslide bowl
to-bowl transfers.
The contest went on and on. The
tykes took to the mini-ramp with that
hot Latin fervor. The top three riders
were all from Guadalajara: little Max
TunTun," Edgar and Manfred. In the
mid division, Carlos 'Ro" Villanveva,
a Guad, sucked up the first place spot
with no problem whatsoever, while
behind him, giving great shows of
their own, were two riders from
Mazatlan. The advanced division also
brought in the locals: Jaun "MeMe
Ballardo cornered first. Enrique
"Quke" Munoz grabbed second and
Danny Barrera third.
The vert ramp contest was held on
a small yet nearly formidable ramp
Ivan Morro Rosado of Mazatlan
won first in beginners, Geovanni Felix
second and Saul Castro third. The
top three were busting the lip tricks
left and right with some decent
frontside airs and hefty slides. Ro
took first in mid by twirling some hat
spins and inverts. Second went to
Memo Vergara, third to Fernando
Graciano. The music blasting over
the superb sound system buzzed
with a combination of Metallica, Deep
Purple, Kansas and Doors albums.
They played records instead of tapes
or CD's. The final event was the
advanced, sponsored division on the
vert ramp. The undisputed winner
was Rogelio Hernandez (Enano)
who'd been paling around with us
from the get go. We hadn't realized
how much of a shredder he really
was. Coming in after him was Juan
"MeMe Ballardo and Jesus "Chino"
Huerta.
After the competition a few hours
were allotted before the demo
because of the intense heat. Midget
said he didn't think anyone wanted to
sit in the burning sun and watch deliri
ous, diarrhea-struck Americans
skate, so Miguel took all of us to a
rich-man health resort with a triple-
platformed high dive, dirt tennis
courts, six mariachi bands playing at
any given time, busy waiters running
around taking care of us, beautiful
women giving us massages after a
long hard paddle down simulated
rapids, a giant soccer field, and a but-
fet restaurant with beef and octopus
shish kebobs. The only problem was
all the flies on everything.
When we returned to 10% skate-
park, the popularity of skating in Mex-
ico really showed its hand. The places
was jam-packed; they actually tumed
people away. Souvenir hounds
swamped riders. In spite of woozy
guts, the boys performed like real
troopers. Aaron Deater took to the
mini-ramp and showed off some dev-
astating lip sessioning, pulling a
choice series of ramp-to-ramp trans-
fers across a ten-foot chasm. On the
bigger ramp, Steve entertained with
his handstand ho-hos and savage
guts to glory commitments. Midget
just plain out and out tore things up.
About three-quarters of the way
through the demo, huge rain clouds
formed over the park, lightning shot
all over the place, and a torrent of
olive pit-sized raindrops cascaded
upon the crowd, sending them in all
directions in search of dry spots. That
put a quick end to the demo.
This is where everything started to
get real strange. The rain suddenly
stopped and everything heated up
nice and steamy. The boys wanted to
get some trinkets, like the knives I
bought. With the help of two new trail-
guides, Angie and Terry, we found the
same market. Aaron bought himself
a flute and Steve bought the stuffed
armadillo he had wanted. Then we
went downtown to a square in front of
a large theater and a cathedral. They
began skating, slamming long wallies
and laybacks with stone-chipping
vengeance at the base of a flagpole.
Within two shakes of a rat's tail, we
were surrounded by carbine-toting
cops or something (it was hard to tell
since their uniforms seemed second-
hand, over-bleached and -fitting).
They were angry because of the so-
called dafacing of their flag-pole, and
they sent for their superiors, to see
just how much they are allowed to ruff
up American tourists.
Moments later, some hot-looking
American babes in halter-tops flaunt-
ed in front of the goons, who ogled
and drooled. We made a run for it,
splitting in all directions. For hours I
roamed the streets, alone. A truck
load of riot-looking cops turned the
corner and I ducked into a door
before they caught sight of me. I lay
crouched on the floor for hours, stay-
ing quite still. After I was fairly conf-
dent that the coast was clear, I stood
up and noticed that I had been hiding
beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary
who was standing on the shoulders
of Elvis. No kidding. I knelt, bowed
my head, mumbled something about
"shit almost hitting the fan and Jail
house Rock, and then as an offering
I laid a stiletto at her feet. Looking out
of the back window, I could tell that I
was on the edge of town. Looking off
into the vast unknown of the Mexican
landscape, I slipped out the back
door, started off running and didn't
look back.
That was a week ago.
HEROES
(From page 50) waiting for escrow to
close before moving out. Usually
escrow closes near the end of the
month and the new owners take pos-
session on or around the first of the
following month. "Whether they move
in on the first or not is where you take
your chances," said G.O. He figured
that if today was the 27th, escrow
would close in a day or so, leaving us
with one day to drain, raid and ride.
assuming the new owners would
move in on the first. When we drove
by we noticed lots of "moving out"
junk on the curb, cars in the driveway
and people cleaning out the garage.
"We'll be back." This was the first and
only time I heard Kale talk. He'd
rather let his board speak for him.
Later that evening we figured the
workers were gone and the coast
clear enough to check out the pool
that was being drained earlier. I held
the wrought door of the gate sur-
rounding the house so when G.O.
climbed over he made no noise. He
did the same for me. Even though
what we were doing was technically
illegal-trespassing on private prop-
erty-I felt safe. I knew if the neigh-
bors called the police G.O. would
hear the call on his portable, Walk-
man-sized VHF crystal-controlled
police band scanner and we'd be out
of there faster than the road runner.
(All calls go to the only police station
on the island, miles from our locale.)
He wore this all the time while drain-
ing and sessioning, in a pack around
his waist. We made our way around
the north side of the house and into
the backyard. To our discouragement
the pool was square and virtually
unridable, too much vart, square
cement block coping and impossible
transitions. We wasted no time exit
ing. Before going out that night we
grabbed our pool draining equipment
(two sump pumps, cords and the
police scanner). We drove back to
Kahala to a pool G.O. had found a
couple weeks before. He told me he
was there the night before I arrived.
He, Kirk and Gary tried to triple pump
it because of its capacity (20,000 gal-
lons) and blew the circuit to the only
exterior outlet by the pool.
The first thing G.O. did was discon
nect the burglar alarm, enter the
house and repair the short circuit at
the main breaker box. I looked in
amazement at the size of this pool:
nine feet deep, blue Spanish tile and
nice round coping with 20 feet of flat-
bottom. It was shaped like a horse-
shoe with the deep and in the middle.
I noticed the protruding hip had a
grove of tropical plants overgrowing
up, out, and pitching over the coping
and into the pool like the lip of a
wave. As we dropped two sub-
mersible pumps into the deep, I visu-
alized all the available lines and lis-
tened to the sound of virgin gallons
hitting the golf course adjacent to the
backyard. I figured it would take
about six hours before we could ride.
After listening to Black Sabbath's
"War Pigs," we felt quite "Duke-like"
and returned at 3:00 a.m. to the
sound of gurgling pool pumps and a
huge empty horseshoe bowl. We
grabbed our equipment in two min-
utes flat, knowing the hot Hawaian
sun would evaporate the remaining
gallon the next day. I woke at about
7:00 am. that mom and surfed Waiki-
ki with Z-Boyz George Wilson, Pat
Ngoho. Butch Sterbins. George
Watanabe, Jimmy Acosta, G.O. and
Kale Moves like coffins, toes over the
nose, tandems lippers, spinners and
drop-knee bottom turns were the
norm. We left early to meet up with
Dave Duncan, Christian Hosoi, Stevie
Dread and Eddie Reategui to go
skate our new pool. We all made it
into the backyard unnoticed with
Gary's police scanner insuring our
session. We never got hassled the
whole time we skated. The neighbors
were nowhere in sight. No neighbors
are good neighbors.
We busted every line we could
think of, including a four-man ollie
train from the deck of the pool, over
the shallow end stairs, landing in the
bottom. Christian was first, then Kale,
followed by me, with Dave Duncan
bringing up the rear. Eddie Reategui
busted power lines all over the pool
as did Christian and Kale. My favorite
line was through the stand-up bush
tube while entering the deep end.
I wish I had about 30 more pages
to describe everyone's rides, and the
other two pools Gary and I drained
before I had to leave the island, like
the Sold Out bowl Gary found the
night before I left for the mainland.
I sat in the plane heading for L.A.
thinking about the endless hours of
skating and raging we did and fell into
a contented sleep.
U-BOLT
OFTEN IMITATED
NEVER EQUALLED
• MADE IN U.S.A.
\\\
PERFECT SIZE-WONT WIGGLE
IN YOUR HOLES
ZINC PLATED-THEY'LL LAST
FOREVER
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