TIME WARPED
by Michael
Gumkowski
62 THRASHER MAGAN
Think about it, skating upside down. Duane Peters did it
Pound. Think
the way
"I believe I can make it all
$1
with
adid sun
9
in the seventies.
Boards, trucks, wheels, even
skaters are better now, so
why not try?"
"Didn't he have a long
lead-in ramp and still
slam and break some
bones?
"Yeah, but this pipe has a nice downhill
grade and it's big enough to generate
some speed. It has to be possible."
"So far you've only hit ten o'clock. It's a
long way over the top and back down.
How do you think you're gonna do it?"
"I've been trying to visualize it. Up to
now, I stopped at ten o'clock because I
was losing momentum. You know.
cork-screw roller coasters? Centrifugal
force is what keeps the cars on the
track and holds you in your seat. Also,
by stretching out the circle, the cars
carry their momentum longer. If I can
duplicate their path with enough
speed, I think I can make it."
"Good luck, dude."
John strapped on his helmet and pads,
cleaned the dust off the bottom of his
shoes and pushed off. Initially he fakied
to reach vertical, then started carving
wide turns to keep all his wheels on the
pipe's smooth face. Each carve also took
him deeper into the depths. John knew the
feeling of ten o'clock, that was the last turn.
He started to feel drift now. Should he go for
it? He wasn't sure.
It got darker and cooler as John descended the
pipe. This was it. No more turning. Just tuck up
and pray. The cool air rushing past his face made
his eyes water, obscuring his already limited vision.
He felt his weight change as he sped up the walls and
compressed to his board. He grabbed the inside rail as he
began the transition over the top. The pull of gravity tried
to yank him down from his inverted ride. His wheels sudden-
the roof and was hurtling upside down
through the half light of the abyss. He
held his breath and clutched his skate in
a death grip, waiting for the crunch of
the impending impact.
In a matter of milliseconds he heard
the familiar hum of his wheels as they
touched back down. Out of fear of slam
ming, he stayed compressed. In almost
total blackness now, John could not
judge his speed or where he was. Like a
blind man, he had to rely on his other
senses. He listened to the hum of his
wheels, trying to detect if he was in grav-
el or water or cement or just dust. He
had to feel the pull of gravity to guess
his position in the pipe. Although he felt
the tug of Mother Earth, the wheels kept
humming. He could no longer tell if he
was on the floor or the roof. In the solid
blackness, with no continued on page 76)
WAY BACK WHEN
by Terry McChesney
Let me take another gnaw at this plug
o' tobacco, and I'll tell you the real
beginnings of that there skateboard rid-
ing. Let's see, it must have been the cattle
drive of 1863 when me and Homer's
wagon broke down in the Painted
Desert. The dumb bastards we was with
plumb deserted us. I guess that's why
they call it the desert.
Anyway, our wagon wasn't much more
than two axles, four wheels, and a lot of
firewood. So we decided to rebuild what
we could with what we had. Twarn't
much, though.
For four days we worked hard. When
we was finished, our covered wagon
looked more like an uncovered minia-
ture wagon with no seats. The horses
liked it because they could go fast, but
we hated it because we had to sit on the
bouncy floorboard.
Soon we were out of the Painted
Desert and near the Big Crack (now
known as the Grand Canyon). The
horses were flying by this time, and we
could see the dust of them lowdowns
who left us behind.
"Faster," we shouted, "faster." And we
flew towards the Big Crack and those
snakes who was between us and it.
Revenge was all I was thinking about as
I reached for my rifle. That's when I
heard a loud snap.
I
looked up to see the horses heading
one way and us heading towards the Big
Crack. We must have been going real
fast because everything was a blur. A
boulder launched us up and over the
edge of the Crack. It was more than a
mile straight down. And we went
straight down. Somehow the wagon
wheels hit and started rolling down the
wall of the Crack. I closed my eyes
before impact, but we gained speed,
rolled onto the bottom, over the river,
and up the other side. The small uncov-
ered wagon and me and Homer flew out
the other side an came to a stop.
Homer was hemming and hawing
something awful. "Didja see that, didja
huh didja?" he hollered, "We must have
gone twenty miles in the air."
"Yeah Homer, I saw it," I said unim-
pressed, "but now them jack asses is
over there, and we're over here."
Now here's the darndest thing. Me
and Homer, we ain't aged since that day.
I guess we're forever young. Must have
scared the aging process right out of us.
You younguns remember this story so'
you can pay your respects to the real
originals, me and Homer.
Oh, and you can get your Skate The
Crack Ts at Homer's General Store in
Bifokinar, Arizona.
63