skate mission, my new load seemed like the obvious choice. The first part of the journey
was problem-free. It wasn't until we got over the Rocky Mountains that the Brown Bomber
started to act up with knocks, pings and shuddering. We were gliding through a little town
in the middle of nowhere called Moab, Utah, when the Bomber just croaked. Like Spencer
Tracy says in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, World, it kicked the bucket and we were over
two thousand miles from home. We spent friday night in the car
and the next morning we walked around town looking for a
mechanic to fix our wagon. After searching for hours, we found
"Dick," who told us he could fix us up, but that it would take
until monday for the part to get there "from the
coast." We were bumming, big time. It was hotter
When I bought the car, the lady
said it purred like a kitten and
roared like a lion. Naturally, when
the boys planned a cross-country
Under the wide open sky, Jason Brown
fu kickflips a long way from home,
Jason (right) again finds a line as the
sun dusks down. No curba out here, but
Steve Gauthier (below) bounds off a sin
lar size shelf on the road to Reno T
Sierra Nevada
than hell and we were stuck When I told the boys little
Johnny started whining about how we were going to get
slaughtered by some serial killer and he wished he could
close his eyes and be home in bed. Well, this was for real
so I told him to shut up.
We made our headquarters a little shack at a rest stop a
few miles out of town and went about our business. That
afternoon. I thought I was hearing things. My ears rung with
the unmistakable sounds of skateboard wheels on a hard
surface. Sure enough. I looked up the hill and saw a sign
that said Slickrock Bike Trail and right there on the rock itself
were some kids riding skateboards. I thought it was a mirage
brought upon by the heat and beer but when I actually
touched one of the skaters. I knew it was time to get my
board. I ran back to Dick's place and told the boys of my dis-
covery, they all laughed until I grabbed my slab and headed
for the hills. The trails are sandstone, rideable and grindable.
I ignored the heat and rode until I was drenched in sweat
and on the edge of heat stroke as the sun went down. After
assuring the crew that the place was indeed for real, we all
went back the next day and rode like no tomorrow, well actu
ally until the part for the car finally arrived, and sadly, had to
leave. But I tell ya, it you are ever out on Highway 191 in
southern Utah, you got to see it to believe it. Don't forget to
bring plenty of water or you may die of dehydration
BOWL HUNTERS
CHARD CHES