DRY HEAVES
P
ool riding will never die, it will
haunt the shattered remnants of
the earth even after the apoca-
lypse, when all the water runs dry
and only empty holes remain.
54
STORY BY BRIAN BRANNON PHOTOS BY BRYCE KANIGHTS
Squeezed in the
shallow waiting for
runs, a heggord crew
watches Royce Nelson
eft) negotiate a toil
grab of a brick coping
pool Josh Swindell
(above right) braves
two feet of tranny for a
feable to fakie, Ringing
in the new age, Willy
Payton (sequence)
rocks a rail and heads
for the deep end.
Even now the coping craft proliferates through the
eins of all who have touched it, waiting for the
catalyst of cement transition. It survives without pub-
licity or trophy girls, only the potential hazard of a
bust to get the adrenaline pumping and keep the
sessions succinct.
Legends are born and one-upped every day,
carved into the stone lip facewall of poof glory and
homeowner infamy. But for all the degradation bowl
scouts receive from the makers of law and owners of
property, they are only making the most of a bad
scene. While houses smolder in ruins, or lie broken,
crushed and deserted, at least someone can find
something to savor.
In any confrontation with law or homeowners, the
old liability question inevitably comes up: "I'm sorry
people, you'll have to leave. We own this property
and if you get hurt you could sue us for everything
we own." Well here's a new response: "I'll tell you
what, sir (or ma'am), if you don't kick me out, I won't
sue you for this knee injury that I incurred today right
here on your property. But if you do see fit to kick me
out, just write down your name and phone number
so my lawyers can get in touch."
Knowledge is power, power is speed, and air is
free. Pool riding is forever in the hearts of everyone
who has sliced a backyard bowl.