ON THE ROAD
season. I decided to head north and make it to
"The only cats worth anything are the cats who Pennsylvania in a couple days. By nightfaff, 1
take chances."-Thelonious Monk
I had plenty to skateboard: there was my
home park, Kona; a small steel ramp at my
work; a bowl a mile away; and an empty cap-
sule pool. There was a wooden bowl almost fin-
ished near my house. An hour south was
Stone Edge in Daytona, forty miles from there
was Badlands, and eighty
CIA
miles from Orlando was the Skatepark of
Tampa. I had all this, but I was not skateboard-
ing as much as I needed to. I figured I would
never be able to fulfil that need as long as I was
working full-time. Obviously, I had to turn in my
two-weeks notice and take the savings with me
on a cross-country skateboard journey on my
motorcycle. It was the perfect situation-the end
of summer and the end of work. I had a Yamaha
XS 400 waiting to be loaded up and driven all
over America. Despite all Florida had to offer,
could find more skateboarding taking chances
on the road.
was in the metro DC area. I was lucky to call
up some old friends last minute and stop until
morning. At this point, I was only four to five
hours from my stop in Philadelphia.
Upon entering the city, I got off the high
way and turned into FDR park. It was the new
home of the free Philly Park built by the local
skateboarders. I saw the familiar sight of people
rolling around on skateboards and drove over to
them. I pulled in under the highway that covered
the entire park and unstrapped my board and
started riding. It had several mounds that could
be ridden like moguls. There was a banked,
box-type obstacle close to them in the middle.
You could start a run by pushing up
to the transitioned bridge support in
the upper corner and using that
speed to hit everything else on the
way to the wall at the other end.
That wall was W-shaped at 7 or
8 high x 30ft wide. You could
cruise over the double hips or
carve the pocket, depending on
your approach. The bridge support had a flaw-
dess radius and hitting several feet of vert was
offortless. There were a few locals there, but the
layout was spacious to accommodate a couple
different riders. Pat and TZ were the foremen
who organized everybody pitching in on the job.
They did remarkably well using every resource,
building up from the concrete slab the city
poured. Plans were to build a heart-shaped
bowl coming off the other side of the bridge
support. I left there after an hour to make
arrangements to meet my friend Bill.
After talking to him on the phone, I was
presented with four hours to spend at my
leisure. I drove into Line Lexington in the sub-
orbs and payed cash money to ride at
Cheapskates. The park was in good shape.
and I was thrilled to share it with hordes of
teen bladers. Darren Menditto came by for a
quick practice, and we were enough of a force
I had a loose outline of places to visit, tak-
ing me to friends and places in Georgia, North
Carolina, Pennsylvania and Ohio just to begin.
I boxed up all my belongings and stored thum
in my friend's garage kept only three skete
boards, a tent, sleeping bag, clothes, tools, oil
and my pads. I strapped all this on my motorcy-to temporarily reclaim the vert ramp. When it
cle and left Jacksonville, Florida.
I drove all day through intermittent thun
der showers with that anxious desire to get
somewhere on time. I was going to Raleigh to
meet Brian Wainwright at the Farm Ramp for a
backyard ramp session. I had been under grey
skies until sundown when I noticed a clearing
came time I drove to Bill's, and we talked
about the empty Therapy pool and Reading
Skatepark over dinner.
In the moming, TZ picked me up and took
us out to Reading, home of the old asphalt
Magic Skatepark. Notone is ever around, espe-
cially at 10 am on a school day. It was a large
was comprised of
flagstones of vary-
ing thicknesses. The
smallest chunk of
coping was a 1 inch
bump and 6 inches of
supplementary vertical. Bill
and TZ found this pool many
years ago, and the owner likes
to come by and watch. He
supplies electricity for lights,
doesn't mind night sessions
past midnight, buys pizza for
everyone, and furnishes
attractive mates for all the
bachelors. No, but he is really
cool, though.
It felt like summer all
over again, and we were beat
in a couple hours I guess we
were lucky to be skating at
night, but it was late, and the
CIA had to get back to Ohio.
We left the pool and got some
food, and I made plans to meet
up with Brewce and Chris in a few
days. During my stay in Pennsyltucky (a mythi-
cal land of shwigg), Bill took me to Therapy sev
eral times for counseling. After the weekend.
decided to keep moving in a westerly direction
I got a map to Skatopia and drove all day
longways the width of PA and WV and into Ohio
by 2 am. I followed my wet directions as best I
could and turned left at the school buses across
from the old barn. Then I took the second drive
way on the left and went to the end. Out of the
foggy night into the beam of my headlight came
a pack of barking dogs. But I know dogs, and
it was a welcome bark for I had made it to
Skatopia. I spotted a couple tents and cars
with out of state tags. I recognized Carlo's van
and drove by it on my way to the front door of
the house. No one was home, but Carlos woke
up and stuck his head up outshe window. He
asked if I wanted a tour and got dressed and
showed me around. He told me all the boys had
gone into town to pick pumpkins Town is
Athens, home of Ohio University and thirty miles
away. We went through the house to turn the
power on at the barn. As Lentered the house, T
was struck with domestic brilliance. How a
group of skateboarders could keep a kitchen
and bathroom so tidy was baffling
Brewce's acreage is settled in a green val
ley that once was a working farm. Half of the
immediate sides wore bare, but scrub grows
over everything. We walked up the second part
of the steep driveway to the barn. We passed a
large, back hoe-tractor that had recently been
cars out the
swamp, selling
them
for
scrap, crawl-
ing down the
well to fix the
water supply
pipe, and
maintaining a
productive
scene. I went
up into the
barn alone
and looked at
the bowl, won-
dering about
speed, inertia
and gravity. I
set my tail out
on the coping
and dropped
in the shallow
end behind
the hip. I
crossed over
on the flatwall into the deep end and fell
into the fastest rush of speed coming down that
tall wall. I tried slowing down, but no flat bottom,
so I did a little kicktum and circled around many
times until I came to rest at the bottom. "Fuck!"
laughed sheepishly to myself. I was not at all
prepared for that. I kept it safe and just pumped
around a bit got out and went down to the
house to see what was going on.
Science (Dave Maxwell), Carlos, Katey,
and I came back up and put pads on for a little
session, I couldn't believe how well these peo-
ple rode what had scared me so much. Katey
was dropping in and crossing deep to shallow
smoothly over the steep roll-in between the two.
She even got a couple wheels out. Science was
doing all his tricks in the deep end: frontside
boneless, lien airs, and clean tuckknee frontside
airs like Mike Smith I guessed he was used to
the vert as was Canos. He had some blazing
lines carving up the bowl, pulling backside airs
real high, and poppin' otties. It felt good when I
did a rock n' ro We didn't skate long, but it was
time for a break
At sunset, someone cooked spaghetti
and talk began of the coming second session.
This was the usual preferred time to ride. We
all took the march up the hill in the darkness
with the dogs. The story of how their heads got
shaved unfolded. I hadn't realized it before, but
now as I heard the tale, I looked over at them.
Yeah, somebody shaved the top of their heads.
The Pope's boy Brandon had gotten his paws
on some clippers a few weeks prior. The dogs
and the early September stars twinkling bright.
It was uncertain whether we would be able to
ride that night as planned. After a few wrong
turns and a confusing cutback trail through the
woods slipping in the wet clay, I made it to the
ramp and saw a couple cars in the shadows. It
was pitch black when I was greeted by Brian
and Trey. They had pulled the tarp off the ramp
and told me it was dry. All the pains of being
on the highway for twelve hours were fitted off
me. Then out of the darkness came the whirl of
the pull-start on the generator and the sputter of
it coming to life. It lit up the woods and the
well-built ramp perfectly.
The ramp was 24 wide, 12 ft of flat and
a foot-and-a-half of true vertical. It had thick
steel coping on one side and pool coping on
the other for a nice change. It was further in the
woods from the sight of the old Farm Ramp and
was secluded in its surrounding of tall, maturè
loblolly pines. With the lights on and the dry
perfect ramp sitting thereel ran up the wall and
rolled down into some enjoyable kickturns. We
all took a few runs this way and then padded
up. Brian was skating exceptionally well for hav
ing suffered through one broken log after
another in the past two years. Fluid body jars
and his swift layback grinds inside the ramp
were fun to see in person. Trey warmed up with
some difficult lip tricks that surprised me since I
had never really seen him ride big ramps. The
three of us were taking runs one after another
and got tired quickly. Brian recommended we
cover the ramp back up with the tarp before the
generator ran out of gas, or we'd have to sort
things out in the dark.
I got to once again experience the wiz
ardry of the Wainwright's tarpaulin applica-
tions. I had watched in amazement when Brian
and his brother Morris quickly covered the old
Farm Ramp one summer day in '89 when a
passing shower threatened. It was like watching
seasoned fishermen pulling in the nets. They
had special ropes and cleats and a simple tie-
down method that kept it all secure and dry.
They surfaced that ramp and the new one with a
hybrid ply-paneling wood called Lewon. It was
fast and smooth with less knots and less gaps
or voids in between layers. Brian showed me
the beginnings of what was to be his new home
under the ramp's deck. It paled in comparison
to the large banquet hall under the old ramp,
but it looked cozy and comfortable for a place to
sleep. Right after we finished closing up the
ramp, the generator conked out for the night.
Trey left, and Brian and I went into town for din-
ner and to find a friend's floor to sleep on. In the
morning, the rains had come back in the wake
of the numerous storms making up hurricane
area of four banked shake runs grouped togeth
er with limitless line possibilities. There was also
fun clamshell pool in the back under some
bushes. A cop came walking up, but he only
suggested we move our van from the tow away
zone at the ambulance service next door. So
with that oversight and permission granted to
trespass, TZ moved the van, and we stayed until
it began raining. We had to leave so TZ could
open his skateshop in town by 3 pm I went in to
work with him to supervise the loiterers and fon-
die inventory. He shares the shop with his broth-
er who sells and repairs guitars and has sever-
al of his paintings high on the walls. They both
stock old and new equipment. There are not
many places where you can buy Road
Weapons and a Fender bass.
T2 remembered that a mutual friend of
ours was on his way into town from New York
City. He told me Brewce Martin called and said
he'd he by in a little bit, which caught me total-
ly off guard, Down south he is known as the
Pope, but up north they call him Jack Sabbath.
He is head director of the CIA syndicate and
president of Skatopia, a burgeoning skate-
world in Ohio. Along with his partner in
crimper Angry Young Man, Chris Collette-they
had driven from Southern Ohio to Manhattan
to investigate a lead on skateboards from
the '70s. Within ten minutes of T2's mes
sage, I bumped into them both outside the
store on the sidewalk. The Pope saw me and
instead of the usual "Hello. What's up?" he
solemnly told me to follow him and turned
around and escorted me to his loaded down
pulpit on wheels. He had bought around 150
vintage skateboards: wood, plastic, fiber-
glass, Logan Earth Ski, Santa Cruz, G&S
and more I had never heard of before. He
pulled out a couple packed boxes and quick-
ly attracted a small crowd of slack jaw
dawdlers. His devout aim is to supply his
museum that will be built at Skatopia.
We all decided an impromptu session
at the Therapy pool was needed after dark.
In the meantime, we watched a video of
Skatopia's wooden bowl. It looked nice and
easy to ride on that little monitor screen. We
got excited to skateboard, so TZ closed shop,
and we all went to meet Bill and Pat
employed to scrape some level terraces into the
tillside. These were to be the sight of the new
concrete bowl and large vertical ramp. As we
get closer to the barn, the size impressed me. It
was lit up from the inside, and the light was
shining out all the cracks in the spaces between
the board aiding, no battans. We went up a
small external staircase thatmeandered up a
couple fights and onto the deck that was built
level with what appeared to be the old hayloft
door looked in and saw the deepest bowl
made for skateboarding I had ever seen. It was
a left-hand kidney 13 ft deep. The deep end had
a solid 3 ft of vertical and 10ft transitions, no flat
bottom, 6 t deep shallow end and pool coping
all around the chalky, plaster kind that grinds
like something made to compliment trucks. I
don't know how they fit it in, there was no room
to spare. CIA had gutted the barn and moved all
the support beams overhead. They had substi-
tuted the original structural segments with the
new bowl. It was very well it and had an exhaust
fan, a stereo system and a refrigerator. There
were roll-out decks all around and only one tight
spot you really had to duck under the rafters. I
THERAPY
trusted him, and he didn't hurt 'em. I mean, it
looked good, I suppose, but still kind of odd.
They kind of looked like mini-truck cuts,
because their hair was still long on the sides.
The second session was under way, and I got to
see the rest of the CIA tear it up. All I can say
about the Pope is: eggplants from shallow to
deep over the hip. Nobody can come close to
such random chaos. Maybe the angry young
man can, but I discovered he was quite nice.
very pleasant in fact, and not too young. It's just
that other people are so easily scared by
aggression, and the bowl was where he
earned that name. He could do backside ollies
to pivot on 3 ft of vert and, despite his good
nature, that scared me. Kettle was the only
goofy foot, and when I got there, he wasn't the
lone goofy foot anymore. We traded some lines,
but I couldn't keep up with his bowl experience.
My trades were weak, but he was grateful. We
played DEVO till 2 am, and people started filing
back down to the house. I stayed behind and
sat at the empty bowl, tired and spent, just relax-
ing, listening to music. I would never have
thought I'd feel at home in Southern Ohio. I
stayed there three
nights or so,
and we had
many
times in and
out of the
bowl.
Science
deduced that
this bowl was
by far the most
challenging.
thing he'd ever
ridden. It takes
a lot out of
豆
Therapy is a homemade bowl named
after the boat that sits dry dock on the deck of
the pool. It was 10 ft at the deepest and had
nice, slow transitions with the average 3 to 4 ft
of vertical all around the deep end. It was
large and amoeba-shaped with a grindable love
seat on the right side. The pool was never com-
pleted, and the last coat of concrete was rough.
90A or below is a sensible choice. The coping
PA
had seen too much and decided to ride it first
thing in the morning. Carlos showed me a good
spot by the frog pond to pitch my tent.
I woke up the next morning to the tractor
rumbling away down the driveway. After being
out all night, they had gotten up early to go
into the next town to eat breakfast and run some
errands. It's not all fun and games running a
skateboard wonderland where the only jobs are
moving huge pieces of ramp, building, pulling
you. It's not
something to
play around in.
You have to
commit to and
respect 3 ft of
vertical. You're
taking a big
chance just
dropping into it. Brewce offered me land to
build a cabin or a place in the house. I
couldn't think about it with winter just around
the corner, but I thanked him all the same. I
am really set on travelling and, besides, I had
only been gone from Florida three weeks.
--Todd Johnson
Part II: Denver, Los Angeles, New
Orleans, El Paso, Seattle