Clockwise from left:
Michael Crouch piv-
ots to fakie on his pri-
vate skate training
facility in Lawrence,
Kansas, before enjoy-
ing a rub-down and
sponge-bath from his
man-servant, Scott.
Smooth transition to
90-degree buckler.
Ah yeah, punk's not
dead. Jason Phares in
Chicago. Ultimate
Phil Stern takes
Losi's ollie to fakie
higher than Al ever
will mostly because
Losi quit skating.
Hair Lair, Chicago.
JC Penney invites
skateboarders of all
ages to enjoy its spe-
cially designed wall
from two to three in
the AM, or until the
rent-a-cop arrives.
the original Gonz and Phillips models. I figured he
must have taken over the shop for his parents or
something, but was surprised to find out he has
operated it since 1986, when he started it at age
26. Phil is 37, but looks like some punk kid-like
he's 18 or something! An early session on his back-
yard ramp the next morning showed us that he
big wigs Nate Lyons and Dan Ball who showed us that adapt
ing to adversity is what succeeding in Middle America is all
about. Dan busted out wallies over a gap and down a bank
every time. Note to out-of-towners: the Hair Lair rule is free
skate time if you're sponsored, so remember to bring your
industry credentials (ie: le).
The next day we drove to Phil's hometown, nearby
Bloomington, Illinois. The comfort of Phil's parents' house was a
welcomed relief from the carpetless, cigarette-peppered floors
of Phil's, and we lounged around for several hours before head-
ing out to Bloomington's full-pipes
A long stomp through the mud got us to the two 14-foot
metal pipes. Skating pipes is fun, but you can really buy the farm
when you fall. It's not uncommon to get bucked off upside down
and then have the board shoot all the way around just in time to
peg you in the side when you land in the bottom
The cold weather cursed our Chicago visit along with the dis-
comfort of Phil's. Seeing no end in sight, we left without get
ting to skate all the city had to offer.
Because of Scott's refusal to make any plans except for the
location of his next bowel movement (which often took place on
the side of the road), we ended up in Indianapolis, Indiana,
where I looked up skateboarding in the Yellow Pages and sur-
prisingly found a skatepark
Travel Alternative skatepark is one of those warehouse places
with the $5 entry fee and Masonite. A huge wall ramp sat across
the floor from an equally tall bank-to-wall, and Scott immediate-
ly took to doing his best Danforth impression as he pushed
skates like it too. I guess wanting to kill myself furiously from side to side
when I turned 23 was a little hasty
Cold weather followed us to Chicago where
we were anxious to meet up with our little skate
buddy Phil Stern, who had returned to the Great
Midwest after living in Boulder for a year. We
unknowingly got off the highway right next to the
projects to use a pay phone and had a rotten time
getting a Schlitzed-up Phil to give us comprehensi
ble directions. I turned around from the phone and
locked eyes with a car full of locals, all of whom
were giving me the stink eye and mumbling some
thing about the Weasel's California plates. Eyes
down, I hustled into the car.
We arrived at Phil's inner city apartment to find
him joyously incoherent as he had been drinking all
day in preparation for our arrival
The next few days were spent exploring
Chicagoland, an area with enormous street-
style opportunities. On the only afternoon
when it wasn't snowing, we hit up the sea wall
at the base of Shed's Aquarium-that 3/4 pipe
you've probably seen before. Later we headed
up top, where Scott's slide on a curved hands-
cap rail got some weird looks and applause
from the crowd of tourists.
Our downtown excursion was cut
short by freezing temperatures, but in
the four blocks we hit, we found about
ten different spots.
The rest of our Chicago visit was
spent at the various indoor parks in
the area. The best one was Drop In,
located in New Lennox, Illinois. A
basic street course with banks and
slider bars gets flipped to death, while
an amazing bowl is largely ignored. The
wooden bowl is 6 or so feet deep with
two hips and grippy inverted Masonite.
The locals, however, treat it like Brussel
sprouts, and there are rumors that it
may be trashed soon to accommodate
more slider bars and banks. Aside
from us, the only people using it were
some rollerbladers who kept getting
stuck in the bottom. Attention skate
distributors: 44 millimeter wheels are
still in high demand at Drop In
skatepark-beats trying to dump them
on the foreign markets.
The other park we rode was the Hair
Lair, a slippery, in-line managed facility
in Posen, Illinois. Stolen road signs
were at the bottom of every ramp.
and it felt like the floors were coated
with butter. We skated with Chicago
the
The best part about the Travel Alternative skatepark is
name. It sounds like a bad Japanese translation. It's like.
calling a restaurant "Kitchen Alternative" or "Hunger
Alternative" or something
The locals seem to take good care of the place and later
offered us some floor space. The guys we stayed with said they
were basically the only skaters in town. Several of them were
back in Indiana after spending time in Orange County Middle
America has the pull of the Death Star
The next morning we swung through Dayton, Ohio, so Scott
could socialize with a woman he had met over the phone
when he used to sell skateboards for a living. Me and Jason got
the little brother treatment; we had to wait in the car while they
went on her lunch break. A few fond glances, and we were off
again. This is when the trip got interesting
All summer I had heard rumors about a huge indoor bowl
built by East Coast skate dirty Brewce Martin. Visions of Bullet
66s, Natural Light, and forced padless roll-ins came to mind as
I imagined what sessions at Brewce's must be like. My suspi-
cions were confirmed when I met up with his crew on
a trip to California
"Come on out! No calls, no reservations, just come out
and skate!" he told us
He also gave us a business card with the address:
34961 Hutton Road, Rutland, Ohio. The phone num
ber listed didn't work, so this is all we had to go on as
we headed farther and farther off the highway and
into the sticks.
A lady at the local gas station thought she knew
where Hutton Road was and sent us up, over and
around almost all the mud trails of Greater Rutland.
Considering the condition of the roads, Rutland really is
an appropriate name for the community. Other good
ones would be "Falling Apart House Land" and
"Povertyville." After two hours, we headed to the local
diner where some gap-teethed kids thought they knew
where "the skatepark" was
"Just head up the left road till you get to the fork.
then take the second left," they told us.
Another 45-minute search, and we were back at the
gas station to refuel. While pumping, Scott charmed a
300-pound woman with a fright-wig hairdo into guiding us
to Brewce's. Seems she had attended a party there.
knew we'd come to the right place by the big pieces of
When we got to Brewce's, no one was home, but we
fiberglass half-pipe that surrounded the old house. Farther
up the road we found the barn which we suspected
housed the bowl that we'd heard about. As we tried to
get the lights on, Brewce rolled up in his big yellow van.
"Hold on, I'll go get my pads," he told us.
It should be noted that if you barge like this in
California, you get kicked out and not invited to spend
the night
"Oh, my God! It's 14 feet deep!" Jason yelled when he
found the light switch
Damn near. The kidney-shaped bowl is 13 feet in the deep
end and 6 in the shallow, which was built up on the hay loft. You
have to climb up the outside stairs to get to the deck. The whole
thing is covered in Masonite and lined with real pool coping. It
was the most frightening thing I had ever seen.
"What do you think Brewce asked grinning
We just stared at the bowl nervously.
"Looks challenging, huh?"
The master of the understatement, Brewce got down to
business. After a warm-up run of frontside 50/50s and airs over
the hip, he started charging through the bowl like some kind of
unholy skate demon. The floor shook, the coping clattered, and
we all took a step back as Brewce flew from deep to shallow
and back again like a tape being played in fast forward. It was
one of the craziest things I'd ever seen. A few runs later,
Brewce had no problem tossing Andrechts, frontals, fast-
plants, grinds and about a million other moves at breakneck
speed. We could barely get to the lip. Keep in mind, Brewce is
32. We sessioned in the 20-degree cold until our fingers froze
up (if watching Brewce in awe can be considered sessioning),
then headed for the house.
"Are you going to be able to skate tomorrow?" I asked
Brewce as we walked down the hill
He looked at me like I was stupid.
"Mike, I don't work," he said smiling
After wading through a pack of dogs and puppies, we went
inside and got acquainted with Brandon, Brewce's hellion 11-
year-old son. He walked up and greeted me with a punch to the
stomach. Brandon is Brewce's constant companion and has gone
on more skate adventures than people three times his age. That
probably explains why he had little-to-no interest in skating
and preferred instead to rattle off X-Men and Spiderman statis
tics to anyone who would listen
"You guys wanna see a video?" asked Brewce with a grin.
Of course we did, and during the next hour we were treated
to a home video unlike any we had ever seen before. I won't
go into detail, but it was kind of a coming-of-age story involving
teenage girls, the back of a van and Brewce's buddy Dave
Maxwell. Apparently, Brandon has seen plenty of this kind of
stuff as well, because he snoozed away on the couch the whole
time we were laughing our heads off. The encore was a similar
movie where Brewce meets a young woman from France and
they fall in love. It also took place in the back of a van
After being woken up with a karate chop to the lower
back (guess who), Brewce made breakfast, then gave me a
tour of his 88-acre farm,
His valley property is huge and so are Brewce's plans. His first
project is to reassemble his giant "King Dong" ramp, a huge vert