Colorado's
Killer Concrete
Grand
Junction
While a lot of hype has been focusing lately on all the new skateparks in
California, Colorado has once again been placed on the map of mandatory
spots to be hit up by travelling skaters.
At first, Grand Junction seemed like the last place I would ever find myself
road tripping to, but, with rumors of two brand new parks within a few miles
of each other, I quickly gathered seven friends and headed west.
My vehicle companions were two ex-Saint Louis kids, who moved to
Boulder to attend school: Chris Sessions, a transition master who can skate
vert switch better than most can regular; and Dan George, master of the
street swerve and 24-hour comedian.
The other vehicle was driven by Thrasher alumni and vert monster, Mark.
Roth, and transported Brothers Skateshop riders Urael Luebeke, Dave
Luzious, Allan John, and perennial Zorlac rider, Glen Charnoski.
This was definitely the most eclectic group of travellers I've ever been.
with-which consisted of
d of young street technicians, slashers, and a few grumpy
old men-and the combination proved to be the perfect mix for our mission.
Along the way, we decided to break up the monotony of the drive with a
stop in Glenwood Springs, deathbed of famous outlaw Doc Holliday, and the
location of two steel mini-ramps in a public park next to the Colorado River.
After skating the perfect 6x24' for about an hour, the session was cut short
due to an unexpected thunderstorm. Upon leaving the park, we were accost-
ed by the first of many western Colorado locals who questioned us with, "If
y'all pros, wher'es your stack of new skate decks?" Roth answered quickly
with, "Glen is the only pro. And, besides, he rides for Zorlac." Turning to Glen,
the over-excited local pointed to the rain-soaked ramp and stated with fire in
his eyes, "If you do it, I'll do it!" With that, we quickly left Glenwood Springs,
knowing Grand Junction was only an hour away and hopefully dry.
Sick of following Roth's passenger-weighted van, I decided to hit the gas.
pedal and take the lead in hopes of beating the ominous black clouds hov-
ering over Grand Junction. After obtaining directions from a toothless 20-
year-old gas station worker, we were finally at the park, just in time for the
rain. Fortunately for us, the storm blew over as quickly as it started, and wel
22 THRASHER
handled every single square inch of the park, including
chest high airs over the snake-run hips, which most
could barely kickturn over.
While taking a water break, I scanned the park and
noticed the locals to be some of the strangest people I
have ever seen. There were BMXers, mountain bikers, old
school skaters, tech street dogs only skating the ledge
on the side of the fun box, tons of 15-year-old girls, and,
of course, the ever-present rollerblade disease. One par-
ticular kid was a local named Kermit, who would "blade"
around the park as if it were a skating rink, trying to
impress the ladies in attendance. I also overheard him.
scolding his little sister, who was scattering corn nuts all
over the concrete.
After an evening photo session, which included about
50 locals trying to obtain background props, we headed
to the Four Rivers motel under the advice of some
locals. After talking the owner down to a reasonable
price, we showered and headed out to a party, which
appeared to be given in our honor. (As soon as you
mention your affiliation with anything in the skate
industry, you instantly get treated as if you were the
Bones Brigade.) Girls were clinging to us, offering to
cook us dinner, and free alcohol was provided as at
bonus. The party got a little blown out as Alan and a
local known as Josh decided to have a moth-eating con-
test. The powdery insects were no match for Josh, how-
ever, who also ate entire handfuls of jabenero peppers
like they were tortilla chips.
The next day, we skated the park and went look at
the new indoor Masonite park located a few blocks from
our hotel. The park wasn't open yet, but looks like it will
be fun in the winter time when the weather gets crappy.
Above: Chris Session gets Rocky
Mountain high with a Japan to fakie.
Photo by Keith Eric Davidson. Overview
of the snakerun. Photo by Nat Swope.
rushed out of the car and ran around
like kids on Christmas morning. I
couldn't believe what I saw: acres of
concrete laid out before me, all very
skateable, including a huge banked
street area with a fun box and handrail,
a 7' deep square bowl which spined into
a peanut-shaped bowl connected to a
150' snakerun, and, the strangest cre-
ation, a 11' keyhole pool that resem-
bles the famous pool in Munster,
Germany. All the bowls were topped
with steel pipe coping, and the banks in
the street area were smooth as glass.
I thought I was having a flashback to
my '70s childhood; the only thing miss-
ing was the "Hey, Kool-Aid" guy careen-
ing down the snakerun.
Just as the 3-week-old concrete was
drying, Roth and the rest of the team
arrived and were equally blown away.
We all grabbed our boards and quickly
discovered how imperfect the park was
poured; there was fade-away coping
and some roughly brushed concrete
areas. This didn't stop anyone, however,
especially Charno, who showed his
familiarity with pool skating and man-
The park had a small vert ramp, a tight mini, and a pretty good-sized street course that
will be well worth checking out.
Back at the park we, or should I say Roth, invited some of the local kids back to our
hotel for hot tubbing. Big mistake-because Team Fifteen was in tow, and the next thing
we knew, there were 20 high school kids slingin' 40s in the pool area, including some
girls who weren't afraid of some out-of-town lovin. Quickly tiring of the high school
crowd, we determined that the local strip club was more our speed. Unfortunately, by
the time we got there, last call came and went, and $3 admission for 10 minutes of tits
was too much, so we bailed.
The next day, we were invited to go jet-skiing with some of the kids at the park whose
parents operated a watersports rental facility at a nearby lake. The highlight was seeing
Urael being towed around on an inner tube by a waverunner and watching him emerge
out of the lake teary-eyed and water-logged, exclaiming sadly, "They worked me!"
On our last day, someone with a backyard mini-ramp decided to hold an impromptu
BBQ party on our behalf. This was probably the most entertaining thing I've witnessed
in quite a while-30 drunken bastards trying to session a 4x20' mini-ramp like it was
Thiebaud's Texas Death Match. Slowly, one by one, the ultra tight mini claimed its vic-
tims, with Roth being one of them. If you've ever seen him skate in front of a crowd,
you'd know what I mean; he skates like a madman possessed! Teetering a fakie frontside
pivot on the extension, his back truck hung up on the lip, sending him head first down
the side of the ramp's transition. I was sure he was dead. Moments later, he was back on
the ramp, keeping his title as King of all Hessian Sessions.
After laughing hysterically for about an hour, we decided to leave Grand Junction,
knowing we'd be back soon enough. -Keith Eric Davidson
This Page: Dave Luzious backside wallie grabs out
of the snakerun. Photo by Keith Eric Davidson.
Overview of the big bowl. Photo by Nat Swope.
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