MOTEL
Left to right: The Vert Vampire
viciously rips the veins of the Vagabond pool.
Neil Heddings gracefully floats through the air
in Ashland before slamming into a flat bank.
Chris Swanson snags a frontside air off the
tombstone for the vamp-cam in Lincoln city.
I was toasted into the ten-
day journey to Burnside with an
ice cold beverage and GG Allin. The
participants in this mission consisted of
the majority of 151: Neil Heddings,
Darren Navarrette, Zac Martin, Cody Boat,
and Chris Swanson, all fixed behind a can of
the beast. The plan was simple: to skate as
many parks as possible on the way to Halloween
at Burnside. The result was up in the air.
There was one stop before picking up the
rest of the scumbag missionaries, and that
was the Vagabond pool. The boards and cans
were brought to show tribute to one of the
raddest pools. Neil rolled in frontside airs
over the box and stairs into the shallow, and
Navarrette paid homage to another Neil with
lien airs over the stairs.
Another pack was purchased and divvied out
as we hustled to San Jose. Zac was the sober
driver and was already sick of the bickering
and belching brought on by the soda. Swanson
drew the last straw by begging Zac to pull over
so he could relieve his bladder. The next thing I
knew, Chris was being thrown out of the van
and almost beat up by Zac. The tempers died
and relief was granted. How ironic-we were
in Los Banos (the bathrooms).
I was seeing three by the time we reached
San Jose. Chet Childress and Aaron Harrison
added to the journey's equation, and after a
session at a ramp, we crashed out.
The road to Oregon was a straight shot and aided by
leftover Meister Brau. Neil was extremely stoked
because he wants a tattoo of the Meister Brau can on his
arm and he could never find it where he lives. We fell in and
out of sleep chewing on jerky until we reached Ashland, Oregon,
just before sundown...
Skating was under way in no time, with Neil flying out of every hip.
Crooked Arm tweaked his ankle in the first hour and was out. The sun died
fast behind the hills, and the cold air blew in the call for a hotel. The Rodeway
Inn looked good enough, and so did the 7-11 down the street. After a bunk bar
mission and more jerky, we headed back to the hotel to witness round one of a
three-round battle between this kid Lucien and Ginger Buns.
Ashlandians brought treats in cans and Swanson was at the store
every half hour for more. Things got hectic.
84 THRASHER