Jamie. Gilley found a pool right down the street from where he
lived. The word was in, and it was time to check it out. She was
a tight round blue pool that stood at eight feet. The dust was
heavy, due to her age, and I wanted to wear shades. A light on
the face two feet from the death box made for sketchy needle
threading. Raggy took the cake with frontside grinds over the
box and frontside airs through the light. Toss another on the fire,
thanks to the Central pool.
Carrey and Dale made it obvious that they were serious about
finding new pools, driving to the next town over called Tulare in
hot pursuit. The search was a success, and they came and
dragged me and some others out there with buckets and shovels.
The first of the two they
found was Lindale.
She was the worst of the bunch, but still fun. Square and eight
feet deep with messed up corners, she was sketchy but fun.
The call was up for the other pool in town.
Truck Stop pool was labeled because it was exactly that-an
empty pool at a truck stop motel that was still in business. A
perfect egg shape had us bailing her out like there was no
tomorrow. Big and round with almost over-vert and a com-
pletely skateable shallow made this the best pool of them all,
and high concrete walls made for good coverage from the office
window. There's a good two-hour skate before anyone notices.
More! More! Dale started digging deep into the library of
pools and remembered one that he skated a while back up in
the foothills 20 minutes
away in a community called
Three Rivers. The members
were tallied up and the car-
pool began with stops at the
store for refreshments.
The Three Rivers pool had
probably been empty for
twenty years. She was old and
weird. The trannies were mel-
low and then banked at the
top, but for some reason it
was the most fun pool ever.
Brick coping made for loud,
thick grinds. Sections of cop-
ing were missing, perfect for
Richard's backside disasters.
Everyone was pulling out
their bags and showing the
pool how it was done. She's
ugly, but so good. You just
have to watch out for the old
neighbor who throws a fit and
tells you that he wishes you
were in the military. Some peo-
ple will never understand.
The last of the pools
belonged to Tim's friend
Tom Mackey. Again there
was a small trot over to
Tulare, and we found a
square pool, perfectly clean.
thanks to Mackey. A good
face wall made Kelly's
trucks happy and forced
Tim to jump corner airs. It's
sick pool to skate at any
time. Thanks, Tom.
So there they are. Six of
them, right here. Over time, a
couple have died off due to
neighbors and little kids, but
the pursuit for more is still
burning brightly. Keep
searching. -Nik Freitas
Clockwise from far left:
Kelly Spencer is for hire if you're
hawking pools like Tom Mackey's.
The French call this "le corne-air,"
but here in America we ain't fancy,
we just call it a good ol' frontside
corner air by Tim Garner. Up on
the coping without a paddle;
Dale Blackmon feebles to fakie in
the Three Rivers pool.