Clockwise from above:
Jessica Swim is ruling
life these days. Ripping
frontside grind speed
lines are standard for
her at Jacksonville. Build
it, grind it, hell yes.
Eric Dawkins, Ashland.
Building parks for a
living, riding them for
enjoyment, and
helping raise a family.
Mike Swim's got it going
on with his daughter
Sophia on his back.
Young Colin will be
proud to see this
sequence of his old man
Mike Crespino grabbing
a gnarly pole jam
frontside air at Burnside.
T WAS CUSTOMARY FOR MIKE TO LIGHT
a cigarette before crossing the bridge into
downtown (if he had one, that is). Today he
had one. It was a beautiful day, but Mike felt
weird. He figured this could be because of
one of two things. It was springtime and he
had just gotten a new set-up. He was so
used to bad weather and crappy equipment
that the combination of a new board and
good weather was a shock to his system.
The other thing was that sometimes Mike.
felt weird like this just before something
bad happened.
The bridge was uphill for the first half and
downhill for the second. When he reached
the middle, he hopped on his new board
and started to feel better. The sidewalk was
grooved, which made his body vibrate as he
rolled along. This reminded him of riding
the bus to school as a kid. The bus would vibrate
and there was this girl who always sat in front of
him. She smelled good. Mike now developed what
is referred to in certain circles as "half-wood." He
tried not to think about that anymore. Another
thing he was trying not to think about was the war-
rant for his arrest that was pending.
Mike had been in trouble with the law ever since he
was thirteen. The court-appointed counselor said it
was due to the way he was treated as a kid. All Mike
knew was that if he got hassled for skateboarding, he
could end up going to jail for a while. There are too
many things to worry about in life, he thought. If he
worried about everything that could happen, he'd
never leave the apartment.
He took the first right at the end of the bridge and
headed for one of his favorite spots. There were some
STORY AND PHOTOS
BY NOAH MARTINEAU
freeway dividers under the next bridge over and some
clever skateboarder had laid some cement up to one
of them. You could skate it like a quarterpipe or do
transfers over to the other side. Mike mostly liked to
skate it like a quarterpipe. It was fun. He liked to go
fast and do traveling tricks coming in on the next sec-
tion with no bank.
He started out with some tricks he had wired:
frontside grind, backside boardslide, frontside lipslide,
and a backside ollie. He had been thinking about
backside lipslides and wanted to learn them. He knew
he shouldn't stay at this spot for too much longer
because of his seven-minute rule. Mike was always
thinking in numbers. He was kind of superstitious
even though he didn't really believe in that kind of
crap. It was all about having a system and sticking to
it. The system required regular assessment, tuning,
and occasional alterations. Anyway, it's never a good.
idea to stay at a spot downtown for too long; every-
body knows that.
Mike could have made the first backside lipslide
he tried, but he jumped off at the last second. He
laughed out loud because that happened a lot. For
some reason, that first try was magic. He thought
that if he could just convince himself, he could do
anything. As usual, with every try he got farther
away from making it. That first try had teased him
and now he felt like he had to do it. Finally he got
mad and just tried to stick it. He didn't have enough
speed and slammed on his front hip and elbow. He
knew he had it now. He wasn't scared of the trick
anymore. Just as he was brushing himself off, he
heard a sound that sent a chill down his spine. It
was the clickety clop of hooves on pavement. The
dreaded horse-cop.
This particular cop didn't look familiar to Mike,
NOT THE MUSKAS
which was good. The horse seemed more
skittish than they usually did. "Did you
know that skateboarding downtown is ille-
gal, son?" "No, sir. I just moved here." "Is
that so? Where from?" "Santa Cruz,
California, sir." Mike immediately regretted
this answer. He knew that a lot of locals
were upset about all the Californians who
were moving to town and buying property.
"California, huh? Well, I'll tell you what. I
I want you to help me with something and
then I'll call your name in. If it comes in
clean I'll let you go with a warning." Oh no,
thought Mike. I'm screwed. He knew that
once the cop called his name in he was
going down. Giving a fake name only pro-
longed the procedure. "What do you need
my help with, sir?" Mike tried to be hopeful.
"I want you to help me train my horse. It's
afraid of skateboards." Damn, thought Mike.
Leave it a cop to call a horse an 'it'.
The cop told Mike to roll slowly towards
him on the skateboard. The first time he
I went very slowly. When he got close, the
horse lifted up a hoof and let out a little
whinny. The second time Mike went a little
faster. The horse got up on his hind legs this
time (I say 'his' because as the horse did
this, Mike realized the horse was male)..
Something inside of Mike snapped. He was
sick of this cop telling him what to do. He
walked back to the starting point, looked
the horse in the eyes, and without another
thought jumped on his board and pushed
quickly towards the cop.
The horse started bucking like he was in
a rodeo. The expression on the cop's face.
was priceless. On about the seventh buck,
the cop went down hard. Horse-cops
should really wear helmets instead of
those stupid hats.
The cop was unconscious. Mike stood
there staring in disbelief. Gradually, the
scene around him came into focus. The
horse was standing pretty still, breathing
hard and looking around innocently. A small
group of people had gathered around and
seemed mostly to be wearing expressions
similar to Mike's. A middle-aged man in a
cowboy hat was trying to revive the cop.
Mike was still in survival mode. The
next move seemed obvious. He walked
over to the horse, put his left foot in the
stirrup, and hoisted himself up. He had
learned to ride as a kid but gave it up.
after a bad fall. He grabbed the reins,
gave the horse a little kick, and started to
trot. An old drunk-looking bum had been
watching the whole thing. He
now felt obliged to yell out,
"Yes! Go, man, go!" Mike
smiled and then felt a tug on
his right foot. It was the guy in
the cowboy hat. Mike's shoe
I was loosely laced and came
off easily. Damn, he thought.
Not the Muskas. I just got these
last month. He couldn't under-
stand how kids went through
product so quickly these days.
He felt like that old man from
TV: "Back when I was a kid, we
used to put T-bolts in our tails to
make 'em last longer.
Nevermind what a T-bolt is, you
little shit; the point is you don't
need a new board every week."
As Mike was having this little.
conversation, in his head, the
cop was coming to. Before Mike
could get far enough away, the
cop had drawn his gun and fired.
Strangely enough, Mike landed
right where he'd fallen on that
backside lipslide.
He lay there for a minute.
looking up at the bridge while
the people gathered around.
him. He felt a wet tongue on his cheek
and realized that the horse had stayed
with him. Mike then reached into his
pocket, found a cigarette, lit it, and
thought, I never got to make that trick.
Mike woke up with a hangover. He
couldn't remember what he'd been.
dreaming about, but he felt weird. He
looked across his studio apartment and
saw the sunlight hitting his crusty old
set-up by the door. Somehow this sight
comforted him. He decided not to go.
downtown that day. For some reason it
seemed like a bad idea.