bowl hips. That night we went to a college
party, which is like a high school party but
with no parents and some of the people
have beards.
While everyone else in the van had
pimp packs, I was stuck with my giant
camera bag, AKA The Baby. The Baby is
about three years old these days and is
up to about 255 pounds. I've been carry-
ing The Baby into what could be consid-
ered the dangerous 18th trimester, and
it's about to break me. My main goal in
312.75
the van was to keep all food and bever-
ages off The Baby and to make sure it
got used neither as a step nor a seat.
Although I often caught myself envi-
ously admiring the clean T-shirts,
Sharpie-filled journals, and earmuff-style
headphones of the others' pimp packs, I
really do love The Baby and wouldn't
give it up for the world.
Kent, Ohio, is the site of one of the many
at-home tragedies of the Vietnam War as
well as a tiny skatepark featuring two banks
and a flat bar. There are some occasions
when you might be better off just throwing
out the free shit and calling the skating a
loss. This may very well have been one of
those occasions. Tony was committed to
squeezing in some more skate action,
resulting in a late-night street mission that
yielded nothing. This leads to my American
crap-style theory:
Just as in the 1980s, when the pros and
ams in the magazines and videos were
skating vert (while all the kids were skating
FAN
Neva
curbs and flying off of jump ramps), I believe that today.
(despite what you might see in the videos and mags), the ter-
rain of most skaters is, well, crap. Not that crap is bad. Crap
(i.e. curbs, curb cuts, curb-sized ledges, manhole covers,
three-stairs, the flat ground, etc.) can take you a long way.
Crap's fun. Most kids don't have perfect 12-stair rails and
double sets. Most kids wouldn't know what to do with them.
even if they had them. They skate what they have around
them. Crap. Not to say that Kent, Ohio, doesn't have any-
thing good to skate. We probably just couldn't find it.
The next morning, as we piled in the van to take me to
Pittsburgh and then the airport, I paused for a moment of
reflection. The headphones were on. The nests were neatly.
tended to. Sharkey was driving and Chuck was gen-
tly nursing a bottle of pre-mixed Jack Daniel's
cocktails. I hate the van, but I love the van. In a
Clockwise from top sequence: Ron had performed at Dodge before
and used his veteran's knowledge to tame the big bowl with a kickflip
stale. Steffan kerangs a quickie crooks in one of Minneapolis' rougher
'hoods. T2 explores Chi-town with an upslide noseslide to bridge-crossing.
strange, small way, I'm
gonna miss it.
124 THRASHER