pool riding, burnsiding, powersliding and straight hiding.

there was a little comment somewhere down there by the maestro, jonny.  “fucktard,” it said.

seems like not too long ago, there was a contingency of west coast travelers exchanging couches, chain lube, scabs, dabs, pork, torque, bikes, boards, tales, fails and tails. when it snows in scottsdale, unplug your coffee machine and dump rounds into it.  snow covers it up quickly; summertime will remind us later.

when fuckers used to visit the house, bags full of bikes {“it’s fishing equipment. i’m a professional fishing photographer. can i borrow your yellow pages?”}, the ramp riding would ensue.  it always followed a session of sweet salmon colored stucco grinding.  stair gapping.  wheel squaring.  any gap a bike could do, so could charlie on his skateboard.  and thus was the beauty of coming home late, pegs flat, chains moaning, shins crusted over with blood and arizona dust.  thus ensued the search amongst shards and nards for a 1/4″ wrench.  tighten stems, tighten seat post clamps.  bunnyhop barspins were leaving as many holes in my shins as in my ego.

at that late hour, the icehouse was gone.  damage/fun continued via the hole in the front of the fridge in the back of the house.  kegs emptied, frat boys scattered.  wheelchairs stolen beneath the noses of primitive airport security organizations crumbled beneath the fury of beer and pickaxes.  airs were never landed past say, 10 pm.  hangovers were never cured before then.

the casualties of all this are negligable.  monetary value placed on the laughter and chaos totals nothing consequential.  it was a rite of passage.  habeus corpus was an abandoned carport, tarped and pissed in, spray-painted, puked on; ignored then and now remembered.  the casualties of all this were youth.  separated shoulders still squeal while sleeping, but math has no business in my body.  shins thin like tissue paper, liver happy, lungs quiet.

bikes today are assembled as they were then, save the extinction of shitty cantilevers.  paychecks remain roughly the same.  the casualties of all that could still amount to well, negligible piles of something-or-other.  they could, or they couldn’t.  maybe the children whose parents should have thought a little harder, played a little less. . .   nah, nah.  we’re on the way.  it’ll work out.  it always did.  it always will.  i’ll be there at 10am, as usual.

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About Snake Hawk

good, bad, funny, sad, stupid, rad, has, had. non-joining funhaver from coast to coast(er brake). buster of the chops, drawer of the logos. North Carolina, USA

3 thoughts on “pool riding, burnsiding, powersliding and straight hiding.

  1. It will work out? I could have just kept doing the same. But there was that cloud of fret. It was, it is melodious? No, just mal.

  2. John Cardiel – Sight Unseen – TransWorld SKATEboarding

    @ 2:17… he kills that park. The guy owns it.

    Post injury, he still rips it up. What’s he say? He say, “Keep moving.” Damn right.