looking for sunlight

Sometimes, we are like the blind, looking for sunlight. We wouldn’t know it if we stumbled upon it. The search for meaning. Scorpion Bay. The days start overcast and damp. Not much moves faster than a stand still. Time doesn’t exist. In the moment. We live for one reason. To get in and become one with the ocean. The surf rolls in and spreads across the bay in long undulating lines… crystal perfection.

Brian

Lucia, Brian and Tony spent a fair amount of yesterday in the water. I think we were all in at least three times. Lucia rode some super long waves across the bay as did Brian. TA held third point most of the morning virtually alone and blasted some quick rides down the line.

Brian

This morning, I was first in the water followed shortly after by TA. For awhile, we had the point to ourselves. I paddled hard and caught a few, stood up and fell. I moved further outside. I saw TA way out… paddling. One big wave grew dark and rolled toward me. It spilled across nearby and broke. I turned and paddled, was picked up and stood on it. I officially rode my first wave.

TA

TA blew past me, trimming down the line. We came into camp afterwards and spent a quiet breakfast in camp as the sunlight slowly warmed our backs. Thank you to Lucia for the images. Skate… and surf.  Ozzie

Scorpion Bay

Baja California Sur. The tiny villages spill over the hillsides in dirty clumps. Brightly colored walls starkly shadow the poverty seen in every direction. People have less than nothing. I see a man defecating in the grass of a vacant lot. A small brown dirty-faced boy smiles and waves from a blue cloud of bus exhaust fumes. I can’t hear his call for a peso in the confines of our air-conditioned, comfortably appointed American automobile. I don’t feel too good at the moment. I think of the leftover dinner I threw into the trash last night and the thirty dollars I wasted at a skateboard shop. That could’ve gone far on this day… in this town. I wince at the naked reality of the destitution and lawlessness spread out in front of us. Every town. Every night. Crime seems to ooze through the villages like a leprous thing. Hard-eyed men watch us hungrily. We push south in a caravan.

Tony Alva and Brian Logan lead on point, as Lucia Griggi and I follow. We pass broken homes, tiny hamlets and Catholicism. Churches seem ubiquitous yet to my thinking, God has left his post. I hope he is paying attention. Dry hillsides, bristling cactus and dirt clouds were a constant reminder that we were pushing further and further from our homes. Scorpion Bay waited for us.

On arrival, Tony Alva quickly led the fray into the lineup. Perfect rights peeled open like glass zippers. He stabbed deep into a pocket and blew through for a long, four minute ride halfway down the bay. Lucia stepped in and stepped up. Style and grace. We’ve been in the water several times already today and last night was cool and quiet. I woke just before sunup. The sea hissed a few feet from the tents. The ocean was purple and malevolent. An uncaring master. I stood on the cliff above it and closed my eyes…  I felt like the last human on earth. Dawn slowly bled all over me… light and peace. Thanks to Lucia Griggi for the images. Skate…  and surf. – Ozzie

Hall of Fame 2013

Brian Logan and Laura Thornhill

Legacy. How does one leave such a thing? Perhaps it lies in the knowledge that they didn’t know in the first place. We take it to the end, where it begins. The dictionary defines a legacy as anything handed down from the past, as from an ancestor or predecessor. A treasured thing. 

Jeff Ho and C.R. Stecyk III

Jay Adams and Lance Mountain

Skateboarding.  We have our legends and they leave us a legacy. Style, progression and influence are all examples of this gift. At its inception, skateboarding was something that surfers did to imitate surfing and have fun. It wasn’t really anything until it became the exact opposite. For some people, skateboarding was everything in the world.

Dennis Martinez and Jay Adams

These people went on to push the boundaries of technology and progression. They created a future for all of us. We saw what they did and wanted to be right there alongside them. The Skateboarding Hall of Fame inducted this years selection on Thursday evening. It was a fantastic gathering of skateboarding legends and key people. Laura Thornhill, Christian Hosoi, Rodney Mullen and Warren Bolster R.I.P were just a few inducted. Legacy. A brilliant evening of honoring our greats. Thank you to Lucia Griggi for the images. Skate- Ozzie

Christian Hosoi

Christian Hosoi came to Woodward in 1992. He was larger than life. Style. Power. When he walked into the camp, the day just seemed brighter. Skaters wanted to be him and girls wanted to be with him. He flew so high on the blue steel vert ramp that it looked like he was being dropped by God out of the clouds. I stood on the deck and watched him doing back-to-back airs. I had to crane my neck to see him. It was absurd. Afterwards, we all sat around and talked. Christian was really funny and told us stories about different journeys he had been on and old contests he had competed in. History. Rivalries. Fun. Christian Hosoi has walked a road of sunshine, fame, wealth and pain. All roads don’t necessarily lead to Rome. With great heights, come greater risks. You topple far. Destruction and ruin. He has been there.

He has survived the two worlds of fame and its ever-present shadow: notoriety.  Many don’t. He now carries himself with grace and charm. He is the Christian Hosoi of old. He no longer takes the hand of the things that hold him down. He is high-flying, charismatic and inspirational. His salvation lends him a peace and serenity that once never existed in his life. He inspires to this day. Congratulations to Christian Hosoi for his induction into the Skateboarding Hall of Fame. Thanks to MRZ for the images. Skate- Ozzie

Laura Thornhill

She pushed a tangle of hair back away from her eyes with one hand. It hung low over her neck. Her t-shirt slumped like a tattered flag off her peanut butter brown shoulders. The guys riding the skatepark looked at her and watched her every move. They were trying not to be obvious. Sideways glances. Longing. She was the epitome of the California girl. She ripped. She was one of them…  only better. Laura Thornhill had her own signature board. Logan Earth Ski. She was a champion. Who really knew how that felt? She was one of the first of her gender. Could it really be any other way? If they wondered, they never asked. Maybe they were shy. Intimidated. This wouldn’t be the first time that a man was intimidated by a courageous woman. History is full of such examples.

Whatever the case may be, Laura stood in the waning California sun and pushed hard with her foot. The boys watched as the girl ruled. The concrete spilled away beneath her rolling red wheels. She carved hard. Her arms lifted just a bit, knees tucked tight. Style was of paramount importance. It wasn’t taught. It was something owned. The wall rose like a monolith. Time slowed and was on rewind. Gravity pulled. Laura turned and– for a moment– was silhouetted against the orange and red summer sky. Descending the bowl corner again, her hair spilled out behind her like gold sea foam… The boys looked on and Laura smiled. It would always be this way. Congratulations to Laura Thornhill on being inducted into the Skateboarding Hall of Fame. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you to Lucia Griggi for the image. Carlsbad image courtesy of the Warren Bolster archive. Skate- Ozzie

Field of Ruin

Rune Glifberg. The roving Dane hungers for conflict.

The sharp blade drinks

A pale morning light falls through the high, dusty windows and across the great empty room at the Vans skate park. The Combi pool sits abandoned and alone. Its surface lies cracked and scarred. Battles. Strife. I pace the silent deck where each step walked a ghost. The room echoes my footsteps back to me as if to say, “You are one of them. You belong.” I know it in my DNA. Skateboarder. Every molecule that makes up my body sings its genetic code. Since my earliest day skateboarding in 1973, I have been at war with everything around me, including myself. I don’t want to fit it. Conform to what? Why? Krishnamurti wrote, “It is no measure of mental health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” I concur. I am at odds with everything and everyone. Society wants us to follow the masses, toe the proverbial line and pay, pay, pay. I’d rather pay in pain. At least it’s mine. I sit on the Combi coping as soft light filters over me. Nothing else moves… I think of the warriors that march across this concrete battlefield each Spring season. Heroes traveling from far away places.

Josh Rodriguez moved from the desert plains just to fight.

Coastal warrior – Austin Poynter. How will he fare in his first major conflict?

Nicky Guerrero – Copenhagen’s seasoned veteran, fresh from a victory at Bondi

The black heart gladdens

The winners banner is unfurled every year before the contest. It announces last years victors. Silk banners. They hang still above me. It truly has become a battlefield. Ruin. Death. The slaying of the enemy and the killing of ego, reputation and self. I slide down into the round pool. The noise is startlingly loud in the quiet morning. My footsteps echo…

Bucky Lasek- East coast combat ready, multi-faceted, lethal weapon.

Grizzled veteran – Jeff Grosso – is this years spearpoint.

Jimmy Wilkins is young and brings some serious weaponry to the strife.

The rich red ruin

I am thinking of the wolves that come to the slaughter. The smell of fear and combat. The yelling of those injured and alone. In my mind, the wolves come fire-eyed across the world. They slink at the edge of the conflict. The wolves lay low in the thick grass. Haunches to the earth. Lips draw back to reveal yellow, angry teeth. A dark forest feast. Smoke rises in the distance. Bellies growl in hunger…. They are here. Thanks to MRZ for the images. Skate- Ozzie

wolves in the throne room II

Pedro Barros- came out swinging and fought the conflict in stunning fashion.

Si vis pacem para bellum

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

Pedro Barros dropped the hammer on the collected riders at last years Vans/Protec Combi contest. Pedro had a few runs that were in the stratosphere and his overhead, dive-bombing 540′s were a thing to behold. Rune Glifberg came in from the rooftop and didn’t slow his assault until the final minute. He was as one possessed. More than a few were heard to remark that Pedro won…  but barely. Rune Glifberg lit a fuse! Bucky Lasek was sidelined with a fracture just before the event. He is a heavy threat in any contest. You better watch yourself! Stay on your game because if you let up… Bucky won’t. Fini. Andy Macdonald entered the fray, drawing a line in the sand for a well-deserved top spot.

Rune Glifberg- like a firebomb dropped from the rooftop.

Andy Macdonald- shotgun Andrecht from his arsenal.

Beatdown Alert. I think Bucky Lasek is going to give everyone the Doc Marten dental plan!

Nolan Munroe skates like a time-bombing psycho on a mission! I can’t wait to see what he brings to the fight. Sando Dias can attack like few others and his consistent runs were awesome in last years contest. I’m betting he comes out this year – ‘all guns blazing.’

Nolan Munroe- he may want to take people to the wall this year!

Sandro Dias- a Positiv spark to ignite the powder keg?

Skull-Face

“The fed world curls by his drowsy mate

on a dark scorched earth, as the lean wolves wait.” – Mundy

Alex Perelson can take a run, hit only four walls and I’ll go home happy. The guy is perfect to watch. He is the bringer of the lightening war. If Alex is putting it all together that day…  you better not blink. There are wolves in the throne room. I can’t wait to watch this years Vans/Protec Combi contest. It’s going to be insane! Thanks to MRZ for the images. Skate- Ozzie

Alex Perelson- the bringer of the ‘lightening war’

wolves in the throne room

Christian Hosoi- Will he go for the throat and conquer this year?

A king will go forward alone.

Vans/Protec Combi contest approaches. It is considered the High Holy Day in bowl riding. The once -a -year gathering is highly anticipated by many. I am one of these. I have seen most of the contests and am always surprised at the insanity I witness. From Dave Duncan’s implosion off the peninsula and the cat -fighting ladies one year, to the impossible- to -believe LIncoln Ueda airs over the TV towers, to the slam-atron between Cookiehead & Stafford, to the full-on insanity of Lance Mountain’s first run last year, to the absolute mastery of Caballero in 2010 and –lastly– the undeniable  majesty of Chris Miller’s final flight in 2011… it is always inspiring! The crowd. The energy intoxicating. Winners. Their names stitched onto a crimson banner overhead.

Steve Caballero — The Avenger–injured and out… I was betting on some serious Cab-induced anxiety in the others this year.

Lance  Mountain is currently on fire… is this the key to the kingdom?

This year there are wolves in the throne room. Chris Miller is a hard one to usurp. He has ruled the Vans/Protec with an iron grasp for most of the contests. It will be interesting to see what occurs. Steve Caballero is injured so his imminent threat is nullified….  for now. Christian Hosoi could be in contention to shatter the shield. Lance — who absolutely killed it last year–has the name and skill he needs to make a point.

Tony Hawk- has worn the mantle of victory more than a few times.

Will a lone Hawk be drawn in by the smell of fear and the promise of conflict?  Eddie Elguera has been ripping consistently and he might take a stab at it. There is also:  Duane, Salba, Nash and the others. All are legendary slayers still on top of their game. A clash of Titans. It will be an epic event as always. I am looking forward to watching the battle unfold. Thanks to MRZ for the images. Skate- Ozzie

… and with the end we’ll believe.

“Here now in his triumph where all things falter

stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,

as a God self-slain on his own strange altar,

Death lies dead.” – Swinburne

Salba- it has been written: “Badlands Blade”

Eric Nash- “… and he came on a dark horse and Hell followed with him.”

Duane Peters- contest runs = insanity. pure and simple

Mr. Miller… FYI- There are wolves in the throne room!

Wolves in the Throne Room part II

exigo vestri

There are many forms of prostitution, and it may be that among the least of them is that of women, bad though that is. I have seen men sell their souls more inexcusably than women sell their bodies — and with more disastrous consequences — to themselves and to the buyer.- Talbot Mundy

Sell yourself. The Vans Combi contest quickly approaches. Frantic practices and sweating sessions are played out in predictable fashion in the sprawling gray-colored concrete monstrosity known as Combi pool. Tucked up close to the white lights, crimson banners flutter. These are a constant reminder of past victories and those that reigned supreme on that particular day. It is a list of giants. In the beginning, the Combi contest was a gathering of bowl riders and vert skaters who were brought together to showcase this particular aspect of skateboarding that had long been neglected by the skateboarding media and world at large. Dinosaurs and legends. The past had been relegated to exactly that. A bygone time.

Duane Peters

Lance Mountain

Protec Pool Party. Combi contest. The venue was appropriate. The money was comforting but not extravagant. The riders were all — without exception — over thirty years of age. There was no other game in town. It became bowl riding’s high Holy Day and for good reason. Duane Peters, Omar Hassan, Salba, Grosso, Lance, Eric Nash and others could be seen under one roof, for one day only, doing what they did best. The Hester Series skaters, Gold Cup Series skaters and pool and bowl-riding aficionados were given this one stage to play out the final act each and every year. They didn’t disappoint. Vans and Protec ponied up the cash and food. Music pulsed through the building. The energy was a palpable thing. One could watch and feel it oozing into each and every person. Over the ensuing years, the contest grew in participation and popularity. Enter the carpetbaggers.

Carpetbaggers are those that are opportunists or exploiters. I see them…  they know who they are. We all do. Sell your soul for financial reward. Prostitution of skateboarding for your own gain is not a good thing. It angers most. Few will have the courage to say anything. They don’t want to be…  contentious. I prefer to be that way. I sleep better when I speak the truth.  So it goes. On and on. It’ll stay this way until a usurper comes. At least we have each other. On Combi day, this is truly all that matters. Skating. United. Victorious.

Rune Glifberg

Josh Borden

We sell ourselves in many ways. Exigo vestri. Daily, we are confronted with the monstrous society outside our doors. We put on a mask and blend in, hide or keep everyone at arms length. Some put on war paint and take a stand. Most do not. It’s easier to stay complacent…  During the contest, skaters put together their best lines and tricks. They sell themselves to each other, the judges and the crowd.  Concrete and paint. Energy and fate. It is poetry. Over the last several years, a new crop of bowl-riding terrorists have loomed horrifically on the horizon. Rune Glifberg, Zach Miller, Bucky Lasek, Josh Borden and Pedro Barros are taking the contest by the throat and literally forcing it into a new dimension.

Bucky Lasek

I see a new age dawning in skateboarding. Good and bad. I see my anarchy-wrapped, counter culture being brought into the mainstream by virtually every single corporation and thick-waisted, money grubber out there, trying to gain ‘cool’ credentials. I see skateboarding and bowl riding becoming a spectator sport. I watch the flag being carried by the young. I look back with a certain nostalgia to November 1998. Opening day. Vans Combi Pool. There was no one on the deck or in the pool under thirty years of age. If you saw a twelve year old kid in the pool in those first years, they were sliding down the bowl like a playground apparatus or kick-flipping on the flat. Now, I see twelve year olds doing head high airs and 540′s. I also see a jock-mentality in parents. They see Junior’s bright and glittering future. Skateboarding was never meant for this. No future. No prize.

Zach Miller

Darren Navarrette

Have we been numbered and packaged? Sold. Is it so bad? Our pioneers are making money, traveling and being shown a respect that they clearly should be receiving. New age bowl riders are coming up strong and pushing the bar higher. Young kids are drawn to the magic of vert. The future seems to be in strong capable hands. I suppose we can lament over what was. Our thing. Mi numi. In the end, it’s up to each person just how much of themselves they are willing to give up. It is our thing. Only the individual can determine what is right. We all can agree on one thing however. The Combi contest is an exciting thing to witness and participate in. One can complain about the judging, format or sponsorship prostitution…  but no one can deny the energy and level of skateboarding achieved in this building, on this day. Thanks to MRZ for the images. Thanks to Dan Bourqui for the overview. Skate- Ozzie

The Revelation

G-Man Powder Pool

The old man heard them again. He cursed under his breath. “Damn hooligans!” He pulled himself –painfully–out of his overstuffed chair & slowly walked onto the back porch. Next door, the Friedman’s house was  still ‘For Sale’ and the local kids had been playing around on the property.  ”You kids get out of there now! I’m going to call the police!” – Silence. He listened for a minute & peered through the slats in the wooden fence. The pool was empty…  he could see a few kids with skateboards running across the lawn away from him. “Skateboarders!  Degenerates.”  Everyone knew that those skateboard kids were headed for trouble…   It was in their nature. Bad breeding.  ”Parents should bust them in the ass a few times & get them a part-time job. That’ll cure that skateboard stuff.”  He muttered to himself as he went back inside. “Good for nothings…  loaf-abouts!” – All kids wanted to do these days was sit around & be lazy. Hell, when he was 12 years old, he was working at the sawmill cleaning up the mulcher & chipper machines. He was grateful for what he had! “Damn kids!” – he grumbled again.

He sat in his chair as he had sat every afternoon for damn near twenty five years. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for this, wait for that, wait for nothing….  Retirement came & went. He tried golf & other hobbies but nothing really filled the void of hard work. He was a salty old bastard. ‘Hard boiled’ – they used to call him. He likened himself to Mickey Spillane’s – Mike Hammer. He was a hard drinking scrapper with good strong Christian values! His motto: ‘Forgive & forget. Just never forget why you’re here!’  In his retirement, he just felt empty. Over the years his health declined. Old & infirmed. Dependent. With advancing years & a growing feeling of uselessness, he became bitter. The Friedman’s had lived next door since right after World War II. The houses on this block were new at the time. The Friedman’s house had a beautiful swimming pool. His own children had learned to swim in it. The two families had been very close. Dennis Friedman had passed away –  ”God. How long ago….?”  He rubbed his forehead. It was difficult to remember sometimes. Memory failure …  maybe it was natures way of helping him cope with life.

Whatever, the Friedman children had moved on long ago & recently put the empty house on the market. The old man sat & dozed in the afternoon sun that filtered through the blinds. Dust motes spun slowly as he snored unaware. Two days later, the old man was slowly making his way down the sidewalk. He had walked the three blocks to the post office for many years. It was his form of exercise. At least he got outside. He shuffled & felt good. The sun was coming through the trees & warmed his back. He enjoyed his walks… He started to cross a side street & as he stepped off a curb, his ankle rolled hard. The man saw the asphalt approaching & then he knew nothing. Oblivion.

Coming to, his head throbbed & he smelled disinfectant. He saw the white walls, the green rumpled curtain & the IV solution hanging above him. He fumbled mentally & it slowly came to him. A nurse came by & saw that he was awake. “Hello there. How do you feel? You took a pretty good knock on the head…” She fussed with his IV site on his arm. He mumbled as she pressed some buttons & looked him over. “Your daughter is just outside. Hold on… ” With a flurry of her scrub jacket, she was gone. “Kids! Always in a hurry…  He saw a familiar face peek around the corner of the door frame. Nina. “Awww Dad…” She hugged him & filled him in on the details of his accident. He had fallen in the street & hit his head. He was unconscious & a group of young men had helped by removing him to the sidewalk out of traffic. They called for help & stayed with him until an ambulance arrived. His daughter was phoned by a neighbor who saw the accident. She arrived as the EMTs were taking him to the Emergency Room.  Her father was growing weaker & more miserable every month it seemed. He had no tolerance for his granddaughter & thought all kids were – “lazy & shiftless.”- as he put it.

She tucked the blanket under his chin & sat next to the hospital bed. “Those young men really helped you today Dad!” She tried to hide her concern.   He looked up at her – “We should thank them.”  She squeezed his hand & smiled.  ” Well, a few of them had shirts on that had a similar logo. I think I remember it. They must work at a warehouse loading trucks  or something. They looked a bit young though.” She grabbed her Blackberry & Google searched the name on the shirts. ‘Independent Truck Company’   She looked up in surprise as his eyes met hers.  ”Oh My God…  they were skateboarders!”  -Thanks to Rhino for the image. Skate- Ozzie

“hooligans”