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”

The Conversation

Steve Alba- Howard Johnsons

 ”Dangerous men. You have to keep an eye on dangerous men.” The police officer shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and suddenly wary. He had been having coffee when this old man started babbling on and on … “What particular dangerous men are you referring to” -the uniformed cop asked. He ran an experienced eye across the crowd in the diner. Nothing out of the ordinary. People eating, reading newspapers…  nothing. He turned his attention back to the old man and examined him closely. Rumpled. Filthy. He looked like a dirty cigarette butt. The old bearded man wouldn’t meet his gaze. He mumbled into his coffee…  ”They are every…  everywhere. Those men.” The police officer told the man to relax. “I’m on the job. There is nothing to be worried about.” He felt a bony hand grabbing at his. Immediately, he twisted around and held the old mans arm down tight against his side. The old man glared at him. “You have to watch! You must!”  The officer walked the man to a booth and sat him down. “You cannot be putting your hands on me or anyone else! What is wrong with you?! What men?” He bristled through clenched teeth, looking daggers at him. The old man glared at him then looked away. They sat in stony silence.

The officer checked his ID and saw a County Mental Health appointment card in his pocket. The other diners went back to their morning coffee. Just a harmless old psycho, they thought. The officer warned him about his conduct as the old man took a piece of paper and wrote something on it. He folded it & handed it to the officer. He then smiled a gap-toothed grin and apologized. On the paper was a line from Faust. “Two souls  dwell- Alas! – in my breast!” He shrugged and frowned at the old weird fellow. Leaving, the officer threw a few dollar bills on the counter and hitching up his belt and sidearm, he stepped outside. A call came into his radio as he opened the door to his cruiser. “All Units. 10-66. Suspicious Person” He flicked a toggle and lit a path through morning traffic. He passed an old run-down hotel on his left. He had pulled a few squatters and drug dealers off of the premises. He saw a guy in a green Toyota truck, wearing a beanie walking out in front. He was removing buckets and a broom from the bed of the truck. He looked familiar for some reason. He passed by and made a mental note of it…

Responding to the Suspicious Person call, he found himself  too late. Officers from another unit had cleared the scene. “Just a few kids acting up. No drugs. No weapons. No outstanding warrants.” It was growing hot. The sun cut a sharp glare off the wind sheild and hurt his eyes. He climbed back inside the cruiser. The AC felt like a balm to his brain. His cell phone rang and he took the call. It was an old friend from the Academy. He had bad news. “Hendricks took one last night. His wife is pregnant with their first,  man…”  He sighed and clenched a fist. “Damn…”  Scumbags.  ”It was a routine traffic stop. Turns out it was one of our old arrests. Remember Mathesson?” How could he forget. Tom Mathesson was a drug menace and God knows what else! They never could make anything stick on him and he walked. Seems like he didn’t lay low for very long. His friend went on… ” Mathesson shot Hendricks. We should’ve kept a closer eye on that one. We should’ve really kept on Mathesson.”  He had a sick feeling in his stomach…  he turned off the phone and sat for a long while.

After some time, he headed back to the precinct. As he drove past the old abandoned hotel with its boarded up windows, he saw the young man in the beanie again. He pulled in.  Something didn’t seem right. The officer heard the sound of others behind the concrete wall of the property. “What’s going on?”  - he asked the man standing beside the Toyota truck.  The young man appeared about 40 years old. From his position on the curb, the officer could see a shovel, some buckets and a skateboard in the bed. The young man in the beanie appeared calm. He smiled- “Do you want the truth or the smoke- up -the- ass version?” He looked him straight in the eye. The officer asked him again–firmly– “What are you doing here?” The young man pointed to his skateboard and motioned for the officer to follow him. Keeping at a safe distance and staying wary, he walked back along the hotel. As they rounded a corner, all previous activity ceased. They saw each other simultaneously. The officer took a quick glance and saw all he needed to see. Empty pool. Skateboarders.

“You guys don’t really have permission to be here, do you?”  Again, the young man he first encountered spoke for the group. There were five others and they had come out of the pool to stand sheepishly on the deck close by.  ”No Sir. We keep the area cleaned up, we keep squatters out and the mosquito water emptied. Our presence here keeps druggies and looters out as well…  It’s kind-of a Win/Win situation.”  He shifted in his shoes & smiled at him.  The officer walked over to the pool & looked in. There seemed to be no damage and they were all somewhat older. The officer looked over at the six of them. “You know, I skateboarded back in High School. There was this one guy- Tony Alba or Steve Alva. I can’t quite recall his name, but he could ride. That guy was something else…  we would ride our bikes over to the skate park…” – he smiled at the memory. The skateboarders relaxed and laughed among themselves. Steve Alva indeed! The officer told them they had to leave and not to come back. They weren’t to be here. He had better things to do with his time, than to harass a bunch of guys having fun. After all, he was supposed to uphold the law and maintain peace. He watched them gather their things and leave. He liked how–for a brief minute–he was one of them. His talk of skateboarding and Tony Alba, let them know that not all cops are bad guys. After all, he had to keep an eye on dangerous men… Thank you to Rhino for the image. Skate- Ozzie

Bert Lamar

Bert Lamar

Bert Lamar. His name was everywhere in the skateboard magazines of the late 1970′s. He was a heavy threat in skateboarding contests of the time. In the words of some, he was, “…a spoiled little brat! A trouble maker.” Whatever the case may be, Bert Lamar ripped and did it well. He was a prodigy on the Sims team and he threw it down when he needed to do so. Truth be told. History. Bert walked away from skateboarding, made a successful snowboarding company, and now spends his time as a golfing pro. We are pushing forward with the William Sharp Book Project. I have spoken with Brad Bowman, Dennis Martinez, TA, Arthur Viecco, Steve Alba and Shreddi Repas lately. I’m looking forward to speaking with Kevin Worm Anderson, Greg Ayers, Marc Smith and Scott Dunlap. Pineapple, Gunnar, Jay Adams and Micke loom on my horizon. Respect. – Ozzie

The Sun

“The phoenix must burn to emerge.” –  Fitch

Once we wandered far. Trudged away from light and life. In the dark, I knew you were there alone and lonely… so darkness I embraced. Stars, heaven and goodness turned their sad faces away. Inky and cold was our road. Life in a holding pattern. You pulled the curtains back on a shadow world and I soon followed. No longer left in the dark. Dawn crept across our broken horizon. Future life. We are startled to have one. Thank you to Lucia Griggi for the images. Skate- Ozzie

Tony Alva

me

Where happiness lives.

Origins

Riverside. 1966. Her thin voice. She could barely hear it herself… It was always this way. She was mild. Meek. She kept close to her children and the home. They were growing up so fast. As soon as she bought them new clothing and shoes, another set was soon needed by all. There were holes in the knees, socks, toes and her husbands wallet. He jokingly referred to the kids as ” The money pit.” He flicked the edges of the newspaper, peering over the top of the Riverside Bulletin and she could see his eyes smiling. She knew that everything would be alright. With him around, it always would be. Nearly fifteen years had gone by since they had met during a hot summer in the valley. Long nights were spent in silence. The desert seeped into them. They’d sit under a zillion stars. A black blanket of diamonds drizzled above them. He had just come back from the war in Europe. She never knew what he had seen because he never thought it worth relating to her. Deep pain. Scars reopened and he was not allowed to understand. He would toss in his sleep, sweating and calling out. She brushed the matted hair away from his eyes and kissed him.

Life

“Lois? The kids are in. They’re ready to eat.” His voice rumbling through the kitchen, pulled her from her reverie. The youngsters soon filled the kitchen with laughter and noise. Dinner. Family. Happiness was in residence. She set the crock pot of beef stew on the table and they quickly served themselves. The kitchen was the very center of their lives. A huge oak table spread out across the room. The kids would sit in a cluster at her feet as she read to them. Fairy tales. Persian poems. Grabbing a towel from the sink, she caught a glimmer from the water in the swimming pool outside. It was huge. When he had the rambling house built with government loans, he insisted on a pool because of the hot summers in Riverside. She protested the size of the pool. It was modeled after the Roman baths but only much larger. He took her chiding quietly. He gently put a hand on her shoulder, “We’ll just have to have more children.” Smiling. That was some years ago. Seating herself at the table, they all held hands and asked for God’s blessings.

Demarcation

The children were gone now. The last had married and moved out. The house creaked in the dry desert air. He had started coughing in April. “It’s nothing… just the dust.” He’d grumble and putter about the small building out behind the pool. His place. Tires and metal. A memory shed where he fingered old tools and machinery. It reminded him of when he was more useful. Chores and building. She knew that he was feeling old. His health wilted. She watched him falter. Things no longer were being attended to. They didn’t ask for help. It wasn’t their way. Pride. The pool water turned black and primitive once the pumps failed. Paint blistered and boards broke. His illness crawled from one long painful month into the next. By the following May, he was gone. She broke shortly after. Her children gathered. Concern. “We need to move her closer to us…”

Primitive

The old house sat empty. It was rented in rapid succesion. Seasons rumbled past. Years. The pool became a dumpster. An old automobile salvage company employee began towing cars to the property. They accumulated. Oil and grease. Sun-faded metal soon took the place of green grass. Everywhere one looked, junk sprouted from the ground. Deterioration. The house quickly became uninhabitable. Neighbors whispered furtively. “Something has to be done.” The city moved. The house was dozed and most of the property stripped of its junk. Memories and happiness were long gone.

Riverside Ed pulled his car into the dusty driveway and shut the ignition off. He removed his sunglasses. Astonished. The house was completely gone. He had kept his eyes on the property for years. He knew that there was a huge pool at the back of the property but he never could get a look it it. It sat far from the road. He walked along quietly. Insects hummed. A dog barked a few houses away. He saw pool tiles through a broken wall. Standing at the edge of the pool, he could not believe what he was looking at. He raised his camera.

Discovery

Ed quickly shared his find with a few friends. He pointed out the sheer mass of refuse, stinking black water and heavy junk clearly visible. It hadn’t been filled for its intended purpose in decades. There were some signs that it might be pretty good. We decided to drive over together. The deep end was virtually filled with garbage. One could readily see that the face wall appeared to be good. The rest of the pool was anyone’s guess. I took my toe and moved the trash and muck aside on the top shallow step. Paddock Pools. We both knew from past experience that Paddock Pools were notoriously good. They had great surfaces that held up. Though it seemed like a gamble, we agreed to give it a try. We could work hard for an entire day and find the bottom cancered, pitted or kinked. To my way of thinking, this was inconsequential. I knew I was going to clean it out as soon as I saw the photograph. It isn’t the end result that dictates my happiness, it’s the fact that we try. This is what matters most.

Riverside Ed

One of the more recognizable things we found. Most defied description.

Laborous

We decided to get into it quickly. Anna, Greg, Ed and I bought gloves and tools and stepped into the pool. Something monstrous was looming. Foul water, garbage and putrid things were everywhere. We cleared away the shallow area first. We wanted to see how the shallow end wall looked. If the deep end was as good as it seemed and the shallow was rideable, we’d be able to flow through the pool pretty well. As we removed debris, I saw intricate hand-painted tiles on the pools shallow floor. “Look at this!” Everyone gathered. We were looking at several porcelain tile fish and a bare-breasted mermaid. They were beautiful and we all were in wonder at how well-preserved they appeared to be. We pondered what other secrets the pool might hold. Once we cleared the shallow end, the sun was waning. Anna, Ed and Greg took a side to side shallow run. Happiness. It boded well. The walls seemed good.

Ed and I starting on the deep end.

Ed and Greg taking in the cleared shallow end.

Anna, Greg and Ed- test turns

Similar

The next day was the same as the last. Filth, sweat and grueling work. Ripperside Shawn came out. He is an old hand at finding, draining and putting in pool work. He drained his first pool as a kid in Riverside. No one showed him anything. He grabbed buckets with his friends, pedaled bikes to a nearby pool and drained it.  Kevin came out too. He’s been in the pool game for many years as well. We pulled possums, spiders, rats, garbage and reeking refuse out until we thought we’d choke. We pumped out black water, oil and broken glass. Eventually, we won. The pool sat empty under the hot sunshine. The crew bought jugs of water for a final rinse. We rolled briefly that waning afternoon. Weary, we carved and smiled. It wasn’t easy. The side walls were steep, like life. One had to dig in and push to get to the top. The surface was grippy, like problems. They stuck. It made us work. We made plans for a proper initiation session.

Anna, Kevin and Shawn

Life can be draining…

Finished. Kevin, Shawn and Ed

Happiness

A few days later, MRZ and the entire cleanup crew met up at what we were referring to as the Wagon Wheel pool. John Torchia joined us. We padded up and started trying to figure it out. It was tough work. There were kinks and bellies in the walls and everyone attempted different lines and approaches. It was awesome.

Wagon Wheel

Ripperside Shawn

Shawn pulled frontside grinds, airs and ruled it. Greg did airs, Anna went over her first backyard pool light, Kevin grinded, Ed pulled wheelers in the deathbox, I fell pretty often and John Torchia pulled airs and grinds. Everyone struggled and everyone was happy. There was no question of it being worth the labor. We were just a couple of friends in love with pool skating. We needed to do what we did in order to be what we are.

Kevin

Greg Johnson

Ed- deathbox play

Anna- first backyard light

John Torchia

Where happiness lives

Thank you to MRZ, AVB and the crew for everything. Skate- Ozzie