Thanksgiving day. It dawned early. The drive up to Fresno was dismal, dark and dreary to all appearances. Mike Lopez, Ripperside Shawn and I were anything but. We laughed and kept up a running dialogue about past pools, road trips and an occasional reference to Kenny Powers. “Tight dick playa.” Buffoonery. We stopped about three hours into the trip and lurked about in a tiny dusty town.
There is an old boarding house and tavern from the 1940’s with a kidney pool. Old porches and wrought iron railings are weathered. Old times. Long gone. It has been rumored that John Wayne once would stop there… though for the life of me, I cannot understand why. Regardless, we stopped in the cloudy morning light and took three runs each. In and out. Ghosts.
Within a few hours, we were linked up with Josh Peacock. He holds Fresno in his capable hands. Finding, draining and constantly searching are what he does. We are similar in some aspects and I always rather enjoy his company. He’s a funny dude.
We cruised through the rambling farm country outside of Fresno. We bucketed. We were spirits. Furtive and quiet. We held the keys to the kingdom and on this Thanksgiving day, we had much to be grateful for. Friendship. Skateboarding. Pools. Skate- Ozzie