Goodbye cruel world, hello sunshine

TEAM ZERO SAN DIEGO, CA CHALENGES

Frontside grind over the corner love seat at Washington Street skatepark

Get Willy Santos to give you $50, (you may not pay him back or trade him anything)

Leave a burning bag of poop on TWS's doorstep

SAN DIEGO

WE OPENED the package in the petrol station at the Via De La Valle off ramp. Just a few meters inside San Diego city limits, but nevertheless, we were in the city. We were on the edge, and I could feel we were to remain on the edge for the next two weeks.

Twenty-four hours later we had our first injury. Winterberg tore the insides of his knee into something resembling old beef tacos. It was a devastating start.

Winterberg is more of a skate rat than any of us. His love for skateboarding is tangible. At that point we vowed as one that we would avenge our valiant friend by not slowing. The words "we have the gnarliest team in skateboarding, hands down" became the mantra that would see us through the more arduous moments ahead. That was not something we believed of ourselves; that was, in fact, a quote from Geoff Rowley's recent Thrasher interview. We decided that we should test it. Winterberg's Lament turned out to be the Greg Louganis award, and that's how he viewed it himself, as an "award."

Matt's MRI confirmed our fears: he's not be coming with us. As replacement filmer we had Mike Gilbert. A good man, but unfortunately, according to the KOTR necronomicon, there are to be NO SUBSTITUTIONS, as per the law of the jungle. The point of that being while Mike could film, he could not contribute anything that got us any points. Joey turned this into a positive by reminding us that the team challenge in Louisville, KY, was for everyone to do a benihana. Joey felt he had a snowball's chance in hell of actually landing one whether Matt was there or not. I didn't believe him because I've seen the Joey after two of Father's sodas--and I'm convinced he's capable of anything.

FIST FULL OF POINTS

THE FIRST NIGHT we sessioned the park for a few hours and pretty much completed all the challenges in the book. For the two following weeks we just chilled, told jokes, and sun bathed. Well, not really.

The second day Garrett and Guns were sessioning an inner city school with a well frequented 11-stair. While they were getting on with that, the gore wall at Washington Street was being sessioned before its destruction by a Saturday afternoon crew, at the gnarliest renegade skatepark yet built in the world. Luke's new teeth were looking dapper and I told Edwin and the big man our SD challenges. They found this amusing but at the same time, of course, there was a gore wall session in progress and they couldn't by rights just let me carve the love seat Scot-free. Where would be the fairness? The big man decided that a bin full of beer dregs placed on the seat added sufficient spice. When I smashed into it and it clattered to the flatbottom--clackety-clack, ca-lack, clack-clack--it made a perfect mess. After grinding the seat I said thanks and we forged onward to get back to the session, where Tommy had just back noseblunted the thing and Garrett rode away clean from a nice front feeble fight when I got there.

50 BUCKS FROM WILLY?

AS FAR AS I was concerned this was starting to sound like some sort of Tolkien-esque D&D adventure story. "To find Willy is to find Nate Sherwood;" just say that to yourself a few times and you start to feel like a cartoon character. That had been the message we had received at 10 o'clock on the Sunday night before we had to leave California, and Willy had successfully avoided replying to no less than 17 voicemail messages. We picked up an excited Nate, who has the ability to talk in the same way a machine gun fires bullets. He directed us to Willy's home at 11:00pm on that Sunday night and was very, very, very optimistic about our chances.

As El Santos opened his door, I thought that I glimpsed a flicker of merry congeniality. If that even happened, however, it was no more than an instant before his face turned with a ghastly pang. Nate never even hesiskated before yelling "SURPRIIIIISE," at Willy. Fair enough, I thought, that's what friends are for. Well, it turned out Willy neither wanted to be involved with Thrasher, nor did he want to part with 50 bucks for no reason. Who does? He looked like he was sleepwalking through a strange dream--our freaked-out asses and Nate Sherwood on his doorstep at 11:30pm. Personally, I would have at least asked what the fuck was going on. Whatever. The door got shut in our faces (not slammed, just shut) by a shocked and disbelieving Santos. This left us feeling dejected and behind on points. Well, we'd just have to pick that slack up elsewhere.

TOMMY GUNZ

I DON'T KNOW what glacier they thawed Tommy out of but he is from another time, a time of savages. I've decided he is a Chulanese land pirate (Chula being one of the tougher neighborhoods in San Diego). Tommy has a natural fuck-you approach to people and things. Something I once learned, though, from a wise woman in a remote part of Scotland was the ability to see a person's soul. I looked into Tommy's soul and was pleased that nobility lay therein. Humility even. And without a doubt the heart of a warrior. That is why when asked, "Hey Tommy, d'you wanna skate naked?" Tommy replied something like, "Fuck it."

Then when they asked, "What do you want to do for it?"

He answered, "I'll ollie that fucking 16 naked."

EASTWARD TO ARIZONA

BY SUNSET on the first Monday of the race we had to be out of California or face disqualification, exiled not to return until these games had reached their grand finale in New York City. The scene in our van as we gunned east on the I-8 went something like this: "Where's the sun? It's just cloudy. It's mellow, the sun's up there somewhere. What time's sunset in Yuma? Is there a time zone change? Why is it so dark? The windows are tinted, fool! Oh, five miles, that is mellow." Then we were in Arizona and the road stretched before us converged with the horizon.

Listening to Sabbath on the way to Phoenix, AZ, reminded me that I need to get out of the wilderness, dig up some mystical roots, and let the stars rain love down on the world to feel the force that binds us and permeates the universe. Then again maybe I could feel that anyway, amongst the vibe of the crew. When we first arrived in Phoenix, Josh and Brian showed us to an underground car park with a good little manual pad. Who are the Zen masters of manual roll tricks? Without lightning feet and unsurpassable balance those things take some serious patience. We exercised patience--well, some of us did--until the early hours of the morning. Then we slept.

The next evening at the Cowtown ramp Josh and tattooed Mike were the rulers of the session. Much thanks to Trent for the ultimate vibes--some beers, some bros, some James Brown, a fine mini-ramp, and some points to write into the logbook. The rumor was that earlier that day Rowley got 100 points worth of manual roll frontside flips in on that very ramp. Time to move on, always moving on.

TUCSON

CHRIS AND DONNY showed us the road to the frog pond. Tony runs a rad little skateshop there. His pump fell apart a couple of times, but then got going and got most of the water out. All that remained was eight inches of concentrated pool scum. Guns never hesitated; he just got barefoot, waded in and started bailing, and the rest of us formed a chain gang. Twenty minutes and we were shredding. Chris blazed this pool. It was sick. Donny got in there with some Miller flips and together we got the shred volume turned up to 11. We had a ripping time. Many thanks to Chris, Donny, and Tony. We got some points. There had been a wager placed whereby if I landed this trick in the pool then I would receive a piece of paper with a picture of one of the United States' founding fathers, Mr Benjamin Franklin. Right after I rode out of the trick Guns got amped. I was oblivious, thinking about how this piece of paper could buy me 100 cheeseburgers and still leave me with change. Such is the blinding nature of the cheeseburger. Some may even call it the root of all evil. Tommy had been so amped on doing our pool tricks back to back that he'd hung up, got pitched to the flat, as will happen in a pool--and crack, booyawkered two bones in his left hand. To add insult to injury, as he grabbed his hand he looked up and his board crashed straight into his face. I snapped out of my cheeseburger daydream and realized Tommy was in a bad pain, then I felt a sudden chill and heard that ominous distant flapping of leathery wings and a hideous cackle.

The next morning was gnarly. Garrett woke up early sweating and shaken from a terrifying nightmare in which his true love had been kidnapped by a twisted sect of Pagan tree people. It turned out, however, that reality was stranger than fiction and in the pool around the back of the hotel there was a motherfucking dragon. Garrett must have heard that beast gearing up to evaporate the pool with its dragon breath 'cause he got round there with the quickness.

"All in good time," Garret might say in any other situation life presents him, but this time he didn't even put on his shoes. He just rolled 'round on his shred stick and boardslid the rail into the pool all casual-like. Down he went and there was the dragon.

"Get over here lizard lips," he yelled. It came out bubbly, 'cause he was underwater then but he put that bitch in a choke hold and put his ass to sleep. El Paso needn't worry cause dragons sleep for a hell of a long time. Good thing too; if that dragon had emptied that pool it would have been useless. Square walls, you see. What sort of bozo goes and builds a pool with square walls anyway?

TEAM ZERO AUSTIN, TX CHALLENGES

Skate five ditches in one day with Jake Nunn

Do the roll-in at the Terrible One ramp on a Big Wheel

Deuble flip off the diving board at Barton Springs

LITTLE ROCK, AR

FOR A FEW POINTS MORE

SWITCH SAL FLIP BY BODIFORD, the master team manager, at the skatepark of Austin, TX, at 3:00am. Next day at the T1 ramp we had to do the roll in on a big wheel--that's what it said in our Austin envelope. It is a great ramp. Around the back of some buildings surrounded by trees was an eight-foot bowled out section, a six-foot spine--great for a sad plant. Just as I thought, I was sad planting over that spine when everything changed. I should have heard the leathery wings but it was early. I may not have even had coffee by then 'cause the dragon struck again, sending me backwards onto my arm in just the right way to twist it right out of its joint. Well, it popped back in when I stood up. Bama and Gilbert took me to the hospital where Darren, the ER tech, strapped it up with a splint. He had been a fire department paramedic in Corpus Christi, TX for years, and was now living in Austin studying to be a nurse; both noble professions.

When we got back the crew had enlisted the help of tall man and Austin resident Jake Nunn to complete the last of our challenges. Well, we had the guy, all we needed were the ditches. He seemed confident.

The ditches were rad and there was one I had seen in a wee skate film I'd seen a while back that Jake had a cameo in. It was called Level Land and it was definitely a decent effort at portraying a skate scene in a small corner of a very large world. I'm still waiting for skateboarding's Big Wednesday, though. I think I'll be waiting a long time.

ROB BERRY OWNS Seventh Street tattoo in Little Rock, AR, your classic walk-in tattoo studio with a welcoming vibe about the place. Rob's own art, along with some pieces by his son, hang alongside the many pages of flash. We were there because Jud Ferguson is Rob's son-in-law and Bama had an appointment to have a special picture inked into his skin. Jud did some outstanding work and Bama got a tad tattoo, but it turned out that wasn't the only appointment Bama had that evening. We had explained to Rob's daughter Ashley about the Burt Reynolds challenge and that Bama was our designated tongue bandit and she seemed confident that downtown Little Rock that Saturday night may be just the place for it. After Guns took care of another miscellaneous challenge by skating a World War II U-boat, Ashley, Alex, and young Brandon led us to the bar zone of Little Rock. After that I heard that distant flap-flap of the leathery wings and knew what we had to do. There's only one thing that keeps evil, fire breathing lizards at bay, and that is mad love.

We were baffled at first as to how seven sober dudes and a girl could get this ball rolling, but eventually Ashley just stepped in and got it going. Her technique was straightforward and went along the lines of, "Are y'all 40? 'Cause these guys I'm with are doing a scavenger hunt and one of them has to make out with someone over 40."

That was it, and within 20 minutes Bama had four. It was both hideous and hilarious at the same time. All I can say is that the look on Bama's face made me wonder if maybe that dragon had somehow infiltrated the make-out scene. Well, he seemed in good enough spirits, so we broke out and went to track down some of that shiny food Denny's never stops serving. Thanks to Ashley the negotiator, Jud, all at Seventh Street, and Little Rock for some interesting tongue action.

TEAM ZERO LOUISVILLE, KY CHALLENGES

Pick up Mystery Guest

Show up with Mystery Guest at Louisville park at 10pm on Aug. 15th

Nominate one member to compete in the sticker pasting challenge

Everyone must perform a benihana somewhere in the park

LOUISVILLE, KY

WHEN WE ARRIVED in Louisville, I could see everyone flying around in the white blaze of the floodlights. I began to feel sorry for myself again, like "Fuck, that park looks amazing and my arm is a damned botchery. This just isn't fair."

"Hey kid!" I heard from the shadows of the car park. I looked round and squinted into the darkness. Would you believe it Peter Falk was standing there. He fixed me with one eye just like in an episode of Colombo and said, "Whoever said that life is fair?"

"You're right! Life isn't fair." The idea that life isn't fair actually seems to do a lot to take the responsibility out of apparently bad stuff that happens in life. There are certain things we feel guilty for or responsible for that we really cannot do anything about or simply are not accountable for. Besides that, shit happens. But more importantly, shit happened. Past tense, you see. Can't go back. Only forward. Am I happy right this second 'cause things look a lot brighter for the future if you spend a moment to sort your happiness out right this second?

At that I shook my head, looked around, and there was no Peter Falk at all. There was only a shabby looking guy with a sign that read "Wife died January seventh. Left with three hungry kids. Anything helps." I gave him a dollar, and he said "God bless." Now, I have never really been able to grasp the whole omnipotent, omnipresent being that people talk of whenever God is mentioned, but I have always quite liked the idea that God is love. I like taking that literally. Then it means that really the down-on-his-luck man was saying, "Love bless," which is quite tender, really. The idea that love is, in fact, an unfathomable gigantic and complex intelligence that permeates the entire universe is quite nice too.

We hung out at the park for long enough to let Tom Knox, our mild-mannered guest, get himself a couple of mad Donnas in the half-tube and some blasters in the whole tube before splitting.

BIRTH OF DUNCAN

IN TENNESSEE we stopped at a Waffle House. Inside was a poster for Trace Adkins tracks "Songs About Me," and "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk." For some reason, relating to flagrant egocentrism and nonsense speak, I found that both chilling and comic.

The fact we were eating in a Waffle House spooked me. I hoped KOTR breakdown wasn't just around the corner. Flip were out there probably just getting gnarly--and here we were haggard in a Waffle House. There were times it was so hot that when we pulled over to piss it would evaporate before hitting the ground. Imagine, you go to piss and a cloud of steam shoots out the end of your knob.

Right then I picked up a magazine someone had left and it fell to a page that contained an extract from an old Robert Heinlein novel. It described a man watching an interpretive dance performance. He had never been a theater go'er but during the performance, by a woman with whom he was familiar and growing more in love with, he "realized he was being told a story of the human spirit, a story of courage, and hope, and love overcoming despair and physical hurt."

At that I looked up and saw Cole throw his head back in laughter at something him and Gilbert were talking about. I saw Garrett enjoying.his smoke while he thought about all his inventions. I saw Jamie looking at the KOTR book but thinking about his son Julian. I saw Bama messing around trying switch Sal flips with Guns, and I watched Joey chew happily on some beef jerky and wash it down with blue Slurpy, looking around through his panoramic camera for strange Southern things to take pictures of. I thought of my wife, and I realized fight then that we weren't haggard at all. This is the good life, and with that I stood straight up and shouted across the crowded Waffle House, "Bring me the Daggers vest!"

Everyone looked up and the Trace Adkins track that had been playing screeched to a halt, leaving a silent stating Tennessee Waffle House with me at the center of everyone's attention. I slowly sat down and stuck a fork in some grits. The jukebox started up and people went back to their conversations. It would be a few days yet before Duncan joined the tour.

TEAM ZERO RALEIGH, NC CHALLENGES

Do a trick over the Millbrook rail

Larry Perkins challenge-prank calla pro skater from the Endless Grind shop on speaker phone

Get Fat Bob Reynolds to do a 360 flip while eating an ice cream cone

RALEIGH, NC

IN RALEIGH, NC, the guys at Vertical Urge skatepark had built us an eight-foot wide, four-foot high spine ramp so we could have it out with some of the spine tricks. It was there that Cole realized he could actually do Sal flips to fakie over spines when he blasted one about four-feet up and over this fine piece of carpentry.

Garrett grinded the shit out of the kinkiest rail I have ever seen anyone grind. This session he rolled away solid for a couple of feet before wheel biting. He was grinding it again to get a good fide away when the wackest human ever appeared and stood in the line of fire with his celly and a condescending grin on his wack face. If I had been looking through a radness spectrometer, which could show the emissions of radness that situations give off, then I would have seen a very harsh drop in radness when that guy came along. If I showed you a graph of the radness versus the time, then it would have shown a tall spike of radness followed by a deep, deep trough caused by the radness sucker. That guy truly sucked all the radness out of the situation.

TEAM ZERO NEW YORK CITY CHALLENGES

Turn in footage to Jake Phelps Aug. 19th between 11:30 and 11:59 pm in Times Square (Broadway and 7th in front of the jumbo-tron)

HOMESTRETCH

AS WE TURNED the corner from the riverside, out the van window I was confronted with the intricate web of wiring suspended above the train tracks approaching the platforms of Philly's 30th Street Station. It looked like something that had evolved rather than been designed. Next to the tracks was a billboard that displayed a quote from Abraham Lincoln: "People are as happy as they make their minds up to be," it read.

This next exchange happened at a spot we took no photos at but I liked it. It's written as a dialogue and you can make of it what you will.

Maniac: "I did a course in television production and you guys got some equipment here." Zero: "Really. That's cool."

Maniac: "GET YOUR EQUIPMENT AND GET OFF MY PROPERTY."

Maniac's friend: "Defuse. Just defuse guys, OK?"

Zero: "Your drunk assistant pastor friend's the only one who needs to defuse."

"Can I ask you what you're doing here?" Maniac asked

Guns the following morning.

Tommy: "Getting it over with."

Maniac: "It's not that you'll sue. It's your insurance company"

Tommy: "We don't even have insurance." I really liked that one. That cracked me up; such a classic Tommy response. Tommy assumes that when you buy a new Car you don't need to get insurance. At least not straight away. You must be allowed a month to sort that shit out. Mustn't you?

Maniac: "Five minutes, then I'm calling the cops."

Tommy: "Fine, we've got five minutes then."

Maniac: "You know what? I'm calling the cops fight now!"

Tommy: "FINE. CALL THE COPS THEN, FUCKER!"

Ha. Ain't saying nothin' now, huh, bitch? And we were out. There's an old saying that if you meet three or more assholes in a day chances are you're the asshole. We then went to where you can see Jamie 180 fakie nosegrinding the rail in the photo. I should mention that although I may sound like I know the chronology of all the events I've talked about, really I have no idea. I just write stuff that makes me laugh or feel happy. After that we skated the X park or whatever. That was where Cole realized that he could also do fakie heelflips over spine ramps. That would make me happy.

HELLO SUNSHINE

OUT OF THE GATE we had felt a trifle disadvantaged. Turned out those feelings were unfounded. Skateboarding sometimes becomes harder for people to swallow; I've seen it happen. People grow up and start to understand the larger picture. The business machinations and the marketing eye, the stuff that has no relevance to the feeling skating gave you as a 12-year-old bombing hills and ollieing stairs with your friends. You're not 12 anymore; you've seen the belly of the beast. The only real antidote I can offer fight now are the words of Duane Peters: one day you look at life and everything in it and you just decide that, "Hey, this is all kind of funny."

You can cry and moan or you can laugh and get on with it as best you can. It's a simple choice; it's in your power to change your attitude with a single breath. Laugh it off my friends. Daggers up in here.

COPYRIGHT 2005 High Speed Productions, Inc
COPYRIGHT 2005 Gale Group