No Child, Woman or Man

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Shit Changes.

Life just keeps rolling, and time marches on…waiting for no one. Build castles, and see how they stand up in the face of progress. The place in the above photo was a massive kingdom built to last generations. Great knights jousted in its bowels and defended its ramparts against kook invaders.

Where is it now?

Only in the hearts and memories of the gallant knights and their fair maidens. Steve, the older brother in the above picture sails over his younger brother, Micke. Steve was basically the king of this fair land known as “The Pipeline” that laid in Upland, CA. Steve and Micke’s last name is Alba, so they were collectively know as SALBA and MALBA. “Salbs” as his lovely wife refers to him met his lady as a young man…and they were like royalty at the Pipeline. He was the great warrior with his circle of brothers, and she was the most beautiful, fair haired lady. A perfect muse.

Now?

Well, Steve still skates professionally, rules the entire Southern region of California in terms of dry swimming pools utilized for skateboarding…..and his lady? Well, she’s a mother of two who keeps it all together, and still keeps Steve living, and feeling like a KING.

The Pipeline? Flattened many years ago….decades have passed since its demise.

Or?

Well…Steve, and Wally Hollyday pretty much revived a lot of it in the form of a new public skatepark….though the original sacred ground is laid asunder.

Life just keeps rolling, and time marches on….

It’s all how you stand up to it.

“As the sun sinks
Life closes tired eyes
As hello turns its back and
It greets goodbye

Never wanted to believe
Or have to understand
Time waits for noone
Child, woman or man

The burdens that gather
The crosses that bare
What’s given and taken like the
Like the ocean to the sand

Never wanted to believe
Or have to understand
Time waits for noone
Child,woman or man

No final curtain calls
No more storms that rearrange
To hold you in my arms and to
know that nothings ever gonna change
To bend the hands of time
So here we stand and through it all
I love you now and beyond forever
Never wanna believe or have to understand
Time waits for noone
Child, woman or man
Oh like the stars up above
The moon or the sun
Time waits for noone”

“Time waits for no man…” Zakk Wylde

Rip Ride

Brat's Bagger Dapper

The Japanese have a fighting spirit. Yes, when you are on the subway, packed literally ON TOP of a couple of hundred people in one car….there isn’t much of a fight. However, the Japanese spirit is very competitive and ready to do battle. On any field they choose to compete, they will bring their A-Game. Know that.

Luckily I have been able to work with some of the finest in my fields of interest in Japan. Most of that has been expressed in the world of Harley-Davidsons. Custom Harley-Davidsons.

This ripper is the brainchild of my brother, Masa who owned “Brat’s Custom” in Tokyo. It is an ultra slim bagger made from an FL frame, turned into what amounts to an FXR style big inch terrorizer…which it truly is. The S&S large displacement mill was assembled and massaged by Masa himself. Masa also fabbed the motor mounts, stretched and created the single downtube frontsection, as well as all of the body work. The bike is a staggering array of subtle details and revolutionary applications combined into a sensible, exhilarating riding machine. Masa is so far ahead of the curve in bike design that most riders don’t even consider the elements of his builds, much less understand the huge advances they represent. This rip rider has his “Muskrat Joint MC” colors worked into the paint scheme. All of Masa’s bikes sport red wheels and black sheetmetal. His dirt bikes…it doesn’t matter. Red wheels.

It is rare for me to just feel comfortable enough with someone’s custom Harley for me to want to just jump on it and ride…and to keep the bike nearly identical to the way it sits. This is one of those few distinguished mounts that inspires this feeling. It’s perfect. I just want to ride it, and know it’s sitting outside wherever I ride it to…waiting to launch me over the broken pavement of the snarling world below.

“Run like Hell, in Hell The deadly race begins Cyanide, suicide No prayers or foolish whims Tonight we’ll fight With glory in our veins Can’t stop us now Our evil always will reign  The master switch is set And we must guard the only key Rip Ride  Satan’s speed, our speed Incarnate pure alive light up the night Were living on a wire We choose you loose Nobody body catches fire. Were free you’ll see We live by our desires  Riding in the air nocturnal Living free Rip Ride  Run like Hell, in Hell The deadly race begins Cyanide, Suicide No prayers or foolish whims Tonight we’ll fight With glory in our veins Can’t stop us now Our evil always will reign  The master switch is set And we must guard the only key Rip Ride” -“Rip Ride” by Venom

Sitting-Sipping-Waiting

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Shit…it’s raining here in Northern California in near Biblical proportions. We are getting in one day what would be normal rainfall for the whole month of March. It’s nuts.

I have been retreating to the garage…and the coffee pot. I just want to be warm, and to keep a hand in my hobbies. I can’t skate, I can’t ride my bikes, I can’t roll the Harleys the way I’d like to…I feel really “caved-in”. It’s not cabin fever, it’s like being buried alive.

Death by a billion drops.

My cousin, Troy is always down to chug some non-alcoholic beer with me and wrench on my bikes before we hit the tattoo shop. It’s a damn shame he lives so far away. He’s in the gold country above Jamestown. I am hoping to ride out there and stay with he and his family this spring. Last time I was there, I laid a gnarly burn-out on his driveway. I wonder if the fat black ribbons are still stretched on the pavement. Woops.

I sip on my coffee, and am looking forward to seeing Troy, his wife Jilly, and their cool daughter, Rickie Rose. I am thinking I am gonna do a sweet “Rickie Rose” tattoo on one of ‘em sooner or later….I can see it now, roses..sweet lettering and some dang ol’ hearts. Gonna be an ass-stomper.

Until then…I sip.

“One day you’ll look to see I’ve gone
For tomorrow may rain,
so I’ll follow the sun

Some day you’ll know I was the one
But tomorrow may rain,
so I’ll follow the sun

And now the time has come
and, my love, I must go
And though I lose a friend
In the end you will know, oh

One day you’ll find that I have gone
But tomorrow may rain,
so I’ll follow the sun
But tomorrow may rain,
so I’ll follow the sun

And now the time has come
and, my love, I must go
And though I lose a friend
In the end you will know, oh

One day you’ll find that I have gone
But tomorrow may rain,
so I’ll follow the sun”

“I’ll Follow the Sun” The Beatles

No Meow, Motherfucker

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It’s cold.

We buy cold beer. To take. To take to Tame. Tame-san. Tame-san is Samurai Choppers. Samurai has been outside of the Yokosuka base in Japan for decades. Tame’s been making dreams come true for generations of locals, and service personnel from many far-flung destinations. Tame accepts the cold beer in the cold. Doing heavy damage to the twelve pack on the sidewalk that serves as the service bay for Samurai Choppers. His operation is bordered by a cemetery, a busy street on which copious drinking, chopper building, and smoking occurs, and by a major freeway that his jam-packed shed/shop is perched above.

Clouds roll in stationary formations overhead like legions of trained dogs performing at their master’s pleasure. Panhead era kicker covers spill-over in cigarette butts as their ashtray duty is used in the extreme. Beautiful smiles and bad teeth. There is an Ironhead Sportster wedged in a van parked on the sidewalk next to an Ironhead longchop. The chop is for sale. Everything. Everything is for sale.

It is so good to see Tame. We had an unlikely meeting in Yokohama a few years back, and we hit it off immediately. We had been writing back and forth, and sending funny cartoons and music to one another. To be alive. To be back together if only for a little while is special. I think of his little lady, Yoko and wonder how she is. To love Tame, she is great. For that, she is great. I want to send her bath salts and a weed brownie.

Is that wrong?

Everywhere I turn there is an unintentional artistic statement disguised as neglected rubbish. This cat is not amused with my sense of artistic adventure and deep admiration for Tame and his sidewalk court in which he is holding forth. He makes no effort to hide, nor express his utter disdain. He simply is. A pithy cat.

Who has seen too much.

It’s cold.

“I could feel at the time
There was no way of knowing
Fallen leaves in the night
Who can say where they’re blowing?

As free as the wind
Hopefully learning
Why the sea on the tide
Has no way of turning?

More than this, you know there is nothing
More than this, tell me one thing
More than this, there is nothing

It was fun for a while
There was no way of knowing
Like a dream in the night
Who can say where we’re going?

No care in the world
Maybe I’m learning
Why the sea on the tide
Has no way of turning?

More than this, you know there is nothing
More than this, tell me one thing
More than this, now there is nothing

More than this, nothing
More than this
More than this, nothing”  “More than This” ROXY MUSIC (Brian Ferry)

On Being a Dipshit and Child of God

water lotus

Being a dipshit takes up most my time.

Then, quite literally sometimes, the clouds part, the sun blazes forth…and God speaks. So it was when I snapped this image. I was lolling about in my Mother’s house on Kauai. She’s a lovely lady…I worry excessively about her probably…but, she’s lovely. So, there I was worrying about God knows what, and the clouds were making a shadow dance on Mom’s large deck. I was probably scratching myself. I was lying on her hardwood floors, because she refuses to allow proper seating in the form of a couch in her home. Lame. So, I lay on the damn floor. It’s not very dignified. I am 40 plus years old, and yet, I lay there like an 8 year old. I feel the urge to say shit like…”Mom…mom, mom….mom….mom….MOM….mom…..mom, mom, mom…mom….” You know? It’s how you get around your Mother, and that’s when you start lapsing into memories of various periods of your past. Lately, I have been going back further, to being in a state of really young memories. It’s been progressive.

Mom cooked me a burger patty about 6 years back. I was in my home town in California for my 20 year high school reunion. I watched my Mom cook my dinner. It was a simple thing, but it really moved me. This woman was my Mother. She was nourishing me. I reflected on the fact that I had another woman in my life at that time that was the best thing to ever happen to me. We had been married about 11 years at that point. She had cooked me more meals than anyone else. She had care more about me than anyone BUT my Mother…and I knew how lucky I was….that was a few years back.

Now, I think back thirty-five years…about being a tow-headed, boinging youngster full of piss, vinegar, and a whole lot of wild chatter. Just a damn spring. I was busy….busy being a dipshit.

Not much has changed. I love a good slice of gum…some music…my Mom…and the women who have been kind to me in my life. My head hurts a lot. It always has. I wonder if that’s God jamming my frequency, or me hiding from God. Do I just sense that if I could start to conceive of the greatness of God that I know I would explode?

It comes in flashes.

God is there…the long fingers reaching out to meet me everywhere I turn. Everywhere I look. God.

I lay on the floor, remembering lying on my Grandmother’s floor, remembering lying on the manky floor of the first house my wife Evelyn and I rented in the East Bay, remembering all of the disappointments I seem to carry so readily…all of the good times I allow to be overshadowed.

I thought about all of this as I laid on the floor at my Mom’s, overshadowing a good time in paradise with my Mother and wife….just being a dipshit. As usual.

It’s a weird deal, knowing I am a fuck-up, and fighting it. Constantly.

So, there I was…thinking of being a dipshit as I was busily carrying on my dipshit tradition by being a dipshit, when suddenly, the sun blasted its way through the legion of steely clouds. The sun’s rays alighted on this lotus flower, and I was relieved of my responsibilities as a dipshit in order to capture this image. So, I played hooky for a moment, and was touched by God.

I looked at my Mother, and Evelyn…and was for a time, grateful.

A lot has changed for me since that day. I am glad I was able to photograph the flower…it’s long gone, that part of my life is over, Evelyn and I are parting ways after 18 years…and I like the flower am a blossom for whom time is drawing ever nearer. I hope to have some new good times, and respite from being a dipshit. I hope to show some style and grace, as I feel I have been so afraid for most of my life that I have had very little to spare…and that’s a sad thing. Life is moving on, and my eyes are looking to God. May the cracks in the sidewalk, the pads of my dog’s paw, the lines in my face, or the fork of a tree branch reveal a noble direction…a way out of my ignorance, and hurtful habits.

I am dipshit….and it takes most of my time.

 

“I’m gonna lose myself somewhere on Skid Row
Since I lost you I just don’t seem to care
I’m gonna lose myself somewhere on Skid Row
So the wine won’t let your mem’ry find me there
Well I’ve been everywhere running both day and night
With the pain of loving you right close behind
And I’ve tried everything and whether I’m wrong or right
There’s just one way I found to ease my mind
And I’m gonna lose myself…”

“Somewhere on Skid Row” (Red Simpson) sung by Merle Haggard

Under a Pale Grey Sky

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Sleep.

I’ve had too much. I can’t get enough. I’ve had too much.

My father told me I’d wake up one day, pull the thumb out of my ass, quit smoking weed….and wish I hadn’t slept on my life.

Dick.

You never want to hear what you know is right. When you are wrong. When you are afraid. Afraid to let go.

I was borderline agoraphobic. It was really hard for me to move…to travel. I liked the idea, but when it came down to actually moving, I would freeze-up. First it was drugs. I couldn’t get more than a certain distance out of bong-radius. I had to travel with weed. I had to have a way to smoke. I’d risk it all to keep lit. Blowing smoke into Ziploc bags in the airplane bathroom…making bowls out of improvised materials when a flight got delayed. One time at LAX it was a tampon applicator made into a pipe with a pen tip for the bowl. Huffing like mad between delays. Blatantly smoking fatties in Kansas after a really bumpy flight…in front of God an everybody. Just taunting people with a wolfturd hanging from my lips.

Well, I left that shit behind, but still I didn’t do much in the way of traveling.

Then I made movies.

I met folks, and had adventures laid in front of me that I couldn’t pass up. That lead to meeting more great people around the world, and many more trips. These trips made me fall in love with particular neighborhoods and establishments in distant cities. Favorite dishes at restaurants a world away.

This window is from my favorite breakfast hit in Stuttgart, Germany. My bros Daniel and Jurgen brought me there in 2005, and I have been back a couple of times since then. Jumping on my skateboard, and knowing exactly how to find it after being absent a few years felt really good.

Grey skies curled over the cool window panes making vertical mirrored lakes current come to life. The thrum of motors gliding on radials across blackened arteries pack wool clad sidewalk sojourners minds in a cottony drone. Cracks click-clacking under pleasure discs spun up on 6-ball Swiss halos of speed. A dragging tail with a scuffing of shoe leather guide carves of stationary waves.

Aaaaah, Stuttgart breakfast.

There is a painting waiting for me to execute in this window, and I hope to get to it one day.

In the mean time, I try to visit my father as time permits, and listen. Even when it hurts.

 

“Walking these dirty streets with hate in my mind
Feeling the scorn of the world
I won’t follow your rules
Blame and lies, Contradictions arise
Blame and lies, Contradictions arise
Nonconformity in my inner self
I won’t change my way
It has to be this way
I live my life for myself
Forget your filthy ways
Blame and lies, Contradictions arise
Blame and lies, Contradictions arise
Nobody will change my way
Life betrays, but I keep goingThere’s no light, but there’s hope
Crushing oppression, I win
Betraying and playing dirty, you think

You’ll win
But someday you’ll fall, and I’ll be
waiting
Laughs of an insane man, you’ll hear
Personality is my weapon against your
envy
Walking these dirty streets
With hate in my mind
Feeling the scorn of the world
I won’t follow your rules
Nonconformity in my inner self
Only I guide my inner self”

“Inner Self” by Sepultura

Love Alive

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Sometimes what looks like a big damn hole turns out to be love.

A lifetime of dreams lead up to this hole in my backyard. It remained a liability…just a dangerous void for three years. It took SO long to complete, and to become the beautiful playground it is today.

It looked like it might slip down the hill during the El Nino years we endured. It was so sketchy. Running out to pump water at all hours of the night. Just babysitting it for literally years before it could be finished, and secure. Civil Engineers, skatepark designers, construction crews, pool builders, seismic experts, expansion joint fillers, rebar guys, shotcrete posses, excavation experts, soil reports, permit processes, variance hearings, fees, petitions, neighborhood meetings, electrical workers, coping and tile installers, lighting engineering, fencing team, automated gate jerk-offs, concrete pumpers, finishers, plumbers, pumping/water management specialists, city inspectors…and many more. They all came many times each one in a steady succession. The house was like a busy airport that was launching Ford F-150 trucks that matched the varying personalities of each of the contractors/work crews that were working on that particular day. Usually it was a combination of at least a couple at a time. For months on end. NO privacy, mud everywhere, port-a-potties, burrito butts, tobacco spit, random wrappers, extension wires, hollering, and just general mayhem. Every day.

So, until the day I pumped it out, and slashed my first grind…it was a goddamned nightmare….I try to remember that each time I see a challenge.

How much am I willing do endure to see a goal to completion? Is it worth it? I think much more deeply before saying “Yes” nowadays.

The sweetness of seeing something important happen due to a pile of hard work makes life worth living.

Think hard.

Make it count.

The Sky was dark this morning When I raised my head I stood at the window –  Darkness was my bane  Suddenly a sunbeam arch Thrilled me to my weary heart It was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen  I knew I had to keep my Love Keep my Love alive Keep my Love – Keep my Love live  Baby I want you to roll me Hold me in your love No more habits, promises and jive Ever since I was a baby girl Wanted one thing most in this world It was to Keep My Love –  Keep My Love alive  I want to keep my Love – Keep my Love alive Keep my Love – keep my love alive  You’re up there under the spotlight Your silver trophy shines With all you got, my lord!  You must get high You need a whole lot more than money You need more than to survive You need to keep your Love Keep your Love alive.

Love Alive, by Heart

Paradise Ain’t Far From There

moonlight crew

When I am absent for a few days…know I am living the life. I may be stressed, my neck may be all torqued from tattooing….but it’s all good.

Sunday night, I will be found at the Moonlight Rollerway in Glendale, CA. Rollin’ to some smooth R&B, and a nice splash of Disco perhaps. I hope to see Michelle, Cathy Cooper, and all my favorite folks down there….

I’ll be back up with new photos next week….until then, “Roll, Bounce…Rock, SKATE!”

 

“Outta my way I’m a running high
Take a chance with me and ya give it a try
Ain’t no woman in the world I know
Cause I ain’t lookin’ for an overflow
Baby I ain’t got much
Resistance to your touch
Take off your high heels and let down your hair
Paradise ain’t far from there
I’m wanna walk all over you (walk all over you)
I’m wanna walk all over you (walk all over you)
Do anything you want me to (walk all over you) baby
I’m wanna walk all over you

Reflections on the bedroom wall
And girl you thought you’d seen it all
We’re rising falling like at sea
Your lookin’ so good under me
I’m gonna walk all over you (walk all over you)
I’m gonna walk all over you (walk all over you)
Do anything you want me to (walk all over you) to you
I’m gonna walk all over
You

Moanin’ groanin’ stereo
Said gimme the stage I’m gonna steal the show
Leave on the lace and turn off the light
Tonight is gonna be the night
I’m gonna walk all over you (walk all over you)
I’m gonna walk all over you (walk all over you)
Do anything you want me to (walk all over you)
I’m gonna walk all over……
You”

“Walk all over You” by AC/DC

Broken

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So many dark alleys. So many dead ends. So much blissful hurt….

Running from the day’s hurt into a new night’s pain. Pearly whites skinned into a cat’s smile under witchy eyes.

Another dirty smirk.

There’s a point when it’s all too much, and the running comes to an end…and it comes down to slithering into a crack, or standing up and walking away from that box canyon.

I was wrong.

I wasn’t true.

I lied. To myself. To the one I loved. I didn’t know….how to live. How to face the promise. To accept the light without flinching or cowering. To feel awe without fear…to be worthy.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t.

Facing each day now, knowing I have to walk the walk of the righteous…and learn to be true. To make my tongue unlearn the lies it spent a lifetime spinning. To admit my fear, and do the work I must to gain the strength to walk….in the light. To have the strength to face the one I loved and be true. To walk away for the last time.

To know that hand will never hold mine again. The way it did. And, to respect that. To be proud of that. To not hold anything back. To give all I have, and pray with all of my heart for grace, beauty, and happiness to find her heart at last. To cause no more pain, and take away no more. To take away no more. To be the man I promised to be, though it is too late. Though is a bitter consolation. Though I may fail.

I must rise to meet the word.

To face the promise.

 

“The fruit of love was in the future
Around the corner and over the hill
The act of love was slowly pounding
Slowly pounding

The holy war was slowly building
Heroes leaving for the great crusade
Seek reward in the ever after
Ever after

Don’t wanna have to lose you baby
Don’t want to have to take you back
You know I’ll never lose you baby
Abuse you baby
Use you baby

You know I’ll always help you baby
But I just can’t do that
I know I said I’d help you baby
Here’s my wallet
Call me sometime

Act of love

The fruit of love was in the future
Around the corner and over the hill
The act of love was slowly pounding
Slowly pounding

Act of love”

“Act of Love” By Neil Young/Pearl Jam

Good Blokes

Tracy Weller fsg ramp piknik

Good Blokes…

Who are they? What do they mean to you? Today? In thirty years? Do you remember those of them that did the little things? Those that kept you drawing breath without even knowing you cared for them?

Good Blokes…

Tracy Weller is a Good Fucking Bloke.

Tracy, when I met him around ’86 was busy being Tracy. This was Dallas, Texas. There was a strong English contingency…and the core still remains. The Abrook brothers, Billy Smith, assorted peyote munching limey drunks…and Tracy. The Abrooks could ride, Billy was cool…but Tracy had style for days. The infamous fiberglass vertical playground, the “Blue Ramp” was parked in a fucked-up parking lot behind a Del Taco on Bachman Lake. The reason it was there, was a black cat named Melvin was pimpin’ some alright late twenties/early thirties white whores. MISCEGENATION!! He had a front-business known as “Skate Time” that was by appearances a roller-skate rental shack that also sold skateboard equipment. That’s how the ramp came to be placed there….a natural extension of his business, and a further entrenchment of his surface legitimacy.

It boggled my mind as a 19 year old that this ghetto-ass black dude could just be blatantly pimping these white bitches in broad daylight in the bible belt’s very buckle. I used to smoke my shitty Mexican brick weed, one gram of which wound me up in jail with rather serious legal consequences that haunted me for decades. (not to mention that it cost my family what was to be my college education fund….perhaps I learned more with the education that I did receive). Anyhow, there Melvin sat collecting his cash as the broads cruised the lake. Sometimes on skates, but generally rolling in various high end GM coupes such as Cadillac Eldorados, or Oldsmobile Toronados. They carryied faux cut crystal tumblers beading with sweat from the cocktails they stirred with painted pinkie nails…air condition blasting over their frosted locks. Car dealers, various mid-management junior executive wannabes, and a seemingly endless array of douches with bad comb-overs were their steady customers. Each afternoon when their tricks were at their end, the ladies would roll back to Melvin’s shack with their rental skates and wads of cash for Melvin to spray with his aerosol can, and tuck in his pocket…respectively.

Outside, some of the most important professional skateboarders in the world would be throwing down the hottest cutting edge maneuvers, and inventing new ones each day into the evening. The whores would pop their gum on their way back to their freshly washed cars, and I would wonder when the skinheads would show up. Yeah, skinheads at the black dude’s whoring operation….

Classic.

Like I said, the place was full of oblivious numb nutted dumb fucks that actually believed they were on a mission, yet they worked in concert with someone, whom ostensibly was their sworn enemy by definition. They all lined up to play ball with the crafty black man. Racists, religious zealots, anti-prostitution types, anti-drug crusaders, hate criminals, you name it.

There was Tracy…it was hot, the air had stopped moving.

We just looked at each other….and laughed. He was tripping, and I was coming on to some acid. We had to get away from the crazy scene..we were tripping hard…it was just too much. We jumped in a skater’s vehicle to skate a pool…it was a hearse.

It was a few years later, maybe ’89…I had moved to Austin, Texas and returned to Dallas to race BMX bikes with my buddies when I saw Tracy again. I remembered the location of a perfect pool, and decided to see if it was still skateable. I hopped the fence, heard sounds of skating, and saw the crew ripping hard.

There was Tracy….it was hot, the air had stopped moving.

We just looked at each other…and laughed.

Tracy was with an all star cast of pro skaters riding a great right hand kidney shaped pool that was in an abandoned hotel. The pool never left my mind…it was the best pool I had ever ridden. The session was epic. Jeff Phillips was going-off doing early release frontside airs on the sidewall….yes that means he skated regular-foot. Monty Nolder was doing his patented backside grinds to exaggerated perfection. Craig Johnson almost ran my head over when I snapped a photo of him from below. Only his cat like reflexes saved me from serious damage. Jeff threw a broom as Craig was pulling a sweeper…and yelled “SWEEPER” as Craig had his wheels impossibly locked on the outer lip of the coping. Just a sheer death position. Somehow, Craig stuck it out, and sucked the wheels back in flawlessly….

We all cheered.

It reminded me of the English yelling “SLAM BEFORE BAIL!!!” when Craig rode the ramp years earlier….it was Craig’s ethos.

Then, Tracy dropped in the bowl immediately pulling into a backside double axle carve grind…on one foot. Yeah…get your mind around that one.

Just gangster shit.

So, I made a vow that I would keep that in my heart…that afternoon, that moment.

Fifteen years later, I built a smaller replica of that bowl in my yard….and now twenty two years later, I am looking forward to Tracy and his wife Jennifer visiting me here in California to put that one footer down on my coping. In the mean time, Tracy is a half-ass sponsored rider for the micro skate company, Speedlab Wheels/ Shibird Skates I founded and ran for over a decade. ( www.speedlabwheels.com ) The new owner, Alan Keller, is another Good Bloke.

We stay in touch, and I am very proud that we are still friendly and both very much alive. I know Tracy probably had no idea how special he was to me for just those short moments, and how closely I carried them with me all of this time….

Why?

Because that’s how Good Fucking Blokes live.

They just get it on….and stay Good Blokes.

 

” A thousand nights, I’ve spent alone,
Solitaire, to the bone,
But I don’t mind, I’m my own best friend,
From the beginning, to the end,
My life, my heart, black night, my star,
Capricorn

December’s child, the only one,
What I do, is what I’ve done,
I realize, I get so cold,
When I was young I was already old,

My life, my heart, black night, my star,
Capricorn

I always knew, the only way,
Is never live, beyond today,
They proved me right, they proved me wrong,
But they can never last this long,

My life, my heart, black night, dark star,
Capricorn”

“Capricorn” by Motorhead