Hangin' in Hammond; Louisiana that is...

The bus was up and running. Mobile was behind us and we weren’t sure where we were headed next. The decision was made to skate a dreamland park in Hammond Louisiana. We pulled into the park just as the sun was setting. Dreamland blew our minds with an amazingly flowing feature filled snake run thing around a big bowl with a clamshell. As the sun went down the cold bit hard. We got a campsite for the night and made some chili in the warm bus. The next day as we pulled into the park a couple of big local dudes gave us a big smile and wave. It turned that one of them was Chris, the kingpin of the hammond scene. He owns the local shop, Small Time skates, is responsible for the amazing park, and also built the Chicken Coop, his private, raw plywood indoor bowl. We all skated the park for a while; Everett’s ankle was feeling good and Geoffrey was currently between swellings. While we skated Pierre chatted with Chris, who extended an invite to the shop, and to a session at the Coop later. After a few hours of shredding we made our way the mere 3 blocks to the shop. Chris had apparently been partying since the night before, and we laughed our asses off as he rapped non-stop with us and all of the local kids in the shop; talking shit, cracking jokes, and rattling off countless stories. Hammond’s 40 minute proximity to New Orleans, combined with their epic concrete, and the Coop, makes it a prime stop for skate teams on tour. As a result Chris had kicked it with much of skateboarding’s elite, and had many a story to tell. We ended up at a nearby bar after a bit where the party continued, and the boys joined in. “The Shake” immediately caught our eye; a Yahtzee like dice game. The pot was up to $334, and the object was to roll 5 of a kind...in one roll. 3 rolls for a buck, with a free extra roll if you got 4 of a kind on your last. Given our affinity for Yahtzee, all of us were dying to try. The bartender informed us however, that the dice had gone missing. The bus was only a block away, and 5 minutes later they were on the bar. Geoff threw down a 5 and the four of us shook rolled and completely blew it. It was only right to offer our gracious host a roll. Two rolls gave Chris nothing, but the third produced four sixes. Everybody flipped out. One more roll. “Let the devil in.” Said Everett as Chris shook the final shake. He slammed the cup upside down on the bar. Magic was in the air. A lift of the battered cardboard cup revealed a near perfect pentagram of sixes. The bar went wild, as the bewildered bartender shelled out the winnings. After a rejoicing over a pitcher we were finally on our way to the Coop. I love looking at an ordinary warehouse knowing that there a giant beast of a bowl lurking inside. We arrived at dark and made our way in the door and up the stairs. The coop is consists of one big bowl, with a four foot shallow, and 8 foot deep end. Bring your big wheels and a fresh pair of legs, because the riding surface is raw plywood. Bells and whistles adorn all three walls of the deep end; doorway, deathbox, and a bank wall channel. Chris DJed as locals Jordan and Thomas showed us the lines. Alley-oop nollies onto the bank wall, and back smiths and tails over the door were an every run occurrence for Jordan. Geoff got in his obligatory tuck-knees and nearly died every time he slashed over the deathbox. I got a couple of tail-skidders over the door and a lengthy 50-50 from shallow pocket to deep hip. Everett and Pierre battled with the rattling and got in a few lines. During a routine pump through the deep I punched a hole through a piece of ply and slammed into the wall. The session winded down as the beer disappeared, but something piqued Geoff’s interest. He was eyeing up crazy roll/pull in off the deck of the deep, over into the tranny at the bottom of the door. Deadly! 4 slams later Geoff had nearly broken his leg, blown out his knee, and turned his forearm into a giant drumstick of death. He didn’t pull it but we didn’t care. The locals were pumped. We shot off a bunch of fireworks outside and talked shit around the fire. Then it was back to the Mariner; the bar by the shop. Geoff passed out at the table, and then eventually underneath it. Chris hooked up beer and food for all of us with his winnings. At around 2 in the morning we found ourselves at his place. We checked out some footage of the coop, some old PowerEdge and Thrasher mags, and passed out. The next morning we shook Chris’ hand, exchanged some contact info, and hit the road for Galveston, with a bowl lined up en route. If you ever go to Hammond, skate the park, walk a few blocks to Small Time, drag Chris to the Mariner and buy him 3 rolls, you never know how things might turn out...