Everything's bigger in Texas, and warmer.

On the way to Big Tex, we hit up a really fun little bowl in Lafayette Louisiana as the sun set. Grilled cheese and cold soup filled our bellies while the bus shook, rattled and rolled down to the eastern edge of Texas. A few hours later we found ourselves at a free ferry to Galveston. We asked the attendant to direct us toward some quality local eats. He suggested iHop and WaffleHouse. Saaaaaaawing and a miss. The island was a ghost town! While talking with Randolph the Wal-Mart security guard, I learned that about half the population of the island fled after hurricane Ike. The bus was beginning to smell pretty foul at this point, but we spent yet another night warm and cozy in the confines of the beer gut; safe in another Wal-Mart parking lot. The next day we rolled along the beach and pulled up to the park around 11. Holy shit! Another Grindline gem! The Johnny Romano memorial skatepark is a stones throw from the beach and contains one of the flowenist bowls I ever have seen. A shallow end with perfect transitions from 3 - 7 feet lies closest to the street with a 7 - 12 foot deep end behind it. A massive cradle lurks in the corner with a crazy doorway window cut out of the back, just above the vert line. That shit is make or break, there is no working your way up. Apparently the budget was cut at the last minute, so the "street" course ended up being a really weird little concoction of banks and transitions that looked to be thrown together. The locals did flip tricks into a little bank and fly-outs out of the bowl while we figured out some lines. Once in a while somebody would toss themselves into the bowl. It always bums me out to see such an amazing bowl go unshralped. Oh well, more for us. Not much went down, we just enjoyed the endless flow. A couple of older dudes finally showed up and started hitting the deep, illuminating some options for us. Pierre took a pretty harsh slam onto his tail-bone after a smiple mistake on his was out of a pocket. Pierre got to talking with Beano the local, who offered us a parking spot and some power for the night. Beano had grown up on the island, and refused to bail out because of the hurricane. We ended up spending the night in his "Man Cave" over his garage; making chili and taking in the new Thrasher vid, "Prevent This Tragedy" on some comfy couches. Beano used to be an Amateur, and told us some stories about a young Tony Hawk crying at a contest. We made ourselves at home per his request and slept comfortably in the warm breezy Galveston air. We were up by 7:30 the next morning as Beano had work at 8. We all shot the bull for a bit, said our thanks, and then made our way back to the park to make some breakfast before hitting the road for Autsin, with a stop off in Houston to check out their new Grindline park. Thanks Beano!

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...

The trip is over, we live in Mobile.

We were only about 9 hours into 2010 when we woke up in the Red Roof Inn in Mobile, but so far, this year was sucking. Our bus was toast, our coleman stove was gone, and to top it all off there wasn’t a skatepark anywhere near us. Everett called Everett and gave him the go-a-head to throw in the used carbureted engine he just happened to have sitting on the floor of the shop. The whole situation was pretty funny; as soon we pulled into his shop and Everett heard the bus grumbling, he bet our Everett 50 cents it wouldn’t make it to California. He suggested we sleep in his lot and let him throw in the new engine. Now here we were, less than 24 hours later, with a new char black paint job on the bus and a whole lot more respect for the wisdom of our elders. It was Friday, the work would be done Monday. That would have been nice. We decided to take a stroll/roll through the massive retail complex next to the hotel. We ended up lurking in a “Books-a-Million” and doing the quick page flip through all 5 skate mags on the rack. “Whoa! Dudes with boards!”, exclaimed a voice with a southern accent from behind us. We looked up from our stunt ‘zines and laid eyes on about 3/4s of Mobile’s skate scene. Jonathan, a lanky, dreaded kid, and three of his homie/cronies immediately started rappin’ with us about what else but skateboarding; our lowest common denominator. Within five minutes we had a ditch to skate and a place to sleep lined up for the following day. The Mobilians headed off to Mississippi for the night for a show, while we whiled away the rest of the day getting kicked out of a department store spot, wandering around Wal-Mart for an hour, and watching shitty movies in the hotel. We found these 8 packs of burritos in Wally-World for a whapping $1.50 a pack. Needless to say, we got our money’s worth out of the hotel microwave (and toilet) that night. The next day Geoffrey and I skated 6 miles to the post office. On the way to the post office we couldn’t help but notice the tallest building in Mobile scraping the sky close by. After we went postal we skated in the direction of the looming beast. Within a few minutes we discovered it was a hotel, and we hung out on the steps for a minute or two before deciding to go inside. I wanted to see if we could go all the way up to the top floor and check out the view. The streets of Mobile were eerily empty, and inside the giant hotel, things were no different. We quickly made our way to a stairwell; anybody going up or down would most likely avoid the strain and take the elevator, so we had much less chance of getting the boot. We started climbing and about 20 minutes and 40 floors later we were on the top floor...in a room with no windows, and only one door which was locked of course. We had a decision to make: backtrack a few floors to a door that was propped open, or go for broke and climb the ladder in front of us that led to a hatch on the roof. I flipped a coin, and proceeded with the latter. The hatch had no lock, and with a click of the latch, I opened up to a brisk breeze and a view of the open sky. Geoff and I climbed out to discover an amazing view view of Mobile and the opposing body of water. There were dead birds littered all around. I made my way up a series of three other ladders, up into the tall spire atop the roof. I shot some panoramas, we checked out some dead birds, and then made our way back to base camp. The only person we saw in the 40 story hotel was a the dude at the front desk when we came out of the stairwell. Neither of us looked as we snickered and made our way out onto the street. If you’re ever in Mobile and want a good view, apparently nobody gives a shit if you go up there. From there we made our way to John’s place, our newfound Mobile skate connect. He had some friends over, and with us included, about 10 people ended up crashing in his tiny apartment that night. Everyone got wild, we tossed some ping pong balls into solo cups, Geoff and I had a spaghetti fight, then we woke up to John’s mom walking into the flop and flipping out. We immediately began packing up as John tried to explain the situation. Once she heard the story she calmed down, but at first she was much less than psyched on us. Back to the Red Roof. Everett got a ride while the Halls and I skated the 6 miles back “home”. Monday came and the bus wasn’t quite done. John showed us the local ditch complete with parking blocks, shitty graff, and a crusty diy crete’ roll in. We had some fun, did some bertlemans, and got the locals psyched on the ditch again. Apparently they never really skated it. The next day we got the call, the bus was done. We thanked Everett and hit the road for New Orleans. We made it 30 miles before we discovered a massive oil leak. Back to the Red Roof...again. We ended up sleeping in Everett’s shop the following two nights. The leak was found and fixed, we all tinkered around and fixed a bunch of random stuff around the bus, and on the last day the we got our horn, blinkers and brake lights back after losing them when we almost left the first time. During our down time, Geoff and I took a 12 mile walk for a sleeping bag and we skated a super crusty bank spot right next to the garage. At one point Everett insisted that we take showers at his daughter’s house. We reluctantly piled into her SUV. After our showers she asked “Do you guys drink beer?” We returned to the shop clean with a huge bag of “Cheezies”, 2 cold pizzas, and a case of Bud Light bottles. It was all leftover from a party, and now it was ours. That’s southern hospitality for you. That night we made a sweet beer commercial. We left Mobile on Friday the 8th. It was a glorious day.

What day is it? What year is it?

So I guess, it was today still. Or tomorrow. I don't know. The temperature must not have dipped below 50 degrees last night; we were in the south, we had made it to warm weather. We slept in, I think, and the crew got to making plans and cooking breakfast. I dove into my daily duty of cleaning our rolling chateau. Security fed us a line about it not being cool for us to sleep there (we found out last night from some van dwelling travelers that Wal-Mart frows upon picnicking). Some random Alabamians pointed us in the direction of a VW specialist right up the road. We bought some oil and a filter and pulled into Everett's VW shop and parts store around noon. I snuck off behind some vacant looking building to charge my laptop and phone using an exposed outlet while the boys got to work checking out the bus. Apparently, Everett the owner, was bummed on the bus as soon as he heard it. Everett the experienced mechanic bet Everett the young idealistic VW owner 50 cents that the bus wouldn't make it to California. We thought little of it... Pierre and Everett busted their asses replacing the starter in the bus while I hid behind a building and burned a DVD. Geoff didn't do shit except smell bad. After the starter was in we decided to head to the beach, get drunk and make some spaghetti. First we had to swing back to Walmart to change the oil and get some new front tires for the Beer Gut real quick. I bought a new camera (mine bought the farm in GA) and Geoff joined me for a mission in the mart to purchase some water and canned tomatoes. When we left the Pierre and Everett, they were tinkering with the timing on the bus with their new strobe light. We thought we were headed to New Orleans that night. Geoff and I returned to the bus to find the roof bag and all of our shit strewn on the lawn, two rednecks conversing near their truck, and the boys with their head in their hands talking to a cop. Turns out the distributor sparked off of Pierre's wrench as he was tuning up the bus, and ignited a small gas leak in the engine compartment. The back of the bus burst into flames, and after a mad dash, Everett tracked down a couple dudes with a fire extinguisher as Pierre removed our lives from the flaming bus. We knew the bus was less than perfect, but now we were officially fucked. "Butterbean" the vigilante fire fighter trucked us to the pet friendly RedRoof inn. We got a special rate on a room and left our camp stove in Butterbean's truck. I was pumped that our stuff, Everett's dog, and most importantly all of us were ok. We passed out somewhat relieved, wondering what 2010 would bring...

Days 11 and 12, respectively.

Oh my god. I've lost all semblance of time. Every time I post, I have to confirm dates and times over and over with the crew. Today marks two weeks. It feels like I've been gone for a month. This is a good sign? I'm pretty psyched on the abbreviated, bullet style recollections...

I woke up (warm and toasty) at 5:30 Tuesday morning and jumped out of the bus in my skivvies to wrap up our extension chord. I slid open the bus door, tossed our heat line on the floor and wriggled back into my mummy bag. I passed out promptly, only to be jolted from my road weary slumber by the frantic southern drawl of a mysterious truck stop goer. "Siiiiiiiiir, waaaaaake uuuuuuppp. Are you friends with that other fella from Vermont?" In my sleep I was warm, but now I was awake, and I was fucking freezing. "There's a guy out here that just hit the jackpot down at the casino; 100 grand! Ten thousand dollars!" Our strange wake up call had the whole bus stirring within moments. "Huuuuuury up, before his wife cuts him off!" he exclaimed. I felt fishy from the second I heard his voice. Geoff scrambled to get dressed just as fast as I did, and we rushed into the Flying J to search for the mystery man. He was nowhere to be found! We've theorized that the dude was some sort of manager trying to get us to move the (double parked) hippy bus. The encounter has provided endless parodies and hours of laughter; "Siiiiiiiiiiiirrrrr, wake uuuuuuuuuuupppppppppp, I waaannnnnaa staaaaaaabbbbb youuuuuuuuuuuu."

So anyways. Drove to Georgia, Logansville to be exact. Bay Creek skatepark. As soon as we pulled up we spotted Josh, the ripper from Knoxville. He had told us he was going to be on a trip with Fickle skateboards in Georgia, and because we had broken down and been put off schedule, we just happened to collide with him and his crew. The park was amazing. A near perfect, well flowing park with plenty of options for the bowl barney's and street soldiers alike. No lumps, no bumps, nothing but perfectly smooth concrete and buttery seamless metal. Everett was laid up on the benches hanging out with Loki, while me Geoff, Pierre and the Fickle crew maintained an HQ on the deck of the bowl. Geoff was ripping exceedingly hard, quickly finding lines and floating airs in the clamshell, until he slammed on a smithers and blew up his thought-to-be healed knee. I pushed it a little, but mostly just enjoyed the aesthetic of the park, and shooting the shit with some old dudes and the Fickle kids. I was happy to get a couple of stand-up 5-0s and smiths over the tiled death box, as well as a plethora of newly acquired carve grinds. After a bit, the Fickle dudes were off to hit up their Georgia rep's indoor ramp, but invited us to skate Duncan Creek park with them later. We accepted, and got our last lines in before making the 40 minute trek to the next park; a 5 bowl Wally Holiday creation. We pulled into the park to near dark to discover a myriad of kids mostly skating the poorly designed street section. While I hate Wally's coping I did have fun in the peanut and the flow bowl. The whole time I was petrified that I was going to get rolled in on by a bmexican. We made bacon and egg bagels. Fickle informed us that their next stop was Zion, an indoor park associated with Kris Markovich. They suggested that we tag along, and that there might be a possibility of an outlet to plug the bus into. The prospect seemed amazing; a legit place to sleep and some heat? There was further talk of another option and after Mike made one phone call, it was confirmed. Here is a synopsis of the following 24 hours. Pierre bought a 30$ Fickle board, and Mike hooked us up with a bunch of stickers. We were instructed to put them on our boards and follow them to Zion. We were introduced as "honorary riders" and granted access to the park for free. We skated the park for a minute and then relocated 200 ft to a warehouse for a private session on a 50' wide 9'/7' vert/mini ramp. Headed back to the park with dead legs for a complimentary Domino's pizza party w/as much Coke and Mountain Dew as we could drink. I skated the mini-ramp with Josh until 2 o'clock in the morning. Slept in the lounge of the park on some plush carpet. Awoke to a complimentary, all we could eat McDonald's breakfast and coffee. Took showers under the vert wall. Skated the vert ramp again. Followed the Fickle crew to the Skatepark of Athens; a mind-blowing Grindline creation. Tried to skate, shot the shit with Mike and Daniel, took a group photo, then went our separate ways.

Then we drove all night to Mobile Alabama. We blew a tire out and my sleeping bag rolled out of the bus somewhere along the way. We french pressed a bunch of coffee. After finding a Wal-Mart supercenter we popped the top and passed out at about 5 in the morning.

Thanks Fickle. Thanks Zion. Support your local skate scene and purchase yourself a Fickle board if you skate in the south. Pierre says they're solid, and after spending less than a day with them, we all consider them the homies. It was a weird, wild, bewildering 24 hours. It's hard to believe that we had only been on the road for 13 days at this point...

The rest of 10.

So we had broken free of Uncle Pete's. We were on the road again! The outside was moving! We got a somewhat late start, at like 3:30pm or something, so skating was out of the question for the night. Or so we thought... We were headed to Loganville, GA about a half hour east of Atlanta. It was a pretty straight shot, but we didn't know where we were gonna stay. We decided to stop in Chatanooga for wifi and gas. We could have stopped anywhere, but anywhere is not called Chatanooga. Chatanooga. The town was ghostly. We made it into the heart of the city before we could even find someone to ask directions to a skatepark. We talked to some window shopping cuties and made our way to the gas station. There was no wifi, so we drove back into the city while Ev scanned for some free internet. As soon as we found some we pulled into a parking spot and I busted out my laptop. I started looking for a place to sleep while Pierre and Geoff took Loki for a walk. A couple minutes later they came back to the bus with reports of a dream spot. A brick roller and two perfect quarter pipes. We had to skate it. It's at the aquarium in Chatanooga. Look at the pictures. It blew our minds. In the middle of our session this dude Chad came over and shot some photos. He told us the spot was like 15 years old. He's starting a magazine. Ok so anyways, we got back on the highway. Gleaming in the night sky, there was the biggest FIREWORKS sign ever. We went inside, geeked out, and exited the store with 60 dollars worth of fireworks. It was time to make our way to the next Flying J. It was 1 am when we got there. The night manager grilled Pierre a bit for a questionable parking job, but after some conversation allowed us to run a chord until 6 am. 5 hours of heat! Nobody had any idea what we would wake up to...

Days 6, 7, 8, 9 and a little bit into 10...

Thanks for the socks Evan.








On the corner of Gay and Church
Skated a LandRover test track




Happie washed Skynard's tour bus, they hooked him up with a harp.



















Where does the time go? There's no way I can possibly recount the last 6 days by the minute so here's the general idea:

Started driving, stopped at Natural Bridge. 16$ to see a rock? We hopped the fence and saw it through the trees. Drove to Knoxville. Slept in the bus for the first time at a Flying J. Skated the park and got to take of our long johns for the first time. Met a ripper named Josh. Sessioned the peanut till' dark. Made spaghetti. Got a campground. Yahtzee and space heaters! Woke up and started driving to Nashville. Broke down an hour outside the city. Tried to figure out the problem. Called Triple A, got the runaround. Geoff and Everett hitched a ride to Lebanon where a shop was. Pierre and I waited 3+ hours for a tow. We read books and talked about feelings. Got a tow to Lebanon from a really nice deputy sheriff. Discovered that G and E had secured a place to park the van, power for our space heaters, and running water. The only downside was that we were 200' from a dog food factory. What a wonderful aroma! What was this magical place and who would be so gracious and hospitable to put up these four dastardly dirtbags? Happie; the ex-carnie, Truck washing wild man that calls the far corner of the Pete's Truck Stop parking lot home. Over the course of the next two days, he hooked us up with an extension cord, bought us coffee, chauffeured us around in his golf cart, gave us directions to Wally-World, hooked us up with a guy to fix the bus, ran Loki ragged with a non-stop game of fetch, told a hundred stories and most importantly, made us laugh our asses off every time we talked with him. While we waited through Sunday to purchase the part, we discovered a pole jam, a tipped over barrier, a bunch of regular barriers, and a manual pad; a skatepark in our temporary front yard! Pierre got the no-comply jam first try, and Geoff got the straight jam first try. Everett did it too, this being his first one. Then proceeded to roll the shit out of his ankle trying it again. We also walked the tracks to Wal Mart and found a rail yard with some big, out of commission double-decker rail cars. Once Monday rolled around, we had the part, and Allen, our private mechanic began working with the boys on getting the Beer Gut back on the road. After 2 or 3 hours of tinkering, she fired up! Then immediately stalled out... Then we got it started again! Then it stalled out again. This happened at least fifty times before the timing on the distributor was set, and the bus started up and idled like a charm. We were sooooooooooooooo pumped. Don't get me wrong, Pete's was amazing, Happie is the man, but we were ready to get back on the road and skate some crete'!