The reality of the road on long drives is a constant ribbon, broken only by the opressive nature of LA traffic at rush hour. A tour of insanity followed by two ninja riders proceeds at a pace and tilt that makes those along for the ride feel as if the reality of the intensity is screaming madness into overwhelmed ears. A haul to slowdown the decadence of the X games and a set of sessions/contests that test the very fibers of the will and show true to the brotherhood of stoke that is alive and well in the Central Coast.
Weeks earlier and Miller was on the phone and I sensed falsity in my voice when I expressed my inability to attend the Outlaw Ranch downhill. I stammered a moment when I said that my attendance was not possible.
How quickly our addictions take hold! With every passing I knew without a doubt I would make the drive along with another ninja. We would represent for our crew and not skate with the most solid family riders I have had the chance to know. I had gotten the confirmation that Navy would ride alongside with me, I had business to attend to at the X-Games in LA then we would head north in the blackness of night and set camp ready to rise and skate till we dropped.
Deep in the LA madness the first amusing manic moments of approaching at stadium were filled with bemusement at the prospect of extra large foam devil fingers held aloft.
X-Treme Zombie Invasion in Moto-L.A. Indeed with VIP passes in hand we managed to score a spot spitting distance, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to smuggle my camera in but with the security guard at the door taking little to no attention to my gear, we pontificated on the possibilities that we were surrounded by foamy devil fingers that our minds eye had evoked. How truly “extreme” - huge foamy devil horns, the world never ceases to amaze me.
We straight-lined it to our box seats, second tier above the motocross ramps, as around us swarmed zombies; Tanked to the gills on the extreme nectar of lights, sounds and too-intense-for-you-marketing. Their bodies were biologically alive but their minds a steady flat line just engorged on media fed stimulation. “Aim for the head” I muttered to myself and I swerved a course through the wavering walking dead ambling along the causeways leading to a possible safe haven from the banality of ever bro-down knuckle bashing conversation dribbling from the faces of the mumbling masses. “They may be blood thirsty” I thought to myself, “but their biological breakdown is slowly rotting their depth perception, lead with an elbow!”
In our seats, the overwhelming nature of the spectacle took a full frontal stance, impossible to ignore like a dirty basement root canal performed by a gorilla with a meerkat in attendance. I tried to look away, to wince even if I could by the time, but the gorilla was large and a drill, flaking rust as it spins into your open maw is impossible to ignore even as you wonder how the meerkat is holding the tool tray… “he has no opposable thumbs?”. This thought is dashed from my head by the cleanest motocross double back flip I have ever seen and I take a moment from ordering more popcorn on that dog to truly appreciate how clean his landing was. With evolution, everything is possible. Hazard to imagine even Darwin, did he know about the spaghetti monster? If indeed he did no one bothered to tell The Tomato. As his connection to the gathered was severed, the attendees banged again at their scream holes with war cries of encouragement till the very air of the arena was filled with a fine mist of spittle. A rancid half-and-half mix of extreme-slurpee and beer. The aerosol putrid foulness gathered in stalactites on my locks, dripping from my dreads like the so many caterpillars I keep eating for a top of the food chain style snack. You must secure your place in the food chain.
You can take as many tries as you like. But indeed, if you do fail, that fuel may carry you far longer than a victory. Or at least I hope that’s what you’re telling yourself right now. In the arena, “RA! RA! RA!” The win, in fact, was both heroic and tragic as none too soon had rat skulls stopped spinning till every fluid was drained from his body and repackaged. There in the world of marketed images you just can’t match the raw intensity of crazy go nuts. Ten, sure as I’m dirty is none too shabby.
Much respect to them in the arena and a shameless aim for the head of those that market an image to another. Cloning is wrong. Spend more money on the unique! History has proven that they tend to fair better and be far more resilient to the pestilence and epidemic that this breed I see here is known to be ravaged by.
My compatriots and I beat a retreat amid the stumbling, ransacking adjoining boxes and liberating them of survival supplies as we made a fast break to the car followed by a long wait in a parking lot decorated like a downtown freeway. The synergies of a thousand thumpers made everything flex and quake. We arrived home and prattled on about the finer points of selling the truth. I hardly remember the deliver, but I know I signed for it. Something to the effect of “Know Thyself”. Bought, Sold and Paid For. Navy arrived with a brother who denied himself a road trip with a homicidal maniac and a bomber of questionable ethics.
Next Stop: Central Coast The road was freaking long; the road was freaking tough. Navy made it a while but, soon, I was left talking to the only person I really loathe to meet: myself. If you don’t know me you are fairing quite a bit better than I in this tale. I plotted times and made a quick calculation on my abacus. I mentioned my misgivings and was judged to be of unsound mind. I thought I had brought a can opener but in reality it was nothing. I was unsure of every thought and it was all I could do to keep all four paws of the jeep on the street it was as if prowling into the wilds of the central coast was my drives desired path. All of this was before the owls started attacking my car, the only thing worse than the unseen in this state of mind is the seen. It leaves you doubting everything.
The gate to the promised land was opened and a quick rock-spitting romp and the river was forded. The beams of my headlamps lay rest on a tent torn by the elements and the ranch spread out in the night. We two coma patients stumbled through the act of setting camp and soon with a well placed punch to the gut my snoring slumbering bro fell silent. The owl called as if to give sign and my eyelids took over.  Eternal Sunshine Sanity is a funny thing. I awoke to the Outlaw Ranch, a collection of buildings surrounded on all sides by flowing hills and grasses that undulate with the wind. Johnny Miller greeted us and we met some of his friends. Lance and family were there, as well. And with groggy greetings under way, we paid our respects to those gathered. The yin and yang of the night before and this very moment was self evident. Surrounded by such good people, a true feeling of belonging confirmed in my mind that the trek was well worth it. Jay arrived with his truck and they loaded up gear for the “Arbors Slalom Race.” A clinic style competition at a location we had hit once before with the CCMF, the run was a bike path and a half wide with the cones set for a tight hybrid.
 We arrived at the session to find the “Captain” sprawled out enjoying the sun. Johnny’s dedicated cameraman there was little the mans lens did not take in and then regurgitate in stoke’umetaries. Eric rolled up exited to hit some hills later with sliding. We rolled to the hill and with the cones being laid out and the course being swept riders began hitting the hill.
It wasn’t long before a group of people had gathered many local riders of the CCMF as well as many people local to the neighborhood. Entire families were parked out on the grass while kids were given very detailed instruction from Johnny on how to do slalom, literally from the ground up. The detail and attention he gave the kids was impressive.
 Some people, just regurgitate the same advice and tips they have said a hundred times. When Johnny was talking to the kids, you could see he was engaged. He would point out nuances small attributes the kids could take hold of and use to elevate their skill no matter how humble the advance. With parents looking on you could tell that change of perception was occurring. His attentive nature pays off as many of the riders having only ridden a couple of times were quickly acclimating to slalom.
Jack Smith was out there with a woman named “Cat” who was rocking a 1975 Bahne. It had showed up at the session with its original Cadillac wheels. Swapped out with some Kryptos she was taking it to the cones in no time, advancing skills with every run of the cones. It’s amazing how addictive it is once slalom gets its hooks in!
Josh is another example of exemplary learning in action: the dude has slalomed twice in his life. This time he brought a board he made for the occasion. Pressed glass and fiber, not the prettiest deck, but it killed it with him in command on the hill. However, I could just save myself a few more words and just say this: the kid is a natural. He reminds me of Tyler Wentland. One try and he’s pro.
Jay was commanding the event, running and recording. As he was helping out he would still relinquish his clipboard and take his runs. Bill was the timing master and his system ran smoothly, if not for a few poorly popped cones. There was no pushing line limit and some riders were starting from ¼ mile away! With no cone penalty in the pro division, it seemed as a few of the cones were disposable with the top finishers in the pro class executing well laid lines slaughtering, chosen cones like straw dogs.
Competition was in the air, for sure, but not the stereotypical old-dog barking sessions some would think a slalom comp would eventually degrade to. Instead, it was smiles and encouragement down the line. Johnny throws a hell of a good time all the way around for sure. With all runs completed, the gathered lounged on the grass for the distribution of complements and swag that accompany any Outlaw Ranch session.
With the slalom cones taken up, a number of the riders wandered off in search of hills. There was a small roller off to the side, near the run. A few members of the clan hit it a few times. Johnny and company bombed it. It was at this point that we all got to see Jay’s brother bomb for, I believe the first time ever: sucked in by the speed he was just floating above his deck, running the fine line between crapping himself and having one heck of a good time. While the hill was nice it wasn’t as steep as we sliders were looking for, so we moved on to another hill we’d hit with Johnny before.
Johnny took off after we got to the hill. Running hard since 5am, he was in need of some rest before the downhill and subsequent party. The sliders in attendance were Navy and Brandon, myself, Jay, Lance, Josh and Erik. Hitting the cheese-grater crushed aggregate it took a moment for riders to get used to the conditions and then it was on. Navy put down some killer 360 Coleman combinations while Josh did all sorts of tight compression toe sides and heel sides. Brandon slid a bit but then decided to just charge the hill drifting, out the speed on his softies. Running the hills was nice! There were spectators, both from the neighborhood and some of the crew from the slalom hill. With the session winding down, the dual talents of Lance and Jay were demonstrated with two very solid slides. It’s not going to be long before they both will be doing really drilled 360’s.
People rolled out and it was the ninjas left on the hill. Taking a moment gazing at the rocky spike swathed in green across San Luis Obispo, what a beautiful world we have laid out before us. As we packed up some of the kids that had been watching the sliding from the hood approached us asking about when we would be skating next. Not that they wanted to learn; they just wanted to watch, I laughed.
Rolling into the ranch for some needed downtime, we took the chance to chill discussing the finer points of anything with good company. Johnny’s girls were rolling around in the ranch boarding cart: they had been recruited to help set up the race. With a caravan, cars started to snake out to the next hill for the Slo Town Downhill Race. The road that adjoins the Outlaw Ranch is apparently closed to traffic a good part of the time, giving Johnny a killer location albeit on pavement less than perfect for a downhill race.
I’d have to say that my most memorable moment of the setup was all the kids in the back of the truck heading down the hill, the next generation of little stokers not just looking on but taking part. I would say that much of the ethos of such events really is the level of involvement people take in the sessions. Not only Johnny, but a whole slew of people really take the time to put on such solid events. With kids getting involved at such a young age and really being brought into the sport it shows quite a bright future for skating.
Racing Slo Johnny set out to explain the course after a few warm up runs. The hill wasn’t fast but it was gnarly due to the horrid nature of the road surface. It was as gratifying to look at as a broken beer in your 12 pack. But what it had inherently lacked in appearance, Johnny made up for by setting up gates to make you pick the cleanest path. Gates shifted you after a long push start, first center, then left and eventually opening up towards the bottom of the hill. 
I have to come clean about something: I fully misunderstood the race course! There was a parallel gate I just fully ignored, thinking it was a “stay to the left” gate. This being said, my first run a deck-to-deck battle with the CCMF rider Brandon. With him riding a longer deck, I forced his line and we really just stayed bumping for a majority of the race. I knew he would beat me down the hill and I was trying to push him past a gate. Little did I know how bad I had messed up by blowing past the first gate, DQ’n both he and I.
So, yea, I admit my ignorance, I didn’t get it. I was kinda bummed I told Johnny how I had been confused and walked back up the hill to strip my gear. As I did, another set of racers blasted by me with a large dog bounding in their midst, fully confounding the racers as they staggered their pushes to not trample the dog. Amusing, to say the least and this visual non-sequitor took my mind off my neophyte failings.
Surprised was I when Johnny told me I was gunna be running again. Apparently with the dog fiasco some riders were getting rebates on their runs. I was stokedI got on the line and with my “Misson-to-PB push” under my belt, I got clean off the start well, away of other riders. Sadly, I am skinny and I had nothing on the masterful weight of Bill Boothby. I heard him behind me and made a motion to get in his line but he pulled alongside. All out of smoke bombs and shurikens and not ten feet from the finish, I was almost out of tricks. I lunged forward with my hands. He watched me and replied by doing the same. The man beat me by the leather finger tips of his gloves! This loss while it was inevitable still had me in 2nd getting me into the next set.
I got near the line. Navy and Johnny were lining up, Johnny motioned for me to join the line. With both of these guys well more adept at downhill than I, I just smiled. I gave them bangs and then “see you at the bottom”. I had a strong push, but it did little to prevent them from pulling away from me. I just tucked it and though about how grateful I was to get kicked out of the race by some of my favorite people.
Next on the line was a bunch of riders, Navy was one of them.
After the final run, the boys lined up for a mob bomb, off the pushing line the racers paddled then in the middle of the fray Johnny went down hard. Rider after rider looked back saw he wasn’t moving and aborted the run. The road conditions as they were helped Johnny donate much to the hill. All in all he was fine but he took a hit for sure. With that the riders relined and Johnny snaked us all. Smiling we rolled down the golden hill back to the ranch. Sadly after everyone had left Navy and I realized our ride was at the top. Antoinette agreed to come back for us after she dropped off riders and we commenced our long march in the dwindling light. In times of silence the majestic nature of our surroundings becomes almost unbearable and with step after step we meditated on this in between bemusing commentaries on the days events.
 Back at the ranch the party was on, a fire was built and pizza was ordered and we chilled just chasing the hours by watching the guys skate the ramp. Setting it on fire Johnny grinded the sparks and board walked in between transitions. Josh just shredded the ramp with all the humility he truly does not deserve to carry, the kid kills it. Erik was pulling airs off the ramp landing in acid drops off the ramp onto the crete alongside it. All the while little Dylan poached runs when no one was looking, kids got a future. Bandon and O’shea taking hits at the ramp blasting slashes with time tested skill and delighting the onlookers.
The ranch took on an air of festivity and I got to get into a discussion with one of my favorite people, Lance is a straight up stoker. Giving much needed skate time to lots of people and just generally being a solid brother. When speaking to Lance you realize truly how grateful he is for his family. A lucky man to have a wife as supportive as Antoinette, and so ever proud of his son Dylan and Daughter. He never spares a breath when speaking of how proud he is of Dylan and his “skate son” Josh. He has good reason to for balanced by both of their natural abilities is an endearing respect for others and a humility that is rarely seen at their ages and skill level. Even though Josh really kills it sliding he still is stoked to learn and ride with us, I look foreword to riding with him and picking up some style as well. Dylan, the kids a sprite man, humble but he goes off like a roman candle, I generally find some verbal jousting stokes him out even more. The kid loves challenges just like his old man, and shares the same unwavering addiction to the ride.
With Lance spinning my head I was starting to fade, I wandered off into the night hearing the schnack shnack of wheels on gap as riders rode into the night.
A Turn For The Worse I awoke on sunday to Lance saying that they were heading out. We said our goodbyes and then chilled as the ranch awoke. As we made a fire ideas started brewing about breakfast. John O’Shei decided to make some potatoes. Johnny’s girls got to making some strawberry pancakes and we chilled by the fire and ate watermelon. The food was filling and, with some coffee in my veins, we got situated for the ride out to Mooro bay for the hill.
The hill was long with a dip or two and a long full sweeper right. We had clean conditions and beautiful surroundings. Broken rocks jutted from amber banks of grain along the flowing pavement. There was some road traffic, but for the most part we felt it would be manageable with the “logistic crew” that was in attendance. It was suggested that Navy and I, who had not hit this hill before, take a warmer. I pushed to hill and rolled the top, carving much of it and just floating into my compressions. I tucked the corner and then tightened it up for the final drop away.
I looked over my shoulder with a spin where navy was and was confused to see a large dark blue truck alongside him. Then the driver swerved and hit Navy he crumpled as the driver hardly missed running him over.
I am not going to go into details; it wasn’t my blood spilt nor is it my story. I will have to say we owe a deep level of gratitude to the local Sheriffs department, who treated the attack with the respect and attention it deserved. All in attendance showed huge heart in caring for Navy. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that even though he is a punk-ass on the hill he is just a kid. Brandon and John’O were solid as far as defending Navy. I am quite sure they both would have skated to the end of the earth to have found the guy if it was possible. Miller took care of Navy as if he was truly his brother. Not one word was mentioned about the cancellation of the biggest event of the weekend. Not needed indeed for as soon as this is all sorted, we will be back, so will Navy. Heal up bro, body and mind.
Back at the ranch we made some calls and advice was given from John’O and Brandon. Navy was bandaged up and we took photos of the injuries while Johnny’s daughter colored a picture to help cheer Navy up. I broke camp and we loaded up the Jeep. It was a long drive home but I did not begrudge him his sleep.
|
Events & Coverage 
