Evidence CXLVIII: Duty Now for the Future

On my second to last day in Phoenix, the plan to skate sort of fell apart -- people didn't have time, etc. Hoss suggested we check out a pool that my buddy Joe gave me a tip on. That's where we started, but the pool had been filled with water. We turned to our friend Gargle Earth, and found several more in the neighborhood. First, the blue one above. Shallow looks tight, surface is likely slippery, but deep end could make up for that. Below, this pool had bull nose, and the surface looked like cement without plaster. Definitely looked killer. Both houses were lived in, the latter with a car with punk stickers on it, so we knocked but got no answers. We'll save 'em for next time.

A couple more were nearby, so we did some scoping... 

Hip death box? 

Turd... 

Last session happened the next day, more to come. Pass by this sign on the way, and it always cracks me up. I try to think of other signs that could use the same letter "V" -- you know, just beautiful art.

And on my final day, it was a treat to see that, despite the construction, the jizzmobile is still around. Wash that jizz off your car!

Evidence CXLVII: Sometimes it's a turd

Court came through with the tip on this one. Big framed cover over it, smooth walls, looked like good tranny. Court couldn't make it that day, so Hoss, Brad, Craig and I investigated. Got the cover off, and things were still looking good. Foot and a half of water to bucket, and it wasn't that dirty. We get to work with the bucket brigade, and about half way through a consensus was reached: the drop in water level had exposed the dreaded face wall kink. This pool is a turd. Never to be dissuaded and always ready to make the best of a shitty situation, we got our runs in, and got our grinds in. Hoss gets the best slam award for hitting a nozzle on his way up. I was tired, felt like shit, and almost passed out. We split in time to check out the gem we skated the day before. 

Even turds get some evidence.

Brad polished this turd with a gnarly shallow end grinder. 

Back at the gem, Craig and Brad took care of business frontside. I sat out the session, but as darkness was looming I once again didn't get the greatest of photos. 

Forgot the evidence the first time, but not the second.

On our way to skate Sunday my 1960 Chevy Apache took a dump on the freeway. Hammeke bailed out and got to skate with Craig while I sat in the 105-degree heat waiting for a tow. As I suspected: distributor problems, so not that big of a deal.

Evidence CXLVI: Woodwork on the Return to PHX

Back to Phoenix, for business and pleasure. Arrived Friday afternoon, went straight to the house to put a newly rebuilt radiator into my truck (thanks Bret and Hoss for the help). Got mobile, picked up Hoss and Brad, and headed to Courtney's to meet Craig and Court. Court had a new one, but we had to play a little game of pick up sticks before we could play the real game. by the time we got it cleaned out, darkness was settling in, but everyone got their grinds, and we'll be back for more. 

Brad nabs the backside grr. 

Saturday morning meant waking up early and running errands, including a visit to Bob's, the best place in the universe. 

Lipsliding Away at Attleboro

Totes blaggin'. Sessioned Attleboro again over a week ago, and apparently the theme of the day was lipslides. Davey takes one up the extension, Big Tim takes one around the corner. Another killer session, Matt Moffett made an appearance and fun was had by all.  

Sure, I already posted a photo of this, but so what.

 

I also skated Hellgate, Dug E. Death's ramp, but guess what I forgot to do? Take even one photo.

 

And on a side note, finally plugged the 5D into the laptop with a simple cable (thought I needed a card reader...) and it works just fine. This whole digital era thing is MINDBLOWING.

Life in the 'Dick, part 2

So it's been another week, and that makes it about three weeks that I've been livin' in Natick ("the 'Dick"). Got another killer skate session in down in Attleboro, this time Matt Moffett showed up -- he's living in Newport, working on a film on pollution in the ocean.

Went to the other record store in town the other day. Rode my motorcycle down there, and since it is "downtown" there are parking meters. Want to guess how much it costs to park in the Dick? How about $.25 per hour. Yep, a quarter an hour. The shop was cool, much more organized than the chaos at the other one, but I didn't spend too much time there -- gotta go back and be more thorough. Boxes of 7"s, but they're not alphabetical, just thrown in a box.

Got Meg out on her bike for the first time. Thought we would go for a quick couple of miles to warm up the bikes after they had gotten rained on a little (yes, they are covered, no, not very well). She decided to hightail it and cruise all around these little routes around the house, and proceeded to haul ass and not look back.

Spiders are diggin' my 350F, apparently.

Went for a couple walks with Meg, including Coolidge Hill, which has a nice view of distance mountains. Last night we had a little walk around downtown, and I noticed that the Dick can sustain shops as quaint as cobblers, vacuum repair shops, an old style barber, and other businesses that simultaneously evoked the Andy Griffith Show and gave relief that big business and box stores haven't taken over everything, everywhere. Cool Italian deli, I went in to try the cannoli and told them it was my first time there. They told me first time customers get a free cannoli! It was freakin' good (but I am still going to miss Tesoro).

The view from Coolidge Hill. We are going to be living at the base of this.

Canolli. Good.

 

While it's true that I will miss riding my bicycle one mile either south or west to see live punk shows, there is no motorcycle scrapyard that has acres of bikes, and I keep thinking of the word "quaint" whenever I think about it, I am getting used to life in suburbia.

Meg and I did make a trip to Boston last weekend -- she indulged me in going to look at some record stores. Armageddon has a shit ton of killer punk and metal, but I didn't have much time there. Weirdo records has awesome stuff, including those comps of obscure Nigerian funk from 1971-72 or Cambodian street music from 1967-68, etc., and they carry Norton and other stuff. Biggest disappointment was Cheapo Records. Spent the longest time there poking around their stacks --  mostly crap thrift-store type records that are overpriced. Went through a couple boxes of singles behind the counter, but not much there. Worst off all, the owner guy was kind of a condescending blowhard asshat. Won't be going back, but do want to check out In Your Ear. Meg and I got killer coconut iceream at NoMu and headed home.

Evidence CXLV: Top Secret

First pool session since moving back East went down yesterday. Due to security concerns the Evidence is simply what you see so as to keep the rats off the trail. The pool is in Narraquansekonk, so try finding it on a map. Doug E. Death gave the call to meet up, Xeno was in the car, and we met James and Brian there. Killer session, a little muggy, James holds it down and has some funny stories about the whole thing. Tight, round, shitty shallow, good coping, fun but hard to skate. Everyone ripped, everyone grinded, and we got out of there intact. We'll be back at some point, and maybe you'll see a better photo. Part of it is that I was skating and not shooting photos. Gotta do it.

Life in the 'Dick, part 1

So Meg and I decided to stay in the town where she's been living, Natick, AKA "The Dick." Thought I would put down some random musings on the goings on in my new hometown. It's pretty suburban, which I am going to have to get used to. That's going to be a little tough, but Boston is close.

We got a place near Meg's apt, and will move nest week. It's a big place, very cool wood floors and woodwork, but a little beat up. Main thing is that it's got room for my sickles and old car, and they'll be safe. The landlord has been slippery about fixing the place up. He lives in VA, but is up here this week to take care of the place. It needs paint, the washer isn't working, carpets need cleaning (replacement, really, but he's unwilling to do that), and there's some cleaning that needs to be done. He normally doesn't allow pets, but we're paying a cat deposit. He tried to charge us $450, I told him the most we've ever paid was $200, he agreed, then sent a lease with a deposit of $250. I called him on it, said it was cause for concern, and he said it was a "round number" and if I was going to argue over $50 it was cause for his concern. WTF? I also wanted to put in the lease that the washer would be fixed and guaranteed to work, but he's trying to weasel out of that too. We meet him tonight, and we'll see what's up.

Our stuff showed up a couple days after we did, and it's being stored about 30 miles away. I went down there and retrieved three motorcycles and our bicycles -- gotta ride in the limited good weather we have here. They're all in good shape and fired right up. Been riding around the Dick a little, and it seems like an involuntary reaction of all guys 14-25 to throw up the horns and scream something whenever I ride by ("YEAH DOG!" or "OOOOOWWWWW!" are two popular ones). I'm convinced that some of these people might not have ever seen a motorcycle before in their life.

On the recommendation of one of Meg's friends from work, I checked out a little shack that has a grill for burgers and hot dogs. I decided to check it out, walked up to the door, pulled on the handle, and even though there were people inside, it didn't open. So I pushed. Didn't open. Looked at the guy behind the grill who looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I pulled again, harder, then realized that it was a sliding door. There are about 8 seats in there at the lunch counter, and everyone had turned around to stare. The grill guy said something like "If it doesn't open when you pull, don't pull hahdah, guy." I told him I was new here, had no idea, but now I got it. He instantly turned cool: "Welcome to Natick! Where you from? You like the Diamondbacks? etc. etc." This place could turn out to be cool, got two dogs gotta go back for a burger, but I learned that the door is a fire hazard and I am mulling over whether to tell them that. Better not.

The Dick is apparently Small Town, USA, when it comes to records. Found a record store run by a 60-something Greek woman, that had perhaps 5% of its stock organized alphabetically/by genre. Did some digging, found a few gems, and she sold them to me for pennies on the dollar. I didn't think I had enough cash, and she said "Just take them now, you can pay me tomorrow or the next time you come in." I told her how she thought she could trust me, seeing as she'd never met me. "Oh, I let people take things all the time, they just pay me later. I forget, but they usually remember." There was a Little Eva "LLLLLoco-Motion" LP, original Dimension pressing, with a price tag of $50. "Ignore that. It's $10." Then, when she settled my bill: "50% off of these for you." $5! Right before I left she told me they had a couple shelves of better records, that's where I pulled the Little Eva from, but I only looked at one shelf out of 6. I went back the next day, found some cool stuff: Otis and Carla record for $5, "Savage Seven" motorcycle movie soundtrack, and the first Ramones record, original pressing, in absolutely mint condition for $5. Sure, I've already got one or two copies of that, and yes, it's not that rare of a record, but this thing looks brand freaking new. Someone must have bought it, opened it, played it, thought it was terrible, and put it back in the stack to never play again. Second day I spent $35, and two days later I am going in to pay. I have also decided that I can't go there very often even though the turnaround is pretty significant -- it's just too disorganized. Maybe in winter. There are a coupe other stores I am going to check out in Boston this weekend: Cheapo, Looney Tunes, and Armageddon.

The past two weekends Meg and I headed south. The first weekend I was here was our 11th anniversary, so we got a B&B in New Bedford, and spent some time on the beach in the town where we got married (Mattapoisett), as well as a visit to the lighthouse where we tied the knot. Went to the New Bedford Whaling museum the next day, and ate some amazing food. Went back the following weekend for a party on Cape Cod, and stopped by Mattapoisett to swim again.

Monday nights in the Dick are reserved for music on the Village Green. Yes, we have a village green here, and Monday's entertainment was a Beatles cover band (tribute band? What's the difference?) named "Help!" Meg and I would have run from something like this, but somehow in the Dick it was kind of quaint, and nice to hear something familiar (even if I am a Stones guy).

I've done some skating too, those posts are gonna be separate.

So that's the first installation of Life in the Dick, I hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for more!

11th anniversary at the lighthouse where we got married.

Nobska lighthouse, Cape Cod. 

Girl with a Team Dresch and Sleater Kinney spiked denim vest, at the Melvins show.

 

****Forgot to add: when I got my PO box sorted I had to wait in line. It was then that I noticed the photo below: Puritan Massachusetts settlers thrusting a bible in the faces of chained, savage natives. Egads. It was painted in 1937, but goddamn! Meg and I were talking about it and laughing and expressing dismay, but the folks around us appeared oblivious.

 

First Session Back East

A week into life on the East Coast, and I finally get my first session in -- at the legendary Attleboro ramp. Called up Davey, lined up the session, and last Friday headed south from Natick. I decided to take the backroads route -- mapquest said it was 10 miles shorter but would take 10 minutes longer. It wound up being more like 30 minutes slower, lesson learned. Killer session, the ramp has been cleaned up in the past couple of weeks. Only one hole (but of course Davey found it coming in off of a lipslide). Big Tim, Sloppy Sam, bunch of heads showed up, locals, and of course Iggy the caretaker, who played killer tunes for the whole session. Killer paint job: Moby Dick and a nautical theme. Skated til dark, hardly took any photos. 

Old coping.

FREEEEEDOM! 

Big Tim blasted f-side airs -- I missed the make so pretend he rolled out of this one.

Evidence CXLIV: Last Session in Phoenix

More blagging, but shit has been hectic (see below). It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I was leaving Phoenix the next morning. Got the call the previous day about a session with Old Man Brian -- had to keep it DL. The parameters were set, and it was on. Worked all the damn day trying to get my house finished, shit packed and mailed, and cleaned. Eventually the time came for the meet up, so we headed there. On the spot: Brian, Frog, Chris. On the meet up: Court, Dixon, Craig, Hoss and I. Hoss and I had a moment of recognition: we actually skated this pool three years ago or so when it was a foreclosure. Now, Brian knew the owner and he was getting the pool redone, so we had a day to get some licks in.

Courtman charges f-side. 

Dickborg gets the rare fakie rock in the shallow. 

Frog gets the hand down f-side slider in the shallow. 

And Brian taps BS 5-0. All in all it was a fitting end to my Phoenix pool career (although I will be back over the years to skate more, I no longer live there). Been skating with Courtney the longest -- since the year I moved to Phoenix in 1997. Last couple of years we hung out way more than the first couple, and Courtney always has the low down on the Phoenix pools. He works as a welder for Haifley Bros, some of the best custom moto fabricators in PHX, and it's always funny to relate to him about the inherent corniness that dogs motorcycle culture these days. Dixon I met a year or two after I moved to PHX -- I think he moved there in 1998. He's got a funny story about the first time we met, but I will let him tell it. Solid dude, always down to skate, no bullshit, and he helped us out a ton over the years with the house, especially in the last couple of weeks. Thanks man. Hoss I met in 2007, which is kinda weird. I had just got back from Indonesia for 1.5 years, and went skating with Cody Boat. He said "That's Hoss Rogers, he's got a pool in Tempe, you should talk to him." That pool was Charlotte's, we skated it right after that, I wound up moving two houses away from Hoss, and he became a super tight friend. Always positive, always there to lend a hand, always on the hunt for pools. Craig I met just a year or two ago, through Dixon and Joe Dirt. Moved from Texas, went to ASU, got a job and stayed, he's been ripping non-stop and has become a killer pool shredder. Brian I met through Jimmy Moore, also around 2007. We've skated off and on a few times, and he's held down the Mesa quadrant. Frog too -- skated his ramp a few times, and skated pools a few times. Thanks guys.

This is obviously not a complete list of all the dudes I've skated with over the years in PHX. The list would be too long. Some have come and gone, some have gone off the deep end, some are still around, some have slowed down. A conservative estimate of the number of pools I've skated in Phoenix over the years (averaging 30 a year, 2.5 per month) would be 450 pools.  One year we counted and skated 52, and that was passing on a couple bunk ones. Moving to Boston is going to be different, let's just say that.