Again we molested the senses of unsuspecting train commuters as we raged. Gangster rap blared on the megaphone as a chant of “I thought I told ya, I’m a rough neck soldia,” echoed through the guts of this synthetic snake slithering down the tracks. Jonny Roughneck led the chorus. Jonny and his Roughneck soldiers made the drive to Salt Lake City from San Francisco to be a part of SLUG’s first ever conglob of cohorts skate event. Roughneck Jimmy Nelson did a quick stint in SLC, getting married at our City County building to his wife Ashley. He also married the skate scene here and was the cornerstone of this spectacle. The roughnecks are a wild, rule-less posse. It was clear as their gang made themselves at home, filling the air with a west-coast vibe. It certainly was a pleasure to be rolling with a gang affiliate from the bay.
2100 South was our next stop and once more, an exodus erupted out all train exits. The spot was an industrial launch to flat. Blood spilled at this “natural” marvel of carcass huckery. Good perches and shade made for good onlookery, and the possibility of uproariously loud applause if landed was the trickery. The crowds energy was indeed needed because—let me tell you another thing—skateboarding is not goddamned easy. This is why we have names for our tricks like: impossible, air walk, hard flip, 360 big spin flip, etc. All the tricks just mentioned went down. Though I missed some of the action as I watched the sky in a punch-drunk daze, from my punch-drunk love for the pasttime I partake in. We left sooner than we arrived, and it’s a long skate back to Trax after a hard hour of cloud watching.
Next we found ourselves at Murray High. I saw and smelled, but did not taste the doobie being passed on the schoolground grass. I felt my fragile world might explode into some sort of penta-dimentional hippy bliss. Colt Bowden grinded a long pole, while Brodie Penrod flipped out of a blunt. This spot was semi-lackluster for me, possibly because it was at a gated school compound, or probably because I should have hit the doobie. Regardless the pigs showed up and a scattering of roaches was the consensus.
One more glorious train ride and one more glorious destination, the Red Bull whorehouse, I mean warehouse. Red Bull was more than ideal, accommodating us with obstacles, girls, pizza, giveaways, and booze. What more could a pack of scavenging dogs want? I mentioned the chicks, right? Thank you Red Bull and thank you my brothers from different mothers I love you guys something awful, no homo. The day was best summed up by winner Holland Redd when he said, “That’s how it should be.”