It was a casual, sunny Sunday afternoon when my phone rang. The call was about a super shredding session in Heber Park. “So sick,” I thought to myself, to escape the toxic carbon dioxide soup in the city and fill my lungs with the fresh mountain air. I was thinking it would be a mellow afternoon of snake lines and 5-0 grinds. Little did I know there would be a pack of heavyweight rippers, all literally old enough to be my father, going off in the deep end.