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| VOLCOM MEADOWS / MAMMOTH PRO INVITATIONAL |
| BLKPRJKT |
The town of Mammoth Lakes Ca lies right around 8580 feet above sea level. On the drive up from 29 feet above sea level Long Beach, and 94 feet above sea level Culver City, one doesn't immediately notice the thinning oxygen content as they become slightly disoriented and docile. The light-headedness could easily be a result of the big skies and beautiful landscapes doing a head trip on city dwellers who are used to street lights, views of a few hundred feet at best, and the acrid airborne soup we like to call southern California air quality. It's only when you start performing physical tasks, that you truly notice the rarified air of the high sierras. Tasks such as setting up a base camp near a fast moving river, subsistence fishing the banks of the many trout-rich streams of the area, or skateboarding in direct competition for a 10,000 dollar top prize paid completely in cash. Just skateboarding for a mountain cruise around Grindline's Volcom Brothers' skatepark is bound to bind you up physically, with blazing sunlight and temperatures in the high 80's to low 90's, and there's a "no beer" rule in full effect. There may or may not have been a few clandestine kegs of sweet brown ale tucked away in the Volcom sub-mission bus on site, served up in stealth mode cups for riders and revelers alike. For the truth on this you might consult with one Jake Duncombe(Sydney AUS 10' above sea level) AKA Drake Drunkombe.
Jake Duncombe is from Australia, mate. Now if he was from say, Savannah, Georgia, He might be known more widely as Drunkleberry Finn. Yeah Jake... BENIFUCKINGHANA!!!
Perhaps the elevated insanity should be prefaced by a bit of road trip back story. When you hit the road at 5 a.m., chances are you're not going to run across any skaters on the drive. Let's face it, most skaters aren't early risers. Blazing up the 14 freeway at sunrise, when you spot a pickup loaded with boards and festooned with Thrasher and Independent stickers, it's a fairly surprising sight. A wide-awake Chris Hamrock(Huntington Beach CA 28' above sea level) with Jeff Petrick in tow become our caravan and we pull off to exchange road woes and fuel up. This desert burg we have stopped in is a study in erosion, both physically and sociologically. It is only fitting that in a town such as this, where summer temperatures rarely drop below 110, we would come upon an empty pool. You know when you're skating a pool only moments after the sun has breached the horizon, at 89 degrees, your day is off to a good start, at least in my book. The long road haul to Mammoth is punctuated by jerky stands, oddball markets, and Indian casinos.
Hamrock on dawn patrol at the White house.
Once the base camp has been established on the banks of the mighty Sherwin creek, complete with territorial markings, the cursory "first look" at the park is the next order of business. A lot has changed since the grand opening. The street area is now completed, incorporating natural rock features once again, the pool block on the southeast wall has been cemented over, and a few other modifications have occurred. A few of the invited, as well as several uninvited riders, are pulling some lines together, and a good number of these pros and ams have never ridden this park. The Floridian and Aussie contingents are looking especially dangerous, but all in all everyone is looking tough to beat. You know how skateboarding is, on any given day, anybody can take it home. There aren't any dynasties anymore, or so it would seem.
The fire pit in a serene moment... before visiting pyromaniac Grosso arrived to fan the flames.
On Friday, a rampaging bear stalks through the CD base camp at 4:30 a.m. Fortunately we have followed all necessary food security procedures, the glock is locked and loaded with a plus two clip, and the bear moves on to greener pastures or unlocked dumpsters. The sidearm will come into play later. At dawn, MRZ pilots the expeditionary rig to a "secret" fishing hole, where the fishing is all too easy. It quickly becomes boring, but at least we have some extra trout to feed a hungry Jerry Haffner(Huntington Beach CA 28' above sea level) and Jeff Grosso(Arcadia CA 485' above sea level) on Friday night. Our reverence for the gift of these natural dinner items is deep and we leave nothing but bones and fins on our plates. The rest of the Friday is spent at the park where things are heating up and the altitude is taking its' toll on many of the riders. No cases of hypoxia, but definitely several people are suffering from moderate levels of oxygen starvation. After a late night pow-wow the crew falls asleep to the roar of Sherwin Creek, miles away from the certain contest eve mayhem of the Volcom Meadows encampment.
Big Jer keeping it proper on a dinner of trout and a breakfast of eggs and bacon.
Saturday morning dawns bright and hot. Oatmeal, coffee, bacon and eggs, more coffee, and more coffee. 2+ days of the outdoor life has us dirty and pungent, enough hopefully to drive competing photogs and video hordes out of our frame. We arrive at the park to find riders upping the ante'. Speaking of ante's, somewhere in Huntington Beach, a Texas Hold'em game is taking place before the OTHER event, in which the losers still pocket more than the winner of the skate event. Just more confirmation that the decision to come to Mammoth is the right one. Practice is heating up, but one gets the sense that riders are saving up a few secrets for their heats. The park is also saving something for the riders. The pain. The surface perfection of this park can be deceiving, and when you're riding it, going impossibly fast over ridiculously smooth concrete, that's when the harsh realities of the challenging organic forms come into play. With $33,333.33 on the line, people are charging, and that's precisely when this cruel mistress begins to exact her toll on them in retribution for entering the thin air arena. Example A. On Friday, Donovan Rice(Portland OR 50' above sea level) washed out in the flat at full speed heading for the cinderblock monster, and wound up head butting the transition resulting in a trip to the urgent care clinic for several stitches to the forehead. He still returned to skate his heat on Saturday, and showed little sign of the obvious concussive spanking from the day before. Donovan's down payment in flesh was only a prelude to the physical cost of this event on several of the riders.
Dead rats in a bowl.
Mountain mohawk in need of some maintenance.
Low air density allows Bennett to get lofty and his locks to float free.
An obvious shoe-in for top 10 money, Skreech was going full tilt until his skull-splitter D.Q.
During the qualifying heats, the skating kicked into overdrive. 10 minute jams of 4 riders each. Lungs burned, and stomachs turned. It's difficult to stay hydrated and clearheaded at this altitude, in this heat, and in near total absence of measurable humidity. The realities of the high desert. Consider also, for a moment, that the competitor hailing from the highest altitude hometown, falls some 6000+ feet short of this elevation. This is akin to bringing a deep sea fish up onto a boat in the ocean. The eyes pop out, the gill membranes burst, and the fish's internal organs explode. The effects of de-pressurization. During practice, the pain buffet came into play. Caswell Berry (San Jose CA 87' above sea level), who had been destroying the park, served himself a broken ankle from the party platter. Mark Jones(Venice CA 20' above sea level) became so dehydrated and hyper ventilated he turned into a cramping human pretzel and had to withdraw begrudgingly from his heat. Skreech(Fullerton CA 155' above sea level) was looking like he would easily power his way high into the money bracket with his psychotic attack. On his first run, blasting well over the hip backside into the cradle box, the Fullerton Skate Junkee was served up a tranny check into the opposite wall, head first. When Skreech finally got to his feet, he had that wobble that only comes with concrete to cranium contact shellshock. Skreech was offered a spot in the final heat, but he was unable to recover enough to continue. Enough? Not nearly. During qualifying, pretty much everybody took at least one heaping helping of agony, served up piping hot. Matt Dove(Baltimore 100' above sea level) and Matt Mumford(Rockhampton AUS 33' above sea level) both were treated to a bit of meat tenderizer for their insane assaults on the cinderblock wall. Rion Linderman(Roseburg OR 459' above sea level), who mysteriously missed the cut to nine and/or the automatic tenth placing, took one feeble to fakie on the monster just a bit too far and caught a face full of Grindline for his astounding efforts.
How Rion Linderman didn't make the top 10 is anyone's guess... The way Rion skated he should have been in there for sure. Feeble fakie, deep in Blocko land.
DCJ with a FFLTT on the CBW. Cookiehead finger-flipping his lein to tail wall attack with a quickness.
Matt Mumford tilted out some of the sickest backside smiths on the big blocks. Another Aussie madman in the mix.
Some highlights from the qualifying jam that didn't earn a final spot for their executors:
CD agent Jerry Haffner hucking his big swooping backside disasters from low to high, some huge cradle hits, and being one of maybe two riders to utilize the upper rock areas.Brent Atchley(Portland OR 50' above sea level) flowed loosely with raw power in some topsider style boat shoes. Bennet Harada(Venice CA 20' above sea level) hucked some fat frontside airs out the cinders as well as laybacks with his signature speed. Ben Krahn(Portland OR 50' above sea level) blasted an iceplant fakie deep up into the love seat pocket and an ollie axle low to high to low. Rion Linderman's inverts to fakie on the cinderblock were maniacal. Darren Jenkins'(Orlando FL 106' above sea level) fingerflip lien to tails on the 13 footer blew minds. Injured Aaron Suski(New York City NY 27' above sea level) and a possibly shrooming Kyle Berard(Virginia Beach VA 15' above sea level) attacked the park with wreckless abandon, both just missing the cut point.
Colin Provost took advantage of the D.Q.s and barged to 10th place with some well-developed pop.
The nine riders who survived and rolled into the finals were Chris Senn(Grass Valley CA 2411' above sea level), Taylor Bingaman(Sacramento CA 20' above sea level), Tim Johnson(St Mary's GA 10' above sea level), Dennis Busenitz(Huntington Beach CA 28' above sea level), Chad Bartie(Queensland AUS 75' above sea level), Benji Galloway(Charleston SC 118' above sea level), Mike Peterson(Jacksonville FL 12' above sea level), Steve Reeves(Medford OR 1383' above sea level), and Jimmy the Greek(Clearwater FL 50' above sea level). Colin Provost(Huntington Beach, CA 28' feet above sea level) was awarded 10th place and $333.00. As the sun sank to a blinding horizontal level, the finals began. Three heats of three riders in a jam format with a few near misses got the crowd into a frenzy. The decks got cramped with legit and non-legit documentarians alike, and the spectatards pressed deep into the area to catch a glimpse of the mayhem. Throughout the finals, it became obvious that a few key players were far too close to call out as being the natural choice for taking top money. Jimmy the Greek skated with a spontaneity that is incredible. He doesn't plan a line and calculate everything beforehand, he just hauls ass and puts it together from wall to wall, making his skating some of the best and most refreshing I have ever witnessed. Taylor Bingaman was absurdly overpowering with massive airs, and proper speed and looked like he had a shot at the 10 grand. Benji Galloway was consistent and utilized much of his very deep bag. Benji also tossed a huge frontside completely clearing the entire breadth of the love seat pocket which gave the sun baked crowd just one more thing to gasp at. Tim Johnson is fast becoming one of my all-time favorite skaters. The question regarding Tim isn't what did he do, but rather what didn't he do? What Tim did do was just plain crazy. Air to nose pick over the love seat to the pocket wall, coming back in over the seat, massive air variations on the low to high walls, 5-0's, tailslides, and backside and frontside disasters on the the cinderblock wall, just to name a few. Tim imploded his knee in the opening seconds of his final heat but still skated on, killing it. The judges completely missed one of his gems, an ollie from the deck, into the cradle over the cinderblocks, to alley-oop rock on the past-vert cradle rim opposite. These were my 4 picks for winner, but then there were a few wild cards in the mix who would come up big in their heats. Chad Bartie and his white pants applied a vicious form of blended street pop to the transitions with superior results. The pants remained relatively white and Chad remained relatively upright, not getting taxed too hard by the hungry beast. Steve Reeves used Slayer-driven tactics and used his vast Grindline experience to take on the beast. Steve completely destroyed his wrist halfway through his final heat, but defiantly raged on until time ran out. Chris Senn charged robustly,and even skated a doubles intro run with son Anakin, just prior to getting taken out by the monster. Shoulder? Collarbone? Hell, Chris already had a broken wrist/hand combo, but nonetheless, he proceeded to hurt himself a bit more and made an early exit to the emergency facilities. There was no shortage of booze n' tits in Mammoth... well, maybe a shortage of beer at the park because it's a crime to have it there. There was no shortage of Busenitz either. Dennis applied a unique high speed flow approach with some scorching lines and quick lengthy snaps over every workable hip and bump. Mike Peterson whipped off some high altitude madness of his own, the highlights of which were his head-high ollie north over the twinkie, and a low to high backside boneless that was a tremendously sketchy leap of faith and Mike stuck it every time.
Stevie Reeves. All Slayer radio all the time. Backside long drift in the minimal oxygen.
Mike Peterson's low-to-high backside boneless made everyone ooh and ahh... especially the mountain milfs with the faux gucci specs. MP, we have your concrete disciples shirt, please contact us.
Berard ripped heartily, just missing the cut. Since Kyle is more about having fun than winning money, his weekend was as good as anyone's, if not better.
Billy Barty was a midget, er uh... dwarf actor of some repute. Chad Bartie just rides a skateboard. Burn, Hollywood, burn.
Taylor Bingaman. Not BINGO-MAN. Picking nose and taking names or something. The kid flat rips!
The termination point arrived and left most shaking their heads in amazement. The riders had risen to the challenge of this high elevation venue, abusing the terrain and exposing and exploiting the vast potential of the king kong scaled forms. Much like the aftermath of the Pro Tec event, most in attendance were left to to their own disbelief at what they had just seen. As the judges convened to hash out the final results, the crowd got it's first normal breath of the day, and opinions were volleyed as to who would take home the large bankrolls of U.S. minted currency. As with any contest, the results will be endlessly debated and the second guessing will carry on for months at the least. Here are the official judges' final results:
1st Benji Galloway Charleston SC, 118 feet above sea level
2nd Chad Bartie, Queensland, AUS, 75 feet above sea level
3rd Jimmy Marcus, Clearwater FL, 50 feet above sea level.
4th Steve Reeves, Medford, OR, 1383 feet above sea level
5th Dennis Busenitz, Huntington Beach, CA 28 feet above sea level
6th Chris Senn Grass Valley, CA 2411 feet above sea level
7th Mike Peterson, Jacksonville, FL 12' above sea level.
8th Tim Johnson, St Mary's, GA 10 feet above sea level
9th Taylor Bingaman Sacramento, CA, 20 feet above sea level
10th Colin Provost, Huntington Beach, CA 28 feet above sea level
Now if you ask me, Tim Johnson at the least should have been in the top 5. I think a sound argument could be made for the Greek to have taken 2nd hands down, possibly higher. Rion Linderman was a shoe-in for top 10, no question. But it's a contest. The cards are dealt, sometimes from the bottom of the deck. You play the hand you're dealt or you fold. Nobody protests or whines, and the riders above anyone else, know what the true results are, regardless of a scoring sheet.
Tim Johnson blew everyone away. His results on a piece of paper cannot even hint at what the Georgia boy threw down. Now if that's a 13 foot wall...
A non-Volcom prize in the form of a large bottle of Yukon Jack was awarded to the Greek for his spontaneous madness. He also won some thousands of dollars. Frontside Invert, completely unplanned.
Hey, put your thongs back on you hesh hippie freedom rocker! Benji picks a fight with the monster pocket and wins, via frontside air K.O. punch.
"Whooooooo, whooooooo, whoooooo got third place?" *
*(worst photo caption, ever!)
After the awards mayhem, a brief product toss ensues and then the sunburned and insect eaten masses are off to revel into the wee hours. MRZ and I decide to descend on the Volcom meadows encampment. As we streak down miles of graded gravel road, we are forced to skid to a stop when Skreech comes flying out of a side road in reverse directly into our path and powers directly over the berm on the side of the road. Obviously still suffering from the effects of his head trauma he doesn't recognize us, and roars out of the ditch and screams back on to the correct route to the camp. This is when the Glock comes into play. We squeeze off a few warning shots into the side of the roadway to let the high desert dirt know who's boss. At the meadows, Bocce and Horseshoes are the competitions of choice, and the rumored tri-tip feast is nowhere to be found, leaving my carnivorous road partner hungry and irritated. Grosso is sitting just outside of the malaria kill line watching billions of parasitic insects conduct their own mosquito rave party around the lights. We share a few beers with Big Jer, and it's back to bear central for us.
Hey kids! Free shit!!!
10 G's in cash...
A little madness courtesy of Will Powers and Skreech.
The rest of our trip is spent hauling trout out of several locations, checking on yet another pool, and cursory stops by the park to see off our various friends and counterparts. Late Sunday night, the entire campground has emptied except for one other car with mysterious piles of odd gear strewn about the ground. As we sit next to a raging fire, far off in the distance we hear the blood-curdling screams of a woman, possibly being eaten by a bear, or axe-murdered. Once again the Glock comes out and we investigate. The screams stop and the total darkness creeps a bit further in. In the morning, we find no signs of a bear mauling, no human entrails, no bloody bear tracks, no evidence of the auditory murder of the night before. Perhaps it's just as well. The drive home is long, and I'd rather be occupied with the experience of the contest than the image of a fresh human cadaver. Not that I'm squeamish, just a bit too introspective. I'd rather read about a murder than witness one.
Grosso and the Fullerton Freakshow, scoping.
Trout murderer. He was tasty though.
For more photos check the gallery:
-BLKPRJKT / PHOTOS MRZ |
Tuesday 08th 2006f August 2006 07:23
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