A ROADTRIP STORY
BY DAN JACKSON
POSTED 3/24/03

The hardest part of going on a road trip is answering the call to come up with a decent name for the whole deal. As it stands, we have Mr. Munzenrider to blame for Road Warriors Blitzkreig Three, fairly quiet guys in a rented Ford Escort hardly equates to Road Warriors, much less Road Warriors Blitzkreiging. Crappy trip title aside, Munzie, B. Meyer, and myself had a pretty good time over the course of 10 days this January.

San Diego

PHOTO GALLERY Click on the city name for pics San Diego Phoenix Las Vegas Los Angeles

We finally managed to get some shitty Minnesota weather for the week or so before we left, so it felt good to get somewhere where we could go outside in some heat and sweat a bit. Flying into San Diego, we met up with old friends Mike Ohmen and Dave Stanke, who put us up for a couple of nights. Those two are both back on board after some dealings with injuries, surgeries, and whatnot. Anyone who knows Stanke is aware of his skill at playing OUT, and it is something that he prides himself in. Many games were played, and when all was said and done, Stanke was left scratching his head at several defeats. Poor Dave has many months to dwell on the loses. Chin up, Dave!

Phoenix
We left for Phoenix, and on the way stopped at one of the many, many abandoned trailer homes in the desert. Not much to say about it that the footage won't show, so I'll leave it at that. I will say were were there for two hours, though. On to Phoenix, where we hit up the flourishing park scene. Our efforts at street skating were short-lived, as everything is either a bust or skate proofed. There were cops patrolling everywhere downtown, and we were warned not to even ride our boards. There is a lot of skateboard history there and would be quite fun if it was accessible. Anyway, the parks are all open-air, cement, pad less, and free. Some more street oriented, some tranny oriented. After the haul from SD to Phoenix, we hit up Desert West park, then went back to the hotel for some much needed hottubbing. As I hurried out into the brisk desert night in my swim trunks, I made my way to the hot tub. Tired and weary, I set my towel down and stepped into the bubbling heaven. It took a few seconds for my nervous system to compute what happened. I felt unparalleled, screaming pain. And the sleeping guests at the hotel were treated to an unparalleled squeal. The damned water was ice cold! Tears in my eyes, I limped back to the room.

The next day, we started off at Desert West, and moved onto the other parks. We got to see firsthand where some of Trijullio's feats were performed, and feats they are. We put in a damned hard day of skating, only to be capped off by Benji's female hook-up bailing out on showing us the local nightlife. That's why strip clubs were invented. After a bit of that business, desperate for some food, we located a Whataburger, which is a fast food chain that covers much of the southern US. The portly Mexican guy working the drive-through was more than jovial in his service of the late-night drunks. He even gave me a free drink because 'I don't want you chokin' on no Whataburger', and free fries because 'That burger looks lonely in that bag'. Yes! The next day, we dropped Benji off to meet up with his parents. Mrs. Meyer gave me a lemon. Mike and I killed some time at another park and then we were off to Vegas via the beautiful Grand Canyon. Or at least the Grand Canyon was supposed to be beautiful.

We got to the Grand Canyon State Park as the day was waning, and we were going to meet up with our artistic friend, Ian Steig, for some dramatic sunset shots of the canyon. Rushing to beat the fleeting sunlight, we were just a couple of miles from the lookout point when a cop drove past, and my spirits sank as the rear-view mirror revealed said officer making his quick u-turn. He followed us for a while, and I started to think we weren't going to get ticketed. We pulled into a parking spot at the lookout point about eight measly steps away from one of nature's greatest wonders. At this point, the cop pulled up behind our trusty Escort and put the lights on. I started to get out of the car, and in gruff fashion was instructed to get back in the car. A second cop walked over to Benji, who was sitting in the back and asked what was in a brown paper bag on the floor. Will a small amount of glee, Benji reported 'Cheetos', and offered the officer the bag and its dangerously cheesy contents. They took my license back to the squad car and took their sweet-ass time doing their research. As the last drops of sunlight fell to the canyon floor, I got out of the car to plea for them to let us at least walk over and take a couple of pictures. That was only met with more gruffness directing me back in the car. Finally, they gave me my ticket, and pissed off, I expressed a bit of disgust at how they handled the situation. I was told that we should come back the next day if we want to see the canyon. Thanks, sir.

Las Vegas,
Vegas! I am one of the few in my group of friends who likes the city. I think the problem is everyone I go with is broke and not especially responsible with money. Ya gotta pay to play. First of all, if you are there, go to the Carnival Buffet at the Rio. It is a fairly steep $18 for dinner, but worth every delicious penny. Do not plan on skating after the buffet. Thanks to expedia.com, I scored our room at the Palace Station for $20 the first two nights, and $10 the third. Where else can you stay that cheap? Little did I know that part of that low rate would be serving as eye candy for some dude's self-gratification. We skated more free, cement, pad less parks. I would guess that Vegas is pushing 15 parks right now. I'm not sure what to think about them, though. They all suck and they are all great. Vegas' system seems to be making parks geared to different skill levels. One park has gnarly bowls, and the next park is ledges and manual pads. It is all pretty well built, but I have never seen anyone really skating the gnarly stuff, so it seems like a waste to build something that only gets skated when Buck knife Bill and his boys spill into town on a wave of Budweiser and worn-out skater chicks. Another guff I have is trying to cram too much stuff into one park. While it looks good on paper to have a set of 10 stairs to plummet down, you're going to need more than six feet of runway. And save everyone time and money and skip the angle iron on each stair. That being said, each park has something very redeeming about it. But there is just something too strange about it all. If these obstacles were on a street somewhere, it would be the best spot ever, but instead it is at a skatepark, so it seems mediocre at best. Perhaps it is the abundant supply of the rat-tailers on Razor scooters. Or, maybe because it's breeding a bunch of skaters that can skunkflip backside lipslide a 12-stair rail, but can't push down a street. Who knows.

Well, off the soapbox and back to the trip. One night, again on the hot tub mission, I made my way down to the pool area alone, with Benji and Munzie coming down shortly, and began to step into the liquid heaven. I look up and I see a curtain on the second floor shut quickly. Being the curious fellow I am, I kept looking back, and soon the curtain gave way to a strapping, nude man gently pleasuring himself. I was the only one in the pool area, so I sank as low as I could in the tub and cursed my two travel buddies for taking their time getting down there. I was torn. Here I am in this bubbling water trying so hard to ease away the day's tensions, and I can't even close my eyes and relax for fear of getting hit over the head with a section of pipe and waking up the next day in a gimp outfit is somebody's basement. After what seemed like a half hour of feverishly scanning all of the pool's entrance points, my comrades showed up. Their appearance temporarily scared off my violator, but after a few minutes, the second floor curtain slid back and there he was, tugging away again. I'm sure that three guys our age hanging out in a hot tub together didn't exactly do a whole lot to convince him of our heterosexuality. He kept at it and several times even gestured for us to come up. I instructed Benji to hustle up to the room and get the video camera and sneak back into the pool area. It worked--our new buddy was too preoccupied with his hot tub/hot nights fantasy that he failed to notice the camera in the bushes. And we now have some video evidence of this woeful tale.

And, as it goes with Vegas there was some gambling, but unfortunately, no great stories of loss. Being a fledgling blackjack player, Munzie didn't play with much money. And it is best that he didn't. Imagine hitting on a 16 when the dealer is showing a 5. Sheeesh. Another low point of our stay in Vegas was hitting up the newest, biggest, most x-treme strip club in the states - Saphires. Boasting three stories of burlesque, this seemed like the way to go. After shelling out $20 for entrance to the blue-neon palace, we made our way into the main floor area. A quick look around told us we were the only patrons in attendance not wearing a sport coat, and our less-than-dapper appearance was reflected in our not being offered a single lap dance by any one of the hundreds of peelers working. I did some reconnaissance work and learned that the two other floors were not for measly serfs such as ourselves. The upper floors were VIP-style traps where the high rollers and Japanese schmoozed to the tune of $500/hour for each gal, while having to maintain a $250/hour bar tab. After 1/2 hour of feeling belittled, we left with this lesson: when in Vegas, never stray from Cheetahs. And on a side note, congratulations to Corey Hanneman, an old friend now residing in Vegas, on the birth of his first son.

Los Angeles,
LA. It felt good to be back in what was my home for about six years. We even stayed in my old apartment in Long Beach, which is still occupied by members of the Martin Rust family. Unfortunately, this section of the trip was another reminder of why I moved\'dcthere isn't anywhere to skate. A few years back, California passed a law putting skateboarding on a dangerous activity list, effectively protecting the state from lawsuits stemming from skateboarding injuries sustained while on public property. This in turn opened the door to the building of numerous free skateparks which all pretty much suck. And with the influx of skateparks, the bust factor for street skating increased. The old 3we don't have anywhere else to skate2 snivel lost a lot of punch with the cops. So increased intolerance coupled with spots being ground to bits by every Gunther and Deter trying to make a name for themselves make skating pretty sad in the LA area. But you can't beat the weather, though, and if I didn't skate, that's where I would be. Not much eventful happened this last leg of the trip, as the days of having to get up before 2:00 p.m. were quite taxing on my two companions. We did catch the finals of the Eric Koston S.K.A.T.E. challenge, and it was a sight to behold. The mastery of these guys, and the ease with which they display their mastery makes me feel like I am not even participating in the same activity. And there was a Rudy Johnson spotting\'dcand most importantly, he had a broken wrist. You don't break your wrist sitting at home now, do you? I just need a couple of tricks from him in the new Girl video. One Rudy Johnson switch flip on flat trumps a five minute part of handrails and hand-dragging gaps. It's all about the how, not how much, kiddies.

All in all, it was pretty fun. Tensions between the three of us were pretty scarce for how long we were on the road. A lot was crammed into our ten days. And, as I read this article over, I have discovered I have some sort of problem with the public skateparks. I won't rehash all of my complaints, but ultimately, I think it is just because half of the fun of this is pushing around looking for something new. I'm old, sorry. Until next time...

DAN JACKSON