I was smoking a spliff at the top of the ramp in Eastbourne GoFast DH thing in 2009. I had just nearly killed myself by falling off the ramp backwards onto the heads of twenty sexy men from all over Europe and the World really. I was not happy. I could sense shit in the air and not the good kind either. Sniffing around the start line were ‘Normal fucking dudes’. These people were identified purely as I didn’t know them and I didn’t want to know them. They looked fucking Ironed, they had combed their hair but they rocked that Mormon skateboarder look. They smelt blood and money.
‘We have to put a stop to drug abuse around the start and finish’ said the Kinnish to Tom Worsley. I pulled on my spliff and looked over the cliffs and the sea groove, I blew my smoke over to the Kinnish who was barking out shit into his walkie talkie.
‘Hey Norm, you can suck my dick man, fuck you and your shit’ I said. I went off down the hill. Fuck dudes that look like MPs and fuck Custom leathers and Teams
Bottom of the hill. “Hey Marcus you horrible cunt” his head stayed in his lap top. I wanted to slam his head shut in it. Some German Woman skater was leaning over looking at her times, I could see her lovely tits and felt better. She knew I was looking.
Sterile race conditions. Flags and organised madness, what was this shit? What was this number crap? It was cool but not cool, I was only here to see my friends, get smashed and maybe try new drugs. It was intense, my heart wasn’t in it. I went back to the Hotel in the afternoon and went to sleep after I beat off in my sock. The next day Blue Peter presenter Helen Skelton interviewed Pete Connelly and in the background I walked past huffing a giant spliff. I wanted to fuck her she was sexy, but I smelled bad and I knew I wouldn’t resist grabbing her tits once the conversation got shit. I waited till they broadcasted it then whacked off. Rayne Demonseed, Custom 230mm Randal hangers, Cult wheels something Duro. I had put my spunky sock back on by mistake. My foot felt funny.
I was sitting chopping an old VW Bus bump stop, it was hard rubber, good hard shit that went into the Randal DH truck a treat as a bushing. No fucking big boxes full of dialled bushes of all colours and duros no Sir. We had to carve them with our teeth as Metal hadn’t been invented, The trucks were made of Wood from Noahs fucking Arc. We hadn’t eaten for days. We were in Dalby Forest in Yorkshire somewhere, a big Forest road that went winding through Tree shit, and Green shit. There were people here I love….we had skated together and had strange times.
Intense descents indeed, there was a speed bump on the finish line. It was cold. There were twenty people there. The whole of UK downhill nearly, it was the far past. Abec 11 wheels, made by that bald headed bastard Chris Chaput were just coming onto the scene. I had seen the prototypes at Aviemore but he wasn’t letting us touch or grope them. Name removed ate Amphetamine Base in a brown paper bag and hassled people in the car park. His eyes were black. He kept singing the same Suicidal Tendencies song “Possessed to Skate” but not skating just holding his board tight.
The Night before the race me and (Name removed) rocked up to Scarborough for bad things. Nightclubs and illicit substances. We grooved to a big club after we had eaten. Six floors of heaving psychotic violence. I spoke to the bouncer, he said they had four glassings and serious assaults that night. I laughed like a blocked drain ‘hahahahahahagrrrrk’. I had met a dude who had some serious MDMA straight from the labs of Israel. Good solid Shulgin Headshaking shit. I had taken one, I looked forward to the evening. Name removed fucked off dancing with some massive fat chick on the fourth floor. I moved through the crowd and grroooved to the young flesh in tight clothes buzzing my little head off.
Angry men. Groups of them. No women. I had walked to the top floor and a load of Scarboroughs finest head cases and Hooligans. This was their spot man. This was their turf and some grinning cunt skateboarder in an Indy Tshirt had just crashed their funky town. No worries man they looked at me like they were about to wade in for a Mosh where I would be the Moshed. It was cool, I was full of love and no threat. I skated down hills fast and sometimes smashed myself to pieces, what the fuck were these Glands going to do?
I put my foot, I tried to put my foot on the deck at the top of the run. The Heather either side was glowing like radioactive alien plant life. I wanted to lie in it and go to sleep. Name removed had just gone down and I was waiting for the GO! But I couldnt put my foot….the effects of the Acid were total brain farting me. This was a dose. I got my foot on and tried to get my freak right. The helmet was too tight and I wanted to rip it off. My leathers were stuck to me not because it was hot but I had a case of the sweats. I hadn’t slept. I had attacked Name removed as he had a piss in the early hours, I thought he was an Alien. He was lit by the moon from the sky.
I gently trundled off down the Yellow Brick Road. I had made my deck, pressed it myself. Lack of cash and lack of good equipment in those days, I picked up speed a little and went down into a tuck. This did something to my insides and I vomited in my helmet.
The Hooligan dudes pressed around and said some threatening shit. It was still good. I had a pair of Buddy Holly specs and a quiff. Stuck out amongst the shiny fat heads. One of them poked me with his finger and said “Murrrjjliieeo” which I found funny, so I laughed. The music was loud as fuck and I kept thinking about skateboarding. I was sorry D-Bone wasn’t coming and I felt like crying
In fact keep thinking about it. The puke was only a little bit so I spat some out and some got stuck in the lid. The act of tucking affected me as I picked up speed, it was steep, I passed a Marshall eating crisps, they waved. I moved my back foot back a little, I could feel the back skittish, I looked down, I was riding my board back to front. Shit. It pulsed Blue and Red and Green. Little tendrils. I shook my head to clear it but it made it worse. I was into the Forest now and the Sunlight was flashing through the trees like a fucking strobe throwing shapes at me, leaf shapes, Stars of Light across the tarmac in front of me. I couldn’t feel the board any more. Inside my Helmet I could hear the voices of the Bugatti boys down at the finish. If I could reach Tom Worsley or Pete Connolly I would be ok. I could hear them in my Lid talking…Jon thinking the Norwegian dudes were talking about him. Chris Chaput is a bald headed cunt.
The Club was playing this intense Drum and Bass shit like Napalm death SPEED. This Big White hand came from the gaggle of Stone Island clad goons and I laughed, here it comes I thought. The kicking and the pain. It was cool, I’m a Downhill skateboarder. Trust. This big massive fucker strides through the crowd. He is Hercules to these violent men. They part for him as a Holy Sea! He’s going to fucking kill me, he’s easily 17 stone and Six foot five, big scarred violent mush. His hand grabs me and pulls me towards him. It is scarred from battle, he smells of Joop and Lager.
Shallow left, I see crowds of people lining the route and cheering. I see people I know, family, friends, pets, for a moment I wonder what they are doing there. The grass is a brilliant Emerald Green and waving from side to side like Cobras. The sky had split into this pure Azure beautiful Silver and Brass colour and high up an Eagle called to its mate….Shallow right picking up speed, over a slight crack in the tarmac, the back of the board nearly takes me off and I automatically get lower and grab a rail as I reach the shitty tight bailed right hander. The track is a snake, my head is about to explode in colour, I taste acid sick and bits of Rice Krispy cake I had for breakfast. The sound of the board echoes back off the trees and into the Sky. It’s like a fucking Grateful Dead record.
He pulls me right to him and my face is buried in his chest. I’m a big bastard and this dude was like Adult size to my Toddler groove. He hugs me with one arm and in his thick Yorkshire accent says….”you look like Elvis Costello, I fucking love Elvis Costello” then he cheered and everybody else joined in. “We love you Elvis we do! We love you Elvis we do! We love you Elvis we do ooooooh Elvis we love you!” A strobe went on and I felt like I was being devoured by the undead.
The fucking tighty righty, the bastard son of bastard sons. Now a gong was reverberating through my head as the freak out reached a sort of a climax. There seemed like a thousand people on that corner. I saw them screaming obscenities at me and on the track were hundreds of bricks they had thrown to fling me off into the crap bails one deep. Randal DH 150’s, Avalons, home grown deck, crap leathers bought from a gay leather fetishist off ebay. I’m off my tits on Israeli MDMA and half a tab of LSD for breakfast. My right glove has fallen off. I can’t see out of one eye….