With all of us anticipating the northeast’s brutal winter (not-so much this year), we made our annual pilgrimage down south. Sans a particular person losing his bike and phone (and dignity) one night at the bar, the trip was relaxing and allowed us to do a lot of riding. These were what we captured while we spent 10 days over new years.

The first night there, we went to the local track which hosted a fundraiser for the 71N trails (aka Casselberry). Being my first time on a track, I barely made it through without hyper ventilating but the other guys had a blast shredding the track like it was a set of trails in their backyard.

Will fired out this whip first go, like it was nothing. That’s easily a 30 foot table top.

That night everybody from the track headed to a “special” diner in town which was run by Transvestites. Food was a little pricey, but good, and they served cotton candy with the check. JPR’s mind was blown.

New Years wasn’t as crazy as last year, but Ryan Herbach put together a little montage from the party. That can be watched HERE.

We got to Kona a little late New Years day and with only about 15 minutes to spare and no light, we manage to quickly grab these clicks before driving home.

The following night we got to session this Monster. Concrete Surfin’ at its finest.

Tables. oh, and a bar hump for good measure.

The next set of photos were all taken at the Casselberry house of various members of the crew.

The remainder of the time we spent hanging out on the beach and getting in trouble. We carried around a couple film cameras to capture these moments as they occurred.

Hope you enjoyed the Gallery and we’ll see ya’ll next year! KK

“H-h-h-how are you sir?”

He asked cordially after dumping that full piggy bank of change next to the register.

He was a great big man. With an unkept, graying beard. His outfit was the same each Friday: A t-shirt with a white and black spotted cow. “Go vegetarian!” printed in bold lettering directly above the heifer. Jim’s blue medical scrubs were layered in grime.

With his right eye, he’d stare at me. His left, a walleye, trailed off in the distance, pondering incomprehensibles layered somewhere in foreign dimensions. Was he mentally ill? Or was it a gift to see a reality tucked away in the ether?

“C-c-can I have a tub of salmon cream cheese?”

His regular.

I’d grab it from the mini fridge, tucked underneath all the other, much more appealing options: garden vegetable, chive, and strawberry.

Taking the tub with one hand, he flipped through the plastic cutlery. He dug until he found a butter knife.

“T-t-t-thank you sir.

Turning around, he sat in the booth directly behind him. The one booth in Dunkin Donuts that faced me. Me, behind the counter.

I began counting the change. Jim began talking.

Not to me, but to those people I didn’t have the ability to see.

“Y-y-yes, you remember, don’t you. The truck passed by me. I got outta the way.”

I looked up. Jim had pealed the cellophane off the container. It was stuck to the faux-wood, Formica table.

He stabbed his butter knife into the tub of lox. Giant, white chunks of curd strip-mined. Gelatinous gobs falling into his mouth. He chewed, then swallowed.

“I-i-it’s about time. Give me the news. You know I like good news.”

The amount of inconsiderate assholes that frequented the store were too many to count. Petty. Their mood dictated by the proper amount of jelly applied to their bagel. The correct number of spoonfuls of unrefined sugar dumped into their coffee. Constant pressure on me to remember who they were. To know exactly what they wanted, when they wanted it.

Not Jim. His request was streamlined. Simple.

We, the employees, were to abide strictly to the rules of a senior discount. I.D. shown. Fifty five and up only. In turn, a dime taken off a dollar cup of coffee. It was a right achieved through arrogant seniority. It was an honor granted to those who had really “lived.”

I grimaced when it was asked of me. The dick-ish, “And my discount?”

I had counted each pile of change. Color and size coordinated. The nickels equaled sixty five. Adding the pennies and the pile of dimes, Jim’s total reached one dollar and ninety eight cents.

He was twenty short.

“F-f-finished.” Jim yelled out at me. Looking over, a mess of cream cheese speckled the table. The tub, flipped upside down. His knife lying on the ground.

“I-I-I told him. I said you got to go out and mow the grass before it rains.”

Jim pulled himself out of the booth. Slowly, he shuffled to the door. Partially talking to me. Partially talking to a crowd of other people: present only to him.

The door opened, and Jim’s sillouhette trailed out into the parking lot. The afternoon sunshine was muted, its orange luster calm and warm.

The total on the register flashed in front of me.

I couldn’t ask Jim for the balance owed.

He had seen a lot. His experiences: a laundry list of traumatic experiences. And for him, that trauma, availed endless one-way conversations. And those conversations, a fruitless attempt to attain some sort of semblance of rationale.

Jim suffered from Life. A life encompassing many lives, none his own.

And for that, I hit the button allotted only to seniors.

More than anyone, Jim deserved that.

Here are some photos courtesy of Rick Crossman.
The first photo is of Sporter Neal wallriding his house in Glens Falls with his dad in the kitchen window. The second is Jim C riding his 24” in New Braunfels Tx.

Buena Vista

The Buena Vista Pool has seen decades of shredding since it was first dug out in 76. 1976, holy shit! That’s more than 35 years of history. Throughout the years Buena has had its fair share of ups and downs. The pool has been barrier, dug out, and re-birthed more than once. Blood, sweat, and tears are forever engraved into this sacred place. It’s amazing that this concrete structure still stands but it wont forever. Only one thing in life is guaranteed, and that’s death. But no matter what, the sprit of Buena will never die.

By Dean Dickinson

Chris Riesner!

Along with the new look, there’s also a preview of the 2012 line, new rider and video sections, too. Part 1 of Orchid’s latest DVD, Footwork, is on the site as well. Watch the gang ride all of the crazy obstacles at Bam Margera’s house. Go check it out!

Check out the latest update of Jason Anderson’s Adventure on his travel blog. It’s seriously insane!

What happens when your delinquent friends have kids? They light forest fires (the parent) and have the boys pee on the leaves so Smokey the bear doesn’t come hauling ass through the woods with an axe, and that crazy ranger hat….

Why don’t you guys pee on that so it doesn’t get outta hand?

“Dude, do you know how hard it is to start a forest fire in upstate NY? I’ve been trying my whole life…” – Kelly Baker at Bakers Acres