The City of Angels. Smogtown - the urban high-way experiment. The city of fantasy and of dreams. Baudrillard wrote that Los Angeles needs Las Vegas as an outpost of simulated reality, to maintain some sort of rational self-image. You've already heard it, most people who've been to L.A., hate L.A.. Still, this ultra-commercial, automobile driven sprawl of city, can only be known through direct experience.
Not driving in L.A., you're still surrounded by cars, constantly. There are curb-cuts and slappy-curbs to die for. And at many of them there's too big a risk to do just that. It's perfectly possible to get around on foot/board/public transport, though. And, free from the constraints of automobile life, it brings you closer to people, events and spots to be skated on sight.
The difference between a prison and a school, in southern California? There was no bust outside this school, during Christmas break.
This was one of these do-or-don't decisions. Closing on these classic waves, a guard in the lobby was already on alert. There was no time to pull the camera out of the bag. Instead, the bag went tumbling on the ground as I ran for speed - made a big, lazy backside turn, kicked some speed in the flat, aimed for the lip on the other side, but these transitions are too mellow; on the third wave, settling for a lower section, finally, the back truck scraped againt the lip. Then a voice called: You stop that! The guard had his hand on an old-style revolver in his belt, obviously serious about actually draw it if I insisted. I went to a halt with the heel of my back-foot, mumbled something in the direction of the guard and went for the bag. Walking away from there, with my back to that gun, I told myself not to be ridiculous. Still, it freaked me out. That's a lousy job, sitting around, guarding this set of waves from being ridden. There had been worn-out bitterness in that guard's eyes. He seemed more in a low, slow and negative mood, than manic and likely to pull his weapon on a skater. Still, a feeling hung on afterwards. What was it? What did that guard beam out? Finally it cleared: the only sensible thing to do in relation to this man, had been to act evasive and hide all amuzement. He made that very clear, just by his appearance. There was indeed aggression close to the surface. Too bad on them waves.
Back in the 1980's, anyone who watched Sick Boys or read mags from the States, probably knew about ditches. But in childhood suburbia of northern Europe, the concept of a bank-flat-bank was unheard of, up until the joust-scene in Thrashin'. Ever since, the Bronson Canyon ditch has been the Yellow Brick Road of ditch dreams. Had Restposter existed without it?
|Never mind the Jewish family or the no comply - check out the bollox writing!|
From Hollywood, the legendary Channel Street skate park is only a train-ride down to Long Beach and a bus-hop over to San Pedro. But nothing is close-by in L.A. This ride took almost 3 hours.
The short-version review of the DIY spot: There was nothing wrong with the bowls under the bridge, but the parking lot was the real treat!
|Skateboarding is not supposed to be simple.|