The Volcom Rockies Tour

Leaving late, traffic is slow. Dolin is revving in low, Wray is assembling. Warm up, warm up, the mind awake. Tonight will be a Colorado sky if all goes well here in this grime. Traffic stagnates and we sit, knowing we won't miss the flight, yet remembering the few times it has happened.
Time has lapsed. We're now driving a smooth 75 to LAX after passing an overturned cargo truck. Fresh, only one police officer making sense of it all. Our flight leaves in an hour to Colorado, and we're 30 minutes out.
Our flight was snag-free. We rented two four-wheel drives in case of dangerous roadways over the passes.
Saturday we woke to a hot, beaming, dry day. Denver, being east of the Rockies, gets a clear shot of morning's early sun. For me, being from west of mountains, this feels new. Forces joined, cars loaded, and the freeway was our path to the first park. Pretty close. The park was part wood, part cement. Nothing out of the ordinary, not to mention hordes of little product fiends with irrelevant inquiries. Meanwhile, Jeremy skated as these kids asked, “Is it true Jeremy is coming?” I do a quick character analysis on these kids and find it interesting how much one can deduct in a few minutes' time. These kids will probably not be skating as they grow older. They need too much information. Skateboarding lacks the glamorous frivolous material that these sort lust over. So I relocated from our parking area and into the park, where wheels rolled and gears turned.
It's all a lie, I told Dustin, and I watched him pause. He wants to hit real street. Never, I replied.
Walker is our rep here for Volcom, so really it's his backyard. We followed him through his neighborhood.
Today is day two, and we head for the hills to Boulder. Björk is in one car and The Melvins in the other. Both rentals are parked and open in the hotel lot, and here comes a third party, blasting country Western–the combination was bliss. Ten-thirty a.m. Colorado, Best Western, bright sun, wind slight, leaves yellow, mental state mellow, hello hello.
Be it not the mind of a wilder beast, be not wild when in the East. I can't trust the foundation I stand on for differences occur amidst the blur. Deep individuality left dark for greed. Am I not man to claim my stake, or am I not man to succumb to their fate? Have I lost my direction? Do I expect too much from this life of leisure? Do I not trust the blanket I call secure? I'm not of anything apart from yes. Daydreams roll to detuned frequencies.
My face has dried up now quite well. As I look across the table, everyone seems to be red in the face. Last night's gambling match at the hotel bar could be a factor–tens, twenties, more shots, and a couple more pitchers. After day three in this high-pressure weather front, anyone's face would be red. Dry, dry mountain heat. The sunlit areas are 80 degrees, while the shadows are 60, and the second the sun slips beyond the mountains' horizon the temperature drops. I watch shadows climb to the tops of nearby mountains, leaving only a dim sky.
Rowley showed up today with his bloke Clifford. This made our tour complete: Alan Peterson, Carlos De Andrade, Jaya Bonderov, Poncho Molder, Jeremy Wray, Dustin Dolin, and Geoff Rowley. Geoff drove out looking for some quality road therapy. For that sort of drive, Orange County to central Colorado, one normally would want to rest, but Geoff rolled up casually, felt out the park, and wound up skating damn well. Very impressive.
Today really was the best so far. The first two parks were your typical wooden-style parks. We hit Silverthorne and Breckenridge, which are both transitional cement wonderlands. Variety was broad, round lips, cement coping, steel pipes, nice curves … smooth to the touch and slippery when wet. She was fast and caterred to lofty projectiles for hours. Carlos took full advantage of these fine trannies with big late loose lines throughout the whole park. Onlookers got vocal screaming bloody murder as Carlos got away with head-high flips to fakie over hips. Sometimes landing well, low, or in the flats, lethargic and removed.

Well shoot, now I gotta talk about everyone, but no, let's not. After all we don't need to discuss just how everyone came, saw, and conquered the place. We are mere visitors, guests, whereas the locals had great lines. It's always nice to roll up to some unskated place and check their lines by where the sweat spots are. That's the fun, to explore, adapt, and enjoy. Skating's so much a mental state, as well as physical. One should never think skating something to score. One can't score the expression of someone else's perception on skateboarding.

I've enjoyed so much watching hell hessians get buck wild on their skateboards, especially in Ohio, but let's not veer off course. Besides, I was just feeling the moment, the rush–Colorado caters to the feeling by offering these A-plus skateparks.
Since we last spoke, strange things have hit our six-car-strong entourage. Actually, it just hit me because the rental cars were in my name. When others drive rental cars, whose names are irrelevant, the renter is usually taking a risk, but most often a low risk. After all, how often can someone predict the landing of cosmic forces of release meshing with a higher elevation, fueled by a series of good parks, friendly locals, and the almighty four-wheel drive. Temptation, temptation, then action followed by sensation, which ultimately comes to realization igniting a reaction. Times like this stew possibilities ranging in the unknown dementia. People are crazy, you know. When a pressure-release valve is engaged, the fury is pure, unstoppable in the mind perhaps, but not when you're driving a four-wheel drive set in the two-wheel drive position, and there you are, all drunk, romping up and down the dirt embankment near the hotel. Yeehah, yeehah.

Oh now your stuck, now what? Wish there was a tow truck, but it's three in the morning in Frisco, Colorado, and it's cold, so let's just leave it there. Cool came clanging my keys with a breeze reeking cleaning products. Still oblivious, I did not respond until a knock came. Sir Officer John. On and on, and a couple yawns later, turns out the driver may get a bill from the gardener. So boom, a quick melodrama. What else is new? Tell me, someone, is this not living?
Now that I'm on the plane, looking back on this five-day five- park spree …. coincidentally, we traveled from to park to park from least to greatest. The lines available are endless. The design in Montrose was a real standout. Bigger proportions. A lot of seven-foot long curving walls with ranging lips. One section has a large doughnut-shaped satellite dish bowl lodged on top of a seven-foot section. Scan the mag for a better idea. I found this to be ideal for redirectional usage or also a double-pump speed pocket across the top. Montrose was the last park of our trip.

We drove a lot at night, which was a tad disappointing considering Colorado's beauty. Some of the longer stretches, like last night's return to Denver, were accompanied by super clear skies and a full moon–lunar shadow casting throughout our whole stay. Once your eyes adjust and imagination exudes, one realizes, “This is it, I'm in the Rockies.” Check out this geography and stay off the median.