Enough About My Nuts
Sometimes going with the flow means doing jack squat for a couple of days.
By Ronald Whaley

Throughout life, we try to prepare ourselves for the rough times. But when disaster strikes, it’s out of the blue. There’s no way to know when you’re going to lose a loved one, when your appendix is going to burst, or when you’re going to get into a car wreck. There’s also no way to know when you’re going to mangle yourself skateboarding. For me, it happens often, yet I still never expected a time in my life when ice on my nuts would feel so good.

It was the second day of the Krux tour, and we were driving from Vegas to Phoenix when we spotted a double-set rail from the freeway. Classic. It looked too good to pass up, so I tried to boardslide it and shot my board in front of me, expecting to take it to the crotch at the bottom of the rail. My skateboard caught the rail first and was hanging, vertically, on the last kink. I came down on the nose of my skateboard, and it stabbed my ass/groin hard enough to break the nose off the board. I started screaming. When I couldn’t scream anymore, I started crying-more like sobbing and weeping. I was sad and embarrassed. When I finished hyperventilating, I requested some ice.

Sometimes ecstasy is simply a lack of pain. Like recess in grade school, post-vomit euphoria, or in this case, icing my cajones. If my rod or tackle had been caught up in the mix, I think I would’ve ripped them off. Thank you, sweet Jesus. But enough about my nuts, let me tell you about the Krux tour.

Matt Sharkey is the former tour manager for No Doubt, current Krux team manager, and agent to the skate stars. He had my favorite quotes of the trip. Regarding a Flagstaff, Arizona yahoo who wasn’t feeling our megaphone, Sharkey threw out, “I personally guarantee that nobody on this tour gives a f-k about that guy.” Strong words. After that, I had to question which statements were “personally guaranteed.” Another favorite Sharkey quote of mine was, “My heaven would just be a party of sex, drugs, and rock and roll since I don’t do drugs while I’m alive.” I love Matt-he makes me laugh.

In Phoenix, Arizona we met Magda. She took us to an abandoned mansion with an empty pool. Steffan Attardo grinded his first pool, and Alan Petersen clacked a beautiful backside air off the elliptical, wallride tranny. Earlier that day, our filmer Eric was hit on by a 46-year-old flight attendant-you go, Mrs. Robinson. He said she was “hot,” but we never saw her. You ain’t gotta lie to kick it, Eric.

One night we went to a bar and ended up parking in front of Matt Schnurr’s house. Now if you’ve been around for a while, you’d remember Matt as a tech skater who used to ride for Planet Earth. He was very funny and invited us all in and gave us some drinks. We shot the breeze, and there was talk of “Jeron Mosely,” and a trick called a “nosepiece.” Unfortunately, we had to go-Matt’s roommate was stressing and booted us.

The next day in Tucson, Arizona I proceeded to leave my 60 best CDs-hand-picked for the tour-at a basketball court. When I realized, five hours later, halfway to the barbecue, I didn’t get mad. I just had a weird feeling in my stomach. Every morning of the next week, when I woke up, I was pissed. Damn it, I’m still pissed! I think about all of the things I’d rather lose-my wallet, my clothes, or my skate product. Just about anything shy of the rod and tackle. But enough about my nuts, let me tell you about Mr. Louis Barletta.

Louie’s a natural. He’ll talk mid-trick about the trick, like, “Oh wow, I pulled it,” before he pulls it. He just knows. Louie only brought one skateboard. He sported a tie the first week, and a light-blue leisure suit toward the end. He cuts his hair with a bowl, and punched a spiderweb in our windshield. Louie and Caswell Berry both ride 7.5-inch skateboards (Louie’s might be 7.4) and 50 millimeter wheelss. Their setups look fun. My board is 7.9 (size-thirteen shoe) and the shape is so choice. If you have the means, I recommend you pick one up (while you can.)

I’d have to say the best skating of the trip went down around Denver, Colorado. Fueled by J ger and Mad Dog, A.P. bluntslid the flatbar off the loading deck. Alan makes me feel like a wuss-he skates big-ass shit with thin-ass Vans. I just have a big ass. He’s also smooth with the ladies-a regular Billy Dee Williams.

Much thanks to Jacob and the Colorado Springs posse for taking us around. Look out for a local lad named Windsor, he rips. Oh yeah, it was pretty cool watching Colt Cannon and Caswell learn new tricks on twelve-stair rails, second try with security looming. NorCal, baby!

Denver was great. It has an awesome skatepark, mad spots, and attractive girls who chew Kodiak. What more could you want? Coors?

In Boulder, a local vixen was flashing us with her short sundress in the hotel parking lot. Weird. After that, Louie had a “sesh” with a local “hippie.” Homeboy’s shoes were tied “hella” tight, he had flower-print shorts over sweatpants, dogs, a ponytail, and I believe he even had Jerry Garcia’s ashes in a pouch tied around his neck. They skated his car, and I envied their session.

Ryan Wilburn was our Portland, Oregon tour guide. He’s a one helluva nice guy with great initials. He took us to a strip club with a full bar and pool tables, so we pretty much ignored the strippers. One girl, after her dance, exclaimed, “Yea for strippers! I’m naked!” No one paid her any attention, it was sad. She danced for three songs only to get two dollars from Brian Uyeda.

Uyeda’s quote of the trip was, “What are we doing here?” Whenever half of us were in the van and the other half were in the bar, the strip club, or in the pawn shop, I think he was wanting to get some skate photos or something. Sometimes going with the flow means doing jack squat for a couple of days. Sorry, Wabo.

There aren’t enough benches in the van for everyone to get their own, so Steff, Eric, and I worked out a time-share system. If your four hours were up and you didn’t want to leave the “nest,” prepare to squab. Steff, I want to apologize for coming at you with that bottle. I didn’t mean it. I was just acting out. I missed my girlfriend and had a case of what Tim Brauch used to call D.S.B.U., (dreaded semen buildup.) But enough about my nuts.

By the way, thanks to Missy from Exit, Matt Field for the shoes, and Skater Aide for healing my black hamstring in five days.