As I walked up those stairs, I realized that I’d been ignoring a specific need within me for years. It had maybe even been a full decade since I’d ridden a beast like this. One step at a time, I shuffled up to the deck of the ramp, ten plus feet above the ground… They say “vert is dead,” but the only thing dead about this ramp was the wood harvested from previously living trees. And this thing was a masterpiece. Everything from the surfacing to the coping lay-in was nice. But the anxiety was still there.

My favorite type of skateboarding is skating fast, but I hadn’t skated any halfpipes over eight feet tall in a long time. So it took a bit of warming up and building confidence to get to where I wanted to be. Meanwhile, the fellow dudes were getting tricks and stringing lines together - they’d obviously been skating it with some consistency. But DAMN, that first drop in!

I felt alive again. The pure speed was most of it. But the wind on your face, the sweat coming in around the pads on your knees… The weightlessness experienced just after hitting the top of the transition. The risk of clipping and falling down 10 feet to your elbow… And the feeling of getting that first frontside grind. The boards tapping in approval and the “Yeewww!!” from the homies sinks in.

It’s one thing to shred a tight miniramp or even a real pool, but skating that vertical wall, back and forth and back… It’s something I didn’t know I missed so much. Feeling gravity to an elevated degree, from straight down to speeding across the flat to slowing into zero gravity near the top of the ramp…. I can only hope for and anticipate getting airs back again. Truly floating in the air, merely waiting to reconnect with the beast, rolling away like a bat out of hell, mixing fear and pleasure like the symbolic blood oath, fusing experiences of risk and reward.

The young kid being grandfathered in by the "rad dad." The ramp owner (it was his birthday on this occasion). The random connection to a skater from your North Carolina hometown. The Gainesville native street skate legend, watching from the bottom… All these pieces contributing to the big picture of the session. There’s a certain chemistry to hype. And although this particular session was probably normal for the rest, I felt like a kid again. Winded from the previous run but excited as hell for the next.

Once the groove hits, the fearlessness takes hold. Fiending for the next one. Needing the speed, the ultimate rush. 

Now, eight feet tall is small. Let’s go and shred them all.

Thanks Chewy,

 - 7Ply Epic ​

In lieu of a “normal” post and amidst progress in other projects, I simply share an excerpt from some of my recent reading. Taking a break from leadership-/business-/lifestyle design-type books, I’m reading On Writing by Charles Bukowski. For those who don’t know, Bukowski was a pure artist but a sad soul, deeply lost in the pursuit of written art at its core and stubbornly repulsed by the publishing industry, and any “business for the sake of business” or anything interwoven with political influence for that matter. A true creator with an unfortunately typical propensity for the bottle. In and out of lunacy, drunkenness, raucous infidelity and absolute uncertainty.

Bukowski has been romanticized by many and republished often, even since his death in 1994 (On Writing being one example). And I think so many have inevitably idolized him, because he captures and represents the lonely years of creation without validation. The relentless pursuit of art accompanied by struggle. A large following has developed from admiring his fight to remain true to his own artistic beliefs despite public opinion, respectable or not.

On the note of public opinion, Mr. Bukowksi was widely regarded as foul, socially harsh and disrespectful to many. Not a man to sugar coat his bold thoughts on life, many were turned away. But his outspoken behavior won the loyalty of many purist poets, novelists and even vagabonds along the way. Reading letters he wrote to various colleagues and editors throughout his life, compiled in this book, has been an interesting trip that I’ve no doubt enjoyed. One passage, a poem in a letter he wrote to Jon Webb (editor of The Outsider) in 1962, is featured here:

                                                                                    I know how Van Gogh felt
                                        I wonder if he carried shit and blood in his pants
                                        and painted on elephant ears?
        How can these boys stand a chance, these 4-f hairy poets and
            practitioners
                when they drink goat’s milk, punch clocks,
                raise families, move to Glendale, vote for Nixon,
            wax their cars, bury grandma, take vitamins,
        how can they make it. haw how can they make it????
                                        standing outside the fire?

Here’s a disclaimer: In no way do I feel that living in Glendale or raising a family or burying grandma or any of these things is wrong. There’s simply a correlation Bukowski draws between people cut from a certain consistent cloth and their lack of interest to jump in the fire with him. The fire of raw creation. The fire that makes each moment unique yet the same that is capable of burning you alive. The road less traveled because it is not safe.

The road the pure artist takes. This is not Bukowski praise, rather an excerpt reflecting a noble attitude of those who dare to dare…

 - 7Ply Epic ​

Browsing the warehouse was like seeing history forming it’s current counterpart before my own eyes. Experiencing the tour of Deluxe Distribution was a privilege and an honor, stumbling upon original Gonz artwork, meeting the dudes who essentially run the brands and noticing all of the easter eggs that lie in the fabric of a place with such history. Deluxe has created and housed some of the most revered skateboarding brands that are still around and will alway be remembered by skaters worldwide. Witnessing the rooms in which the art, marketing and product development departments all live was a unique pleasure, and the warehouse walk-through was the big fat cherry on top.

Walking the isles, picking up boards, getting juiced on new products and being a skate nerd through it all was a pleasure. I hate to use the cliché, but I felt like a kid in a candy store. But more like a kid who might be “too old for candy” in Willy Wonka’s factory. *I’ll never be too old for skating… ;)*

After the Deluxe meeting and facility tour, I had the rest of my day to spend in San Francisco. Just me and my skateboard. I dropped my bags and started pushing up 17th street to then turn left and cruise south to Potrero Del Sol Skatepark. It had been almost four years since I’d skated at that park - I usually skate at SOMA or just around the city - so I was especially amped to see it in person again. Most of the skate was uphill or through construction areas, so my non-local self took the difficult route. Once I arrived, I was surprised to find a completely empty skatepark.

For the past 18+ months, I've been posting excerpts from adventures in my life, snippets of philosophy that I've realized along the way and inspirations drawn from whatever sparks my interest. Every week, save a few periods of hibernation, I've published a post to 7Ply Epic, sharing via Facebook, Twitter and even SnapChat. Displaying my thoughts for the world and for the pure sake of it.

As an aspiring writer, I've recently put more work toward a short story, maybe a series of short stories or even larger projects in the future... And so, quite frankly, I didn't have the time to create any short post of value. So I'll share a poem that I recently read and enjoyed... Completely unrelated to my current outlook on life, but powerful and eloquent nonetheless.

Sometimes, it requires a new take on something to be taken aback by it. There are plenty of things in our world, in our immediate circles, in our daily lives.. that are normal to us because of how we treat it with an infinite normalcy. From time to time, it helps to detach that normalcy from certain pillars of life. Pancakes can be made in the evening. Tents may be pitched in your own backyard. Our assumptions each day are just that: assumptions about how life ought to be lived.

These vary, case by case, and are usually caused by reason. We’re conditioned to design rituals within and between our days that optimize for time and drive wanted results. But now and again, we might remember that that was never the point of living our days. Although logic is a great tool, it might not always be the best rule used in every approach. The purpose of life is much less calculated than that.

Although certain threats might fall into one category, it’s not wise to shun the category itself. From one ritualistic approach, that might seem correct, but a separate view of the same situation shows otherwise… When always at sea level, everything seems to build up, but many have never known anything but the mountains…

Days ago, I was walking around downtown Los Angeles at night. After a few long walks with stops for dinner and drinks, Chloe and I were making the trek from Broadway to the car, parked in Westlake. Our experience that night thus far had been largely on street level and near Skid Row. A large event made the area especially fun, but there was a lot of looking up (to attractions) and down (to our feet). When passing Pershing Square,I remembered of a fun rooftop I’d heard of recently and walked into a door. And then an elevator. And then another elevator, and finally passed a door man.