Soldiers of Downhill

It was October 15, my Dad’s birthday. I forgot to call him, I’m a horrible son. The day was hectic with classes and rehearsals until 3 p.m. then a few hours to get my shit together before playing a gig and immediately rolling out to drive through the night into Ohio. The gig was a swanky party for the 50th anniversary of my college being in its current location. There was an open bar and some of the best food I’ve had in a long time with everyone in suits and a few tuxes. We were supposed to play some top 40s funk tunes until around eight then Christian and his Peruvian friend plus Zack were supposed to meet me to drive the 7 hours across West Virginia and half of Ohio.

I hadn’t planned on drinking or even eating before leaving Winchester but as I was packing my drums up I called Christian to make sure they were almost in town. This is where the weekend begins to blur together. He had just gotten to Zack’s house in Fairfax, an hour away from Winchester and here I am ready to go and hurriedly packing my gear so we can get to Bainbridge before 3 a.m. After getting that news I went in and pounded a gin and tonic and grabbed a plate of lobster ravioli. It was awkward still being at the party since everyone was twice my age or more and I didn’t have a jacket, just a shirt and tie. “It’s alright though I’m in the band,” is the only defense I was ready to give when questioned by the rich trustees that control my educational environment. I left after another drink so I could get into some shorts and a tshirt (although it was barely 50 degrees and windy out this October night) and grab a beer while waiting.

My roommates were passed out watching a movie when I came in so I offered them a beer. They were confused about why I was still there and we watched the end of some shitty movie. My three passengers finally arrived a little after ten, two hours after I wanted to leave and with a seven hour drive ahead of us. We managed to stuff the trunk completely full, with the only way to close it by sitting on it, and started out of Winchester. The directions to the small town of Bainbridge, Ohio were simple: rte. 50 west.

Christian and Suigo, Christian’s friend, hadn’t eaten all day so we stopped at some 24 hour country store and gas station in a small town not too far into West Virginia. I had to get rid of all the liquid I had consumed earlier in the night and I walked into one of the oddest bathrooms I’ve seen. As you pee, the wall behind you is a one-shot cologne dispenser, the wall to your left has a landscape with some geese and in front of you is a condom machine with no normal condoms just super ribbed, vibrating penis ring and some horny goat weed in case you drank too much whiskey because there’s nothing in the middle of no where West Virginia. The front window of the store was covered in amusing fliers as well, with one advertising pro wrestling, one asking to watch your kids with poor grammar, and one asking if you have any information on mountain lions or other large wild cats.

We got back on the road and it started getting more mountainous and turny. After another hour or more we realized we needed to get gas but hadn’t seen a town or gas station in at least a half hour. We were in the heart of “Wild and Wonderful” country and had no idea if we’d be able to make it to a gas station, and even if we did would it be open? The first one we found was dark but the pump was still on for people to use credit cards but it was out of gas. We got over the next mountain and into a fair sized town but the gas station’s pumps were all out of order. The attendant inside said there was another one two miles down the road and we were off again. The third time’s the charm and we luckily managed to fill up the tank before running out of gas. From here Zack took over driving and I went in and out of sleep for the final four hours of the drive. I got us through all the mountains and now it was just a matter of staying on 50 when it dog legged in every other town in Ohio. Keith called a few times to see where we were and each time the answer was “I don’t know, somewhere in the middle of no where West Virginia or Ohio.” Everyone was trying to wait up for us but by Keith’s last call it was 3:30 and I told them to forget it and get some sleep.

As we pulled in to Bainbridge and found our way to the school the clock was coming up on 5:30a.m. The only turn we needed to make was a left onto S Quarry St. but when we got to it there were road blocks and tents set up for the fair so we did the responsible thing and drove through anyway moving the barriers. The first thing I did when we stopped the car was light off a bottle rocket over the tents of those brave enough to sleep out in the cold to announce our arrival and piss people off. I grabbed my sleeping gear and made my way into the boarded up school we were given to sleep in. Sleep came fast but so did the morning. Just before eight someone ran around blowing a horn pissing every single person off. “Fuck you” is the only thing I remember yelling but I know there was a string of other curses that I yelled too.

Everything in sight was covered in frost, the first one I’d witnessed this season. It was freezing and the sun hadn’t made it over the mountain yet. The fire was kicked up and those that got out of bed huddled around. It was a slow morning as I ate bananas and peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast, the poor skaters go to meal. It was nice seeing my good friends slowly come out of the woodwork as morning crept on. I hadn’t seen everyone in two months or more and there was no better reunion situation than this. We didn’t start skating until late morning but I have no concept of time since my phone was never in my pocket all weekend.

The first runs were slow and mellow because the course was fast and sketchy in parts. My first run was completely on sight since I had never driven the hill and was in the back of the Uhaul on the way up unable to see through the crowd to check out the road. When I got the right hand turn I saw Keith slide straight into the hay in front of me and I did the exact same thing as the turn came up too quick. Right behind me Pat S did the exact same thing. I got my board and kicked back in once there was a big enough break between riders and discovered just how rough and gnarly the bottom section of the course was. There were so many rough patches, cracks and humps that you had to dodge or man up and go straight over. There was hardly a good line to be found through the rough stuff but then you get down to a beautiful right left chicane that you can hit full speed no problem.

As the day went on everyone got faster and faster, dialing in lines and charging over the wavey pavement. I saw a lot of people eating hay but luckily no one was getting hurt skating. There were two buttboard accidents that ended with people going to the hospital but zero skaters had to seek medical attention. I know I got wrecked twice though, once where I took my own board into my back. My leathers got a good beating and now have some holes in them. There was one really gnarly run that stands out in my mind mainly because of what happened to Keith right behind me. I was riding really abused wheels and as I was carving before the right hander at the top I started stand up drifting and killed a lot more speed than Keith. He had to slide really quickly behind me and was inches behind with one leg dragging on the ground. He somehow managed to get back on his board and make it around the corner and dodge Georges who had crashed just infront of us.

We got off the hill around 5:30 and starving, Keith, Georges, Joel and myself went in to town to find some food. Bainbridge was in the middle of its Fall Festival so there were all sorts of food vendors, rides, games and assorted oddities. Instead of the fried food offered up and down the fair we went into Subway for something cheap and substantial and ate on the curb outside. After destroying our sandwiches we wandered for a little before Keith and I decided to just get some beer and head back to the camp site. Immediately on our arrival there was a group shot gun session to begin the night of debauchery.

Keith gave me his hard drive to transfer a lot of footage from his Colorado trip to edit and when we came back outside we found a stack of pallets for the fire getting cut up with a huge axe. So the first part of the night was spent around a roaring fire with the beers being passed around. Eventually there was a consensus to make a trip to the bar to see what the scene was like. There was a two dollar cover charge but that was fine because twelve dollars got you a bucket of beers. Our first thought was “we should all do a shot of tequila,” but this bar didn’t serve liquor, which in the long run was better for us. The chairs in this bar were in tatters, the toilet overflowing but the urinal worked, it was just oddly shoved into the corner wall of the bathroom and sealed in place. The bouncer at first didn’t believe that we were 21 and even doubted that Joel’s Colorado license was real making him go to the back of the line, as if that would change something when he got back to the front. It also turned out to be karaoke night with the PA and monitor set up right in front of the stripper pole. I’d never actually done karaoke before but thought it would be hilarious to go from all the country to some Dr. Dre. Pat agreed to do it with me, which was followed by everyone betting a buck on it. I don’t know if I got more than half of the words out between drunken laughing and my inability to read and make words come out fast enough but it definitely put a new vibe in the air. We were loud, yelling toasts to Bainbridge and to each other and skating. Eventually Joel and Georges got up and sang Bad Touch by the Bloodhound Gang too. The townies loved us, one grabbed Joe to sing with her and we screamed at him to go for it until he did. There were large women everywhere grinding up on people, breaking the stripper pole forcing a waitress to come fix it every few minutes. There was also a mother-daughter team that was kind of freaking me out as well as one guy who was way too good on the stripper pole.

After some number of rounds we decided to head back and see what everyone was doing back at camp. As I jumped on my board in the middle of Main St. I instantly fell and ate shit in front of on coming traffic. At least one other person did the same thing and I ended up pulling rocks out of my hand in the morning because of it. We kicked back to the school and sat down by the fire again telling everyone about the bar. Soon after we were back two town sheriffs walked up asking who was skitching trailers downtown. I didn’t grab onto any cars and had no idea if anyone did. All I knew was that I was way too drunk to deal with cops right then. Someone managed to cool them off and they left with out giving us any problems. Then Pat realized we had no clue where Louis or George were so we went on a mission to find them with a hand full of bottle rockets to wake them up. As we stood in the door way to the school, hardly standing straight Dan took one look at me and said “I think I better hold onto those for you” and took my fireworks away. I didn’t even argue because I knew I was only going to do some damage.

After that went awry we went back over to the camp fire where we were getting invited to the house across the street for a party. I remember getting stoked about it and then getting in the house and it being really awkward and a horrible party. There was the mother-daughter tag team from the bar there and that old woman was trying to get us to play beer pong but only had Johnny Walker black label and no balls. I went in the backyard to piss and smoke a cigarette with Joel and said something about taking the bottle of whiskey. I was told to do it and that he’d even create a diversion for me so I went and asked for a shot and then walked away with the bottle back to the campsite. I sat down and some other people walked back behind me so I offered them some. The big burly men sitting next to me turned and said “Hey that’s ours you should give that back!” It turned out that Pat had invited the house owners back to smoke. They were not guys to mess with being twice my size and weight for sure I would have had the shit kicked out of me. Luckily they didn’t do anything and I think I walked away from the fire at that point to avoid any further problems. At this point I was legitimately blacked out. I remember I ate my second half of my sandwich from subway and had a twenty minute phone conversation with my girl back home before passing out so hard.

I woke up to Sean giving us a heads up that they were trying to get people ready to run warm up runs rather than an abrasive horn in my face. I was thankful for the mellow wake up because I was still drunk and stumbled around a little as I got up. I still had all my clothes on but my shoes made it off. I put those back on and wandered out to see what was up. There was no frost this time and the sun was already over the mountain so it wasn’t freezing. No one had much recollection of what happened the night before but what we did piece together over time was how ridiculous it all was. I skated to the gas station up the street and picked up the biggest Gatorade they had and a cup of coffee, chugging the Gatorade and sipping my coffee in hopes to recover.

It took a little while to get everyone up and in the Uhaul to start practice runs. We were given two warm ups before going into heats. That first run got rid of any inkling of drunk or hang over that was there. My second run felt even better and I was almost ready to start racing. No one had kicked in full on from the start line all day Saturday and here we were with the first heat on the line and they were going full on. I was thankful that my first heat was going to be pretty easy and although I needed to kick in as hard as possible to know what that was like, I’d be able to slow down and take the right corner as easy as I wanted and after that turn I didn’t see anyone else until the finish. After the first heats though everyone was a sick rider capable of making some moves. In my second race I had Joel Putrah and at least one other fast person that I can’t remember. I just followed Joel into the hard turn then looked back to see people crashing and took it easy down the rest of the hill. My third heat had Joel and Ryan Korzak and I knew this was going to be the hardest yet. I kicked in behind Joel again and stayed on his ass into the right but slid too late and got tossed into the hay and my racing was done as I watched Ryan go by me.

After I got eliminated I skated down to the right with a camera to film and watch everyone be gnarly. I didn’t realize how fast we were actually going into the turn until I stood down there and watched people throwing fat steezy slides. It was incredible watching the control that Louis and George Mack have with their slides. My money for the highest ranking east coasters was on Keith Rebhorn and Pat Schep since before the race started and I wasn’t surprised to see Keith in the semifinals. What was more incredible was that Dan Oliver, the race organizer, was in the semi’s as well! He had gotten every practice run in the day before and was shredding with the best of them. Keith managed to make a pass on Dan right after the right to move on to the finals. Everyone moved down to the bottom chicane to watch the final heat. It was Louis, Gmack, Keith and Joel in the final and we knew they’d be flying. When they came into sight it was just George in front with Louis right on him looking for a pass but it didn’t come. Joel and Keith both went in the hay on the right at the top and came down spaced out with Joel in third and Keith in fourth.

After racing was done we took a break to get lunch before the luge race started and we made the trek to get some fried goodness from the festival. It was crazy how as soon as I stopped riding the hangover began to set in but while skating it was totally forgotten. Steak and cheese and potato skins are great for curing a hangover though. No one was really feeling like more freeriding even though the road was still ours but we went up to the chicane to watch the lugers go fast as hell. Those guys are crazy, going over 60 into the chicane without being able to see anything to spot their line. Chris Hicks came into it way too hot and on a bad line, clipped the hay on the inside of the left and shot him off the road into a metal pole. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed in person. He obliterated the hay bails that were in front of the pole but somehow he was fine, just a little bruised and shaken up but he easily could have died in that crash. He ended up racing in his final heat, taking it easy through the chicane and flicking off the pole that nearly ended him.

The podium was silly and ended with the top six skaters chugging a beer for the camera. The mountain of schwag got handed out via raffle and I think everyone walked away with something. The top guys all have my utmost respect after they gave away their prizes to the kids they thought could use some gear. It was all boards from their own sponsors anyway so they decided to spread some stoke even further than all the free gear already given out. That to me really sets them a step above in my book.

Once the prizes where handed out everyone started packing up. We had originally planned on staying Sunday night but no one else was hanging around. The command decision was made to drive back home. At least we’d get back before five this time although it was still a harsh drive. Christian drove the first three or four hours and then I drove the last section back through the mountains and into Winchester. It was two when we I put the car in park and turned to wake everyone. I told them to sleep in my house for the rest of the night before heading back to northern Virginia to complete their journey. My trip was over though and I was sad to see it done. Anton and George were just starting their trip and here I was going back to school. It’s always hard going from incredible skate trips to normal life. One day, I’m in leathers racing with some of the best skaters in the world living life on the road. Literally the next day I’m wearing a tuxedo playing percussion for Mahler’s first symphony. It’s a trip and one day I’ll figure out these alter egos.