All trucks free of dead raccoons

Thrasher Magazine, Sept, 2003 by Michael Burnett

MY FRIEND AARON HAS WARNED ME several times about making contact with the legends--the skaters I idolized as a child and now have the opportunity to meet, man to man, as an adult working in the extreme sports world.

"No one needs that kind of disappointment," he's said, alluding to the fact that, despite the grandeur of their rocket airs or magic of their kickflip Casper slides, it's almost impossible for a pro skater to live up to whatever expectations you may have had when the 15-year-old you was taping his photos to the wall or reciting his clever video sound bites to an unimpressed girl.

"You almost shack-wadded your dillet all over the place!" you'd say.

"I want to go home," she'd respond.

"You didn't talk to him, did you?" Aaron asked, when I told him I'd seen Neil Blender several times at a local skatepark.

Hell no, I didn't. What's the point? Best case scenario: we become skate pals and meet each other for the occasional sesh. Worst case: he says something along the lines of, "Fuck off, fat ass! I'm not down with your scene!"

I don't need to take those kind of chances. Not this late in the game. Either way, meeting him now could never be as good as my memories as a kid--standing in the crowd watching him torque out straight-legged handplants, then having him draw one of his cool dogs on the back of my T-shirt. Childhood nostalgia always outshines adult reality.

A LITTLE BACKGROUND: if you came of age between 1986 and 1991, Lance Mountain was pretty much one of your favorite skaters. Starting with the landmark Bones Brigade Video Show (1984) and continuing with Future Primitive and The Search for Animal Chin, Lance became the first personality of the video age. Hawk may have had the contest victories and Cab the stylish suspenders, but it was Mr Mountain who brought the message of skateboarding = fun to the masses with his loose style and gift for physical comedy. He was, for many, the archetype for what it meant to be a skater--a ripper but not a jock, an artist but not "artsy," someone who looked like he was always having a blast on the board. Lance inspired a generation of kids, the straggling, growed-up tail-end of which surrounded him at every demo or shop appearance we went to-lined up with little anecdotes to share or pieces of memorabilia for him to sign.

"You came to my ramp in '87 and my mom made you a chicken salad sandwich!" a dude would announce proudly.

"Oh yeah?" Lance would answer.

"I met you at the Skunk ditch in '85 and you gave me your bearings!" another would say.

"Cool," Lance would answer.

He was happy and receptive to every tale, regardless of if he remembered any of it or not.

"You signed my sweatpants in 1989!" they'd say.

"Rad" he'd respond.

No one left feeling ignored or slighted. Sometimes the entire team would be in the van while Lance held court with a pack of grown men for hours. He brought so much happiness to whoever came up to him--it was like he was Muhammad Ali or something.

Though there were no huge, unsettling surprises (no white power or Prince tattoos or anything), he wasn't exactly the guy I thought I knew from all those videos. There's really no way that he could have been. What? Is he supposed to run and do a backflip off the wall for every fan he meets?

"Nice to meet you. Wanna go play fingerboards in the sink?"

"Do I? That'd be rad!"

No, Lance is a very normal person. He's not especially wacky nor is he eager to reminisce over or analyze his place in the rich tapestry of modern skate history-not that I didn't try and force him.

"Why did you use PVC coping on the Chin ramp?"

"Did Powell acknowledge that Bonite[TM] was a scam?"

"How many back-to-back McTwists did you ever do?"

"What was Mike McGill really like?"

I hassled him for hours. In all honesty, the only difference between me and the dudes in the huddle with him after the demos was that I was around long enough for the magic to kind of wear off.

There was plenty of time for Q&A on this demo tour. We covered a lot of ground between stops and often drove until four in the morning to stay on schedule. The whole team came, except for Rodrigo, who was recovering from knee surgery and The Scorpion, who was sorely missed. Bob also took off after a couple of days due to some contest obligations, but I did get to see him tear up the legendary Kona park.

There were two vans--a big one and a little one. I was in the little one the whole time with video man Kurt Hayashi and some combination of Lance, Jani, Weiger or Jon Humphries. The little van was pretty tame, with Lance's Clash-heavy I-pod or mine which is pretty much full of stuff that only I like. The big van had a much more festive atmosphere with 50 Cent and Sean Paul in heavy rotation and Javier setting up some sort of gypsy camp in the back seats. At one point I looked in to see him hanging his socks on a makeshift clothesline. Lance reckons he might have even been cooking back there:

Newer skaters who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about are invited to take this time to reflect on their own fond memories--411 #33 or whatever.