The Russian boneless

Considering that 15 years ago the Russians were molding their own skateboard trucks out of iron and sharing a hand-full of Ron Knigge's discarded New Deal everslicks among the entire nation, you can't really hold it against them that they can't be credited with much trick invention. Even the much-heralded Russian Boneless (demonstrated here by Carroll) was actually first revealed to the skate world by Per Welinder, a Swede. I'm not sure if Per named it himself (though, if he did it probably would have been called something like the "Per Plant" such was the ego-heavy style of the day), but it was a pretty advanced boneless as those things go. No, it was probably his severe Aryan crew cut and headband, not unlike Rocky IV's Soviet-engineered arch-enemy Ivan Dragoff, that made the kids at home conclude that Per was a Russian, and so was his fabulous new foot plant variation.

UNLIKE IN THE UNITED STATES where people are programmed to smile and mug when you point a camera at them, in Russia people will just stare you down or scowl. It makes for some great photos, all those weird looking kids gazing at you in disgust. A lot of people have gold teeth, too--and not the rapping kind, the kind you have when your teeth are truly rotten. It all makes for some truly epic photography. Throw some boners in the mix and I bet Ed Templeton would move there.

In addition to not smiling for the camera, employees of restaurants, shops and hotels feel no pressure to smile for their customers or to even be remotely pleasant. You'd pay for your beer or whatever and the person behind the counter would push the change at you and look away, frowning. Apparently it's a tradition left over from the days of Communism, when doing really shitty at your job was the only way to safely express yourself. As Americans, we are used to people having to pretend to be nice to us when we buy something from them, and it took a little getting used to having them honestly not giving a shit if we bought the damn bag of Doritos or not.

One day the dudes had a demo at a large indoor skatepark, which, in classic foreign distributor form, turned into not only a demonstration, but also an amateur contest in which the guys were required to act as judges. The team took it in stride, as usual, but there was some controversy when Carroll got a little confused on the scorecard. While everyone else was using a zero-to-100 system, with 100 being the highest score, Mikey chose to score in reverse, ie, 100 being the lowest score. When pressed on his technique, all he could say was, "Well, I figured first place should get a one, so the lower the score, the higher the placing."

This could have been one of those irregularities that get swept under the rug, but unfortunately the score sheets were pasted on the wall for all to see. Even more unfortunately, Mikey chose to write Rick's name on the top of his sheet, which might explain why one kid, who had pulled flawless kickflip boardslides on the rail in both runs but failed to make the cut, stormed over and spiked his board angrily on the ground right in front of Rick. Did I mention that the supposed prize for the winner was sponsorship by Lakai?

We flew to St Petersburg on a plane that looked like it had been retired by TWA in 1972. We boarded from a ladder stuck out the rear to enter a cabin with super-high ceilings, wooden paneling, and possibly even chandeliers. The foldout tray tables were made of wood--and I think it had a smoking section.

Unlike the St Petersburg in Florida, the Russian one is extremely beautiful and built along a series of intersecting rivers lined with grand buildings, including the Hermitage, a gilded palace home to a good portion of the world's most precious artwork. In St Pete we had a new driver, Arthur, a stern man with a pencil mustache and driving gloves who didn't allow us to open the doors ourselves. But what he lacked in hospitality his van more than made up for with its in-cabin microphone, which we used one evening in a spontaneous open-mic-style session. Marc beat boxed, I tried to tell jokes, and we entertained ourselves while our Russian hosts looked at us like we were retarded.

Early on in the discussion of the Russia trip, Dimitry had asked Kelly if we might be interested in meeting Marilyn Manson while we were in St Petersburg. "Well, YEAH!" Kelly immediately replied, and within the group there was quite a bit of talk about and anticipation for our supposed meeting with the god of fuck.

Closer to the date, our dinner with Marilyn Manson (which we had evolved it into) was replaced with free tickets to see the techno band Prodigy--that one with the dude with the Bozo the Clown Mohawks and the pierced nose. It was a nice consolation prize, but the only one really excited about it was Ty, who many will recognize as the man who brought electronica to skateboarding. "Oh yeah. I think after this show you are all gonna be big fans," he told us. "You guys are gonna trip on this!"

Though Ty slugged it out in the pit for a few numbers, the rest of us posted up in the well-lit beer garden area just outside and watched the techno sweat hogs pile in and out. Afterwards we came upon an impromptu go-kart track set up in the parking lot and paid our 500 rubles each to drunkenly slam a couple of rattle-trap karts around the precariously-placed lines of tires. It was great, as if someone had just sat around and thought, "Shit, I bet if we got three go-karts and about 200 tires we could have ourselves a goddamn business!" There are a lot of reasons why Russia can be described as the Mexico of Europe--the corruption, the pollution, the packs of wild dogs--and things like that go-kart track make the comparison both apt and extremely positive. After the races we were off to a party that Dimitry had organized for us. But before we headed out, JB and some of the other single dudes spotted some curious looking gals milling around the van, and despite Albina's repeated orders of "Guys! No girls!" they were eventually coaxed on board--only to get immediately scared and jump back off.