My friend Cameron is a really nice guy. So nice in fact, lets say that you were going in to the kitchen to get him a drink and while you were gone he’d fuck your cat. I mean this guy is a true friend (with a bit of a kitten fetish) on par with the rest of our crew on this adventure to Tampa. He is the redneck Austin Powers of North Carolina. You know Hue? Hue god damn right player. Now that’s a good way to start a trip.
Starting a skate trip five days before you even leave your buddy’s is a perfect way to start a trip. The theme of this was "Gettin it in." We made it completely clear to everyone around us everywhere we went that we were gettin it in. Didn’t matter if it was the bouncer at a bar that was kicking us out or sweet baggage lady at a Whole Foods, we were "gettin it in" and they knew. Like every good trip there is a theme song (words to live by for five days) ours just happened to be for the rest of our lives, a little number written by Fleetwood Mac dubbed “The Chain”. This song was not only played on repeat but most often stopped 45 seconds in to be replayed so we could appreciate every sound that came out of ole Stevie’s big head. Oh yeah, and the word “Player” was used at the end of every statement, question, or just used alone in regards to nothing at all.
It came up on the deck of Jed Shooter’s ramp. “ You wanna go to Tampa Pro?” And that was it, but there is a bit more to it than that. I had more of a motive then to just get in the car with dudes and get down there. I have been there every year since the Eighth grade, my Dad and I went down until about Eleventh Grade and then it was mostly show up with Peterson and a few others. It dawned on me months ago that I had never been on a Tampa trip with anyone else other than my Dad or Peterson. So the meat of the crew went like this: Me on Drums, Cameron on Guitar, Jed on the Keyboards, and Billy Childress holding down Vocals and the camera. Actually, lets put Cameron on the Keyboards, with a few kitty cats at his feet. We had P Coots on the Dick Tuba for a few stops, then a special guest appearance from Dave Berard on Saturday night.
There are many fine hosts down the line to Florida in which carry their very own merits and disparities creating a wonderful ride of getting it the fuck in, player. We started the trip a week before we got in the truck via my contacts list on my phone. We called everyone in the phone. No one picked up till Jeron Wilson. And that was in that was in the W’s, not the J’s. Nevertheless he did confirm for Tampa and he did meet my Daddy.
We rolled up in Charleston hot, bud. So we thought. Road sodas all the way down. We had the thought in our heads that we were gonna be the crew that rolls in on fire. But we were stopped at the Gate of Otis’s. Out partied from the jump off. That’s a good way to start a trip. We had what you may be able to call a session, but more of a backyard BBQ with no food. It was pretty rad and then things started to unravel a bit ending with me breaking my arm at the elbow carving over the stairs for the cops. I’ll be honest, I had a plan of trying to take it easy on the trip and do well in Tampa, I mean shit, it’s been ten years since I’ve won, and my Dad was flying in. But after I broke my shit I threw the towel in and I accidentally mixed a mason jar of moonshine with whatever drugs they gave me at the ER. Listen to the wind blow, Buck. It was on Cameron to keep the ripping alive on the trip and man did they. Jed has been amazing since I first saw him skate about 11 years ago, and Cameron could brush his teeth while doing a back smith. Billy was there to get it all: That man could hold a camera, a beer, a sandwich, or a skateboard and turn into your new favorite grown man in a matter of minutes.
We headed out of Charleston during a light rain while trying to skate a bridge spot. We got kicked out by what seemed to be the entire Charleston Police Department on each other’s shoulders in one big uniform. Holy fuck, he looked like a parade float. So we hauled ass to the oldest city in America, the beloved St. Augustine. Get it in. The team was apprehensive about what the night had in store, SC was wild. I assured them that we were gonna take it easy, meet some calm skaters and civilians alike, and eat at a badass restaurant called The Floridian on our way out. Well, we met up with one of the biggest pieces of work in North Florida. P-Coots. We grew up together and I can’t seem to shake this guy. So we got our calm hellos in, then headed to the bar and got it in. Again. The crew had formed another entity, and we were burning down 95 to meet Peterson and Bartie in Daytona Beach. Ever since World days those dudes have been attached romantically, whether its golf, guitar hero, or beer.
Well what can you say about Tampa that has not already been slurred. I got my board stolen at subway out of the back of a truck, but that was ok, I didn’t need it. The talent level is nothing short of mind blowing every year. The skateboard stars of past, present, and future gather for in what most consider being the best contest of the year. Eighth Grade for me was one hell of a year, I saw my first set of boobs, I was getting boards from Think, and I went to Tampa. The video parts run through your head, the friends and relationships you have created, loved, and/or endured rekindle, and skateboarding is celebrated properly for an extended weekend. If it were any more than twice a year the feeling would be lost. My Dad showed up and our crew lit it up all weekend. The arm was just a bump in the road on the way down to the South. I would have wanted to skate in the contest, but getting down there and hanging with friends, watching Cameron playing piano while singing to an old man in the hotel lobby, and telling Rick Howard I was going to get a Chocolate tattoo at least ten times was one hell of a way to start a trip. So if you want to get down to Tampa next year call your local travel agent and tell him to eat bag of dicks. Get a crew and hop in the truck, player. Words by Kyle Berard
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