terminal masonite termite

my old ramp im my mom's warehouse/home. sometime around 1995. pre mark gonzales painting, pre steel transitions. bryan schaefer and i built the ramp in 3 days. loved seeing the thing take shape hour by hour. it was a lil over 11 feet tall (which is small these days) and crammed the 22ft width between the walls. the ceiling was about 22ft so on a very good day you could get a scrape at it or the occasional limb brush across. i would skate this thing at least 6 days a week for at least 2 -4 hours. listening to kill em all and ride the lightening over and over. obsessed to say the least. the sessions could be so intense... some visitors were to never return. a vert ramp like this, shoe horned between those warehouse walls was no place to "chill". it was warfare.. for this reason i skated by myself a lot. it was street skatings heyday and west oakland wasnt really on the map like it is now. i remember trying to learn 540's ....alone. i probably was listening to minor threat or fugazi, getting trapped in my head, trying to manipulate my body and skateboard, i pumped two good sized backside airs and put it all into the 540.... rather than spinning i just launched upside down, feet towards the ceiling head pointed towards the ground and about 17'ft in mid air. all bad.... time stopped and everything went silent..... next thing i knew i was sliding head first down the ramp on my back gradually coming to a halt dead in the center of the ramp, staring at the ceiling. no imapct, no pain, maybe a shit streak in the boxers. it was one of those "that's the last time i skate alone" moments. that lasted about two days. man, a lot of people used to skate and a lot will tell you about it. but the way i see the young guys skate now, everyday... all day, that shit is intense. I was the same way. so many slams, so much pain.... but the thrill, the outcome, fuck. nothing compared. i've been skating lots again lately, mostly vert. So damn humbling. it's all still in there, in my body.. but its a game of patience and confidence. I saw my friend eric slam a slam i would wish on no man. he took a 30 mile an hour whoops right into the opposing wall. splat... thud, a slab of meat tossed out the back of a pickup. 40 some years old and he scraped himself up and redid the trick. it was fucking tough, and i think that kind of shit builds so much character. "nothing cool is easy"