- tent city- 10 years or more ago

this full pipe was over 30 feet tall, so that makes its transitions 15ft plus. it was in the middle of nowhere in Australia. We had driven the van on dirt roads for hours upon hours hoping that at the end of the road the pipe of all pipes laid waiting for us. When the road finally ended, we pulled over to find a practically dried up reservoir, judging by the size of the overflow pipe peaking above the mud and the crud we had found our spot. 

We slid around a fence with our boards and our tents and hiked down to the other end of that overflow , which obviously led to where a river once was. Everyone was slightly delirious from the drive and being on the road for weeks. As the sun lowered , we found our camp spot,  ditching our tents and boards we hiked over to the pipe. Laying in front of us was a sleeping monster, littered with trash, cracks, dead animals, and the nastiest mud. There was a about 10 of us, rare to have a silent moment, but at the sight of this drain, jaws were wide open but no words came out. Eventually i think it was julien that simply grunted "fuuuuuuuuuccckk"....... 

The thing was not only impressive in size but completely terrifying, the fact that we were hours from the nearest hospital didn't ease the anxiety. Like no full pipe i had ever seen there was a 30 ft bomb drop into the thing, so you were completely hauling ass on your first turn. As we walked away, the bats had started to fly around our tired shuffling bodies. The flies were chewing on every scab, and then we started to talk about what we just saw. 

With this many people at this time of night when camp is setting up, all you hear is the shuffling of nylon from the tents and sleeping bags and then just zippers. Its almost comical. Then it gets practically silent as everyone sets up their  little zone. Our gathering of fire wood was barbaric, branches ripped from dying trees, logs popped out of dried mud, old skateboards, if it was flammable it got burnt. Someone threw a full can of beans in the fire, i ducked behind a tree watching the can swell with the heat... then BOOM!! The can explodes, what goes up must come down, boiling beans falling from the sky, Bailey feel asleep a little too soon and was woke up by beans burning all the way through his bag and onto his flesh. "what the fuck man"   we all started rolling with laughter. 

I fondly reminisce about these times, obviously. It wasn't a shit show, it wasn't what you think you see in the videos of people trying to out -shit head- or out party the next guy. It was more like soldiers gathering the night before battle, burning off some of that anxiety, as their minds wander into the coming mornings battle. That next morning i only heard flys, maybe some shuffling of tents, but just BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ.... The Oz flies are no joke. Most mornings they served as our alarm clock. As i got up i noticed Juliens tent was empty. I have deep respect for Julien, we've traveled the world and never once have i worried if he'd be alright, picked up his trash, or not felt the fire he has to skate new things. I knew he was in the pipe, so i dragged my groggy ass up there, sure enough he was squatting in some wretched filth with some make shift scooper and a bucket trying to make a dent in the crap that lay in the bottom of the pipe. Gabe was there shooting some film of the thing, this photo was that morning. We had to haul the crud up out over the 30ft bomb drop as well.  Is this when i say "you gotta pay to play".... I'd rather not.  I think Julien cleaned more of it then anyone, and skated it the least. Not due to fear or lack of skill, but something deeper than that. Anyone that has ever built something knows what i'm trying to say.

This trip was pretty hard core. Sometimes some skate purist will say things about some of these trips being paid for by someone else.... like i "did in on my own buck" which is great. That guy probably would of lasted 3 days on this trip, or been dragged from the back of the van. There was nothing glamorous about it, somedays you had the jokes or the fire or the story to get everyone through a drive and the other days you prayed your buddy did. You can glamorize it, you can down play it.... paint a picture, make it poem, voice over, get that perfect staged shot..... but that's not it. Its the balance of being completely uncomfortable and completely comfortable at the same time. Or maybe the story teller or film maker should have to clean the pipe, you know what i mean?