Bros in the bowls.

FOR ALL OUR RAW STREET ACTION, Thrasher is known, for better or worse, as the skateboard magazine most likely to include the most bowls. How do I know this? Well, for starters, when a young Bastien Salabanzi first found out I worked for Thrasher, his immediate response was to laugh.

"Ha, ha, ha! Trasher! Put me in Trasher, Mike Burnett! Like Omar Hassan in the bowls!"

He almost wet his pants it was so funny. My other clue as to our bowl-heavy perception is that 99 percent of people who want to freelance for us usually have a bowl project in mind.

"I figured I'd get my buddies up to Oregon," they explain, "and do, like, 20 parks in two days!"

Even our regular staffers have a bowl-heavy bias. Sometimes I worry that, if we let them, they'd be content to simply follow the Dreamland crew around skating their new parks, drinking beer, and shooting frontside airs well into retirement.

FOR YEARS I've been fighting the tide of bowl photos and articles. When we're planning a new issue, I mark each article as bowl or non-bowl, and put all the extra bowl features in an ever-growing stack. I try and keep the balance of non-bowl to bowl at four to one, but sometimes, like when Rhino and Hammeke have both gone on a kill trip with Chet, we lean dangerously closer to 50-50. This said, all you old dudes who write in to tell us how we suck, have too many handrails, and should be more like Concrete Wave: after you get done on eBay or developing your new racing truck, you can point your fingers directly at me.

Going to concrete skateparks in places like Oregon and Colorado is what I do for vacation. Flying to Marseilles to shoot a contest? That's not work. That's a party. Even if I wanted to go to those events, by the time I hear about them, Hammeke's gotten Rockstar Energy Drink to buy him a ticket and Rhino's already there skating.

"Oh well," I say to myself. "Time to meet Billy at the rail in Riverside."

Well this time I shoved over that towering stack of bowl articles, ignored the other guys' summer schedule of Soul Bowl dates and Choppy Omega Trifectas, and made my own concrete cruising mission. And since you get to see all the usual skatepark greats in those other dudes' articles, I brought my own crew, a combination of all-terrain destroyers-Stewart Graham, John Rattray, Keegan Sauder--and classically trained legends--Lance Mountain and Jeff Grosso. We headed out for a week of high-flying action and insane terrain. And yes, we went to Oregon.

A TRAIL OF RAD

TOBIN'S

Tobin has a wild homemade pool, completely dug by hand, in the backyard garage of an otherwise normal-looking Portland home. When construction was in full swing, Tobin and his crew had to sneak bags of dirt out in the middle of the night, like dead bodies, so the neighbors wouldn't know what he was up to. We were stoked to skate here with Chalba, Matt Moffett, Ultimate Phil, and David "Shaggy" Palmer. Thanks, Tobin.

ASTORIA

Gooniesville, USA, Astoria is home to a Dreamland masterpiece built on top of the existing city swimming pool, actually incorporating one of the extra-tight corners of the original pool's diving well. Lance got a corner air through it and accidentally rode back up the face wall, so harsh was the line. Grosso noseboned frontals off the extension and John and Keegan got doubles over the Twinkie. The helmet police ended an otherwise sweet session, so we packed up and went to Dairy Queen.

LINCOLN CITY 

We followed the coast and got to the Lincoln City park with enough time to see Red's new pool, an interesting addition with two shallows and a challenging hip. Stu, John, and Keegan all did the roll-in on the back of the cradle, but the fun was cut short when a younger ripper got knocked out after he collided with another skater. The poor little guy had a mouthful of broken teeth and was pretty freaked out. No stranger to smashed grills, Stu leaned in and tried to comfort the young man.

"Don't worry. Now you look just like me!" he offered, with his gap-toothed grin.

Surprisingly this didn't seem to help the boy, whose eyes widened in something resembling terror.

BROOKINGS

It was raining so we powered all the way to Brookings, otherwise known as that park where you can jump over the pool. John, Stu, and Keegan all took the challenge, Stu getting it with a frontside grab and the others with powerful grassers, after which Keegan and Jeff got some hot doubles lines going. Later, as we laid around in the grass, a man who looked like he was dressed for church walked across the park towards us with a stride so purposeful at first I thought he was about to yell at us for something. Instead he marched right up to Jeff, smiling.

"You're Jeff Grosso!" he announced happily. "I recognized your rock 'n' roll when I was driving by!"

The guy was super nice, but after an earful of back-in-the-day talk Jeff pointed across at Lance.

"Look, there's Lance Mountain over there," he told him.

The man shot across the park like a rocket.

When Jamie Thomas is in his 40s, I don't know if he'll still be getting requests to grind big rails--but for Lance, not a week goes by where an aging fan doesn't request that he perform a sadplant. "Let's see you bust a sadplant!" the man at Brookings chirped happily.

The thing about Lance is, despite the fact that he's a legend and should have nothing to prove to anyone, he still feels the pressure to please his fans. At Brookings, the only vert wall requires that you launch over the pool to hit it properly. So a sadplant could come only after Lance learned to jump the pool, a task he wasn't even considering. The man prodded about 10 more times, but Lance had to sadly decline. Later that night, he was still beating himself up about not doing it.

"Stupid sadplant," he mumbled over his Dairy Queen.

CRESCENT CITY, CA

On a vacation a year earlier, Rattray had seen a rail in the small town of Crescent City, the northernmost point on the California coast. Since we'd already made it all the way down to Brookings, John decided it was well worth the extra half hour drive to skate the rail he'd been thinking about for so long.

The mission was a smashing success, although, as with our Scotland trip last summer, the pressure of commerce has snatched the photo from this article. That night we celebrated by kicking up our heels at the Best Valu Motel, taking a dip in their weird hot tub cabin where we were soon joined in the small confines by two pudgy 'tweens in pink swimsuits.

"Is this illegal?" Lance wondered out loud.

From there we went to the local bowling alley snack bar where the sturdy waitress quickly rolled up her sleeves to show off her arms full of tattoos for Stu, whom she definitely had her eye on. A little friendly chitchat and she was back with free cocktails for Stu, sodas for the legends, and pitchers for the rest of us. At the end of the visit Stu was totally hammered and the bill was only nine dollars.

Not really grasping the basic rules of the Twelve Step program, Stu kept trying to talk Grosso into going for a beer with him.

"I can't do it, Stu," Jeff explained.

"Ay! C'mon," Stu pleaded. "Jus' one beer!"

"I can't, man," Jeff said.

"How 'bout one light beer?" Stu offered.

Walking back to the hotel, we (minus the legends) stopped at a lounge connected to the Best Valu. In a town that small, it was the hottest spot around and we had to pay a cover charge so we could sit nervously in a booth sipping Coors Light while Stu pounded vodka Red Bulls and got increasingly belligerent.

"Look at this gay shite!" he yelled, pointing to the braided ponytail of a Vato gentleman with his back to us. He then got up and tried to chat with a 300-pound man who was making out at the bar with what looked like a 15-year-old. Out front, Stu got into it with a group of jocks that really wanted to make friends with such an intriguing foreigner.

"Gayness!" he yelled, "This town is nothin' but gayness!"

"Guinness?" they asked loudly, eyes wide. "Yeah, Guinness is awesome! Do they make Guinness where you come from?"

"Nah! I'm nay talkin' 'bout Guinness!" he slurred. "I'm talkin' 'bout this town's nothin' but fookin' gayness!"

"Yeah, Guinness!" the locals cheered excitedly, "Guinness rules!"

At this point, seeing as how he was making friends, we left him at the bar and went to bed.

An hour or so later the lounge closed and Stu crashed into my room where I pretended to be asleep while he threw the furniture around and yelled at Lance and Grosso for a few minutes with no results. At that point, he stormed down to the other guy's room where he stripped down naked and hopped into bed with young Russell the filmer, who quickly retreated to the floor.

"They're all done over there," he explained, before barfing on the bedside table.

And so, then, was Stu.

PRO POOL

LANCE MOUNTAIN, along with being one of the most beloved skaters of his generation, is a man who, when it comes to concrete terrain, cannot be satisfied. Although he occasionally admits to having a good time at a park or pool, when pressed, he admits that he actually hates everything.

"Did you like that park?" you'll ask.

"Yeah. Maybe. It was cool," he'll respond.

"So you didn't like it?" you'll ask.

"No. It was rad, I guess," he'll say.

"So you like it?" you'll ask.

"Yeah. I mean, it's terrible and it sucked, but yeah," he'll say.

"You think it sucked?" you'll ask.

"I'm just kidding. Maybe I suck," he'll answer.

It typically goes around like this for awhile, but if you read through all the smiles and raised eyebrows the message is clear: Lance hates everything. Once, when we were talking about the kind of pool Lance ideally wants, I misunderstood him and thought he referred to it as a "pro pool." I didn't know exactly what a pro pool was, but I figured it was a special kind of pool that met a classically trained pool skater's specifications.

"So is this a pro pool?" I asked him on our trip.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"A pro pool. What you would refer to as a 'pro pool'?" I asked.

"What's a pro pool?" he asked.

"I don't know. You said you wanted a pro pool." I said.

"No I didn't," he said.

"Yes you did. You said you were looking for a pro pool," I said.

"Okay. Well then, no, this isn't a pro pool," he finally decided.

So, even though we don't know exactly what it is, we decided the only terrain that will ever really satisfy Lance is a pro pool. Pressed further, he admitted that, though he's never actually seen one, a true pro pool has a wide-open deed end, no waterfall, and stretches a certain, unknowable distance from face wall to shallow end wall. Anyone who thinks they know of an existing pro pool is encouraged to contact Lance, care of Flip skateboards. But keep in mind he will hate it.

JEFF GROSSO, CLASSICALLY TRAINED

What does it mean to be classically trained?

Fuck. Classically trained? I don't know, man. That's your thing. According to you I believe it means I was brought up in skateboard parks. To me it just means you're old and washed up and can't make an air so you blame it on the terrain that you're riding.

How do the new parks, like the ones we went to, compare with the parks of your childhood?

They don't, really, compare at all. It's a completely different mindset. If you're talking about Dreamland and Grindline and those, that's exactly what it is: a dreamland. They're fantasies. It's fantasyland. It's the stuff we used to draw on our Pee Chee folders when we were little kids. You've got a fullpipe that wraps around into a shark tank jump into a grind over the glass pit; shit like that. Parks back then were varying-sized swimming pools and snake runs, freestyle area and banked slalom, Now they just throw it all together into these moonscapes. They don't really compare at all. It seems like now you have to have lots more creativity. It's a whole other trip.

Of the ones we hit, which was your favorite?

Klamath. I could relate to it the best. It had that old '70s feel, but it had that moonscape thing, too. It took me a little while to warm up and get used to the other parks. I don't really adapt too well 'cause I'm old. I kind of started out slow. We didn't really get to ride Lincoln City because that kid knocked his teeth out, but I think I would have liked it. I got to session Klamath Falls for a whole day. They're all really good but Klamath, I was real psyched to do the little Evil Knievel jumps 'cause I can't do that stuff. I could see going and spending days there.

Do you still want to do the loop at Reedsport?

'Cause I talked so much smack about how I was going to do it? Yeah. I'd be really stoked to be that grumpy old man sitting out saying, "I used to loop Reedsport...."

"Yeah, whatever, Granddad." That kind of crap. But when you're standing there all by yourself looking at it and Lance is whispering in your ear that you're gonna die, you know? When I was standing in the bottom of it in the rain, I had it. Then when the sun came out, I didn't have it anymore. I got all scared. I think if I was there and other people were doing it my ego would kick in and I could make myself do it. I wimped out. I talked smack and I got beat for it.

What's a pro pool?

Once again, that's you throwing the old guys under the bus Pro pools are classically designed skateboard swimming pools. Again, were old dudes and we have some very definite ideas about what makes a good pool, and most people argue with us and think we don't know what were talking about. But we rode the old skateparks so we think we know best and everyone else is insane. But as you may have noticed, no one is beating down out door to design pools, so what the fuck do we know? A pro pool is an unattainable dream That's what a pro pool is.

Did you take anything from your time with Rattray. Stu, and Keegan?

Actually, yeah. I've been reading about those parks in magazines and I've been fantasizing about them for so many years, because Oregon's the Mecca, and I'd made it so big in my head that by the time I got there I was freaking out about it When we went and skated Astoria, I was like, "I can't skate here. I can't skate. This place is awesome and I'm retarded." Those guys are rad. They're younger and they don't give a fuck. It was just another skate trip to them and they got out of the car and started handling it. You know? That was fucking awesome. You lust see Keegan and Stu playing on their boards. They were lust playing; that's what skateboarding's all about. Some people might not like to hear that, but a skateboard is a toy and you're supposed to play with it. It's a skate trip and you're supposed to have fun. It was like I was thinking, "I saw Astoria in the magazine and you have to rip here!" No, you don't. You're just supposed to have a good time. All you have to do is have fun.

KLAMATH FALLS

Highway 66 that leads to Klamath Falls is one of the windiest mountain roads I've ever driven. Spit out after an hour of zigzagging in the dark, we drove to the park and hopped the fence so Grosso could check it out. The next day we learned that the park is no longer the free-for-all it used to be. Instead, the city leaders (possibly after doing some intense research through the listings of the local Yellow Pages) have put the park in the hands of the local rollerskating rink, whose first point of business was to require helmets and allow BMX bikes. Regardless, Klamath is a fantastic park. Even Lance, who had decreed it "terrible," got into the fun after some intense halfpiping in the capsule. The legends had a ball while the others nursed hangovers and cooked in the sun.

"I can't believe I thought I hated Klamath," Lance later admitted.

Still, he agreed, not a pro pool.

REEDSPORT

There was a lot of hype because Grosso was around Reedsport, largely trying to convince himself that he could loop the cone-shaped fullpipe.

"Screech did it," he kept telling us.

After studying it in the rain and then watching footage of people getting totally annihilated trying it on the Internet, he started to have his doubts.

"If only I could watch someone do it in person," he said.

Meeting the locals, it was obvious that was not going to happen. Still, a good time, with Stu and Lance unloading various fastplants and Grosso putting on a handplant demo on the gnarly extension.

"I'm not flapping them over right," he kept telling us as we marveled at his picture-perfect Andrechts.

Despite the best intentions, there's going to be some finer points of each generation's skating that will inevitably be lost on the next. I'm sure Grosso telling us his awesome handplants suck is like us trying to explain to Eddie Reategui why Rodil Junior is not the world's finest street skater. For some things, you just had to have been there.

FLORENCE

We pretty much stood around and laughed in wonder at how wild this skatepark is and how any city inspector worth his clipboard could have signed off on such a freaky monstrosity. Greeting visitors to the park is a 10-foot retaining wall with two-foot transition sporting the message, "Fuck Off, Grandma!" spray-painted in large, white letters. Stu carved the hole of death while we stood around bullshitting with the local maniac little kids until dark. Anyone who's ever been forced to wear full pads on a Masonite streetcourse owes it to themselves to ride this beautiful, diabolical skateboard park.

AUMSVILLE

A great park, but we got rained out twice and went to eat pizza.

TETTER'S

Built by Red and the owner Phil, an expert maker of professional-grade pool coping, the bowl pretty much put the final nail in the coffin for our trip, despite being nearly immaculate. First Grosso bailed a Madonna, did a midair body varial, and got his bell rang when he stepped back on the middle of his board with both feet like he was waterskiing. Next Stu whipped out on the lip, did a gainer with a half-twist, and split his shin on the coping as he dove to the bottom. Finally, Rattray over-rotated a backside tailslide and fractured his wrist at the tail end of a Glifberg-esque mega-line. Keegan didn't even try and skate, having rolled his ankle in Reedsport, and neither did Lance, who had come down with a crippling case of hayfever. Still, between sneezes, he seemed upbeat.

"I think this might be a pro pool," he wheezed hopefully. "Maybe we should come back soon."

And with that, I have an excellent excuse to do another Oregon trip.

On a serious note, heartfelt thanks to all the master craftsmen and women who have made the Pacific Northwest such an out-of-this-world place to skate. The enrichment you've brought to skateboarding cannot be measured.