Lundry's last stand.

She got herself a man...and that's me. Tied the knot. Did the deed. Took the plunge. If you ever find the right girl like I did, you'll understand. And when these kinds of occasions pop up, there are always the accompanying rites. This means bachelor party. I am convinced going to strip clubs is solely for the pleasure of the other guys and not the engaged man. Not that they can't be fun, but what are you gonna do? Get with some stripper the night before you get married? Rather I took the path that so many other skaters have taken, the "last hurrah" road trip. It was a mess from the start but we had a mission. We kept this one low-profile: it was just Frazier Thomson, Ricky Simpson, Davey Rogers and me.

Davey had a car that had been sitting for months without working, and that was what we were going to take. A diagnosis pointed to a faulty starter relay, cheap and easy to replace, and the wagon started right up. We left from Newport, Rhode Island, bound for New York. Forty-five minutes into Connecticut we pulled over for beers and gas. Then the car wouldn't start back up. Bollocks. After an hour of skating back and forth to the parts store we were back on the road, but bent out of shape because, well, Connecticut sucks: hard to buy beer, freaks galore, and no skin mags for the road. So we got to NYC, got a slice, and it started to pour. Looked like we weren't gonna hit the Brooklyn park, but there was always the pub. We got a hold of Juan Veit, skater, tramp, vagabond, ne'er-do-well, lederhosen, you get the idea, and he told us to meet him at a mini-ramp/gallery/shop that had just hosted a show by none-other-than Leigh Peterson, judged to have the slowest part ever in a skate video, who had just shown naked pictures of his mom and her young boyfriend. Well, we missed that installation, but cruised the ramp and headed to Juan's. Juan's got some rent-scam going that allows him to stay in a given place rent-free for months at a time. He's also got the best/worst looking car of all time, a spray-painted Celica that he got from someone in a band/project called War Hippy for $300, a steal in The City. We cruised around the local spots, and Davey got excitedly drunk, offending as many people as possible. Top two quotes: "Fuck Beards!" and "They should just blow up Connecticut and attach Rhode Island to NYC!" After wandering for hours, Juan fired up the car and we headed to some ritzy strip club, where the girls were hot and the lap dances painful.

The next day Juan played for us a tape of the latest noise sensation in the city, a "band" called Horse Pussy Ouch. We skated Brooklyn, and made our voyage to Philly. A nefarious 'zine editor had supposedly hooked things up for us, but when we got there things began to look sketchy. He told us of a bar called Tattooed Mom, and the art-snobbery abounding on the lower level offended our working class sensibilities, until we found out about the scumfuckery on the upper level. Packed with skaters. Drinking, swearing, and fighting, the Scots' friend Bobby hooked us up with a place to stay when it was over, but wanted to go to the speakeasy down the street first. I lasted long enough to see a guy break a bottle over his head, sending glass into the eye of a poor, innocent bystandress. Davey and I split, and the others were to meet us at the car in an hour. Davey was in fine form, talking shit to everyone and barely keeping up. A block from the car I told him we were almost there, but he sat down and passed out. The others picked me up later and Davey couldn't be found. Of course he says we abandoned him...

The next morning we looked for the poor bugger but couldn't find 'im. We ate, thanked Bobby, and headed to FDR, figuring we'd see Davey there. A good bet, there he was, bottle in hand, starting in already. FDR rules. Rough in places, a little ghetto, but home-made and some of the locals killed it. We said our goodbyes and bolted to Asbury Park. We found a pool with the sketchiest of directions, and within 30 minutes Davey was down with a concussion, puking, muttering nonsense, and not standing up straight, similar to the three days prior but with a huge lump on his head. After the hospital we bolted homeward, with Davey asleep and quiet (for once) in the back.

This was to be my last skate trip as a single man. But shit, I'd been telling myself that for every session since I got engaged. But this truly was it: The following weekend I tied the knot, and haven't looked back.