RDS party tour: tough guy 4.

"SCURICH, WE'RE DOING A TOUR across Alberta and back to Vancouver; you want to come? This is going to be a skate and party tour." I ask if the emphasis is going to be on the skating or the partying, because the two don't seem to mix very well. "Both--skate all week, and then go camping and party it up in Kelowna. We need skating and partying footage for the next video." I'm in, Moses! Moses tells me, "We got a demo when you get in, so take a cab and meet us there. We'll be all warmed up and ready to go skate the street and shoot photos." When I get to the demo, I find Ryan Smith and Mike Hastie in full form: completely hammered, Smith lighting his tour shirt on fire while he's wearing it, and Hastie extinguishing it with beer. Tough Guy 4 was off to a great start.

RDS PARTY TOUR: TOUGH GUY 4

THIS WAS MY SECOND Red Dragon trip but with some different guys, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I knew one thing for sure: The ultimate road warrior, Moses Itkonen, would have something for all the dumb ass drivers which seem to plague Alberta. As mustard was last year's theme, Moses told me a change was needed this time around. First stop on the trip was to the grocery store where Moses was pleased to find "The now bigger and better" 30-oz ketchup bottle with a plastic tip. Just to be sure of the dispenser's capability, Moses decided to test it on the other van, right there in the store parking lot. And it begins. It seems van wars have become a bit of a cliche on skate trips, but even if you're sick of the childish behavior, they're a great way to make days of traffic-filled rides fun. This year's war started out pretty mellow, until breakfast of day two. Smith and Moses decided to go and buy two large bowls of chili. On the way to the first spot, Smith ran out and pitched the bowl at the other van's windshield like a Roger Clemens fastball. Not only did the greasy, dark red sauce cover the other van, it managed to spray the new Escalade behind it. A high-speed pursuit followed through the streets of Edmonton. Moses ripped our shitty Chevy up a curb, made a quick right, and lost the jocked-out cowboys in their chili-covered Caddy.

Jeremy Petit, the shit dump van's captain, decided to try and get some revenge for Smith's chili antics. On the way to breakfast one day, he stopped by the grocery store and bought a dozen eggs and some molasses. Jeremy's troops then egged and molassed our van while it was parked out on the main street. It would have been a smooth move, except that 10 concerned citizens called the cops. Nothing like the cops interrupting our breakfast to question us about egging cars. At least the Canadian bacon that responded was pretty cool and didn't seem to care--although, according to the cops, they could have rolled him pretty hard for it.

KETCHUP

IT'S ONE THING for these super-citizens/vigilantes to try and flex on people, but even the craziest of them know better than to mess with RDS Security Specialist Moses. Such was the case with Super Citizen "Pregnant Steve." After trying to tackle Momolu for skating a bump at "his building," Pregnant Steve, who looked about six months deep with triplets, got more than he bargained for when Moses walked up and called him out. Moving in close to the guy, Moses asked, "Why would you try and knock someone down for skating? Who are you? You're not a cop or a security guard."

"Fuck you guys, I'm going to go call the police," says Pregnant Steve, obviously feeling intimidated by Moses' stature as he turns away and retreats to his car. Due to a few prior legal troubles, Moses reserves physical battles as a last resort, and instead delivered some non-criminally offendable justice by lathering up the guy's back with warm, four-day-old ketchup. As Steve got into his soccer-mom wagon and drove off, Moses reciprocated Steve's middle finger gesture with a smile and wave. When Steve gets the pleasure of cleaning the ketchup off his cloth seats, maybe he'll realize he should mind his own business; probably not.

MR. SMITH

RYAN SMITH was on fire this trip, both literally and with his "observations." After a few days of being kicked out of spots, his criticism took a turn for the worse (or better, depending if you're the one receiving it or not). Crudely honest, Smith would say just about anything and everything regardless of the setting--often just to get some sort of response. The following are just but a few of his choice comments. Imagine the most inappropriate time and place to say these; most likely, that's when they were said.

* She's a dump barrel shit pile.

* That dog is so big, I'd fuck it.

* Calgary chicks are rock-n-roll sluts.

* We're gonna Red Dragon gangbang your toilet.

* Getting your ass kicked with a boner: definitely on the top-10 shit list.

* Jimmy Astleford is a mini Dave Duncan.

* Chicks and sticks don't mix.

I WATCHED THE Tent City video a couple days before I left for this trip, and quickly realized how my generation is filled with pussies. I'm sure there are some exceptions to that statement, but the tours I've been on have hotel rooms, wireless internet, nice dining and air-conditioned cars. Most of our spots are relatively accessible; that is, we're not climbing into capsules to skate. Just nowhere near the gnarliness of that older hardcore generation. So when Moses told me about the previous camping mission, saying "It was crazy, no tents or anything, just beer," I figured this would be a maturing experience; maybe something that could put some hair on my chest. Plus the fact that this was coming from a seasoned veteran who had been on some "sketchy tours in my day."

Preparation for the camping trip consisted of the crew mobbing through Wal-Mart. 13 sleeping bags, 13 chairs, some coolers, a small hatchet and three boom boxes. Right when he got through the door, Hastie started his FSU, which meant pretty much everything in his reach went flying. We even got a "Code 99." That's where all the Wal-Mart scumbags come and escort you out. Luckily, Hastie managed to hightail it out of there before the dark exploiters of the world could catch him. It was then to the beer store, which was conveniently right next door. 210 Kokanees and some handles of Vodka. Now we're ready for camping.

Right when we got on the boat, it was straight to the beer bong. The socialites in the Marina looked at us in disgust--as if beer bonging in the harbor is inappropriate or something. After a 20-minute boat-bong ride we made it to our destination: Rattlesnake island. "You guys won't want to sleep there, there's nothing to burn for a campfire," the boat operator tells us. "I see a tree," I offer quickly. "There's only three trees on that island, you shouldn't cut them down," he says with a worried look on his face. "Just take us there," says Moses with a mischievous grin.

We unloaded all our "camping" stuff which took only a little while; basically, throwing our stuff to the people already on shore.. "Don't worry, we won't be coming home with anything," Moses told the boat guy, who was anxious to get back (or get rid of us). After we landed, we climbed up to the top of the island where we set up camp (positioned our chairs), and Machnau and I went to work on the biggest and deadest tree. Everyone was doubting our abilities with the 12-inch hatchet. "The fucking tree is coming down," Machnau tells the beer-bonging crew. It only took about three hours and about 50 beers between Moses, Machnau and myself to bring that tree down; this shit was as "nature" as an Element ad and way more fun. It took the whole wasted posse to drag the 30-foot pine up the hill to the "fire pit" (which was actually only the center of our chairs).

Predictably, the drunker everyone got, the more out of hand things became. By about four in the morning, with only a few beers left, people were out swimming in the ice cold water around the island, the other two trees were being cut down, some people were tripping out and walking around the 150 foot cliffs in the dark, two of the three boom boxes were focused, and one Mike Hastie was singing his country music loud enough for Garth Brooks to hear it in Texas. When the sun came up I could see the full damage inflicted--Rattlesnake Island now looked like the newspaper images of Fallujah: fires smoldering, burnt shit, litter everywhere, and bodies laying all over the place. Papa Moses went on a recovery mission and gathered up all the lingering troops. He made sure we didn't leave a single piece of trash on that island; I guess not all Red Dragons hate nature.

By the time our ride arrived, the place was looking alright--but one could tell the place had been to war. The only thing being put on the boat were the bags of trash and the barely-conscious bodies. Definitely a sense of accomplishment making it our of there alive, but is it really camping if you don't sleep?

"Check www.thrashermagazine.com for exclusive photos of the Rattlesnake Island chaos that we couldn't print in the mag.."