Tossers in Texas.

MATT MUMFORD AND CHAD BARTIE love going to the Outback Steakhouse. The first time I ever went to one was on Matt's 27th birthday, and I've been several more times with them on various tours since. The Outback is an Australian-themed chain restaurant that carries the torch of America's Down Under stereotypes first lit by Olivia Newton-John and Men at Work and perpetuated to the present with the delightful Crocodile Dundee films. There're boomerangs and other Australian shit stuck all over the walls and the menu features Bennigan's-style fare souped up with fun Aussie names. Normal pork chops become Jackeroo Chops, and every other item is described as being "on the barbee." And while the poor ignorant saps over at Chili's are stuck eating Awesome Blossoms, Outback customers get authentic Australian Bloomin' Onions as vehicles for their Ranch dressing.

Needless to say, it's one of those restaurants, the popularity of which makes you sort of understand why other countries hate us. And Chad and Matt love it. You'd think they'd reserve the same disgust for the Outback as they do for Foster's (definitely NOT Australian for beer, you'll quickly find out). But they don't. They love it, because when they go there they become instant celebrities.

"ACTUALLY, IT'S PRONOUNCED BRIZ-BUN," they'll correct the 19-year-old waitress as she attempts to describe the Brisbane Salad.

"What?" she'll stutter, eyes widening as she realizes she's dealing with the real deal.

"We say it Briz-bun, love. But no worries. Yer doin' spot on for a seppo."

At this point she's all but bright pink and the bartender's coming over, grinning like a lunatic.

"So y'all are really Australian, huh?" he'll ask.

"That's not a knife," they'll continue, "That's a knife!" and the whole restaurant will erupt in applause.

Well, not really, but that's the vibe. It's like if Colonel Sanders showed up at a Kentucky Fried Chicken and grabbed a booth.

We didn't go to any Outbacks on our trip to Texas, but I'm often surprised and a little jealous at how excited the Aussies get when talking about anything related to their homeland--especially when I couldn't give a rat's ass about the place I grew up.

I'm from Texas, but it turns out I don't care one bit about it. I don't follow the Cowboys or linger at gun shows. I've never ridden a horse and not once have I questioned the authenticity of a restaurant's Texas Toast. Instead, I got the hell out of there right after high school.

It's not a terrible place. It's much better than, say, Iowa. I reckon there's lots of nice folks there, too. But after seeing more of the world and discovering you can skate after the age of 18 without scorn and don't have to do so in 99-percent humidity, I've realized that leaving the Lone Star State was the best decision I ever made.

This was sort of a last-minute Texas trip so I talked Chad and Matt into it first, as they are actual friends and wouldn't get mad if it turned out to be a complete turd. As a package deal we got Joe Pease, who had been living at Matt's for the previous six months, and a fourth Aussie, Jake Duncombe, who had recently made friends with Matt.

"I met him one minute and then an hour later he's punching me in the face!" Matt told me.

Jake, or The Gremlin, as we call him, is instantly lovable and like an honorary little brother, if you can imagine a little brother with a two-foot mullet and an insatiable appetite for regional novelty T-shirts. On a previous trip to Arizona he would often skip meals citing lack of cash but then drop 20 bucks on horrible gas station T's emblazoned with cartoon roadrunners and pastel-colored sunsets.

"Shit is tight!" he'd tell us.

Actually, he says that about pretty much everything, which is a good maxim in a travel situation.

TO KEEP FROM BEING the American whipping boy, I got Ernie Torres to go and found out that Darrell was going to be in Houston, too. And because this video thing seems to really be catching on, I recruited Kurt Hyashi of June-issue-Nike-article fame to come along and bring the three chip. We flew into Houston and almost immediately encountered what would be the first of an elaborate string of skate spots that Dennis Busenitz would really like.

"Man, Dennis would rip this thing!" Ernie kept saying at spot after spot.

If two stairs leading to decrepit earth-tone-colored cellar doors are Puleo spots, then weird tight trannies and banks are definitely Dennis spots. Dennis spots in Houston included some shallow-end-style curves downtown that I skated when I was 15, a backyard pool, the bridge bumps and the fabulous EZ-7 ditch.

At first I thought the park ranger at EZ-7 was kicking us out when he greeted me with a firm, "Have you seen the new sign?" But before I could even get to the chorus of that "Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs" song I realized that the marker in question was to designate the ditch as an o-fficial skatepark. Long haired freaky people rejoice.

Named for the fact that it's easy to hit at least seven walls of its smooth, slightly downhill banks, the EZ-7 has hosted some epic sessions over the years including one of the first tranny kickflips, performed by Mark Gonzales over the channel around 1987. The ditch features a generous rollout section of wood; some well placed parking blocks and a bench extension, which Mumford noseblunt slid and Jake went absolutely wild on.

I know ditches maybe aren't the most cutting edge terrain in the skate world, but seeing as how there are approximately 11 un-knobbed hubba ledges left in the continental United States, you might as well get used to seeing them. Chad smacked his crown on a blunt fakie attempt but was OK, and Houston's own resident pro Anthony Correa teamed up with Nate Broussard on stylish doubles backside noseblunts. My board went in the river but I got it out in my underwear. We ended up staying all afternoon.

The bridge bumps are another I-can't-believe-it's-not-skateproofed spot and Darrell led the charge with monster wallies, wallie 180s, stales and backside nollie 180s while cops just rolled by and waved. Then we went to a 10 stair that led to a head-high fence that Darrell backside 180'd in two tries. That kid could seriously land a 747.

On the weekend we went to the University of Houston with Nate Broussard, Guru, and their friends, and everyone skated as long as they wanted with no lip from security or anybody else. It was almost spooky compared to the heightened terror alert we operate under every time we go skate back home. Ernie jammed out a kickflip and pop shove-it down a triple set, Nate switch backside 180'd it, and Jake juked a 50-50 on a jumbo flat bar that led to an eight-foot drop. We left when we were good and tired, and did so at a leisurely pace.

AUSTRALIANS HAVE A WORD they use that is the equivalent of our "dude;" but unlike the innocuous "dude," their word has the extreme misfortune of also being the most reviled term for female genitalia in the American lexicon. It takes a bit of getting used to, hearing such a vile swear bandied about to identify a male friend, but it's not any worse than some of the things we Americans say. Don't believe me? Next time you're in London, ask someone on the street where you can pick up a fanny pack.

With this in mind, Matt has become increasingly (and irrationally) weight conscious in the past year or so, and often identifies himself as a Fat C --, or FC, and the food he feels causes this condition as "FC shit." To Matt's perpetual disgust, Bartie spends a good portion of his waking hours eating just that, and on our trip he topped off every gargantuan chain-restaurant meal with a chocolate and ice-dream drenched dessert. Ernie kept pace too, putting down at least one Death by Chocolate a day, and Matt would shake his head and start in.

"I cannot wait, Bartier he'd say, "Oh Bartie, I'm gonna laugh when you're fat as luck!"

Jake caught the paranoia too, and started grilling me on different food's calorie content.

"Why's Jake sitting in the van?" I'd ask Pease, on our way into Chili's.

"He thinks he's FC," he'd whisper.

It was all completely ridiculous, as everyone on the trip but me is in excellent shape. But once you start talking about FC shit it's hard to stop.

ANOTHER PART of Bartie's intense consumption ritual involves two or three stops at Starbucks a day. I don't drink coffee, yet I was coerced to seek out the green and white every time the notion struck Chad--usually either before or after a meal or snack which was pretty much non-stop all day.

"Burnett! 'Buckers!" he'd bellow from the backseat. "'Buckers, Burnett!"

Although he didn't mean to sound especially demanding, Chad ended up shouting his requests because his iPod was always on and he couldn't hear the volume of his own voice. On the flipside, talking to him while he was skating was also impossible because he couldn't hear you unless you were looking straight at him.

"HOLD ON! I NEED TO RELOAD THE FILMV I'd yell, as he was skating by.

"WHAT?" he'd yell.

I'd have to pantomime rewinding the film. He'd nod and give the thumbs up.

"CAN YOU TRY IT AGAIN?"

"WHAT?"

It might as well have been my elderly aunt out there trying the bluntslide.

"THAT WAS RADV I'd say.

"WHAT?"

GADGETRY WAS BIG on this trip. Besides the ever-present iPods, every trick had to not only be performed for me and Kurt, but for everyone's digital cameras as well. Jake kept us entertained with his horrible selection of Boost Mobile ring tones (including my personal favorite, "The Milkshake Song"), and in the choice between conversation and gadget fiddling, the lure of the shiny candy-like buttons won every time. Luckily, we had the genius of Ice-T's Body Count to bring us together.

Though I can easily recite all the words to Ice-T's hit "Colors," I was less familiar with the groundbreaking work of his early-'90s rap-metal side project Body Count, that is, until I got to hear it several times a day. I realize some of you might not even know who Ice-T is, so I'll remind you that he's also known as the Original Gangster and has appeared in a long list of movies including Leprechaun 2: In tha Hood, Breakin' 2. Electric Boogaloo, and as a kangaroo in the film Tank Girl. It is, perhaps, this role which so endeared him to the Aussies, especially Mumford, who, like me, pretty much hates all rap except the Geto Boys.

"This shit is tight," he'd announce as T started in on his bass-laden description of life in South Central.

The rap-rock genre is easily one of the most heinous to Durst its way into popular culture in the last few years, but you have to admire Body Count for their enthusiasm and ability to draw concerned parents' outrage from the cod-pieced realm of '80s pseudo-satanic metal that had held it for so long. Even when blinded by a hangover headache, Mumford couldn't help but sit up and pump his fists along with the Count's "There Goes the Neighborhood," and we all pretty much got into it too.

If you're a Texan who's sort of punk rock or a hippy or wears a beret or likes to make experimental films or eats wheat germ or who is into anything else other than buying a really large tract home and SUV, then Austin is the town for you. It's where all the kids I knew who stayed in Texas after high school moved to, and continues to be a pretty sweet place to live even though all sorts of Californians and New Yorkers are swarming there and jacking up the rent. Thrasher staffer Michael Sieben lives there and has introduced me to its rich and vibrant older man's backyard ramp and ditch scene through his writing and a couple of visits, and I knew we wouldn't want to miss it. Though the Banana Farm was closed for maintenance, we got to ride the Terrible One bowl and go out and get completely blotto with all the friendly locals. The next day we hit some vigilante trannies with Adam Young and Jake "The Street" Nunn and continued into the night before the drive to San Antonio.

SAN ANTONIO WAS AS HOT as the Texas of my youth and we hid out until late afternoon to hook up with local legend Carter, tipping skater and owner of The Klaw, a backyard monstrosity of Hellride dimensions. After battling its strange and scary curves for several hours, Carter took us to a hot little permission pool called Shallow Hal, supervised by a local weirdo who talked to us about everything from dog and cat breeding to his plans to expand the property to include batting cages. San Antonio was also the only place where I tried to get the dudes into a little sight seeing. But as I tried to explain the history and significance of the Alamo to the Aussies, I realized I was grossly unprepared.

"It's, uhmm, this old fort where, uhmm, do you remember Davy Crockett?" "Who?" they asked.

"You know, the guy who wore the hat made out of a raccoon?"

Blank stares.

"Well it was him and a bunch of Americans and they had to defend the fort against the Mexicans."

"Were the Mexicans trying to invade America?" they asked.

"Uhmm, no, but they had to keep them out because, ahh, wait--have you heard of Jim Bowie? The guy who made the Bowie knife?"

"The what?" they asked.

"Nevermind. So these guys had to defend Texas in this fort but they lost and they all got killed and then ..."

"Mexico took over America?" they offered.

"No, not exactly. But people would remember it--have you seen Pee Wee's Big Adventure?"

"No, why?" they asked.

"Well, he thought his bike was in the basement of the Alamo."

"His bike? What the luck does that have to do with the Mexican army?" they asked. "Nothing. I just thought ..."

"Wait. Is this the thing that Ozzy pissed on?" Matt finally asked.

"Exactly!" I said. And with that, we were off to see the Alamo.

The excitement quadrupled when Pease realized that right next to the Alamo was a shop specializing in Australian products that he had read about on the Internet, and after a quick tour of the sacred buildings (with Matt simulating Ozzy's famous urinating), we were over to About Australia.

The store, which was actually just a corner of a much larger traditional tourist souvenir shop, had a plaster kangaroo out front and after muscling past the Beer is Food shirts and official Texas fly swatters, the Aussies reached near euphoria as they spied all the Vegemite, digiridoos and Australian candy that their lives had been so miserable without. Soon the American owner was chatting them up in a dodgy Australian accent as they heaped item after item near the register. Chad phoned his wife and started filling orders while Pease haggled for an extra-large jug of some sort of superior Australian Ovaltine. Kurt got into the excitement and selected a digiridoo while Matt grabbed several fists full of snacks. Strangest of all was Jake who, though scheduled to go home in less than a month, bought over $100 in Australian candy and even an assortment of Australian T-shirts.

"Shit's tight!" he remarked, and everyone wholeheartedly agreed.

ERNIE TORRES, NOT AUSTRALIAN

Was this your first time around Australians?

No, actually remember that time we went and watched JT Aultz try and grind that ledge forever? Matt and Shane Cross came with us that day. But this was the first time I was around more than two of 'em--which I was barely able to handle.

What did you notice that was different about them?

Matt Mumford rapping.

Are you talking about Ice T's Body Count?

Yeah, that.

Was this also your first exposure to Body Count?

Yeah, I don't think I'd ever heard that before in my life. Would you say it's the finest rap-rock album you've ever heard?

Yeah, That and Kid Rock. C'mon! Did you learn any new Australian vocabulary that you didn't know before?

Yeah, fuckin' 'Buckers.

What does that mean?

Starbucks, I guess. I also heard someone say "chilly bin."

What's that?

Like a cooler--an ice chest cooler. Oh, and I learned "stroppy."

What's stroppy?

I guess that's when you're pouty or angry, or maybe pouty and angry at the same time. Right?

I guess. Did you ever get stroppy on the trip at all?

Me and Jake did a couple of times just fooling around. More Jake though, right?

I'm not gonna say anything about that! Who was missing from this trip?

Dennis Busenitz. Every spot we went to he would have ripped. Dennis should have been on that trip. What makes a Dennis spot?

Pretty much anything. He can skate anything but he would have definitely ripped those ramps and ditches and fuckin' weird wall spots--bank-to-walls and all that.

What was your impression of Texas?

It was really hot.

What was the most dessert you ate?

Oh, that Death by Chocolate. Every time I went out to eat I had one of those or something just like it. Every time one came on a plate I thought I had to shit right then. Luckily everything mellowed out because I drank so much Coke.

Do you worry about being an FC?

No way! Maybe when I'm 30 I'll have to worry about that, but not now. Oh, except sometimes after the Death by Chocolate I thought I was getting a gut. Does that ever happen to you? Where you have a gut and then it goes away?

No. I think that's called constipation. Can you name a pro skater from Texas besides Darrell?

Yeah. Wild Will Taylor. Have you heard of him?

Hell yeah. Do you know he and Matt had to share a cover?.

Share one?

Yeah, they both did big 50-50s that month so transworld decided to just split the cover down the middle.

That sounds awesome.

Yeah. It's an idea they need to do again soon.