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Girl on film: roasting down the pacific coast.

When I first caught wind about this trip, I thought Kodak Black was going to be jumping in the van with us. When I found out we were actually working on something with the Kodak cameras, I was even more hyped. So with the launch of Girl's collab with Kodak and their new Super 8 film that's dropping soon, we wrangled the crew and headed down the Pacific Coast to click some shutters. None of us anticipated how insane this trip would actually be--from fireworks exploding in the van to Manchild smashing a basketball goal on his head, this was one hell of a ride.

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Not the least bit burnt after filming for The Flare, Simon and Manchild wanted a headstart on the trip, so we decided to make our way up the coast a week early. Little did we know the van had no AC, and from LA to SF we were in a 110-degree death box, sitting and sweating in our boxers. Luckily, we had time to kill while in The City, so we plopped the Silver Bullet off with none other than OG Girl rider Ben Sanchez at All Tire. Thanks for the heavy tune-up, Ben! With the AC kickin' we kept rolling up the 5 'til we hit a little town called Enumclaw, Washington, home of Simon Bannerot. After a couple days of country living, we headed to the big city of Seattle to pick up the rest of the crew. We somehow managed to cram 12 dudes, along with all of their luggage and camping gear, into the Silver Bullet and went to Garfield park to kick it off. The G-Field locals were trying to hype up McCrank, but nobody told them not to run underneath a dude while he's trying a trick. Sorry, Rick. Maybe next time. And to clarify: by "locals," I don't mean skaters. These guys literally asked us if we were a part of "Slasher magazine."

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No matter where you go, Girl super fans are everywhere. The dude working the counter at Burgerville in Centralia, WA, recognized Carroll and asked for a photo--of him and Mike eating a burger together. Things got weird, so we hopped back in the van and headed for Foster's epic compound in Oregon. Cory was fed up with everybody staring at their screens, so he confiscated our phones for the three-hour drive. We were all really proud of how far we travelled without our devices, until we realized Carroll had been using his Apple Watch the whole time. I wondered why I kept hearing little snippets of Daft Punk floating through the cabin. It was dark when we arrived at Foster's and I didn't believe Manchild when he said, "Motherfucker, I'm gonna be waking up on that drawbridge tomorrow, no matter how high it is!" Lo and behold, that motherfucker woke up on the drawbridge the next day. Rick and I must have been allergic to our sleeping bags, because every morning it looked like we had little vaginas for eyes. I guess that's part of the camping experience, right? Freaking out and wondering if you've been mauled by bugs or have pinkeye. I don't know how P-Stone does it.

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After we checked Foster's off the list, it was straight to the Cat's Paw in Portland, owned by none other than Mic-E Reyes! After only being open a day or so, two of our guys got to be the first dudes banned from the bar. Maybe one day Mic-E will let Manchild and Simon back in--but they might have to get a punch to the face first. Frank, a new Royal team rider, joined us in Portland. He's quite the character, and his handlebar mustache is there to prove it. I don't think Frank liked me all that well; he kept asking me to pull over for fireworks, liquor stores and weed clubs. I just kept driving. Frank got his revenge, though.

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After the crew ran out of weed, I finally pulled over and stopped at a 7-Eleven while some of the guys ran across the street to try to find a dispensary. An hour later, Manchild retuned weedless--with a bloody head and an epic story. He had approached what he thought was a lesbian couple, asking them where he could buy some weed. The next thing he knew, his homie Jake was making out with one of the girls and he was getting a back rub from the other one. Maybe they were bi-curious? After the heat fizzled, they continued their herb search, only to stumble upon a basketball goal in the middle of the street. A quick pickup game was in order, and minutes later the goal came crashing down on Manchild's head! He was okay, but it was a hell of a scare when he came back to the van with blood streaming down his face. We took him to get some staples in his dome before hitting the road to Lincoln City.

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It being the Fouth of July weekend, I suppose I should have anticipated some carnage on the coast, but I had no idea what fate had in store for us. With Rick sitting shotgun and Cory right behind him, the antics were high, but things got a little too hectic when Cory threw a handful of lit fireworks onto the dashboard while we were speeding down the highway. Almost instantly, the dash was on fire and, panicking, I swerved into oncoming traffic. Malto and Brophy got bounced around in the back of the van like a couple of ping-pong balls! Lucky for us, Oregon's fireworks are pretty weak and the van didn't blow up. And, Wheatley, if you're reading this, your FasTrak tag got melted in the blaze. Sorry, man!

We found ourselves in SF for the final leg of the trip. Biebel flew in to kick it and hype up the dudes. With Twin Peaks being the new hot spot, we had to check out the epic view and the hill bomb. Biebel had never been there before and within minutes it turned into a Bumble photo shoot. "Hey, Rye, Rye, get me over here by the big Space Needle." Joe wanted to get one last group shot with the crew and the city in the background, when--next thing you know--someone threw a firework into the air. Their aim was pretty off and it landed in the bushes and within seconds they caught fire. We managed to tame the flame before it got out of hand and promptly got the hell out of there. The last day of the trip turned out to be just as productive as the first. We got some last-minute clips, ending the trip on a high note, before taking our asses back down to LA the next morning. This was my first real voyage with the Girl team and every moment was amazing. Well, except when the van caught on fire. That actually kinda sucked.

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by Rye Beres | photos by Joe Brook

Meet FRANK

Cory introduced us to his demonic alter ego on this trip, a mustachioed prankster by the name of Frank. I mistakenly loaned Frank my phone one night and the hijinx ensued. All those buff dude photos on my Instagram account? Frank's to blame. He was nice enough to return my phone in the middle of the night, though--bringing half the team with him to party in my room. Frank has in insatiable appetite for fireworks, and I think he caught on pretty early that I wasn't into them--at all--especially when driving the van. Cue the flaming dashboard. Even though he was sneaky and up to no good, I'd love to have Frank on the next trip. Hopefully he hasn't blown himself up by then.
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Author:Beres, Rye
Publication:Thrasher
Date:Sep 14, 2017
Words:1326
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