whose gnar-dog coping I did slay..."
Well, maybe the attempt at poetry is a bit much, but considering the lag around here I guess I have time for just about anything. Since we're not finding shit around here again this season (I hear it helps to actually look!!!), and especially since the only decent pool we know about has pretty much outsmarted us (that's right, I've been outsmarted by an inanimate object yet again), this week I thought I'd pay homage to a couple of the best pools I've ridden over the years. The one pictured below was called the "Waco Bowl" and it was going in '03. Just click on the image and look at the fucking deep and tell me a three-year old couldn't get ahold of that coping. Dude, it was sick! Plus the coping itself was weird. It felt like chalk and made no noise--NONE--when you hit it. Freaky. Like all the good ones it didn't last long, but I used to drive an hour and a half three times a week to skate the bitch.
Man. Those were the days. The dudes who found it and drained it and inexplicably used to just call me up and say: "she's ready to go, come on down" are pictured in there. Or maybe they said "haul ass" and I just misinterpreted their meaning. Hmmm. Anyway, being the hardcore secretive types who seek no recognition for their exploits and who would likely kill me if I mentioned their names, I won't do so. A picture, maybe a video, directions to their house, and a few autographed memoirs should keep their operations sufficiently hidden from public view, just like their heroes in the Barrier Cult.
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