Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.
Yeah, Forrest Gump's famous quote. I think most people would take that as life is uncertain. Things can happen. Good and bad. You never know.
I say Gump was a lucky idiot who wasn't smart enough to figure out that if you look at the top inside of the box of chocolates, it freakin' tells you what you're gonna get. Amazing how a little investigation and thought could pay off. But, not everyone is a strategist, and I'm certainly no Zhuge Liang. My point here is that life indeed is like a box of chocolates. Take a minute to see what you want, enjoy those chocolates that you like, and let others enjoy the rest. Or, hell, sell them if you're crafty.
That's been my plan. It's working for me.
So, consider this to be the top inside of that box of chocolates. A little guide to what you'll get out of me. Or, call it an attempt to justify that I know what I'm talking about. Whatever you want. Anyway, here's the story...
I was born a small black child. Wait, that's "The Jerk" playing in the background. Well, I was born nonetheless. I came out of the chute and they said "Quit while you're behind, lady!" The doctor slapped my ass, then I slapped him. Then I slapped the nurses' ass, and...oh ok. Let's just start at the relevant point.
I started skiing about 1981. that's when my love for playing in the snow went beyond snowball fights and intricate snow fort building. I started skateboarding in 1985 and fell in love immediately. Then, in 1987, after my skis were stolen from Mt Baker at lunchtime, I was loaned a winterstick snowboard and by the third run I was done skiing for good. I was a skateboarder and a snowboarder, and in those days, that was seriously uncool. In my small ass town in central washington that was a social death sentence, as those things weren't considered sports equipment, and I did not dress like a cowboy, either. We were lucky enough, however, to have the only indoor skatepark in Washington down the road about 5 miles. My social life was riding skateboards. I didn't really hang out with anyone who didn't skate. My skills started improving, I started entering contests, and it was all about skateboarding. I was going to be pro for sure, in my mind. That was it. Then I graduated high school, and life came and kicked me in the ass. It's almost cliche', I was an avid skateboarder with my own apartment, delivering pizzas, and discovering the virtue of nightly partying. Somewhere in there, I started playing bass guitar, and ended up in a locally successful band. Grunge was king then, and i was in a band playing shows in Seattle with some bigger names. Wasn't long before it was time to abandon central Washington and get up to Seattle, where I could keep the pro dreams alive, skate with the locals, and keep playing the music. Before I knew it, I had a girlfriend, a cooking job, and some stability. I was also getting older. By this time, the pro skateboarder dream had died. It just didn't mean so much anymore to be sponsored, but rather to simply keep skating. I had friends who were turning pro in skateboarding and snowboarding, but I was never jealous of that. I did want to be involved, though. I started doing homework on board building. Planned on using my non existant "rock star" money to start a board shop. (Yup, still playing in bands.) Thinking of how to get an indoor skatepark built. Next thing I know, I had a shop sponsor. Wait...really? Just on word of mouth from friends? Well...OK! And I made sure to do it proper, too. I wore the shirts, rode the shop boards, entered every contest I could, did every shop demo, and told each and every one to buy from the shop. Ummm, isn't that what being sponsored is all about? Promoting the shop in exchange for some contest entries paid and a gear discount? Well, apparently the new generation didn't think so. I saw so many good riders abruptly switch sponsors over silly things like not getting all the free boards they wanted. Not enough time in their shop video part. How about refusing to skate for the shop in the big local contest because "I don't do contests, dude"? Sure, then wonder why you can't just walk out of the shop with free gear every other day. I guess my attitude was what got and kept me shop sponsored for so long.
So, life goes on like a show with Corky in it. I had enough of cooking, and my roommate and another friend I skated with worked for a local snowboard/skateboard factory. I soon found myself building boards, and boy did I ever roll with it. I did my homework, learned everything I could, stayed after work to experiment with throwaway materials, and practiced, practiced, practiced. Practiced the art of building skateboards. My new calling. That's when suddenly, a new toy was put in my face...the snowskate. It was small, had a small ski underneath, and I thought it was the dumbest idea I'd ever seen. What the hell is this thing anyway? Well, I wasn't interested in it, but I felt obligated to ride it as the skate department was given them to test out. We took them up to the hill, and by the third turn I quit snowboarding. Even that small thing could turn properly and it was...fun. It was like my first day snowboarding all over again. A brave new world. Oh, and I ran with it. My life became a blur of make skateboards, stay after work and build a new snowskate design or function, go to the mountain and try it, and use the previous night's data for the next night's test. The work we were doing was helping the snowskate to evolve into a true mountain weapon of destruction. I was obsessed with making it work even better. It was moving from after snowboarding parking lot shove-it toy to something that could perform so well we could keep up with our snowboard friends, who were constantly surprised at our progress. I was a snowskate missionary, trying to convert anybody who 's attention I could get. Got a snowskate contest going with some company help and local mountain support. I was constantly thinking of design, theory, and throwing my body down nasty park features just to prove that it can be done on a snowskate.
Just to prove that it could be done.
Meanwhile, I was doing the same with skateboards. Trying to make them better, stronger, lighter. It was a blur of building, testing, and having fun doing it. Or, was the blur all that vodka I was pounding down my throat? Work hard, play hard. No girlfriend, doing what I loved and getting paid for it, and earning respect in the community to boot. Oh sure, and occasionally blowing it, but who doesn't every now and then? It only keeps you human, keeps your perspective. At least that's what I told myself, anyway. The snowskate contest had suddenly become a series with stops in Tahoe and Connecticut, and I was paid to travel there. My old ass was sent to Costa Mesa for one of the biggest amateur skate contests in the US...well, mainly because I wasn't afraid to be the oldest amateur out there and nobody else in the factory could do it...but damn it all I went! And I did it hurt, too. Lovin' life. Riding boards that I made. Stoked beyond belief. Sending the message that you should simply have fun riding boards. And I certainly was. Even having a major medical emergency, a pulmonary embolis, didn't stop me. Why would it? I was, according to my doctors, risking my life by skateboarding. I was on heavy bloodthinners. The wrong fall could cause a hemmorhage...or a stroke. but that didn't scare me. I'll tell you what did scare me...a life without riding boards! Screw you, doc. I'm riding. And no, I'm not wearing pads. No helmet, either. Why not? Because that shit is for pussies, doc. Now take your guesswork in a white coat to the side.
Nothing is gonna stop me.
Then they announced that the Seattle factory was closing, and production was moving to the Olympic Peninsula. Looks like I'm gonna lose my job, or else keep it and move to Port Angeles. Yeah, like I was moving out there. Didn't I move away from a small town for a reason? I didn't want to leave my scene, my friends, or the potential. I had grand plans of starting my own factory and slaying the board market. Everyone I knew was saying I should do it. Ummm, yeah, until I did the math. I had to move out of my place, had no money, and there was an offer on the table to make some big bucks running skate production out on the Peninsula. Big decision. Uncertain future at home, or certain future out there? I did the math again. Suddenly, I was alive and well in Port Angeles, continuing the work of the board. Not where I wanted to be, but the money was great, and I didn't have to stop my building career. Still had the presses. Still had the tools. Still staying late to innovate. Still traveling, still getting older. Still having fun. Still doing it.
But as with everything, change started rearing it's head. Budgets were cut, traveling became minimal, and I was working a whole lot more than I was riding. Too busy to head over and skate Seattle, couldn't get out and ride with my friends, and the local ski hill was opened on a limited basis. Not exactly nightly riding. I felt like I was slipping. But, creative people will get creative and I found ways to ride. Found ways to have fun. Found ways to cope. Wow! And without heavy drug use! Maybe some light drug use...uhh, maybe. But, things were still taking their toll. I didn't want to be out on the peninsula anymore. I never wanted to be there in the first place. Seattle was calling me back with way more skateparks and nightly snowskating opportunity. Work was becoming more like...work. Business was booming at the factory, day and night shift to fill orders. So why are budgets being cut if there's so much money being made? I was busting my ass and it didn't seem good enough. I knew that what I was doing mattered, but sometimes it didn't seem like it did. The corporate types had invaded the workplace, and little things that never bothered me before were suddenly driving me nuts. As a friend of mine in the shop told me...the golden age was over. The way things were going, I wasn't sure that I would have my awesome and highly unique job much longer. I could see those corporate guys who likely didn't know my name and had been there for a fraction of the time I had...try to tell me some crap like "We feel like you're a part of the family, but we need to look out for the bottom line..." Maybe it would happen, maybe not. I still believed in the company, the founders and their vision, and especially the product. Duh, I helped make it a better product every chance I got. But, I had to do something. I finally made the hard decision to quit my job, on my terms, and move back to Seattle.
And here I am. Still skating. Still snowskating. Still travelling. Still doing it. And, not about to stop doing so. Shaping out a cruiser board every now and then. Planning the next move. Staying positive. Getting older. There's still far more adventures to be had. People to see and hassle. Spots to be destroyed. Mountains to slay. Minds to be blown. Oh, and I'll be writing about it. You can read it right here. Or don't. Maybe the rants, ramblings, and stories of an old ass man competing in the depends division isn't your thing. But, this is what I'll be doing. It's still what I do. It's still my life.
It says so on the top inside of my box of chocolates.
