I just left a bar on 17th and San Jacinta or something, in Austin, TX. I was beyond fortunate enough to witness a historical moment tonight, in a beer garden packed wall to wall with bmxers from all walks of life; some i had never met and ended up sharing a table with, some i used to want to emulate as a teenager and into my early 20's, some childhood heroes and even some low key long island legends. A mob this eclectic was as doomed as it was engineered in perfection, and I was among few who were aware as to what was in store for this seemingly hand-picked cluster fuck. The people in on the surprise were electric with anticipation, the others thought it was a premiere for a brand new video about to drop, but all were focused on their confusion as Darryl took the stage. In true Nau fashion, he gave a praise-filled introduction that gave me chills; for the premiere of a documentary type short film on living legend Brian Foster by famed bmx videographer Stu Johnson.
But that's not what this is about.
Darryl came up to my friend Brian and I, with whom I had just braved the 28 hour drive on no sleep and absolutely no warning. He gave us a three way hug, then the rather largely built super enthusiastic man took a step back and asked me when my next internet rant would be. I since had hung up my angsty ways, and wasn't hesitant to be embarrassed of them when explaining it to him. He went on to say that no matter what the energy, the bmx community should have any one's say present, that it needed my voice as it needed everyone's. (paraphrased, of course.) I began to think out loud when he cut me off, made a hand motion towards me, paused, and said "marinate on that for a minute."
when I started this stupid blog, i was fed up. most of my main riding friends had moved onto other facets of life, mostly negatively oriented, and i began riding with a younger crowd. i was in a situation that disallowed travel for quite some time, so i was basically surviving solely on riding long island with this said "new wave" of kids. the everyday scene that i stumbled into was sad. people were more likely to be seen scowling at each other when tricks were pulled instead of the classic yelling, throwing shit, and bum rushing your friend when he pulled something for the first time. no one said whats up to each other, not even on the deck of the ramps. i still wanted to get the good old days back, so i threw a jam one November that i thought people would be into. i had 19 sponsoring companies that graciously supplied me with a trunk full of bmx parts to give away. shortly after that jam i took a bunch of old friends and some new cats i met at the contest and started "the front." the idea was to transcend a bit of the old school vibe that formulated my life and outlook on such, to a new generation of kids and to finally start showing the bmx community that there was more to long island bmx than the trail scene. unfortunately nothing always works out how you may plan, and pretty soon instead of people doing right by the companies who were generous enough to put us on grassroots hookups (matt coplon especially, I'm eternally grateful) they were just selling their bikes when they needed money for cars and the like and asking me to order parts for them after the fact. basically, the blog that followed my attempts to inspire a kinship again in the local bmx scene turned into a full blown attack on the rap video attitude-inspired reality of young kids on long island. a shit storm of lashing out on everything they were so convinced was bmx, the "sport" itself, and what a bmx'er should be took place of me just telling the ones that had attitudes i didn't agree with to simply fuck off and find another naive dude to poach off of. after all the shit talking on both ends, and after my initial agenda completely backfiring on me, the front ended up being unnecessary to continue; and after all the years riding together, everyone i knew fell into everyday life, and bmx held a huge place in my heart rather than my days. it sucked.
the surprise premiere at the bar had people all mixed together, talking about riding, being stoked on BF, Austin, and the fact that we were all there. Simple as that. Taj's Texas Toast jam felt like a once in a lifetime opportunity to hang out and enjoy what we all love more than our girlfriends, some more than our families. There was so much going on at once that it was completely surreal. The ramp layout, the dirt course with a huge S&M shield as a vert wall, the choice of music during the contest, the food trucks on premises, the level of riding that was going on, the vibe of the crowd and the riders, it all was perfect. I am, as well as everyone that witnessed this, considered absolutely lucky to have been there to see it go down.
"bmx is a huge family, we spend our darkest hours and our brightest moments all together in the woods."- D. Nau
its true. if it weren't for jim j, jim b., brian m, kyle h, mario m (rip), chris n, rob b, sean d, and the positive reinforcement from the older cats we had in our lives and at our trails, or street spots, yelling at us to give it one more go after taking it time and time again on the same trick, showing us how to fix our bikes, or telling stories about trips to far away lands and overseas riding their bikes, my life would never have been as rad as it is right now.
coming to austin in april of this year and again for this event helped rekindle a desire to ride everyday again, as i turn the real life age of 30. to everyone that has read this site and hated every word, or shook their head in disgust, or maybe even agreed at one point, im sorry i lost sight.
my best friend jim and i constantly reminisce about the rarity it was to pass someone, sometimes a lone wolf, riding a bmx bike through your town. we'd shoot the shit, take him riding through our spots, sometimes it would be us in their shoes. it was such a sense of brotherhood and connection that should never go away in the scene. i hope it never does.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
belmar story, part one
the scene by the lip during pro practice. photo: stick
i hate to recylce words, especially my own, but bmx is a funny thing.
there are reasons, extensive ones, why i support the companies i do with kind words and buying and running their parts; this weekend's belmar jam in binghamton is the epitome of why bmx exists, and why i outwardly and uncompromisingly support FBM and love bike riding and the community that exists in its orbit.
there were hundreds of people there, all for the same reasons, and likely there are hundreds of personal perspectives on the event. this is how it went down through my steps.
i have no idea what time i picked frank up. i had just about the worst week possible and was looking forward to getting loose and seeing some shit go down, so needless to say i picked frank up as soon as i could. he had just blown most of his paycheck on a high-end digital SLR that he charmed his way to getting for about 200 bucks less than the fellow wanted, so he was a little kid in a candy store, hard on and all. chuckie davis was grinning as always as they rolled up to his house. time was wasted til about 8 or so, and after getting frank a new memory card for the camera, selling some tires to get some extra money, and not really packing much at all, we three were on the way to get mario. kaz had work sifting out seaweed at the fish store til about 9; john lee was already sleeping, so it sounded, and obvious nick-not-driving delays ensued. the ride there was fuzzy, no coffee surprisingly, and taking way longer than i remember. we rolled up to binghamton at a whopping 230am, awoke john lee from dreamland and hit up the floor of his studio apartment. snoring, all of us forgetting pillows and blankets, most likely spooning goin on between frank and chuck, and corner cramping from my lanky ass finding the smallest space to crash in were all that embodied the 4 or 5 hours of sleep i got. john woke up to some ghostbusters-esque fire alarm clock thing and i was ready to go- crew got ready, i packed a 50 pound bag of tools and camera, psyched to ride some street, not really knowing what to expect out of the belmar. breakfast at a cracked out diner that apparently has been having its grand opening for the better part of a year, black and tan with eggs and we were off.
the belmar resembles that house we all know; for sale for 10 years, never occupied, run down and creepy, the one that you think is haunted and/or a squatter pad. this time, it was renovated into a bar, and dave king could be found in the back yard doing donuts in a bobcat getting the mud out of the way for spectators. at the end of the yard-turned-runway via clay and quickcrete, a 24 foot jump by-stockade high lip and a monster vert-dirt creation with coping at the top of it and "ride-n-dirty" spraypainted switch handed and half cocked. the bar opened at 10am and thats when it got really hazy. all i know is by the time it was set to start, storms were on the forecast and the first dozen and a half runs were full speed and bailing, sometimes casing and awful "was that a rock or a crack" sounds eminating and bouncing off the ratty fences, littered with banners from red bull and company sponsors, crandall nonchalantly commenting with a random obscenity, and everyone i went with basically looking like their dreams had just fallen apart. i didn't even think the jump could work, nutter and dave king kept dialing in the lip after a few runs and noon comes and the party starts. people start rolling up in packs, sometimes resembling the pages of a bmx magazine, other times looking like a homely pack of hunters and gatherers, all with bikes. it was a catastrophe that i wouldn't trade for the world, drinking dollar 50 PBR's and taking it all in as people were hucking themselves over the jump and dying. crandall called the AM practice to start, and mario somehow got hyped up enough to not even look at the lip, just crank full speed and overclear first run. i couldn't believe it. frank followed with a nice moto-whip first run, chuckie not too far behind.
the contest started, best of 4 runs, footage to come. the ameteur contest was so nuts that as it worked out if you cleared it every run you placed top 15 out of a good 35 kids. if you tried a trick you placed top 10. darryl nau is possibly the craziest motherfucker to ever announce a conest..."up next is everyone's favorite burn out mario mirabella, mario hails from long island and will most likely be burning some bowls behind the porter john after this run, so if you're down to party meet mario by the shitter..." frank cleared every run, chuckie bailed i think every run, mario couldn't figure out the ever-changing lip after 5 runs in all to crank a turndown. frank actually pulled a fakie 360 on the vert wall and didn't place higher than mario. money dwindling from cheap beer on ice as souva didn't take a feeler run to be predecessor to his downside whip attempts, somehow getting the fuck its with the downsides and trying to 180 the monster. souva fucking rules, might have taken offense to me offering him a beer being straight edge and all, but time heals all wounds. some dude won, frank chuck and mario all got garbage bags full of prizes, and here come the pros.
by now i dont know what the fuck was going on, all i know is dan p'simer and clint reynolds have the "style cat of the year" awards and beat out bmx legends by blasting out weird enough trail variations that A: i didn't think were humanly possible and B: i couldn't remember because of afformentioned beer prices. you know what, just understand that doyle can do whatever he wants, the place was swarming with balls out riding as soon as they put the plywood on the lip, and some seriously insane shit went down that pictures, words, or video footage couldn't possibly do justice to. the thick feeling of comradery in the air and the tops of peoples lungs being put to the test after every run says it all.
long live bmx, and long live the belmar.
part deux to come, a shitload of pictures and more words.
-nick
i hate to recylce words, especially my own, but bmx is a funny thing.
there are reasons, extensive ones, why i support the companies i do with kind words and buying and running their parts; this weekend's belmar jam in binghamton is the epitome of why bmx exists, and why i outwardly and uncompromisingly support FBM and love bike riding and the community that exists in its orbit.
there were hundreds of people there, all for the same reasons, and likely there are hundreds of personal perspectives on the event. this is how it went down through my steps.
i have no idea what time i picked frank up. i had just about the worst week possible and was looking forward to getting loose and seeing some shit go down, so needless to say i picked frank up as soon as i could. he had just blown most of his paycheck on a high-end digital SLR that he charmed his way to getting for about 200 bucks less than the fellow wanted, so he was a little kid in a candy store, hard on and all. chuckie davis was grinning as always as they rolled up to his house. time was wasted til about 8 or so, and after getting frank a new memory card for the camera, selling some tires to get some extra money, and not really packing much at all, we three were on the way to get mario. kaz had work sifting out seaweed at the fish store til about 9; john lee was already sleeping, so it sounded, and obvious nick-not-driving delays ensued. the ride there was fuzzy, no coffee surprisingly, and taking way longer than i remember. we rolled up to binghamton at a whopping 230am, awoke john lee from dreamland and hit up the floor of his studio apartment. snoring, all of us forgetting pillows and blankets, most likely spooning goin on between frank and chuck, and corner cramping from my lanky ass finding the smallest space to crash in were all that embodied the 4 or 5 hours of sleep i got. john woke up to some ghostbusters-esque fire alarm clock thing and i was ready to go- crew got ready, i packed a 50 pound bag of tools and camera, psyched to ride some street, not really knowing what to expect out of the belmar. breakfast at a cracked out diner that apparently has been having its grand opening for the better part of a year, black and tan with eggs and we were off.
the belmar resembles that house we all know; for sale for 10 years, never occupied, run down and creepy, the one that you think is haunted and/or a squatter pad. this time, it was renovated into a bar, and dave king could be found in the back yard doing donuts in a bobcat getting the mud out of the way for spectators. at the end of the yard-turned-runway via clay and quickcrete, a 24 foot jump by-stockade high lip and a monster vert-dirt creation with coping at the top of it and "ride-n-dirty" spraypainted switch handed and half cocked. the bar opened at 10am and thats when it got really hazy. all i know is by the time it was set to start, storms were on the forecast and the first dozen and a half runs were full speed and bailing, sometimes casing and awful "was that a rock or a crack" sounds eminating and bouncing off the ratty fences, littered with banners from red bull and company sponsors, crandall nonchalantly commenting with a random obscenity, and everyone i went with basically looking like their dreams had just fallen apart. i didn't even think the jump could work, nutter and dave king kept dialing in the lip after a few runs and noon comes and the party starts. people start rolling up in packs, sometimes resembling the pages of a bmx magazine, other times looking like a homely pack of hunters and gatherers, all with bikes. it was a catastrophe that i wouldn't trade for the world, drinking dollar 50 PBR's and taking it all in as people were hucking themselves over the jump and dying. crandall called the AM practice to start, and mario somehow got hyped up enough to not even look at the lip, just crank full speed and overclear first run. i couldn't believe it. frank followed with a nice moto-whip first run, chuckie not too far behind.
the contest started, best of 4 runs, footage to come. the ameteur contest was so nuts that as it worked out if you cleared it every run you placed top 15 out of a good 35 kids. if you tried a trick you placed top 10. darryl nau is possibly the craziest motherfucker to ever announce a conest..."up next is everyone's favorite burn out mario mirabella, mario hails from long island and will most likely be burning some bowls behind the porter john after this run, so if you're down to party meet mario by the shitter..." frank cleared every run, chuckie bailed i think every run, mario couldn't figure out the ever-changing lip after 5 runs in all to crank a turndown. frank actually pulled a fakie 360 on the vert wall and didn't place higher than mario. money dwindling from cheap beer on ice as souva didn't take a feeler run to be predecessor to his downside whip attempts, somehow getting the fuck its with the downsides and trying to 180 the monster. souva fucking rules, might have taken offense to me offering him a beer being straight edge and all, but time heals all wounds. some dude won, frank chuck and mario all got garbage bags full of prizes, and here come the pros.
by now i dont know what the fuck was going on, all i know is dan p'simer and clint reynolds have the "style cat of the year" awards and beat out bmx legends by blasting out weird enough trail variations that A: i didn't think were humanly possible and B: i couldn't remember because of afformentioned beer prices. you know what, just understand that doyle can do whatever he wants, the place was swarming with balls out riding as soon as they put the plywood on the lip, and some seriously insane shit went down that pictures, words, or video footage couldn't possibly do justice to. the thick feeling of comradery in the air and the tops of peoples lungs being put to the test after every run says it all.
long live bmx, and long live the belmar.
part deux to come, a shitload of pictures and more words.
-nick
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