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
