Welcome to Paradise

"You gonna skate, or you gonna take pictures?" This is my greeting as I whip out my RAZR to snap a few shots of this legendary park. The guy asking is a wiry fucker with one eye. The gouge that took out his eye looked fresh - not yesterday fresh, but maybe within a year - and like it was done with a Do-It-Yourself Cyclops Kit. The burr haircut makes him additionally menacing. He looks at my beloved Concretin shirt and says, "Kentucky? Yer a long way from home!"

Recently emptied Hamms Tall Boys float around the outer edges. A 12 pack of Busch shows up shortly after I do. Someone offers some encouragement by screaming "get some Fat-Boy!" to the husky skater that is killing the place. A bottle crashes into the middle of the main bowl. A dog with a squealing kind of bark yelps and chases anyone who drops into the 6 foot. Somebody shouts something I can't comprehend and half the shredders scatter, climb a wall and disappear. The concrete looks pitted - like it will rattle the teeth right out of your head. The whole park is painted and the dust blowing around makes me know it's slick as snot. This is Burnside - the historic DIY park from the early 90s. Welcome to Hell.



Looks can be deceiving. It's a fun party here. The skaters are nice. They encourage me to get my board out of the car and skate. "Fat-Boy" is, in fact, a genuine term of endearment for one of the long-time regulars. The bottle is clearly an accident and cleaned up almost instantly. The dog is ultimately more humorous than harmful. The mass exodus is due to some towing and/or ticketing in the pay lot next door. I drop in and float across this buttery surface, hit the vert wall and cruise back. I can feel the local pride oozing from the regulars for this home-made thing of beauty. This is Burnside. Welcome to Paradise.

So Sayeth Skidzilla