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american folklore tour

American Folklore Tour >> 2015

American Folkore tour | Cresent City, CA

This years trip started, ironically, where Toebock became; The Pacific Northwest.

Bobby Dodd and Steve Perdue were reunited in Seattle, accompanied by some of the Alive and Well homies, where shredding was executed and last minute clips were gathered to finish this seven year project. As the homies dispersed back to their daily lives, and Bobby Dodd returned back to Dad life after killing it, Perdue headed to the other side of the Puget Sound where the spirit of Toebock has made it’s living since the very beginning. Kitsap County.

Kitsap County, mirroring Seattle and unknown to most that live in King County, is speckled with little, rural towns hidden by the Olympic Forests and the Puget Sound’s foggy breath. It’s where Austin Illes, a man who represents the spirit of American Folklore, has lived off the land and called home for years. He, again, would be hosting the Toebock Annual Fireside trip; a trip that brings us into the heart of enchanting forests and allows everyone to leave their problems and egos in the shimmering lights of a towering, metropolitan street lamp.

I met up with the Toebock Crew at an undisclosed location in Poulsbo, WA; an annual meeting spot to kick off the trip. We headed, in a large convoy, into the majestic rain forests that the Olympics have blessed this earth with.

toebock fireside 2015

Toebock x Fireside 2015

We camped in, or I should say battled with, a heinous storm that night. Fighting to stay dry, but gathering around a fire nonetheless under a large tarp Austin constructed. Good times accompanied by laughter seeping through smiles kept us strong through that storm and kept our spirits dry from the rain; metaphorically speaking.

Toebock in Quilcene

Quilcene, Wa

American Folklore tour October 2015

Bubba’s Burgers | Allyn, Wa

The next night was spent on Austin’s ten acres of land on the Kingston coast where our eyes were met with an astonishing dazzlement as Austin quickly and savagely built a giant TP. One that fizzled away all the drab horrors of society as it peacefully overlooked the great Puget. Whales cried in the distance as they migrated to colder waters and a feast was had that only kings could fathom.

TMG’s Ben Ericson, and the creator of Outer Limits, met up the next day for a filming mission. Bobby Dodd met up as well and as usual, killed it. A day of clocking tricks and cracking brews was had before the sun descended behind the illusion of a horizon. It was time to make the trip back down the coast to the next stop on this three month tour. So Perdue and friends, those including Toebock OG’s such as Kevin McGowan, piled into the Patriot and set off to begin the next part of our story. In route to Santa Rosa California, with stops along the gorgeous coast, where a Colorado born savage and another key player in the telling of this story awaited. Jacob Scherrer, but you can call him “Squints”.

Court Tour x Chapter 11

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Chapter 11:
After Hours with DJ Abair

Barely had I made my flight out of Long Beach. On my knees I begged, with sporadic desperateness dramatically choking my plea, to board that flight. All the passengers scowled at me heavily as I awkwardly walked down the isle; heightening the scowls when my computer bag would slightly scathe someone’s shoulder. The “technical difficulty” was me that day, and the inpatient fiends who boiled in their seats of comfort wanted to see blood. My blood. On every angry face, murder was drooling from their eyes and down their fire red cheeks. This will be a relaxing flight, I sarcastically thought to myself as I squeezed my way through an obese couple to my assigned window seat. Embarrassingly, I sat down, feeling their contemptible glaring beams slice into the side of my skull. Being the last one to board a flight AND sitting in the window seat is like rear ending someone then getting rear ended yourself. A pile up that is more humiliating than any accident I have ever witnessed. Or caused.

A day was spent in San Jose for a little R and R. Well, but it was far from resting and relaxing. The day was spent radically rushing around to gather my things, working, and coordinating the rest of this trip. The One Man Demo with Stephen Perdue was a success, but there were two more events, and without constant dedication, they could expire in a dancing eye lid like unattended milk. The next event was at the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas with DJ Abair, a man who has proven to be a wild card time and time again.

abair_inthepantry

“.. a man who has proven to be a wild card time and time again.”

Among all of this, I had decided in my mind to ask Camila to marry me. Madre graced me with her Mother’s diamond ring and told me to follow my heart. She had always said that when that right person came along, the Leo fire in my chest would explode and burn up any doubts. This had long happened and any doubts were charred to a thin crisp the moment Camila’s smile initially graced my pupils.

Early, on noon’s horizon, I landed in Las Vegas. Adam had sent me the address to the hotel he had booked for me. It was a slimy Motel 8 somewhere off of North Las Vegas Blvd. It was apparent that he went way over his budget for this trip already, so I would be tasting the shit on the end of the stick.

“That’s what you get,” he said as I complained upon entering the rickety room. “How do you think I feel? I barely can pay my rent after this trip…” Adam paused momentarily, “your trip.” This confused me greatly, for Adam was living in his van, The Patriot, somewhere off the coast of California.

the patriot x toebock

As far as I was concerned, his land lord was the mighty Pacific Ocean. Now I was toiled by a new reality. One I never knew existed: What does the Pacific charge for rent?

A panic attack was pummeling my chest like the drummer from Helio Sequence.

Abair better fucking be there,
I thought to myself as uneasiness rattled my tired bones
and my new pair of Pig Wheels glided down Las Vegas Boulevard. It was Super Bowl weekend and I could hardly even skate down the street without running into someone, or something–the Wookies were out fore sure. Who knew how this was going to turn out.
The palpating in my heart sky rocketed as I walked up to the Mirage Hotel and Casino.

Broadcasted for all to see on the Mirage’s towering marquee, dwarfing The Beatles Love Circus Du Soleil which lay beneath it, was a massive Court Tour billboard that said, “After Hours With Dj Abair.” Wow, I thought to myself, Adam went all out on this one.

Abair was sucking down a cheap bottle of Taaka Vodka behind the DJ booth that overlooked a crowd of three hundred.

“You know, Abair,” I informed, “the bar is open for you and I.” Abair looked at me shiftily with sweat pouring down his face.

“Travis, this so fucking gnarly. I can’t do this. Look at all these people.” Then his demeanor switched off like a bedside lamp. “You are amazing, Travis. We are twins. I’m gonna get your name tattooed on my chest after this.”

The first song Abair played was, “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen. The crowd, all of them drunker than Hank Williams Senior, responded to this horrid song with shouts of joy. Every kook in the crowd started fist bumping and dancing, each egocentrically shining in their very own Universe. Abair was mic’d up and a thundering, “YEEEEAH!” blasted over the speakers. I tried to sew an expression on my face that hid the fact that this whole situation was completely fucked, uncomfortable and pretty hard to watch. Fuck it, I thought to myself, people are enjoying themselves. This is going well. Really well actually.

Carly Rae Jepsen shrieked her final “call me maybe” over the speakers and the crowd exploded in applause. All I could think was, I would never call her. Not even maybe. Still, I forced my lips to smile and dragged my hands to a clap. The wild cards started flaring in Abair’s eyes and he yelled some incoherent nonsense about Adam Crew and a Yellow Brand Tour. Then an acoustic guitar started picking over the huge speakers surrounding the venue.

Tracy Chapman’s “You’ve Got a Fast Car” started playing. The crowd looked around at each other as if a squirrel had crawled behind the walls weeks prior and died. How embarrassing this is, I thought. There is always a time and place for every thing, and this was neither. I mean come on! We weren’t in a garage at three in the morning doing cocaine and having deep conversations about the Holographic Universe! People exceeded irritation and began to boo Dj Abair.

My forehead rose from my hand as Abair turned off the music and started ranting. “Fuck this! Fuck all of you! You are all losers,” he choked for a moment and with a prepubescent  voice continued, “ALL OF YOU!” Tears started pouring down his face and he wiped them away with the remaining bottle of rip gut vodka. “Fuck you Adam Crew!” Abair yelled at the ceiling, then he threw the empty bottle into the livid crowd.

A riot broke out in that dark venue. Everyone wanted Abair’s head on a stick, but he was no where to be found. Rooster haircuts, cocaine crazed models, bouncers and even bar tenders started beating the shit out of each other. With a profile below sea level, and like a snake in a meadow, I slithered behind the bar, stole a bottle of Makers Mark and got the hell out of there. Unlike the “One Man Demo with Stephen Perdue”, “After Hours with Dj Abair” was not only a failure, but a disaster.

A ruthless pounding in my head joined hands with a cold bathroom floor and slapped me awake. I was back in my hotel. Whiskey crept through my breath and the diamond ring I planned on presenting to Camila was on my left pinky finger. With my hand trying to contain the ferocious teeth that were clamping my brain, I walked into my room and saw the time. It was already six p.m. and Camila would be landing at nine p.m. sharp. After briefly brushing the remaining Maker’s Mark from my breath, I put on a nice shirt, rushed to The Stratosphere and caught the 108 to McCarren Airport.

Camila’s back was frowning at me as I awoke and tried to kiss her. She was a little upset due to multiple layovers she had withstood the day before, and a mix up of terminals causing me to pick her up an hour late. In my pocket, the diamond ring taunted me. Now is the time, Travis, I thought. It’s now or never. Camila would be leaving the next morning. If I didn’t propose at that moment, it would be the last time I would see her for years, perhaps forever. Fathoming a life without her choked any kind of future for love–for life. A life without her was no life. I wanted to share everything with Camila. Every sun and every moon to come. Every smile and every sadness to curl our lips. Every old demon to poison our past and every young angel to come and heal it. My fidgety heart had always been a hard one to hold, but she had it pinned down.

Her eye lids slowly arose, and her big beautiful, dark eyes sleepily looked into my fear stricken, nervous-as-all-hell stare as I knelt by the bed. The mid-afternoon desert sun was massaging my shoulders. Without seeing the ring and still trying to conceive the new day around her, Camila said with a cute chuckle, “Travis, what are you doing?” This was it.

“Camila, will you be my wife?” Her reaction completely surprised me. A smile stretched from cheek to cheek and her eyes gently closed.

“Yes, Travis.” Even now, and most likely for the rest of myself, I will never be able to describe the happiness that burst within my chest. On the dirty mattress, inside that seedy Motel 8, Camila and I prayed to God for His approval; something I had never done in my life. God and I both had enormous egos, ones in which always exploded like a dinner conversation about politics when met face to face… or religion.

“The Ballad of John and Yoko” blared into an all too real setting as Camila and I walked out of the Clark County Court with our marriage license. We were bombarded by pastor after pastor to get married in their chapel. It seemed like they were trying to crucify me. At one point, two almost got into a fight over who would marry us. Any pan handler in the Tenderloin of San Francisco had nothing on these guys. They were ruthless.

Earlier in this story, during Camila and my first trip to Vegas, which ended horribly, we had tried to go to a strip club off of North Las Vegas Boulevard. Ironically, directly across the street from the strip club, was the little chapel that we decided to get married in. Who would have thought?

A flamboyant woman, cloaked in green with bright purple lipstick to match and a pair of ten inch high heels married us on that magical Las Vegas night. A night when simultaneously someone was hitting the big jack pot while someone else was getting arrested. Off somewhere in that shit show of a city, someone was vomiting in a Casino bathroom; but Camila and I were getting married. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I was hypnotized by the beauty of my soon to be wife, she was beyond stunning. Every second of my past led up to that moment as the strange pastor united us once and for all. All the many regrets, bad decisions, experiences fell into place while Camila and I joined hands and got lost in each other’s stares.

Many times in my turbulent past, fueled usually by drugs and self destruction, I have met suicide in multiple settings. On the sharp edge of a knife, in the reflection on a porcelain draped bath tub, or over the railing of a golden bridge. Every time a little shining light would pull me out from the lake of despair I seemed to always find myself drowning in. A light at the end of the tunnel, one could say. I never knew what it was going to be, or what it would look like, but I knew it was out there, somewhere, waiting. Holding my joyous tears back, and as I said, “I do,” I was not just looking at my best friend, lover or new wife. I was gazing deep into that light. The light which promised it would shine on one far away day. All those years the light that had always been hazy and dim, blinded my eyes for the very first time. Softly, it resided back into the glistening ivory of Camila’s white dress and finally, for the first time in my twenty five years, life had made sense.

Court Tour x Chapter 10

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photos : Austin Iles

Part 3: Happy Endings
Chapter 10:
The One Man Demo

Blake Johnson, Instagram’s moon facing bandit, had no idea what his tomfoolery birthed. This was nothing like the time when he insulted a rapper about sleeping with Ice T’s wife and designated the blame to some white, unsuspecting kid from the Mid-West. His little “hash tag” created a full blown tour after I pitched the idea to the president of TMG Creative, Adam Crew.

With Adam’s wealth and success, he wanted to sponsor and fund this trip; giving me full creative direction in the line up of people for this tour. I chose three people in particular; one for each state to incorporate their amazing talent into the existence of this flopping tour. Hell, we all get old and deserve one last bang.

Three cities in three different states; Long Beach, Las Vegas and Georgetown, Texas. I wanted Stephen Perdue to skateboard in Long Beach, David Abair to DJ in Las Vegas, and Travis Graves, also known as Mt. Egypt, to perform in Texas. Adam was instantly skeptical about Abair’s credentials and punctuality, but I promised his legitimacy; DJ Abair had drawn large crowds at the one and only Hound Lounge in San Francisco. We had our people, now was the time to make it happen.

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Official Tour Flyer

Court in Long Beach was at the rooster hooting hour of seven in the morning. Natalie Kozanitias had picked me up the night before and let me sleep on her and Corey’s high end, L shaped couch that stretched from one end of their living room to the other. Corey was in Santa Barbara tending boats, but Clicker the pooch sent me Corey’s Grecian love with slobbering kisses as I settled on that Godly couch. Camila and I talked for hours about a possible marriage in their Budweiser backyard, as I rudely ignored Natalie’s Sloppy Joe feast; deliciously seeping through a kitchen window. As usual, life was moving at light speed.

I represented myself in court after writing almost nothing across the street at a corporate, bully coffee shop. My argument with the judge was primarily the fact that I had no money and mostly no time at all; so she waved all fees and sentenced me to AA meetings for six months. My cheap suit shined with Law and Order’s Raul Esparza’s confidence and, in my mind, victory had never been more fluent. I tasted it on that proud day.

Not much time remained before the One Man Demo would begin with Stephen Perdue at the Houghton Skate-park in Long Beach, California. Adam had flown in Perdue, and TMG’s one and only Fred Zahina to document the event with his Super 8 camera, unique eye and all out CURMUDGEONRY . This duo made me very nervous, however, and part of me would be surprised if the two of them even showed up at all. Adam briefly had told me that he had gotten each of them rooms at the five star Renaissance Hotel in downtown Long Beach with a budget of one thousand dollars for living costs. Those two definitely were blacking out.

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Perdue & Fred Zahina | Official Demo Flyer

” Those two definitely were blacking out. “

One hour remained before the One Man Demo, and word had traveled that my oldest friend and highly talented artist, Brandon Hurley, better known as Bear in Woods, had just done a showing the previous night to promote his business; Brandon Hurley Arts where one can find multitudes of flawless strokes of fine art mixed with urban rawness. After calling him, we agreed to grab a quick bite at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles before the demo.

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Brandon Hurley Arts | Official Tour Flyer

Bear in Woods and his girl friend whom I had never met, Natalie, stared at me with a wide eyed awe as I inhaled my dish. Time was running out and I needed to get to the demo pronto. The One Man Demo with Stephen Perdue was scheduled for an hour. That would give me enough time to show my face, execute a little PR for The Court Tour, throw some product and get the hell out of there to catch my flight back to San Jose. Long Beach was the short part of this three week stint, so every move I made had to be delicately coordinated with time. Quickly, I paid my bill, gave them both my love and hailed a cab. I liked Natalie, and throughout the twenty years Brandon and I had been friends, he had never introduced me to a woman whom I liked.

 

Perdue was already on the course ripping. Fred was drunkenly skating around with his camera in hand. Both of them looked a little rough around the edges. Who wouldn’t after being granted a thousand dollars for but one night? I remember the old Toebock trips when you had to get yourself to an event with your own money. How so much had changed.

 

Perdue killed it. The crowd of skinny pants wearing teenagers, with blinding braces and bleached hair, screamed like they had just seen Jesus himself after Perdue effortlessly landed every trick he tried. His male model smile curled under his flowing curly hair as he cruised through the park, while nineteen year old girls shrieked from his dreamy demeanor. Now I knew what it was like to go to a Beatles concert in the early sixties.

I heard one girl, who could have only been twenty at the very least, say,

” He is SO hot. I am going to fuck him tonight. “

 

Her friend disagreed and the two minors started violently slapping each other, which led to them both being escorted off the premises by a nearby, enticed police officer. This was out of control.

Fred found me in the crowd and led me to a box of product. He handed me a megaphone and called me a piece of shit; for what reason I hadn’t a clue.

I threw product out and the crowd went into an all out frenzy. Court Tour posters and shirts were thrown, but every pair of hands that touched these items immediately dropped them to the floor. No one gave a shit about the Court Tour. I mean, could you really blame them? I myself was having a hard time understanding what exactly I was trying to accomplish with this strange tour.

Pig Wheels and a couple of Habitat boards, a Silas and a Gall, were heaved. Also, I threw some “Don’t Act Famous” videos out into the wild crowd. Three DVDs were tossed out into the wave of hands and one came hurling back; belting me in the face like a Big Gulp in The Weatherman. Harsh.

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“..one came hurling back; belting me in the face ”

 

Perdue was trying to land some kind of demo-ender trick as I packed up my shit; a loose pair of wheels and my flyers which only Fed Ex made a profit from. Upon entering a cab I had bum rushed in the middle of a busy street, I heard the skate park explode in applause and excitement. Perdue must have landed his demo ender. Like a kid leaving his hometown in a cheesy movie, I peered out of the back window in the cab; but instead of witnessing a teary eyed best friend shouting against my departure, I only saw Perdue’s scruffy, dirty blonde hair bobbing above a jagged silhouette of women, swarming him like a flock of termites do to a decaying log. His shirt had been ripped off and in my dwindling sight I could see Fred Zahina with his shirt off, too; shot gunning a beer and trying to feed off the less fortunate girls who just could not break through the barrier of hormonal maniacs encompassing Steve. Meanwhile, Perdue’s smile remained UNCHANGED with that male model smirk never leaving his lips. It seemed to me that he didn’t even realize what was happening, let alone where he was. He was like a parrot trying to hold onto a swaying palm branch as it’s being tossed around violently by a Florida hurricane. Never really knowing the danger of the situation, but loving every moment of it.

Toebock x Baker Beach

Video: Ben Ericson
Edit: Adam Crew

Baker Beach, San Francisco, Ca | Photo: Heng

Baker Beach, San Francisco, Ca | Photo: Heng

Story: Travis Knight
Photos: Jenn Heng / Fred Zahina

Baker Beach consists of approximately half of a mile of fancy restaurants, crumbling structures of the past, and the vast, golden blue Pacific Ocean shimmering into distance’s depths. When I used to live in the Sunset District, we would make frequent treks throughout this 800 meter span of beauty, ranging from the Sutro Baths to the Golden Gate Bridge. We’ll start at the Sutro Baths, established on March 14th, 1896 gaining its name from the former mayor of San Francisco, Adolph Sutro. Words be short, the baths consisted of seven large pools basically for wealthy heathens to flaunt their height on the pole that daintily balances upon the scoundrel of classism’s bulky thumb. After closing down due to maintenance issues, it burned down in 1966. The Sutro Baths are now a beautiful labyrinth of ruins, forever withstanding the brutal badgering of the mighty Pacific. It’s a great place to hike, find wildlife, take photos, climb rocks and just soak the magnificence of this tranquil location. Adjacent to the baths is a restaurant called The Cliff House, which is a great place to bring a special lady of your choice. A little pricey, but you’ll definitely get laid. Also you could go across the street to Beach Chalet if you want a bangin’ burger and a beer.
Travis Knight | 180 switch Crook | Baker Beach | Photo: Zahina

Travis Knight | 180 switch Crook | Baker Beach | Photo: Zahina

 

Baker Beach ( to the north) | San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

Baker Beach ( to the north) | San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

Making your way further down this sandy abyss of homes of ancients and the protection of wild and plant life, (such as the Marin Dwarf Flax, an endangered wild flower that freely blooms about the shiny dunes) you will find yourself walking along a scattered wasteland of old military bases.

 

Bobby Dodd | Backside Nosegrind | Baker Beach, S.F CA | photo: Zahina

Bobby Dodd | Backside Nosegrind | Baker Beach, S.F CA | photo: Zahina

 

Plateaus of weathered cement pop up randomly for at least a quarter mile along the coast. Built by Spanish military in 1812, in the year 1997 it was then and now still is administered by the National Park Service. In the midst of these sporadic structures, you can find the Battery Chamberlin. This huge artillery battery was named after Captain Lowell A. Chamberlin who served in the Civil War. When 1976 came about, the location of this beast of a weapon was added to the National Register of Historic Places. Journeying on, you will come across the banks that we are skating in the following video documentation. This spot is super hit or miss. One day you can go there with a twelve pack and skate for hours, another day you might get a hundred fifty dollar ticket from some belligerent, smart ass, water polo playing cop. The latter was the case for us. These swine came in hot, (probably fresh from the academy) giving us false history lessons and ranting about how we were committing a felony. However, the strange man who called the cops was drastically a much larger sight of tomfoolery. This 70 year old clown was sunbathing, wearing a speed-o mind you, in the heaps of glass plastered upon the ground surrounded by some mindless drivel that some teenagers painted on the wall while on the influence of bath salts. I guess we were disturbing his chaotic idea of peace. That day was a miss. Following weeks later when this little edit was filmed, we had to pull some guerrilla type maneuver on a hill across the way where we waited for a motorcycle cop to disperse from the entrance. We skated hours on end, for the fog submerged us from the road. That day turned out to be a hit.

 

Bobby Dodd | Baker Beach, S.F. Ca | Photo: Zahina

Bobby Dodd | Baker Beach, S.F. Ca | Photo: Zahina

Somewhere in the region of Baker Beach, taking place back on May 17th, 1959, an eighteen year old by the name of Albert Kogler Jr. was fatally attacked by a great white shark. The horrible incident was actually the only shark attack on Baker Beach. Also from 1986 to 1990, the northern end of Baker Beach was the original sight for the Burning Man Festival. Sometime in 1990, police allowed people to rage and build the gargantuan, wooden effigy but would not allow them to burn it. Well that kind of fucked that off, so the hippies flew east to wreak havoc in The Black Rock Dessert located in northern Nevada.

Travis Knight / Bobby Dodd / Steve Perdue | Photo: Zahina

Travis Knight / Bobby Dodd / Steve Perdue | Photo: Zahina

In the following video we didn’t get laid at the Cliff House, or battle any sharks, or even dance with any hippies. We just rode our skateboards and had a great time. So if your ever in the Sunset District and don’t know what to do with yourself, (which is usually inevitable) take the expedition through Baker Beach. Adventure patiently awaits, dwelling somberly in the heart of the great Pacific’s murky fog.   -Travis Dylan Knight

 

Steve Perdue x American Folklore Single

San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

 

Steve Perdue has been traveling throughout the U.S for the past 3-4 years, skating, camping and everything else along the way. Currently living in San Francisco, the following questions we hoped would bring some insight on the upcoming Toebock video part he’s working on and what inspires this soft spoken gent. -Adam Crew

 

What is American Folklore? and what is this new Toebock video all about?
American Folklore consists of beliefs and customs, legends and tall tales that encompas or classify a particular group. It is also the name of the next Toebock video in the works. of course the video will mainly involve skateboarding, but it will also portray somewhat our way of living, experiencing new places and people. the stories are almost endless, but hopefully the video will give people a general idea about the Toebock Folklore.

 

Most of us know what a (Record) Single is .. What is this ” Steve Perdue Single”?
Its a collection of somewhat new and old footage we were not going to use in (Toebock ) American Folklore, but didn’t want it to go to waste.

 

Where are some of your favorite places you been through while working on this part?
Our most recent trip, the Toebock Olympic Fireside the North West has to be my favorite place ive been so far. It is refreshing to be deep in the forrest with friends/family beverages food and the general idea to get weird but also experience and respect such a beautiful place.

Backside 180 Nosegrind | Austin, Tx | photo: Perry Hall

Backside 180 Nosegrind | Austin, Tx | photo: Perry Hall

 

San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

San Francisco, Ca | photo: Zahina

Best thing about living in San Francisco?
Being able to bomb around the city, for such a small city i feel like i have not even scraped the surface of exploring this place. Good people to skate with, beautiful girls! and a pretty friendly/ open vibe here it seems.
Backside 180 | Denver, Co | photo: Roman Chavez

Backside 180 | Denver, Co | photo: Roman Chavez

How has living with Travis Knight (better known as Trava Daddy) taken an affect on this current project?
Many stories have been added to the Folklore because of Trava Daddy. He is definitely a good person to have around for good and bad influences. Late nights are always an option with trava, which can be a con while working on this video part. It can be a pro also depending on what we get ourselves into. I’d say the pros’ are grater than the cons. Never a dull moment.

 

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Heelflip | Bremerton, Wa | photo: Guizzetti

 

Single most influential thing in your life?
Right now traveling is the most influential thing in my life. i find it hard to stay put for too long or do the same thing over and over. It is good for me to keep a good balance of things.