Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Rico, Patty, Me.

I just found this picture and forgot how much I missed this shit. Like, way back in the day OG circuit shit. To everyone who used to represent the LP, who's parting separate ways, team P.C.C. remains as percy as ever. 

I'm going through a whole nostalgic phase and finding this picture took me back to the simple days. Days before bullshit and city wrecking crews coming down to take down jumps. Life is harder now, more complicated. If only shit was still simple. Back in the day there was nothing easier, better or more essential than calling the boys, hoping on the steed and riding for twelve or fourteen hours in a day. Riding was a way of life, it wasn't something you thought you may do tomorrow, it was the one thing you KNEW you were going to do, and everything else had to fit around it. I remember Christmas day opening my presents as fast as I could, to call Rico, Pat, ClownV, Tom and Pope and we rode on Chirstmas day, as fast as we could, all around the city. The jumps were covered in snow and that didn't stop us.

There were no outsiders, ever. There was the family and if some young gun tried to join the ranks, there was a thorough hazing process. Pat started as PatMule, because we'd make him carry our bags when we rode. Usually three or four backpacks at a time. We judged people on their ride, their ability and their personality. We were gang-ish, now that I think about it. However, instead of blue or red, our color was the dirt-brown that inevitably engulfed our clothes each and every time. Best of all, the circuit was ours. We owned it. We made it, maintained it and kicked outsiders the fuck out. I'll never forget Callum, Tom, Rico and Pope making some kid kiss each of their muddy, disgusting shoes after chasing him for an hour around the neighborhood bombarding him with an obscene amount of paintballs. Why, you ask, would we do this to anyone? Because he threw an egg on our jumps. Throwing an egg on our jumps was like throwing an egg on our house, or worse, our bikes. Those were our jumps, and they were the best. There was grilling every day, and there was even an occasional beer or two. There was always someone there with some fucked up story to tell, or some new wound to show off. I think thats one of the things I loved about the circuit, is that there was ALWAYS someone there chillin, no matter the time. We were a family.

With all the races, broken bones, dislocated everythings, Pope & Toms epic ability at finding retarded lines, and everything in between, I miss it. 

This video cracks me up, its a shame Youtube disabled the audio. We were 14. We're all alot better now.