Jungle Rampage

To swim the jungle's stoney gate
Avioding plastic reprobate
the redirection seldom falls
Above the black well's painted walls

I started skateboarding and surfing at a very young age, probably about 8 years old. The first boards we road were the proverbial roller skates nailed to a two-by-four (some even had carpet on top...) Later we moved up to the Nash Goofy Foot clay wheeled models. One summer day in around 1973 I borrowed my friend’s board for a few days to see if I would really like it, as I had occasionally ridden skateboards before, but did not own one myself. I took it around the neighborhood, and seemed to pick it up pretty quickly, pushing with my rear right foot (I rode regular foot naturally) and coasting for a while. As things were going pretty well I figured I would take a run down the local hill where we used to sled in the winter. About 3/4 of the way down I had picked up a good bit of speed. My board started to wobble uncontrollably (I got the wobs...) I then hit a rock and went sailing through the air about five feet, to land on my knees and elbows on the tarmac. It hurt! But, I got up (good life lesson...) I was determined not to let my first fall deter me from being a "skater," so I gave my friend back his board and set about trying to procure one of my own. I finally saved enough money from my paper route to buy an aluminum Baine board with lose-bearing Cadillac wheels and Chicago trucks. I was off, free to cruise the neighborhood! Of course sometimes I would hit a rock, or the wheels would come loose and I would end up chasing the ball bearings all over the street, but the thrill of the downhill slide had its hold. Over the next few years I spent a lot of time with my buddies finding different terrain to ride. We rode in drainage ditches and underground parking lots, and just about anywhere that looked sidewalk surfable. We even managed to make it into a couple empty swimming pools after somebody's gullible (or understanding) Dad had agreed to let us ride it while empty. Then came the ramps - we built them everywhere. Mostly they were of the 1/4 pipe fashion, and all made from "borrowed" plywood. As the downtown area of Alexandria where I lived was undergoing considerable revitalization and construction, building sites were plentiful and supplies were there for the taking.The crown jewel of our ramp building period was the Jungle Rampage. Built back in the woods, beneath the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, away from prying eyes, this was an early half-pipe prototype. The bad-boy leaders of our skate gang had certain gardens growing back in this area, so they knew it would be out of site. I will never forget my first visit, being "ssshh'd!" by my friend Miles as he showed me the hidden trail, we wound through the undergrowth until it loomed before us - a skater's dream! It was not a curved template like the modern competition ramps, but rose up in sections from a 16'-wide, 10'-tall slanted runway, to a three-section ramp side that rose up to about 12' with a two-foot vertical section. The start ramp had a platform you could stand on, and from beneath this pungent smells often emanated.The Rampage lasted for a couple years, until someone found it and tore it down. I felt like the end of an era had come.I forget how many tree forts we actually built... Some had multiple stories and trap doors, some with walls and even barbed wire and pongee sticks arming them against intrusion. One we built by the river had three stories, the top floor of which was completely walled in, and had a trap door that locked with a key. Some we built precariously high on trees that would not have been approved by any engineer. One in particular wobbled so much when the breeze blew (it was only about 30-feet up...) that eventually one side tore lose and the whole structure hung by three sides until it finally fell. fortunately none of us were in it when this happened. Again, they were all constructed of "borrowed" materials, and with tools we got from our Dad's basements. The "Little Jungle" was an area beneath the span of the then fairly new Woodrow Wilson Bridge across the Potomac. During our adolescence the jungle was the experimental playground where many of our deepest secret rights of passage were conducted. We had stick battles between the competing north and south sides, and beer parties after dark where we roasted bacon on sticks over an open fire. The blaring rock 'n roll guitars of Ted Nugent, Aerosmith and Lynyrd Skynyrd where the soundtracks to which these bazaar rituals took place. The legends differ as to how it actually came about, but as an insider I can tell you the true story. Two of my friends Greg and Jon were the often competing leaders of our gang of miscreants. They were both super-jocks by the standards of any day, excelling in every sport, handsome and adept with the girls, and also possessing the prerequisite leadership qualities of charisma and the ability to inspire trust in others no matter how often ill-deserved.Greg was the master carpenter, and had permanently borrowed more than one of my Dad's fine hand tools. He also climbed like a monkey. His opus 1 was a tree fort in the little jungle nicknamed "the Platform." One of the defining features of this monolithic structure built 25 feet up in the strong limbs of a mature maple tree, was the single 2-inch thick knotted rope which hung as its only means of access. It was really a simple structure - literally a 16' by 16' platform, (from which its name derived), which provided an unrivaled view of the jungle's canopy from a lofty perch, and a good vantage point from which to observe the slow-moving Potomac through windows of space in the verdure.The platform became a regular hideout from parents, problems and the world in general. By itself, it was easily a masterwork of boyhood carpentry and ingenuity. Then came the net.One evening Jon called me and said to meet him, we had something to do. I really had no idea what he was referring to, but as I liked Jon and welcomed his approval as a fellow, I made up some excuse and shot out the door. I believe it was about 10:00 p.m. I met him on the corner near his house, which was only a few blocks from mine. He said to follow him, as he had something to show me.An underground parking lot was being constructed approximately half way between our homes, and he took me to the gaping maw of the entrance and pointed. Construction safety nets were hanging to protect the workers from a bad fall onto the cement below. "We're getting one of those," he said. "No, man, no way!" I told him, "Why?" He just said, "C'mon." I could not argue.We quickly took down one of the nets (there were about five, so Jon assured me they would never miss just one...) and we rolled it up and carried it down to the safety of the little jungle on our boards. The next day he and I strung it up about four feet of the ground by tying the corners to four trees in a small clearing. It stayed there for a week or two, and then it drifted out of the forefront of my attention.Several weeks passed until one day Greg's little brother told me to meet him at the platform. There it was - the ultimate pairing, a platform and a net. Greg had climbed up the bare trunk of an adjacent poplar tree with a rope in his teeth. They had then hoisted a corner of the net up, and secured to remaining corners to other nearby arboreal specimens of considerable height. The net result was a structure resembling a giant spider web.At first some of our gang were so exuberant about this new structure that they were jumping of the overhanging limbs and bouncing to safety in the center of the net. After a while it was determined that this might not be such a good practice (we were crazy, but not stupid!).As months and even a couple years went by the net had become a favorite hideout and meeting place. Skate session at the Rampage were followed by beer and Amboy Dukes in the safety of the net. We were pretty damn proud of our ability to transform mundane semi-urban surroundings into veritable adolescent paradises! By the time I got to high school the net had become so legendary, that most people did not believe me when I told them I was one of the original architects and procurers of such a mythic structure. One of my friends, Jimmy, purportedly spent a whole week living there when he was on the run and his folks thought he was up in boarding school (Miles used to sneak him food and beer from his Mom's house). And a couple was said to have had sex up there, which was really quite believable, as in the summer time you really could not see it from the ground because of the denseness of the jungle canopy and leafy cover.I'm not sure what happened to the net ultimately, but let it suffice to say that eventually it came down. The platform, like all such structures, eventually went it's way as well. However if you doubt my story, go to Jones' Point and look from the bike trail into the tall trees at the corner of Ford's Landing, and you will see a lone two-by-four still nailed to a limb high in the reaches of an ancient maple tree.

The Surf/Skate Conundrum

I remember my first visit to a surf shop in South Carolina in 1975 and just being completely awed and captivated with the atmosphere – the quivers of short boards and big guns, surf t-shirts and board-shorts, Endless Summer posters and the smell of fiberglass and coconut permeating the atmosphere from the stacks of boards and baskets full of Mr. Zogg’s Sex Wax. From my first moments learning to stand up on a wave, to skinning my knees on my first fall on a clay-wheeled “Goofy-Foot” skateboard with single-action trucks, a fantastic mythology of tropical island surf lifestyle was forming in my young mind. The fleeting glimpse of freedom experienced when riding a board of any kind has been my panacea in a world of ever increasing complexity. During the late 1970’s skateboarding went from a kiddy-fad to a full-fledged underground cult/sports movement. I rode competitively in contests at local east coast parks and pursued and built numerous backyard half-pipes. After skateboarding died back out in the mid 1980’s my “bro’s” and I were marveling at the emergence of “snurfers” on the local sledding hills, followed years later by snowboards actually being allowed on ski slopes (no way!), and the first appearance of rail-grab aerial maneuvers by surfers in the water. The cross pollination of these sports has been an ever-present catalyst which has contributed significantly in pushing the creative envelop which makes them what they are today. A prime example of this can be shown by tracing the evolution of the most amazing of aerial maneuvers, the McTwist (essentially an inverted 540° flip). This move was named after pro skater Mike McGill who first pulled it off in the 1984 Del-Mar skateboard contest. The standard by which other snowboard moves are measured today, the McTwist actually evolved from Z-Boy Jay Adams’s early aerial skateboard attempts in backyard swimming pools, which were in turn inspired by surfer Larry Bertelman’s low-pivotal surf style in the 1970’s.Another example of the absence of boundaries in the realm of the extreme has been the bond between equipment innovators and manufacturers and the athletes who push the limit of what is possible (often the innovators are riders themselves like Jeff Ho or Jack Burton). Action Sports sponsors are in touch with the equipment needs of their respective athletes and provide more than clothing, they provide the tools by which these artists create their landscapes, relentlessly pursuing stronger, lighter, more aerodynamic designs. After insurance costs closed most of the skateparks in the 1980s, the need for terrain became critical, and skaters like Mike Mapp, CEO of RampTech in Annandale, VA, stepped up to the plate building state-of-the art facilities for the X-Games and other events. Now that these sports have become more mainstream, public facilities have emerged, creating new opportunities for promotion and partnering with local governments who realize the increasing popularity of extreme sports and the need for such facilities.

hey whoa!

I got a blog - how cool is that?

Well, depends. I will try not to write anything that will get me fired, deposed or divorced.

Stay tuned - no worries mate.

Cheers,

Mugsy