The Last Free Place

"Want to go explore this place?"  I asked Jason as I flicked a piece of gravel from a scrape on my elbow caused by a slam in the deep end of an abandoned pool.

"Yah, I'm over skating this spot."  Jason said leaning against the wall in the shallow end.

"Which way do you want to head?" Looking around in a 180-degree motion,  the occasional satellite dish on an RV punctuated the otherwise unremarkable deserted landscape.   In the distance a two-stroke engine, presumably from a motorcycle, whined.

"That stage looked really cool,"  Jason nodded west towards the main road.

"Yah, 'check that out.  I spotted some pretty neat campers too."

Leaving our skateboards by the van,  we headed back along a dirt road towards the center of an abandoned military base base in the California desert known as Slab City.

Following the road a half mile back towards the pull off, we passed a dozen or so makeshift camps composed of a vehicle and a structure of sorts,  usually an awning or tent. Each winter,  thousands of snowbirds, travelers and vagabonds pass through the Slab City.  These "slabbers" as they are called avoid rent and other obligations known to the majority of society by camping on abandoned building foundations or slabs.  An entire community has developed with a church, a barter-based internet cafe, post office, communal water source and a music venue, the Range.

Bejeweled.

 

Tyler Mummar impersonating a local.

Waiting line.

Haven is trailer in the California desert.

Purple rims.

Sign up.

The Range.

"You guys just get here?"  A kid in his 2o's said sitting next to a Chevy Astro van, some twenty feet from the road.

"Yea, just a few hours ago.  We are just passing through."

"Me too."

"This place is pretty wild,"  I said excitedly.  "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, two or three weeks.  I come through a few times a year,"  He said, kicking a beat-up tennis ball across the road for golden retriever.

"Ever been here in the summer?"

"Hell no. It gets to 120 in the shade.   You're not consider a true "Slabber" around here until you spend at least two summers camped out."

"Yah..No thanks, that sounds miserable."

"When are you hitting the road again?" Jason asked.

"Soon,  real soon.  I'm feeling restless.  Maybe two or three days."

Nodding in agreement, Jason and I continued down the road towards a group of RV's pulled together in a semi circle.  The golden retriever followed for fifty feet or so before being called back to the Astro.

"People lose track of time here."

"They sure do.  Did you hear that guy?  He said he was leaving real soon, '.... two or three days.'  Real soon for me is ten minutes.  Maybe fifteen."

"Haha.  When life's cheap,  things move slowly I guess."

"They do call it, 'the last free place on earth,'" I joked.

Here are some more links,

The Last Free Place (Facebook).

Desert Cement

"Could I start you gentlemen off with some drinks?" the waitress at an empty steakhouse in Deming, New Mexico inquired.

"Sure,  I'll have a Tecate," Ed, a staff photographer from a skateboard magazine, replied before the rest of us had the time to respond.

"What about you?" she asked me, moving around the table clockwise.

 Startled, I looked up from my phone, "uhhh, I'll have another Dos Equis."

"Me to0,"  Jason added, draining the remnants of the round of beer we had ordered at the bar.

Before the rest of the contingent of our  group could select their flavor of cheap beer,  she blurted, "I have to ask,  are you guys in a band?"

Laughter broke out amongst the six of us.  Earlier that day at a Denny's outside of Tucson,  our waiter had asked a similar question.

"No.  we are skateboarders," Mike said smiling.

"Ohh my son is a really into skateboarding. What are you doing in Deming?" she let slip with a hint of booze in her manner.

"We are on a road trip looking for abandoned pools and ditches."

 "Are you guys pros?!

"Thats' Mike Vallely,"  Tyler slurred after a day of drinking Tecates in the back of the Elephant van.

Everyone except for Tyler and the waitress cringed.

"Would you be interested in signing your autograph for him? He'd be thrilled."

"Of course, I'd be happy too.  Do you have a Sharpie?  We'll all sign it for him," Mike said turning towards the rest of us sitting at the booth.

Three days earlier,  I left my Syncro in LA and met up with Mike and the Elephant Skate crew for a week-long trip toeing the Mexican border through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.  On the search for abandoned pools and street spots, we explored floundering housing developments and  drainage ditches throughout the desert. Dusting off my skateboard, I tagged along with a crew of veteran skaters and filmmakers, hearing their stories from years on the road.

No vacancy and no maintenance.

After the shot.

Sunset session.

The New Mexico prairie.  

Jason and Tyler watching.

Mike ripping the hook.

Ed Dominick and Mark Nisbit capturing. 

Close to the border. 

Mike sweeping out a pool.

Road rash in the making.

Urban exploration.

Signage.

Tyler Mummar doing a layback.

Red, White and Blue #vanlife. 

Jason Adams taking a breather.

Fullpipe.

Our trusty Ford E series Van.

Ready to rip.

A minute after I took this photo,  a large pit bull chased Ed and Tyler over the fence.

As promised,  the waitress reappeared after the steaks and burgers were finished with a medium sized Sharpie and a printout of Mike airing on a quarter pipe.  Standing in excitement, she watched as the print and Sharpie made its way around the table.

Ed handed me the paper and Sharpie and I nervously contemplated my signature.  Cursive or print?  Looking over the photo for some free real-estate,  I took a moment to read the signatures. Tyler, Jason Adams and Mike Vallely's signatures were well-honed, but on the verge of legible.  Mark's resembled a check signature with every character clearly scribed.  Where was Ed's?  A large printed name offered a hint.

Looking over at Ed, I burst out laughing.

"What?  I always sign this shit as Peter North."

Here are some links,

Desert Cement (Facebook),

@Fosterhunting (Twitter),

Elephant Skateboards.

The Start of the 1

California's Route 1 starts, or stops depending on which way you drive it, in a sleepy area of northern Mendocino county known for its "trees."  (I'll give you a hint; some are big and red and the others small and green.)  An unassuming sign for Fort Bragg designates the turnoff from 1o1 onto one of the country's most celebrated highways.  Shortly after sunrise,  Spencer and I pulled onto the 1 after spending a few days in Arcata and headed south for San Francisco.

Cutting through Mendocino, Sonoma and Marin Counties, the 1 wraps around cliffs and through small towns.  Despite looking similar to the Oregon Coast,  the Norcal  is culturally very different from its neighbor to the north.  If the quazi-monster truck is the vehicle of choice in the southern Oregon,  the 80's bio diesel drinking Mercedes wagon gets the honks and waves in this neck of the woods.

Point Arena.

Two tone.

"It was a run by fruiting..."

Drop off.

The Mendocino Coast.

Bumpers.

Someday..

An old growth eucalyptus tree.

Twinsies!!

Tide pool.

Vultures in Marin County.

As we worked our way down the coast a hundred miles a day,  the weather warmed up and the rain subsided.  Slowly the days lengthened.  Later in the year I will head north,  but now it's time to head south.

Here are some more links:

The Start of the 1 (Facebook),

Twitter.

Southern Oregon Coast

The southern Oregon ccoast feels like no other part of the Northwest.  From Portland,  it takes five hours to get there along I-5 south with a cut through the coast range near Eugene.  Take the 101 from Tillamook or Seaside, and you're looking at seven hours of winding road reminiscent to the 1 in California.   Because of this remoteness, the area gets limited visitation in the summer and in the winter, well its all but a ghost town.   Think of it as Twin Peaks with a few bags of meth borrowed from Deadliest Catch, and without the cute girls.

After a few weeks of the Pacific Northwest's signature rain and gloom,  I headed south along the coast on my way to California.  Like most Oregonians,  I grew up spending weekends during the summer playing on the rugged northern beaches of Short Sands and Canon Beach.  My knowledge of the coast goes from good to nonexistent around Lincoln City.  With my buddy, Spencer Phillips, sitting shotgun, we worked our way down the coast searching for waves and views in the heart of winter.

Blasting.

Lagoon.

Ripping a few hundred yards out.

Late night.

Foaming.

Locs only, bro.  These gulls hold it down.

Dodge Rampage.

Sometimes slide film has a mind of its own.

Fixings.

Deers,  beware.

Holding it down.

Sunrise with Portra 160 and an Olympus XA on January 7th.

Traveling is always best in places that you don't know that well.  The parks were empty save for a few dog walkers and retirees in their RV's.  If you ever get the opportunity, head to this part of the country.  Bring your surf board,  there are plenty of waves.

Here are some more links,

Southern Oregon (Facebook),

Foreverenroute,

Twitter.