Three concrete-crushing days at the Van Doren Invitational. If big air and lip-busting insanity is your cup o' tea, this was the place to chug-a-lug!
Once again they poured that bitch straight on the sand. Amazing, right?
Practice day - Fardell tests the airspace.
It was all fun n games at this point.
That's sunblock, not TNT corpse paint, for anyone wondering.
Rowan was prequalified straight into the finals. '500 bucks for a drop-in?!!' he kept remarking. Yes Rowan.
Ronnie S lets one slide.
Mad hot out there, especially in the bathing suit zone.
Canada's Riley Boland on an unorthodox indy jar into the wedge.
If there's an extension, Nordberg is dancing on it.
Tim Jackson entry for Earl Berle.
Perelson takes his vert skills and sober lifestlye to the deep-end. Looking good out there, Alex!
I thought this was Sky Soljah for the first half of the day. Turns out it was just a gate crasher. Sweet sock-hops, though.
Curren Caples slipped past the babes just in time to start a-tweaking. Is that a Target sticker??? Let me get that card, Sprinkles!!
Modern moves on the KF lein.
A-glow with possibilities.
Alley-oop cab into this frontside hurricane, just in case you thought The Hatch was slackin' off.
Big Rob on some SPSA staples.
The 'ball! Nice.
He uses them sparingly, which makes it all the more a treat when Ronnie twists them up.
Berle, invert to tail. Always liked those.
Saran wrap from ol' what's his face.
On-deck banter, mostly light.
Yep, good times.
'Yeah, The Muscle .... that's what they call me anyways ...'
Vape video with Perelson's device.
Always a good time to posse up.
Is this wrong?
Last minute stale.
'Damn ... you think Raven's gonna take it again?'
It was on everyone's mind.
Bright and early the next morning with The Tempster. Nice to see you, Ed.
The Bereses and Bros.
Bublitz and his patented HB filming style.
Opposites attract ...
Zack Miller, space invader.
Marlon's gaze could kill a seagull!
Wish in one hand ...
The only actual local - Jake Reuter.
Chafe and roll.
And replacing Don Bostick ....
Marlon Silva's lip attack would make Groholski nervous.
Look out ... Vans team, coming through.
Hand hop. He was looking strong.
A mistake he would not soon repeat!
Willy Lara rips! Ya'll heard of this dude yet?
Gregson airs out the ink.
All his top tricks, all over the bowl.
Josh Rodriguez had a nice thing going.
The Cruz Dot's Cody Chapman, dismantling it!
And all the way from France - 16-year-old Robin Bolian. He's the dude who hit his face.
Mason Merlino, frontal bluntal.
He didn't enter, but it was nice seeing Raney tuck up a few here and there!
Omar Hassan - he and Hosoi were the only legends ready to step onto the coping with the teenaged horde. Strong as always.
Daan Van Der Linden, about to take this handplant to fakie nosegrind, probably.
Stalwart competitor, Kevin Kowalski.
Miller Lite, back D.
Oscar got his licks in.
Felipe Foguinho can hang out an ollie to dry. Jeezus!
Combi Bowl cowboy, Tristan Rennie.
Moments like this make it all worth it.
Riley Stevens, who got crazier and crazier as the weekend wore on. Take a day off today, Riley! You've earned it.
Yung Patrick, mute tucked.
Borden soared 'em.
Exclusive look backstage. Nuts for days ....
The comp, as the judges see it. And who are these mysterious deciders of fate?
Ah hell ... it's just Howie and Big Pink. I was thinking it would some sort of Wizard of Oz scenario back there.
Daniel Vargas went all white for the semis, all black for the finals. Good psych warfare if you ask me.
Fs flip the potato, into the finals. Yes!
Robin, flying like one.
Raybourn arrives, Gibson tattoo blaring.
Yung Patrick again.
Oh, you thought Daan was just mindblowing flatbar tricks?
Future's here! And it's so bright ...
Who wouldn't be spooked by that coming at 'em?
And styyyyylllllle it out ....
Charlie Blair, always walking the line. Saturday was his big day.
Sorgente is from Florida, not Brazil. Got it?
Our guy Schmitty. Suns out, guns out.
'When are we gonna make them rolling trucks, Coach?'
Mini-legends sesh in the golden hour.
Mad Dog, flopwise.
And then Pedro punches a couple out, just to stay loose.
Yep, tomorrow is gonna be good.
Finally had enough time Saturday to check in on the cultural side of this whole HB/US Open experience.
'Free sunblock application. Woman only.'
I wonder if these guy's rules are so strict?
HB is a skate city. Brad Dorfman's practically the mayor!
Bring your arctic-climate dog, if you got one.
This piggyback dust bowl had something to do with quitting smoking.
Puig fans, everywhere.
Right next to the bowl was some sort of competitive exercising. The soundtrack to it was enough to make you never leave the couch again.
Well whattya know? We finally got it together to get a tent ... in the shadow of Rowley. I call that a good omen.
You're welcome, Thrasher fans!
Yes, of course Jeff Grosso was the first thing people saw as they entered the US Open. What's so weird about that?
Easy drinking capitalism, as stylish backpack.
The view from the pier.
Oh yeah, this is all because of a surfing contest.
Fuck that. You seen that dude who fought the shark?
Drop your tabs .... now.
Old guys rule.
I was gonna ask who was handling the Open's spiritual needs.
Off the sand, back into the arena among the safety of old friends. The Dude, for example.
Red camera roundtable. Verdict: still expensive and heavy.
Dave, biding his time 'til it's his turn in the tent.
Warm-ups on game day. Raney stretches it out in the quiet.
A Sandoval triptych. Looking strong.
Dune handles the press.
Groin view of the bridge of death.
Who egged it better?
Yeah, it was Ronnie. Yours is still tight tho, Chris.
Raybourn arrives again!
Little flat wall action in the deep - fastplant fakie.
And it's cousin, the fakie thruster.
'Its just like the Skate Escape ramp!' He really said that.
Patrick made the finals this year. Congrats!
Willy had noseblunt slide up the tombstone on lock!
Of course Raven will sign your backpack, ma'am.
Pretty sure this is where the contest actually started. Pedro scraping off.
Crowd had gotten plenty of sun and was definitely ready.
So ready .
Curren on the FSA.
Rocket man, Alex Sorgente.
Raven unloads the indy blaster.
Here we go ...
Sure, Greyson looks intimidating, but he's just one of the guys.
Don't let the evil beard fool ya.
Boneless across, possibly to revert.
To disaster, almost always to disaster.
How long can you last in your frozen water burial???
And then Riley's finger popped out of socket.
Yanked that sum bitch back into shape and he was fine.
Yep .... just .... fine.
Marlon, lip precision.
Pedro was full blast the whole time. Mostly on the other end of the park, but full blast nonetheless.
Double C was the wildcard. Looking good until he may have snapped his wrist.
This was before that, though.
Up the E.
Right before the hop.
To rock fakie.
Definitely to revert.
The only conventional trick in his run!
Next time, Russell.
The Hatch barely practiced, so photos are spotty. This is that cab disaster revert. Use your imagination.
540 the groin.
Raven floats the BSO.
And then divebombs the crap out of an indy!
'This one's for Zarosh!'
This right after that indy 540 (not shown.) He just collapsed in a heap for five minutes.
Really heavy finals, better captured in moving picture form. Wow!
Luther and Pink, stepping out for best trick.
Go time for the bonus cash.
Raney starts it up with the ol' noseslide fakie.
Greyson's sky time!
Blair, fearless to fakie.
Rowan got the Barley grind - just like in Propeller!
And then Charlie closed it out with the blind Sal flip fakie.
Blair! Blair! Blair!
A lap full of it!
And then the big announcement.
The top three file in. The Muscle in third!
Yep, must feel pretty good.
And then the word comes down - Pedro second, Hatchell first.
Nobody was mad about it, Congrats Ben!
Brazil wants a piece!
The lensmen were all just glad it was over. Worked for this one.
'If you ever need a shirt just gimme a call ...'
The results - Hambone approved.
Oh wait ... are y'all waiting for Curren?
'I'm not waiting for Curren ...'
Thanks to Vans and all the dudes who ripped and/or got broke off at this amazing event. And a special thanks to all the kids who back Thrasher. It means a lot.
I mean a LOT.
Like Alot Alot.
'Damn, I gotta get me one of those Thrasher shirts too ...'
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