the empty page

The door was frozen fucking shut.
"I didn't think I was drawing that long tonight,"
Incomplete motions all day. Auto pilot awake at nine, shop by twelve thirty. Set up, color, breakdown by 3pm, stuffed myself sluggish by 6:30. Met my friend about a website at 7, piles of crumpled paper and hair tugging by 9 are interrupted by a text from Russ. Unlike the video of Joe Rich's last rip on his ramp leaving Kaz and myself drooling to pedal our asses off at something, seeing Joe dismantle the bowl corner and standing amongst people power tools and scattered pieces of skatelite, the ribs of a masterpiece showing sickly through its skin...it bummed me the fuck out.
Problem is who am I to be bummed? Who are any of us to reflect and say "wow, this is fucked up."
The scene in Austin is the largest cohesive personification of the spirit of Bmx. where some of us have grown generally cynical, they have embellished on the open mind and widespread acceptance that swells the true roots of our lifestyle. Personally speaking, it breathed new life into my desire to continue riding bmx at any level; a true fountain of youth. The relocation of the mystical ramp should not bring anyone down. It hasn't brought the founders nor the fabricators down, the shredders and the local blood; they are excited to see what new sheets of paper bring, new golden hours to rip a new one and to laugh pounds off bodies.
The magic had a home for over twelve years in the east side of Austin, TX.
There is no doubt in my mind that change will only bring new walls to inspire new chapters. The real magic, the thought process and creative think tank existing within the people responsible and the people they welcome daily into their slice of heaven, is eternal. It's intangible. It follows me back to New York from simply being a fly on the wall for a few weeks here and there.
It transfers through photo and video, makes anyone who has seen pictures inspired.
Pushes their legs to work a little harder.
Their minds, the soul of every rider is stoked a little more with every glance into the back yard of terrible one.
I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone I have ever known to ride when I say that we are all grateful beyond words. The ramp, the state of mind passed on through generations and through the proof that everyone's idea of "growing up" is total shit, it's invaluable.

Thank you Joe, Ryan Corrigan, Nina Buitrago, Russ Barone, Afro Pat, Thomas, Will Blount, Matty, Nutter, Logan, Isaac, and everyone else that has made Austin BMX not only a reality, but an inconceivably missing piece to a puzzle left unfinished for so long. Thanks for reminding me that there are so many more open spots to be stitched together.
Thank you for continually leaving an empty page to be written on.
Cheers everyone.


Austin Texas is the fastest growing city in the nation. With a list of statistics that constantly puts another hand atop of its own gang pile, neighborhoods once deemed inhospitable to the masses are the new hot spots for development. Sadly, staples of the famed shit hole known as "the east side" are becoming scarce. Buildings with structurally sound dilapidation, or "character" are being replaced with sterile and uninspired architecture of unrealistic property value. One real life stat to regurgitate for consumption is a bile-coated whopping 90 dollar per square foot property tax, three years prior only having a four dollar per square foot fee. Intrigued? Infuriated? Good. Me fucking too. I don't even live there and it makes me sick.
Among Austen's famed burger joints, ungodly amazing taco trucks, signature bars, and world famous tattoo shops that were forced out for the sake of los-anglification is a pillar of the BMX scene, once located on east 6th street. Terrible One's home base once loomed under the radar, unadorned to the naked eye. A few buildings in from the corner of Chicon, it's unattractive tan brick exterior wouldn't dare cause for double take. It's barbed wire gate looked more like a chop shop entrance than the holy passageway to the esteemed oasis laying completely undetectable from the cracked sidewalk.
I've heard twelve, and I've heard fourteen, so for conversations sake, well passed a decade existed something special. Out of town visitors lucky enough to catch wind of a session at the ramp were sent home with an undeniable glow, priceless frame by frame memories turned photographic by their severity. No place was as highly regarded as the terrible one ramp.
It has fallen prey to the gentrification of this neighborhood for the greed of out of state developers, giving no shit towards people who live and breathe the fine city of Austin. When the next cool thing pops up, the influx of population will hop on the cool train, leaving the heart of Austin with a ghost town of bad decisions from property owners of the past who chose to bulldoze the mojo and the magic for money.
It's another sad day for Austin. The worst part is, whatever office building or housing eye sore gets put on its foundation will never have a clue of the incredible moments spent at this geographic location.
All good things must come to an end. I suppose I'm just wishing it was time that the good things were finally allowed to stand the storm, leaving some negative soulless activities with no sand left in the hour glass.
RIP