Illustration by Erik Lundquist
Objects that one will find on the ground back there on any given day: empty glass and aluminum beer receptacles, broken pieces of those receptacles, a variety of decommissioned lawn furniture, a stray piece of metal piping, scrap wood and tree branches for burning, someone’s forgotten cruiser board, long since empty and discarded cigarette packs, a possible few unopened beers in a dilapidated thirty rack, five-gallon buckets caked with dried portland mix, bags of portland mix and quick-crete, one rusty wheelbarrow also caked with dried concrete mix, a trowel, cinder blocks, nails, a shovel, a shop broom, city rats scavenging for sustenance, a cat named Peggy Sue, a red Zero flatbar, one cement quarterpipe, and one cement bank, complete with stolen parking block on top.
Historically, the backyard at 1823 has been a beloved party spot for occasions both noteworthy and trivial alike; premiere after parties, New Years Eve, 4th of July, graduation parties, Thanksgiving, Wednesday nights, you name it. Now, these raucous skate house parties were awesome, but they were missing one crucial element: a handmade pile of concrete for skating enjoyment and horseplay.
I’m going to credit Joseph Brignon as the one to spearhead initial building in the backyard. He acquired the first bags of cement. He stated that he was going to build a ramp, and made the first moves. Thanks, Joseph. He sparked it, and in no time there were five heads back there mixing cement and throwing it at a pile of rubble. The building process was systematic. We were acting with deliberate intention. Were those intentions well informed? Who gives a damn. One union carpenter for five other construction juniors equals enough know-how to get things off the ground. Looking back on our materials and the steps we took to build the thing, I’m thoroughly pleased to see that it’s still skateable. The forms were measured to a point, eyeballed, and then changed to fit in the spot. The coping came from what could have only been a street sign that was hit by a car, which we loosely screwed in and surrounded with concrete. Our top layer of portland chipped off in two days, which we replaced with bondo. All that, and the poor thing’s been rained on, showered with beer and most likely piss, skated more than the flatbar ever was, bombarded with fireworks, and still it stands.
Then came the bank. Beforehand, we scouted out parking blocks to steal for the top of it, because it was always going to be a bank to curb. It couldn’t have been just a bank. In an alley south of the backyard, there runs a parking lot next to a coach house with tiny cobblestone kit kats lining the length of it. At the very end of the line, a small section of the last block had been broken off, almost as if to fit right in the last space. That was the one we had to take; a) it was next to the street, so we could pull up in the car and hoist it into the trunk. b) part of it was broken off, so it was easier to lift than the rest. We made the acquisition undetected (I do not suspect the landlords have yet noticed the absence of their 3/4 parking block). After we stole the puny half-curb, it took about a month for anyone to take the initiative to build the actual ramp up to it. Rumors spread that perhaps there would never be any bank to curb at all. That seemed to be the case until Erik Lundquist drew up the plans himself one rainy night on the back porch of Neckbeerd Headquarters (which may look strikingly similar to the image alongside this block of words). With some guidelines on paper, he and a few other heads had built the bank in a total of two afternoons.
There is really no telling how long these rough cuts will last in their stage of mediocre glory. An exceptionally raucous evening could lead to pissed off neighbors (how have they not been pissed off already?) The long lost landlord could happen to come to the apartment for the first time in two years, see the DIY, and have it demolished that day. The winter snow will definitely take its toll on the surfaces. Before any of the other pitiful/hypothetical outcomes have a chance to flesh themselves out, I suggest we skate the ramps to their death with dignity.
More images to come
