The invention of the urethane wheel detonated beneath our feet and hurled a few of us across the planet, allowing us to share the joy and magic of something we’d always known. We were young, 16 years of age when it happened and we were hit with a new perspective of what a skateboarder is, something we’d always been told was delinquent and against the law; one day we’re vandals running from police and angry neighbors and the next day we’re low grade pro athletes getting paid for doing just that, talk about cognitive dissonance. Nothing in our lives had prepared us to become professional athletes; how to manage the myriad sponsorships, contracts and public appearances, how to handle the money responsibly, how to deal with the attention and the fans and the temptations and ultimately how to deal with our 15 minutes of fame all at the ripe age of 17. It all happened in a rush of frenetic activity and the wave we were riding was moving fast and furiously and either you stayed on your board and figured it out as you went or you got left behind and those who got left behind rarely caught back up. I’m pictured here in the middle of the desert, taking a break from a manic pipe session, signing boards for a group of eager Arizona skaters, thankful that I was able to remain on my board and on the wave for the duration of my generation.