The Carhartt ‘High Times’ Vert Invitational, Montana, Bulgaria.
January 11, 2008 @ 3:27 PM
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The chance discovery of a huge vert ramp in a mountain village in Bulgaria provided the backdrop for us to pull the trigger on the idea and do something that would live long in the memories of all involved.
The riders would themselves nominate who would come, and we- well, we would organise everything else.
What could possibly go wrong?
Rather more than we could ever imagine, as it turned out.
First to the brass tacks. We needed money. Montana is two hours due north of the Bulgarian capital Sofia, nestled in the Balkan mountains. It has half a dozen shops, one hotel, not much else. Everything we needed would have to be moved there from Sofia- food, fencing, street course, sound system, marquees, water, two tons of beer.
All of these things cost, and despite us approaching many so- called ‘core’ skateboarding brands, most looked the other way. Vert? Eastern Europe? No thanks.
Flatland at MACBA no problem, but try to do something to help a dying art and a newborn scene and all we got were wrinkled noses. Noted.
Carhartt, on the other hand, said yes instantly and apologised for not being able to do more. God bless them and their high quality, superbly manufactured and reasonably priced goods.
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Considering nothing like this had ever been attempted in Bulgaria before, we faced a lot of stress on the ground too. The brothers behind skatebg.com, the premium resource for all things skatey in Bulgaria, put the word out that we needed fencing, only to discover that nobody in the entire country rents it. Sell it yes, but there are so few events that nobody ever thought to hire the stuff out. But that was only the start of it. The police had insisted on fencing the area off because despite being a picturesque place, Montana is plagued with neo- Nazi skinheads, who we were to come face to face with a little later on. But that is a story for three pages over.
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Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a crew of vert riders cleared the decks to jump in on a unique opportunity to win absolutely nothing in the middle of nowhere. Australia’s Renton Millar was the driving force behind the event, he badgered and harrassed Jurgen Horrwarth, Pete King, Dave Allen, Sam Beckett, Jess Andersen, Thomas Kring, Andy Scott and Jussi Korhonen into taking a leap into the dark for the love of the game. Death skateboards’ Nick Orrechio dived in as well.
Kring and Anderssen bought their tickets before they’d even seen the ramp. Oh yes, I’d forgotten about the ramp. But first, a little diversion into perversion.
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Nick Orrechio Vs natural curiosity.
“Lets go”, announced Alex from skatebg.com, locking up his office door in Sofia and jumping in the van- “we might even see some roadside hookers on the way.”
“Do you really have roadside hookers in Bulgaria?” asked Nick, genuinely astonished.
“My friend-” said Alex, slapping the dashboard and looking indignant “in this country we have the finest roadside hookers in all of Europe. Maybe the world.”
And so it came to pass that for two hours every single creature we passed was preceded by an elbow in the ribs from Nick and a muttered “ Hello- here we go…” and succeeded by him asking “Was that one?”.
I mean- grannies, old men at bus stops, horses, every damn thing we passed, he would whisper “Here’s your bird here- look...was that one?”
Renton Millar vs Rollerbladers
The ramp, it turns out, was built by rollerbladers and so had about half a panel too much flat bottom, too much vert and flush coping. It really was vast, so much so that you got lost in a sea of blue as you ride up the transitions, disorientated by the lack of reference points for your eyes to figure out which way is up. Blue in every direction as far as the eye can see. Oh, and did I mention that it was in the hottest place in Bulgaria during the hottest weekend in a decade? 46 degrees the temperature topped out at, literally hot enough to cook eggs on the ramp. The trick is to put a sheet of newspaper under them first- stops them sticking. Anyway, Renton struggled with the ramp on the first skate and declared it virtually unridable. Second day he did a frontside pivot on a picnic table long way up, 8 feet up from the 3 feet of vert and a total of about 25 feet off the ground. So that’s alright then.
Skateboarders vs the National Front
As luck would have it, the place we were staying turned out to be a favourite haunt of the local chapter of Combat 18. Keen to keep a low profile, Jurgen and Renton immediately started doing comedy Adolf routines at them, with the finger under the nose and the whole nine yards. Needless to say, it went down like a french kiss at a family reunion, and the stage was set for a rumble. When it came, it came from the strangest of places, because a completely off the wall thing was about to happen involving the Bulgarian mafia, Christian Hosoi and the Second World War. And with that sentence running around your head, let us away to a scene from Goodfellas
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Going For A Drive With The Head Of Security.
The night before the event started, we were invited to go for a drive with the head of security. Our guy is a connected man, and looks a lot like a coke machine with a head on top. “You don’t mess about with these boys” Alex understated substantially as the car rolled up alongside us. We got in and were driven, wordlessly, across town to their headquarters for a discussion about how things were going to be.
A few words at a doorway and down a flight of stairs into a pimped out basement. I feel like Joe Pesci just before he gets his head ventilated in that Scorsese film. In order to stop my trembling hands I rack up the pool table but as I draw the cue back to break I find it snapped, presumably over the head of the last person to mess about with the Sofia crew.
The bottom line was that any trouble would be dealt with right away but if people needed to be disappeared that may cost extra.
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Rrrrrright.
August’s head vs the door.
August built the street course. His job title is Technical Support, and he was drunk off his ass the entire weekend. When an extra sheet of ply was required, an ancient hardware shop was located and a few of the boys set off. August insisted on going. He gets in to find two guys who haven’t seen a stranger in 40 years sitting in enveloping silence. A clock ticks somewhere in the back. August clocks the polished floor and says “You know what a floor like this is good for? Breakdancing. You know what breakdancing is?”.
And off he goes, popping and locking for two dumbstruck pensioners as the others search for ply in the storeroom. By the time they return, August has advanced to backspins at an alarming rate which are only stopped by another customer entering and introducing an oak door to his temple, knocking what little sense he had left out his ears. By the time he made it back he was speaking in tongues, and not good tongues either. Often since I have thought of that customer entering his friends’ shop to find them frozen, mesmerised, and a rotating, semi- conscious simpleton crying on the floor.
And I have laughed, heartily.
“I heard there was a fight.”
“No, no.
There were several.”
The event was run over three nights and the entire Bulgarian skate scene came. We even had heads from Greece who made the trip too. Inevitably, having a few thousand young people suddenly arrive in this mountain village attracted a lot of attention. This is where it started to get weird. We switched on the radio on the day we arrived to hear a Hollywood actor called Steven Baldwin plugging the event on the radio. Baldwin, it turns out, is a mate of Christian Hosoi’s, and is in the country making a film. Because he is coming, the mayor, the national papers and TV stations are all there. No big deal, until nightfall and the walkie talkie crackles that there is a problem at the front gate. Combat 18 are trying to rush the gate, and our muscular friends from Sofia want the green light for Armageddon to kick off.
Alex wades in to the middle.
It turns out that the skinheads think that Baldwin is Russell Crowe from Romper Stomper, and they want their photo taken with him for the clubhouse wall. They are, as such people always are, dimwits who want be feared but largely harmless if you disarm them by not being intimidated, as we found out 2 hours later.
A couple of the top boys rock up to the party later to see what we’re all about. We have a couple of drinks, a lot of eye contact, everything is cool. Until this guy who is about 60 years old drinking on his own at the bar spots one of the Combat 18 T- shirts, gets up, and drops the biggest meathead with one punch, so much so that Pete King had to rescue him from a proper hiding.
Champions of the master race, them boys. Dear oh dear.
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Jurgen Horrwarth vs the Ditch Of Doom
Last bit of unfinished business was this vast drainage ditch which ran off the lake which we stayed on. I’ve never seen an engineering project of such scale, basically a man made river which you had to climb down into. If you got hurt down there, you are done. A helicopter might be able to airlift you, but nothing else would do. Sheer faces of weathered stone and at the top a narrow ledge into a bank which is so steep it might as well not be a bank at all. Sam dropped in on it, then Jurgen ollied in. Undoubtedly one of the most dangerous things I’ve ever seen done, no question.
So there you go. Next year Kingpin will be running another one off event in another unusual part of the world, with travel laid on once again for the local skaters, camping and all that good stuff. Let us know where you’d like it to be. For now, the skaters of Bulgaria, skatebg.com, the vert boys who broke out in unbearable heat, and Carhartt: we love ya.
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