Hello? Is anyone out there?

Rub It In

They said, "winter’s over" as they headed for the beach in their parents’ cast-off cars and rust-buckets of their own. "Summer’s on its way, so now we’re surfers!" Well, I was having none of that. As they left my town, one after another, I stayed behind. I have a close ally in Mother Nature, and she’d whispered a secret: "Winter waits for those who hike." Sure enough, one week after the last local mountain shut down, Mother Nature sent a storm of such fury that six inches of snow fell locally in less

than two hours. Pack on my back, dog at my side, snowshoes on my feet, I welcome the labor that brings me to the fresh untouched snow my friends were too impatient to wait for. I hear their beaches are closed due to contamination caused by runoff. I think I’ll stay a few more weeks.

Two-thirty a.m.–my ride from Centinela State Prison to Corcoran State Prison begins. About four hours into the thirteen-hour bus ride we pass a few snow-topped mountains. As I look out of my window, with the hair on the back of my neck standing up and my body full of nervous energy, I think of all the whiners who write to your mag to bitch about poor boarding conditions, or not enough publicity.

You should be thankful that you can take part in the coolest thing to come along since sliced bread. So the next time you have the urge to write a letter complaining about the little things that really, when it comes down to it, don’t mean shit, remember how lucky you are. Put down the pen and paper. Turn off your Hanson CD. Pick up your board, and take part in the sport you supposedly love so much. I’ve missed two full seasons. You can bet your ass I’ll be at Mammoth [when I get out], dedicating my first run to all the down bros that couldn’t be there with me–but soon will.

All right, we have a new rule for our homies on lock-down: all letters written from prison must be accompanied by an explanation for why you got thrown in the slammer in the first place. How are we supposed to feel sorry for you, when for all we know you’re in jail for something really, really bad–like selling crack to little kids? So clarify–are you an innocent who got screwed by The Man (meaning the criminal-justice system, not your cell mate), or is the lecture a product of your own guilty conscience resulting from the knowledge that you’re the one who was too stupid to realize what you had until you got it taken away?

You guys are great! I wanted to send you this photo of me and my brothers with John Sommers at the U.S. Open in Stratton. Please put this in your magazine to thank John for being such a cool guy, and to congratulate him on ripping it up in the pipe! He rocks!

I want to say something. It’s not about showing off. It’s not about looking cool or fitting in. Snowboarding is about the feeling of when you get off the lift and look around: you’re filled with energy and happiness, overwhelming joy, and a sense of relaxation. It’s an escape from school, work, and pressure. It’s a vacation that comes every weekend. It’s about getting away and feeling free. It’s not about the image or the publicity or the chicks. It’s about you and the pure beauty of the mountain. Next time you go, sit down somewhere on top of the hill and just look around. Be thankful you have the chance to see all the beauty and grace. Take the ride that no one else wants to take. Ride the black diamonds and unmarked trails. Ride the backcountry. Just enjoy it and know how lucky you are.

Contrary to my name, I have lost my lust for life. I have popped/ruined/ripped my knee. Here’s what I do now: eat, fart, sleep, watch Jerry Springer. I hope the bastard heals before I hit 200 pounds–I weigh 110 right now, up five already from last week’s trip to Tahoe’s backcountry that did this to me. I feel angry and frustrated, enough to hit someone/something–but that would require too much energy in my present vegetative state. I pray for a natural disaster to provide me some form of entertainment. I laughed myself sick this morning reading the paper–seems a plane-load of tourists flying from L.A. to Hawaii hit unexpected turbulence and got all f–ked up! I am getting a little mean. I am a mess. Hand me the Fritos, señor.

I would like to compliment you on your great efforts to keep the magazine so full of pictures and ads, no one who is interested in snowboarding can read actual literature. The pictures are great (the ones you take), but f–king A! I wouldn’t buy a magazine with more ads then actual content! Content like maybe a story or a brief paragraph? Maybe something besides a picture? Your magazine licks the inside of my smelly, dirty, white ass.