evel knievel tribute – oklahomo diary, part 3
One of Trigger’s sponsors is Lost. I’ve never quite understood this company, partly because I don’t think they understand themselves. Since their inception—which, as I just learned from their website, they themselves aren’t even sure of: “Lost was born around ‘91 or ‘93 in San Clemente, California…” They’ve flitted about the action sports world dabbling in every genre, yet never really grabbing a foothold in any single one. I guess maybe they’re most recognized within surfing?
“The Lost thinking now flows through its art, music, films, athletes and clothing,” their site reads “…but that sounds like some PR firm wrote that for us. So Lost is whatever you think it is…”
Well, since they used to make “goofy boy” pants back in ‘91, or ‘93, I’ve always thought of them as a bit goofy. Every time I look at their logo, I can’t help but think of that period in skateboarding: hip hop, graffiti time. Yet, a few of my good friends, who also happen to be respectable professional skaters (legends even), like Pat Duffy, Chad Shetler, Kyle Berard and Paul Machnau, all ride for Lost.
My confusion is compounded by a personal experience I had with the company not that long ago. I went on a Lost skate tour to South Africa. If it wasn’t for the generosity of the South African VOLCOM team manager, the trip would have been a complete disaster because the South African Lost dudes were complete retards.
“Yeah, we’ll sort that out,” they’d say.
“Hey let’s go skate that park tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we’ll sort that out.”
“We should go out street skating today and get some footage.”
“Yeah, we’ll sort that out.”
“Would it be possible to go on a safari while we’re here?”
“Yeah, we’ll sort that out.”
It didn’t take us long to learn that “Yeah, we’ll sort that out,” meant, “I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.”
It was absolutely astounding. They spent a lot of money to fly this whole crew of dudes all the way to South Africa, and then they just ignored us and left us to fend for ourselves. Again, thank God Volcom’s team manager took pity on us and delivered a trip of a lifetime.
(I have since learned the South Africans are now gone. “Yeah, they don’t work for us anymore,” Shetler said out in Oklahoma.)
It came as no surprise to learn that Trigger’s Lost crew, who had come to Oklahoma, was also a tad on the incompetent side. By the time we arrived, they had caused such a scene that they had all already earned nicknames. There was of course Big Mike, the “Oranguamidge.” Then there was “Shrek” and “Spicolli.” There was one other guy that didn’t have a nickname as far as I knew, so I just called him “Sketchy.” They were a motley crew to say the least, but they were united by marijuana. Lots of marijuana. And they occupied their time by moving Lost banners around. No one liked the Lost banner, but everyone was too afraid to tell them. So every day the giant banner would get moved around the site depending on how the stoners were feeling. Pure comedy.
Our favorite Lost moment was when they tried to paint Trigger’s take off ramp. They started at the bottom. So you can imagine their surprise when they got to the top and realized that to get back down they’d have to walk back through the wet paint. Or wait til it dried. The latter option would, presumably, keep them away from their weed for too long, so they said fuck it and walked back down through the fresh, white paint.
Nice guys. They were fun to party with, but they’re not the guys I’d want helping me out when I’m trying to break a world record and my life is on the line.
