freestyle magazine vol 09:

FEATURED SPREADS:

FROM THE EDITOR:

When I was around 8 or 9, a movie was released that made me annoy the shit out of my parents, particularly my dad, for the next few years. That movie was Terminator 2. I obviously didn’t realise as I filled my chubby cavity of a mouth with salty popcorn and watered-down cola but I was being cinematically brainwashed by this world of unnecessarily large explosions. Everything about this movie made sense to me, especially the part where Edward Furlong rides off on a trail bike whilst he doubles his mullet-ranga mate who’s blasting Guns N’ Roses out of a boom box… I wanted to do that. And so, years of crocodile tears and constant annoyance finally pays off when I’m sprung a new Suzuki DS-80 during one special Christmas. Other parents in attendance knew they had failed their kids who beamed canary-yellow in Suzuki envy. They barely held their shitty Hula Hoops and Nickelodeon Gak in disgust while I hammered lap after lap in their faces. “Can I have a go please, Cristian?” the peasants begged, “rurrrrhhhhhhh” was my 2-stroke reply. Kids cried extra-heavy and families left extra-early that Christmas. I was a ghetto John Connor, remixed with an inspiring Evil Kenevil. I was running monologues about judgement day in the confines of my virgin helmet, I was terrorising the playgrounds of infants and trophy-mums with my annoying assertiveness, I was the sickest shit going around on 80cc. One day before kick starting my pubescent penis extension, my Mum grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t try anything stupid please or I’ll kick your ass!” I was like, “Mum, it’s okay. I know what I’m doing!” Yeah, I really believed I did. But then again at that age, I thought I was destined to marry the chick from Full House. No, not the Olsen twins or D.J. but the one with middle-child syndrome (Steph!). I think she’s on Crystal Meth now or something. So I’m running and gunning with my usual style when the bright idea of riding over ‘the forbidden hills’, as Mum referred to them, revved in my head. I don’t hesitate; I’m on autopilot and proceed in hammering no-man’s land for the next few hours. I probably could have gone home and called it a day after lap 30-something but Axel Rose was willing me on for just a couple more. All I remember next is jumping the peak of this hill that contained a construction on its other side with my name on it. Some sort of septic tank made entirely out of concrete and steel molested the front of my barely scratched DS and damaged any amount of ego I’d accumulated. My right hand was shattered attempting to break the fall (tennis career over), my helmet earned its first official Stack-Hat crack and my bike laid weeping oil next to me, idling extra loud as if screaming, “YOU’RE A SHITBOX!” I deserved that, I deserved to be ashamed and in pain but I thought, ‘life can’t get more degrading than this’... That was until Mum found out. She kept her promise… Sarah Connor going off at the mental institution style.

This story was not only my own but also that of many others, including this issue’s radical stunt rider extraordinaire, Crow. Except Crow wasn’t inspired by a scene in a movie, just by his own real life. And the first time he ever picked up a bike was at the elderly age of 24. That bike wasn’t a DS-80 either, but the clinically insane Yamaha R1. He showed me some scars and broken bones that weren’t from sticks and stones but from the tarmac that he’s met every time a 5 mile-wheelie was miscalculated. I heard some amazing anecdotes from this elusive bird who identifies damage as just another occupational hazard. A fellow member from the Department of Hard Knocks is Ken Block, who also drifted into this issue to throttle his thoughts and opinions. The DC Shoe creator and four-wheeled rally/stunt rider discusses the Gymkhama clips that have flooded emails around the world and of course that 171 Foot jump in his beloved WRX. Foreign lands of Japan produced one of our most exclusive shoots ever with the footwear fetish girls of Kiks Tyo. Adorned with the freshest kicks and rarest colourways, the awesome foursome definitely brought some sexy back, and big-time border security. Keeping it local was the beasty Bopper from Melbourne, PZEST, the classic charm of the ‘49 Buick, ARTDCO and our wild bull run on Sydney’s back streets with a Lambo LP560. And rounding off the workload for the afternoon shift was the sentimental surrealist that is Glenn Barr, the fearless ink crusader, Rod and of course those switchboard popping operators from LA’s Lifestyle Car club. Signing off.

Cristian Diaz
Editor-In-Chief