In Search of the Canna Ramp Part 4 – Newquay

The final day of trekking sees the crew land in Newquay

We awake to the startling realisation that the road came to an end the night before.
Sometimes, after days on end jammed into vehicles heading towards an end point, the journey itself metamorphoses into the destination until you finally get to wherever it is you were going.
That’s when you realise that whilst ‘the journey is the destination’ sounds great as a t-shirt slogan, it’s actually nonsense.
Musings aside – we’d made it. Newquay. Bathed in sunshine, with a brand new concrete park to sample and the Canna Ramp awaiting us at the Boardmasters festival to box the week off.

In Search of the Canna Ramp Part 4 – Newquay

After feeling things out there last night, today was the day to hit Newquay park for as long as we desired. Div Adam was still in town and had arranged to meet Rye at 7am for a session before the hordes descended but, by now, the rigours of a few days on the road were starting to take their toll and the rest of us don’t emerge until past ten when Rye returns with tales (and clips) of early morning gnarliness. We quickly established that, for the rest of us, this isn’t going to be a day to move quickly – games of chess, coastal walks, swimming and pasty shop comparisons all took precedence over skateboarding during the heat of the sun.

We eventually decide that we’ve soaked up enough vitamin D and salt water to handle another session – making our way to Concrete Waves early evening to find the place crowded, but with many people out of action due to heat stroke or the effects of all day drinking in the sun.
There’s something in the tang of a sea breeze which awakens a latent love of boozing in the most casual of drinkers – this is why you’ll often find clusters of alcoholics muttering to themselves in the streets and spraying the alleyways of seaside towns with murky urine. I’m not saying that people don’t drink at all inland – it just doesn’t seem to get pursued with the clinical ruthlessness of a general ordering the bombing of a Middle Eastern hospital.

Due to the above fact, the research for which I’ve been collating for many years, the incredible skating happening in the park almost becomes a side show to watching middle-aged, sun burnt dudes try to cope with the eight cans they’ve sunk since arriving early afternoon. This comes to a culmination when one particularly irritating knobhead – t-shirt off and board shorts sagging under his pot belly on one side and below the level of his arse crack on the other – is rugby tackled out of nowhere in the middle of his haranguing Alex and I about not trying hard enough to shoot photos for his surf magazine, (or some nonsense along those lines).
Him and his pisshead ninja attacker roll down the hill in a flurry of limbs and beer guts, miraculously falling short of the slight drop that might’ve turned a moment of street justice into a #rekt gif.

A few solid distractions from the drinking come courtesy of Matt Beer, who despite having been diagnosed with a fractured scaphoid that morning, has no problem in tearing the park to shreds; and from Div, who silences the park with a mach ten backside tailslide over the lengthy love seat which divides the two shallow pockets of the bowl. A bunch of us get stuck into a session in the pool until legs give out all round and we cruise back to the Air BnB via the mandatory fish and chip stop, where Alex is going to back up Jordan’s stick and poke tattoo the previous night by throwing a cactus on Rye’s leg.

Whilst this takes place, Jake and I head out for a few drinks with some Newquay locals – which, I’m afraid to say, has a tragic ending when the round of whiskey and ginger ales I’ve ordered comes back as whiskey and ginger beers.
In the charitable words of one recipient, “I know this wasn’t what you ordered, but is it normally this…unusual?”
I’ve seen Newquay’s dark side, and it’s not pretty. Future visitors take heed and learn from my mistakes; if you’re in a shoddy pool hall and it’s getting towards closing time, for the love of god, stick to beer.
(Text/photos: Jono Coote)

Jordan Thackeray and Alex Hallford are both sponsored by Lovenskate Skateboards.
If you fancy supporting these two reprobates further – see below.


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