Cut with sweat and blood.
The HB park, crucified unjustly.
The sun can never set on the HB flat-bar, because I have it in safe keeping.
The curvaceous bank can no longer be caressed by my loving wheels like the hips were.
A view with Geoff Rowley's graffiti, and me doing one of my last ever ollies over the hip. Shot by Griffin with my camera.
The kinker bar broke my ribs at least once, and bruised them a few times too, and has split plenty of blood from my shins.
HB has been very inept at getting this new park going. Money wasted!
Relentless teenager usage was finally getting the best of concrete and steel.
This is the cop that kicked us out, and what spurned us into the realization that this was our last session ever. We went immediately to the hardware store and bought hacksaws.
The tortured ledge which was once nice and sharp was blunted by the myriad of abuses it endured.