Time goes on. We stack. Cam tries some risky shit knowing that our enthusiasm is waning. I’m running the winch as he sends his body off of a building. Typical Cam. We’re staying at one of the most trap Super 8s thus far and worry about people breaking into our cars. We put out a prison-like vibe in hopes of warding off anyone trying to front. We’re routinely eating breakfast at the Burger King across the lot. Everyone is over it and wants to be back home. Cam and Topher fly out of Minneapolis, leaving us to drive the rest of the way back to Boulder.
On the day of our departure, Chuck and I rush through breakfast, hop in the car and jet, gaining a head start on Jameson and Noah. They’ve got the F-150. A few hours into our drive, we crash. Violently. Disoriented, I find myself reaching over the passenger seat for Chuck to make sure he’s still there. We end up in the median of the highway, roughly 100 miles outside Minneapolis. Gear everywhere. Windshield smashed. The driver side door is inoperable because the car is half buried in snow. The car is greatly altered. I am alive. Chuck is alive. Let’s rewind.
Chuck and I are approaching an 18-wheeler in the left lane at roughly 80 mph. Our tires lose traction thanks to a strip of black ice, and the Subaru drifts sideways. We roll four or five times before landing upright in the snowy median. Chuck is pretty shook up. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. I’m also mentally shaken. Immediately, we call Jameson for help. A few minutes later, he and Noah arrive at the scene, followed by a state trooper and a tow truck.
We say goodbye and thank you to the Subi, and then leave it forever, knowing we’re lucky to still be breathing. The car gets towed to a junkyard, and we transfer all of our gear into the trailer of our last remaining vehicle. Fourteen hours later, we’re in Boulder, where we’re happy to chill for a couple of weeks. Chuck finds his way back to Breckenridge and skis with a sore neck—still bothering him after the crash. It would be almost two weeks before he went to the doctor to find out that it had been broken the whole time.
March 25, 2014: The clock is ticking, and we don’t have much time left for filming, Isaac and Topher fly to Québec in order to film with skiers Alex Beaulieu-Marchand and Alex Gorham. Both Cams, Clayton, Jameson and I fly east to meet up with photographer Erik Seo in Maine.
His first time back on skis since injuring his shoulder, Clayton is feeling the pressure but remains optimistic. I show the guys around Lewiston-Auburn. We sleep at my parents’ house and shoot at multiple spots during the daytime. Clayton eats shit. I eat shit. Our bodies are beginning to shut down because of all the abuse, but we push through it to get more footage. It’s 10 a.m. and we’re streaming the Bruins game on the radio while shoveling. Cam gets drunk as he roots them on.
April 4, 2014: Cam and Clayton drive to Canada to get a few days of shooting in before retiring for the winter, while the rest of us fly back to Colorado. Thankfully, street filming is officially done for the season.
The rest of April and May is spent abusing various substances, organizing footage, editing clips, trying to get laid, skateboarding, eating egg sandwiches at Deli Zone, throwing shit off of people’s roofs, passing out fully dressed, funneling beers at Brogan’s house, generally binging on alcohol, pouring hella drinks out and realizing how unhealthily we’re living but not caring due to our college-town surroundings. In essence, we’re getting back to our normal life.
July 2014: It’s a Tuesday night, which means the Goose Bar in Boulder is hosting “Babe Night.” Girls drink for free. We’re all getting fucked up.
All of our skiing gear has been put away. The office smells even worse than it did before. With the whole crew present, our pregame rituals include putting footage together, bouncing ideas off one another and watching World Star videos. Soon, Ten and Two will be complete. We’ll share it with the world. It will be winter again before we know it. Snow will fly, and we’ll migrate back to the streets, once again.
For now, it’s time to enjoy the party.
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