Bike pile at the Newcastle beach which is home to what can only be described as a behemoth of a bowl. Sorry, no photo of that! Hopeless!
"Sexy Lexy", probably still drunk. Come 3 or 4 the same day his smirk was gone, and he was a quivering mess after spewing in a garden. From the night before mind you. Now that is one stellar effort, from a stellar indivual.
Mulesy, making hay while the sun shines.
Pretty sure this is Sam busting a very nice table out of a very nice looking curved wall. Plenty of shit got done here, none of which i photographed. Hopeless! Somehow Leigh G hit this flat out from the top, dropped in, then popped back out the other side...i'm still quite confused about that.
Fortunately for Mulesy, the powers that be didnt put any signs up saying "No riding on Anchor" or he may have had himself a bit of a moral dilemna. A couple of seconds after this shot was caught he dropped in off it, almost gapped to road, hopped a curb, mounted a verandah, and gapped over a fairly sizable fence. Then he redid it for the camera a few times. It was pretty sweet! You might catch that one in some Anchor content one day.
Camping, at Stockton dunes. Apparently illegally, as we found out in the morning. I can only assume that one of the many number of 4x4 heroes that drove past us dobbed us in. My personal favourite was the young bloke with the brand new V8 cruiser ute (covered in every goddamn 4x4 accessory known to man) who stopped behind the bus, took about 30 minutes to let his 35x12.5" tyres down (which im guessing was to try show the shiela in the car he had some kind of idea), drove past us into the sand and pretty much made it to where Lexi's brother made it to the night before. In a Hyundai (or something similar). I guess ARB didnt explain to him when exactly to utilse his expensive air lockers, and the low range option the vehicle comes with, because he got out to let more air out. Money cant buy everything after all, not even common sense. Note: Stockton dunes are fucking amazing!
Mulesy, probably saying "Goodbye Newcastle, im gonna miss you". And "Godamn you, i was gonna do that crazy rail hop again you bastard, but its blowing 30 knot's".
After saying our goodbyes to everyone in Sydney, and drying our eyes, we had to chill til my aunty finshed doing some shit so we could get a key and some floor space. Fortunately for us, some seriously fucking awesome person, thought it would be a good idea to leave all these deck chairs in the heart of Sydney on George st. Fan-fucking-tastic. You my friend, are winning like Charlie Sheen. What a top idea, honestly! Should be more of it!
About four minutes before this shot, Mulesy offered the security gaurd fifty bucks to do a "bmx stunt" as he so elequontly put it, on the big flat bank you see in the background. Mulesy didnt think he had a chance, he was dead right! Oh well, like they say in the NT; you never never know if you never never go.
Mulesy, working against the clock. And soon after, attempting to avoid death by collision with joggers that obviosly wear "blinkers".
Dylan, twisting his lady killer frame into the little known yoga position: the turndown. Off a pretty much non existent kicker. If Dylan moved this fast all the time, he could definately take up professional boxing....and win!
Mulesy threw his bars 360 degrees on this fairly well known Sydney obstacle way more times than he was originally anticipating, due to it being alot darker than this photo would have you believe. This was the best bar position i could manage, problem is, i missed his head. Hopeless! Whilst fucking arouund here Dylan thought he saw Kevin Rudd on the phone, i thought it was Julian Assange. So Dylan holla's out "Hey Ruddy!". Well fuck me, it was Kevin Rudd, so he comes over and introduces himself, "Hi, im Kevin". To which we respond, "yeh, we know". Then he got back on the phone (probably to save Japan or something), and he wandered off. This country is way to small. First we run into Derrick Mellishs traumatised ex in melb, Dylan gets on facebook with some random bird looking extremely intoxicated, all cause of some nightclub photographer, we run in Chay in the cross, and now we run into ole Kevin Rudd. Its time to go home!
Ah, there we go. Cairns-mother-fucking-vegas! Ha Ha Humidity? Check! Hot weather? Check! Cold XXXX? Check!The only thing missing is that feeling you get from laughing so hard, the good people we met, and that sweet sweet Victorian brewed VB. Thanks to anyone we ran into, Shit was to much fun! Novel finished, im over typing.
