Urine Trouble at the X-Games
Filed Under:Written by El Hefe
URINE TROUBLE AT THE X-GAMES
The urine flew out of the guy’s plastic juice container, sprayed across his face, and coated all of the people next to him. It’s not too often that I’m able to begin an article with a sentence like that. Thus began our astounding adventure deep into the heart of the 2008 X-Games in Aspen, Colorado.
Our photographer Kim gives us the “heads up†that most of the parking lots along Highway 82 into Aspen are full. So we dump our vehicle next to Glenwood’s city park and hike to the closest bus stop enclosure. We board, pay, and smash ourselves into the already-full bus. I wasn’t expecting it to be this packed, we’re sardines pressed tip-to-tail in a mobile stench wagon.
Our spirits are high however, we’re pumped, and we persevere. We maintain our composure regardless of the cramped conditions and inebriated minors. Shit. Did I say inebriated minors?! So these kids are obviously blotto and desperately require a commode. I’m talking about at least twelve of them. And they gotta piss. Musta been binging for hours before mounting this bus- lucky us. One chick is ready to drop trou in the buses’ door well- seriously. Luckily we make it to the CMC stop & she bursts through the doors to utilize the nearest acceptable receptacle that she can find.
Her pal in the back row of the bus is in far worse shape. He gambles on being able to make it the rest of the way to Buttermilk and obviously loses. The next thing I know I witness a plastic bottle o’ yellow liquid lifted toward an open bus window (top-drop style, no sliders going on here). He’s trying to empty the nozzle of this makeshift urinal through four inches of whistling sky! He tips, and the spray ensues. His friends (and strangers) bail in every direction- but it’s too late, the pee is in flight and currently landing on helpless victims. From this day forward I will remember this day as the pee-pee-bus-trip-day, and shall be forever thankful that I was not in the crossfire (piss-fire?)
So we’re here, the ’08 X-Games, the bus stops & releases us. Raynbo and I run like hell from the pee-pee bus, and we’re free. Finding our photographer and some pals near the Superpipe we grab a bite at Bumps slope side. We freeze a bit watching the snow cross and big air comps but enjoy every second of it. The scent of high-quality green dope occasionally floats past us as we stand high above the massively-engaging competitions. The gap that these loony fellows float over for the big air competition is absolutely insane. In fact, the staff puts down padding at the bottom of the gap in case one of these hooligans F’s up and doesn’t clear it. But they fly… Like God Damned birds they fly. Just watching them fills me with the feeling I used to get when I launched hits in Breckenridge’s park about a decade ago. My heart is wedged in my windpipe, my stomach has levitated into my chest, and I’m unable to convey how free I feel. What eventually occurs to me is that it requires some baked-on, hydraulic-pressed, heat-tempered, and powder-coated testes to launch that shit.
We bail out of the big air competition and into the bed of my boy Luke’s lifted Chevy. My ear lobes solidify as they freeze from riding to the Hickory House in Aspen. Luke works there & scores a parking spot. We stroll over to Little Annie’s for a bite of the best grub I’ve had in way too freakin’ long. What an absolutely sick place to thaw out. The timbers supporting the roof in this fabulously quaint establishment force me consider the breadth of mining history that my beloved state holds. And I order a bowl of scrumptious chili and steak fries. Oh yeah, and beer. We discuss today’s accomplishments, are accused of stealing a chair from a crotchety old man, and pay our surprisingly low tab (for Aspen).
We follow Luke to Belly Up for some kind of V.I.P. party and as soon as we get there realize that we’re not important enough for this shitty show. There’s no “I†in our “P.†So we say fuck it and collectively decide that we should retreat to my buddy Nick’s condo a couple of blocks west. But we require ethanol-laced fuel to continue our adventure! So we saunter through the streets of Aspen, occasionally screaming at cars and passers-by. We happen past a dude strutting a bright pink onesie. A full-on pink fag-bag, and he’s sportin’ it proud. If nothing else, we try to remove the wooden axe handle from this town’s anus (or at least yank their noses down from being turned up so high). We arrive at Lindley’s friend’s liquor store to find it closed. Shit. We stagger down to the L.Q. next to the gas station and our excitement mounts. The owner’s are inside discussing tonight’s take- they even see us on the way to the door! Closed?! What the god-damned shit do you mean closed!!! You’re looking right at us, and what excuse have you for owning a closed liquor store at 11:28 on a Saturday night?! Shit! Aspen!! We quickly realize that we’ve been bitten by the beast… These folks must mark their booze up enough to not need to stay open on a Saturday night. “What Would Jesus Do?!†Yelps my pal Turner in the hope that one of these wealthy bastards would sling us some of their alcoholic wares. But no luck, Jesus would have obviously not been boozing tonight according to these scoundrels. I wonder to myself what the fuck Jesus has to do with this situation, but Turner will attempt any angle necessary when pushed. We settle for too much 3.2 beer out of the gas station next door- and I have beer, rum, and vodka in my trunk in Glenwood Springs. Shit.
Our spirits are high however, we’re pumped, and we persevere. Staggering back to Nick’s condo we see a fifty-something, fur-trench-coat-sporting, dirty old man putting a twenty-something blonde into his car. Must be in Aspen. I’m sure she’s drawn to his winning personality.
We open a game of Hold ‘Em for no money and watch Colorado Mammoth Lacrosse on TV. We consume our 3.2 beer, urinate constantly- as though we had been drinking 3.2 beer all night, and listen to each other’s tales of ribaldry. We laugh ‘cause we live to and speak about whether man-scaping our junk actually appeals to the fairer sex. I realize what an awesome group of people I find myself among. But we have to snag the last bus ‘outta this town to get back to the Springs at Glenwood.
The bus depot at 2:00 AM in Aspen is a silly collection of late night heroes. Of course, there’s the hammered dude outside asking for a dollar- seems like he follows me everywhere but changes his face, body, & clothes. The bathroom is atrocious with impressive amounts of bodily goo on the floor. But I’ve been drinking 3.2 beer and whether it comes out in my pants or in a receptacle is the only part of this situation I can control- it’s coming out either way. Of course there are creepy guys that look wealthy, creepy-looking chicks who are looking for wealthy-looking guys, but the majority of the crew appear wasted and weathered. I drop some All Us mags into the free rack at the station and hold onto the amazing woman who has agreed to marry me. It’s been an impressively-educational and wonderful evening. Who knows what kind of bodily fluids we might see thrown around a bus tomorrow. I know I’m coming up to witness next year…
-El Hefe
