Not Your Grandfather’s (Grandfather’s) Apaches

Check out this striking and, ahem, high energy account in the Apache Moccasin of this year’s annual Apache Skate Blast on the San Carlos Apache Reservation, hosted as always by Art and Skate Board Warrior Douglas Miles and his Apache Skate Boards. Skate teams, bands, and vendors, Native and non, came from all parts. The following excerpt of the article by White Mountain Apache Nannette “the Nan”  Lee will convey what was missed if you weren’t there, and, alas, Julia and I were not.

After laying down some sick moves and the prize session over, the crowd moved to the San Carlos Cafe where we were blessed with Indian tacos smothered with El Patoskate-blast – the sauce of the gods – and sweet tea. Lucky for us that the cooks and servers were ready for the masses and executed the line in pro fashion, I tip my hat to you! Ashoog! After eating to our belly’s content and premature demise of our arteries, we waited patiently for the funk fest afterward. We were lucky to witness a mini best trick contest between two young chaps on the porch of S.C. Cafe which set the tone for the rest of the evening: recklessness in small quarters. The pair made do with the narrow porch and the limited handicap ramp/railing, carefully calculating their moves with the discerning eyes of expert rogues and laid down the law in sick fashion. Can I get a witness?

With the sun completely gone and we degenerates cloaked in the early dusk, Doug Miles appeared on the porch of the Cafe and raised his hands to make the announcement. With this simple act he quieted the masses, hushing us as if we were raging waves in a nameless sea of biblical proportions. “The only way you will know how to get to there is if you follow me!” bellowed forth the choice voice. With that, we all jumped into our respective vehicles and caravanned to the familiar dusty hilltop I had encountered a year before. We parked at the bottom of the hill and ascended. Such a familiar sight to me – a totally fresh one for my friend, however we take it in: cars semi-circled around the front, the porch lit up with band ready to play, Apache and non-Apaches walking around, the Vangina crew (SoCal) with said vehicle, a mini bonfire warming the frosty souls gathered – all of which was illuminated by the unmistakable orange glow of a lone street light. Before I continue, it’s befitting to use this John Milton quote: “Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is.”


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