Surfing, Skateboarding, Music, Photography, Travel, Culture and general antics of the youth on the run.

Live from a little bit of everywhere Spain, Oregon, Bali, SF, Vancouver and maybe more. We’re coming.

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Photo: Guillem Cruells

I still haven’t found a way to ask for “more red wine” on an airplane without sounding like a mumbling, lunatic alcoholic. The sounds, the letters, the tight quarters and awkward seating arrangements on board. Just can’t get it. But somehow, they decipher my gibberish and continue to fill my glass.

We’re currently a little all over the shop as a staff (kind of when we’re at our best). A handful of us are in Bali, where Kai recently shredded his trunks and nearly dismembered himself on a very shallow reef while getting his wily backhand pit stance out yet again. We’ve got staff en route to SF, Vancouver and Palm Springs while Michael Cukr is up on a very large mountain in Oregon with Mikey Wright and the Quiksilver fellows — we’re not really sure what they’re up to yet, but they plan to rip a little bit of everything. And I’m writing to you from Barcelona, Spain, where I’m attending the Brixton Broadcast, which is a raw showcase of rock ‘n’ roll in the city. All I know is The Parrots are playing with The Saurs and a few other very sick new bands that led to an enjoyable amount of “research” on the flight out here.

And now that I’ve gotten my first glimpse at the Med, it’s time to get into it. You guys need a story. Stay tuned from the world. We’re out there with you.—Travis 

And if you happen to be in or live in Barcelona, come hangout tomorrow night, details below: 

BRIXTON_Broadcast_Barcelona_July10_ART_IG_English-Blog

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Dear Youth The fun that leads to sleep paralysis

“Never trust a thought that didn’t come from walking.” That’s a quote by an old madman by the name of Friedrich Nietzsche. He’s an existential pioneer and had one hell of a dark passenger throughout his life. But the man sure did drop some wisdom while he was here. I bring this up as a bit…

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Coffee is a drug. That’s masked by ubiquity and social acceptance but it’s just hot speed. Black hot wonderful speed. That thought lingered last Saturday morning as a nice young man in a waxed-cotton apron and mustache — and not a November mustache, but a real annual subscription to the thing — fixed my Guatemalan…

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