You can say Lost is a surf company, but let me start by saying I can’t swim worth a shit and I didn’t see a body of water the whole time. This was a real skateboard trip, full of skateboarders who get along great. We were on a train for 10 hours a day looking for spots, and there was no lack of sick architecture. It’s endless out there, don’t let anyone tell you it’s blown out. I almost got a line with a fakie 5-0 kickflip out in the middle of a ledge—that’s how good the spots are, not a reflection of my street skating. The place can bring out the best in your skating. Save up and book a ticket. Spots for days and beer for miles.

So Duffy broke his foot, first day, first spot. And he was saying shit like, “ Well, I got to face it, my body can’t take it anymore.” But he partied hard as fuck for the remainder, and I tell ya, it seems his body can take anything he feeds it.

The second day started off with a little sadness knowing that Duffy wasn’t going to be able to hike around Barcelona with his crutches. So we split up. Some guys went to skate, some went to the bar. I chose the bar option; I wanted to help Duffy through his first boring injury day, and I wanted beer, too.

We would talk about all of the other trips we’d been on, and we had enough stories for the remainder of the 10 days. Not a dull moment in the local establishments for sure. One night at the bar (or rather at three in the afternoon), Duffy got kicked out for throwing a full beer at my face. So we walked him out and gave him his crutches and stood him up. Duffy then shot me the drunken death stare that people only can shoot after blacking out, and then swung his crutch at me. It hit me in the fucking neck and I got woozie. It almost knocked me out, and it took me a minute to gather my senses. What started as bar stories from the World days turned into a fight waiting to happen. But his foot was broken so I couldn’t do anything except throw his crutches into an intersection and say, “ Good luck you fucking loser.”

I don’t know what the other guys were doing. I guess skating. The photos will tell the tale. While we were getting hammered at the tourist bar, they were ripping. Duffy continued to party and I had to stop. I wasn’t hurt. I was fully able to do my productive part in the trip. I had forgotten it was a trip by then, I was so wasted. I sobered up and explained to the guys that I went on a bender with Duff. I have to party and skate; it’s the pace I’ve been on for the past x amount of years. They told me it was okay with them, so I thanked them and apologized in the same breath.

It was a good time. Not one to forget. If you want to have a good time, call the Lost guys. They put together sick trips and the team is sick these days, if you haven’t been keeping up. One day you’ll go deep sea fishing with Dyet, and the next you’ll watch Machnau jump down the biggest thing you’ve every seen. And then Duffy will hit you with the crutch you bought him.

Oh, a month after I got back, I got a call from a strange area code. I answered it for no better reason other than that I never answer my phone when I don’t know the number. “ Hey, it’s Mike from Europe.” Had no idea. Then he mentioned Barcelona and it hit me. “You gave me your number and said to bring my wife to Virginia for the Fourth!” Then it really hit me.

After three days with Duffy at the bar I was absolutely out of touch with reality, and invited a random couple from Baltimore to my house to party. We talked, and I got out of it by saying I was going to be on the road that week. He said he was going to call me in three weeks and never did.