Autumn, 1992. Skating downtown Winnipeg with Pat Asselstine and this other kid, forget his name but he had the step-off skills, and we're trying to ollie this little fire hydrant when we noticed we've been surrounded by at least a dozen native gangsters, who announce their arrival with, "Surprise motherfuckers!"
We scattered in random directions. I headed for the busy main drag, Portage Avenue, while Pat darted toward the desolation of the Convention Centre. I got away, he got cornered. He just handed over his board and didn't get hurt.