SEX GETZ

Welcome back to the hottest BMX blog out right now, where we talk about the real stuff that goes down. First up, the usual kind of deal—woke up Saturday and, yep, it’s raining. So I called it a day and had a big ol' rest.

After a beautiful dinner and a couple of cocktails Saturday night (a bit of a last hurrah for me for a while), I woke up Sunday morning after a cheeky sleep-in and was on my way to the skatepark to meet the crew. Rolled up around 11am and, mate, we had a massive crew.

With FISE going down overseas, I knew the boys would be keen as to throw down some park moves, so I pretty much grabbed the camera straight away—ready to catch a frontie on the Sony. So there I am, camera out, pointing it at anyone coming my way… and you wouldn’t bloody believe it—it starts raining. People start sliding out all over the place.

I checked the BOM, and even asked Nathan if he checks the BOM in Scotland—he reckons nah, ‘cause it’s always raining there anyway.

With the skatepark drenched but not quite wet enough to ruin the streets, we made a quick move—just 50 metres up the road to hit the first spot.

As we're strolling up to the first spot, Will Fraser starts having a sook about paying for Spotify—he's over the ads and not being able to play the exact song he wants. And honestly, fair enough. The government probably should pay for everyone's Spotify. World peace might actually be achievable if everyone had ad-free tunes.

So we rock up to the first spot, and Renato puts me on the clock for the day. Bang—straight into a line that needs the skateboard. I start chasing after him, and bang—I hit a rock, go over the bars, full frontflip onto the ground. Managed to save the camera from getting smashed, but the price? My body is absolutely cooked. Knee’s wrecked, shoulder’s somewhere above my head, and I’m in desperate need of the green whistle. But I just brushed it off and decided to bleed out, hoping the Butter jorts catch the mess and soak it all up.

I get back to the top, we run it again. The jorts are holding strong, blood and all. After five more goes, same bloody thing happens—I slam again. That’s it. I yell “FUCK!” and look up to the sky like, “What did I do?” Ripped my fisheye off the rig and called it—no more lines here.

While I’m in a world of pain and battling a bit of internal drama—like, do I call 911 or just tough it out?—I spot something familiar: a hickey on Nathan’s neck. Again.

I bring it up gently, didn’t wanna spook him in case it wasn’t a hickey and he’s just been getting roughed up in a freezer somewhere. I go, “Mate, I hate being bitten—especially on the lips. Feels like a bloody rat trap.” Then I ask, “Everything all good?” Just checking in, making sure he's safe in that mysterious freezer life.

Turns out it is a hickey. Lifestyle choice, apparently. Nathan reckons he loves a bit of a Dyson moment on the neck. No shame in the suction game. We just had to make sure he is safe.

New spot time. We jump in the cars, and I score a lift in Kyle’s monster truck. First thing I spot? A dummy… and right next to it, a bullet. Proper sketch vibes—felt like something straight outta America. But since John Howard canned the guns in ‘97, you don’t really see that kind of stuff floating around here. Got a pic of it for ya—check up top.

We get to the next spot, and I’m filming the boys throw down on this rail. One of the young nephews is in my ear, spinning yarns about his wild juvenile days—reckons he once stole his dad’s car, drove it to a girl’s house, crushed, then went home and smoked a biff (his words, not mine). He grins at me and drops the line of the day: “SEX GETZ.”

By this point, my back’s starting to give in. "Spinal"—Mike Tyson voice.

We killed the rail—couple ABDs, a few NBDs—and then we’re off to the next spot. Quick pit stop at Red Rooster, and it’s Spenny’s first time there. Meanwhile, Josh Newman’s going on about how much he hates lettuce—“Tastes like grass,” he reckons.

Back in the cars and we rock up to these rails that legit look like they’re straight outta Voices—one of the greatest BMX vids of all time. Used to watch that on Abbs' iPod religiously back in the day.

Out the back, there’s a massive kinker that Willy’s keen to send. But just as the session’s firing up, some hero jumps out and yells, “Get out!” The boys call him a geezer, hurt his feelings, and the vibes shift. We start packing up, but I’m in a bit of a smart-ass mood thanks to his carry-on. So I wander onto the nearby footy field and start taking photos of wildlife—just to confuse him a little more.