Sometimes you know you’re doing the right thing in the world; you go to work (hypothetically), pay your taxes (again, hypothetically) and things are supposed to fall into place, right?
One of my great sadnesses in moving to Toronto was that I’d never again get to soar through the air with the grace and poise of an Ikea sectional sofa… but love is love and that (I thought) was that.

It would appear that Toronto felt my pain. This month the stars aligned and an indoor, 11ft high 40ish ft wide vert magically appeared at the otherwise shitpit CJ’s skatepark. Twenty minutes from my house. Jammy bastard!

I’d have been smart enough to get some video, but I was too busy squealing like a little girl at a Jonas Brothers concert and hyperventilating into a paper bag.

All I could think about was dropping in and skating that sweet, sweet, perfectly built vert transition.

Dave threw his first ever topsoul, Dan sweatstanced it just to scare the shit out of all of us, and I nearly died with happiness.

Skate vert. It may not be cool, but it is fun as shit.