TOM & CHAD PALM-TREE DOUBLE TROUBLE IN COSTA MESA

By the late '90s, the skateboard industry had planted its sunburnt flag in Costa Mesa and Newport Beach—SoCal’s concrete Riviera. Sponsors, sunshine, and surf rats with pro decks turned the area into a vortex of chaos, charm, and unfiltered skate energy. Everyone moved south to be near the action—including me—though the shift from NorCal grime to Orange County glow felt like trading steel-toed boots for flip-flops.

Every day was a free-form jam session. No schedules, no plans, just a revolving door of pro crews, boards clacking from strip mall curbs to beachside rails. Tom and Chad lived a five-minute push apart, so we’d link up often—usually with no real destination other than the vague promise of sandwiches, beer, and maybe a swim if someone brought a towel.

On this day, it was just another golden afternoon when the streets handed us a gem. We were rolling down some quiet road—maybe heading to the liquor store, maybe just burning daylight—when they both spotted the spot. Neither had seen it before. A narrow launch between a palm tree and a garage, like some weird little puzzle left by the skate gods.

Without a word, they just started chucking ollies over it, one at a time. I said, “Get close. Real close. Let’s shoot it like a two-man demolition team.” They nailed it in just a few tries. Easy. Almost too easy.

The truth? That gap was tight. Stupid tight. You can’t really tell from the frame, but the margin between style and disaster was paper thin. But they floated through it like they were late for lunch.

We were back at the house before sunset, celebrating like we’d closed some massive corporate deal. Just another Thursday in the Costa Mesa dream—when every skate felt like a paycheck and every beer was a bonus. Good times? The best.

• 10 mil (0.25 mm) thick
• Slightly glossy
• Fingerprint resistant
• Paper sourced from Japan