The Ballad of Judcody Limon
How a near-death experience and an unforgiving global pandemic finally pushed Judcody Limon to commit to his lifelong passion for skateboarding and producing music.
Judcody Limon had just finished working his ninth straight day in the kitchen of a hip vegan restaurant located in the sleepy inland city of Montclair, California. Overworked in the understaffed kitchen, Limon was beyond beat and yearned for his bed. He strapped on his helmet, got on his bicycle, and began his 25-minute ride home to neighboring Ontario.
What began as an ordinary ride home turned into near-death for Limon. As he rode over an inconspicuous puddle, a slimy substance caused his front tire to lose traction. Limon lost his balance, his front tire skidded hitting an adjacent gutter, and catapulted him face-first onto the sidewalk below. His body violently tumbled and dragged across the concrete until it finally skidded to a stop a few feet later.
Stunned, Limon came to and felt a sudden throbbing soreness pulsating throughout his body; whatever the harm, he knew it was bad. With adrenalin coursing through his veins and the shock of the accident still fresh, Limon gingerly stood up, got back on his bike, and finished his ride home.
With his body on fire, Limon managed to take off his clothes and made his way into the shower, where he was finally made cognizant of his injuries. As the warm water trickled down his devastated body and flowed into the drain with a bloody hue, Limon surveyed the damage: deep black bruises, swollen red welts, burning cuts, and coarse abrasions adorned his arms and legs, the worst of which was at his elbows and knees. He knew there was no way he could work with the injuries sustained.
Limon emerged from the shower stiff and robotic and did his best not to aggravate his wounds. He stared with a pensive gaze at his new pair of work pants purchased the night before. The pants were shredded and useless – a casualty of the accident. That was the final straw. The frustration was too much. Limon’s anger finally boiled over; his emotions laid bare.
What has my life come to? I’m working a part-time, minimum wage job at a restaurant that’s trying to stay afloat in the middle of a global pandemic, and I still don’t make enough money to pay the rent?! Living to work, working to almost die on the street – what kind of fucking life is this?!
Limon quit his job the next day. The following days saw his wounds scab over, and his skin became taut and scaly. With the trauma of the accident still fresh and the physical and mental anguish unyielding, Limon yearned for a release to his unease.
He took to the one thing that brought him solace and much needed escape during an unrelenting year – his skateboard.
Gliding down the solemn streets of Ontario, skating solo awakened deep-seated desires in Limon. New opportunities born out of untapped potential presented themselves in ways he did not think were possible, and dreams that had long since subsided were finally reimagined. Now it was time for him to share his newfound bliss with the world, but on his terms. This is the ballad of one Judcody Limon.
An Indefinite Flux
Before the accident, Limon, a very youthful-looking and athletic 30, was already in a precarious position. In March, his job as a line cook was furloughed when the restaurant he worked at had no choice but to temporarily close to combat the emerging COVID-19 pandemic. Limon’s livelihood was abruptly on indefinite hold.
The initial weeks of the lockdown in California were draconian, with strict shelter-at-home laws in full effect. And that is exactly what Limon did when he sheltered with roommates at their home, affectionately called The Sierra Lodge. What was once a lively space for local bands to congregate, create tunes, play live shows, and hold the occasional benefit concert had suddenly turned into a lifeless flat.
Limon, himself a popular musician within the Ontario music scene, was dually impacted by the lockdown when his live gigs as a musician ceased and his musical ventures with other local bands came to a halt. The music scene was all but dead.
The first few weeks of the lockdown were productive for Limon as he took care of chores and projects around the house. Then the doldrums set in.
To escape the dreary monotony of the lockdown, Limon grabbed his skateboard and indulged himself in the activity he has been toiling away at since the age of ten. Skating down the eerily deserted Ontario streets was both jarring and comforting, if not unexpectedly ideal. The main streets were barren, neighborhoods silent, most businesses shuttered, schools and parks vacant, traffic was nonexistent. Limon embraced this new meditative approach to what was an otherwise raucous sport.
The solitary nature of Limon’s frequent outings allowed him to achieve a spiritual experience while skating. Skating cleared Limon’s mind and offered emotional release from the horrors of an intensifying pandemic and the stress of economic uncertainty. Much more than exercise or play, skating became a religious experience for Limon.
As he waited for the world to return to normal and his restaurant to reopen, Limon skated daily, sometimes for hours on end, striving away in a Zenlike spiritual retreat to beat the pandemic blues.
As March bled into April, then May, the final decision came down: Limon officially lost his job. The restaurant where he achieved a recent promotion and pay raise had shuttered for good. Now what?
As June approached, California allowed restaurants to experiment with new socially distanced indoor dining. It was all for nothing. The state implemented new lockdown measures to combat COVID-19’s resurgence. Indoor dining was restricted altogether and resulted in a new wave of permanent restaurant closures. Restaurants that survived were allowed to set up tables in adjacent parking lots to accommodate outdoor dining. However, in the unbearable heat of the Southern California summer, that was not an option many patrons welcomed. Summer came and went.
Job opportunities were nonexistent for Limon. With extra unemployment benefits maxed out and teetering on the precipice of hopelessness, Limon didn’t know what to do. Six months removed from the onset of the initial lockdown, September saw Limon’s luck finally change when he landed a job working in the kitchen of a newly reopened vegan hotspot trendy with local millennials.
Working for a handful of hours a week at minimum wage, Limon cooked on the line, prepped food, and washed dishes. Whatever Limon’s role was at the restaurant, he got it done, even though he was stretched thin, overworked, and underpaid. But it was better than nothing as Limon had looming bills to pay. He was stuck once again in the demoralizing struggle of living paycheck to paycheck. And then the accident happened.
The Epiphany
We met up on a sunny and crisp Saturday morning at Chaffey High School in Ontario. The campus has been vacant since March due to the pandemic, which made it the perfect spot for Limon to skate. He remembered fond memories from his youth when he came to Chaffey to skate with friends and local skaters. “Chaffey High School used to be known as Ontario skate park back in the day,” reflected Limon with a tinge of melancholy in his voice.
The massive 65-acre campus lent itself well to skaters with their once open grounds with expansive promenades, unadulterated smooth paths, endless raised concrete planters, and wide steps with railing. “They’ve done things to kind of deter [skaters] from coming here,” said Limon with a nostalgic frustration. He noted recent dissuasions like the wrought iron fence that now encloses the campus, anti-skateboarding guards placed randomly throughout some of the raised concrete planters and benches, and assorted bricks placed infrequently on paths to make them uneven. “Why leave any of it open? Cover it all if you’re going to do it.”
After all these years, Limon is still mystified why Ontario does not have a skatepark of its own. His annoyance at Ontario snubbing its skating culture boils over whenever he sees emerging cities like Eastvale, historically dominated by dairy farms and agriculture and recently incorporated in 2010, embrace skating. “Eastvale’s barely a new city. I don’t understand how Ontario has gone this long without having a skatepark of its own, but Eastvale has fuckin’ three of them!”
Limon admitted that early in the year, he toyed with the idea of channeling his frustrations into making a documentary about why Ontario needs a skatepark. The idea was short-lived due to his apprehension on whether to make the documentary a long-form film or released in short segments to combat today’s audiences’ notoriously short attention span. Shelved for the time being, the documentary still ferments in the back of Limon’s mind, amongst many other things.
“My mind really went racing,” recalled Limon about the accident. “I was thinking about [a lot of] things before my accident, but [the accident] really changed my mindset.”
Skating and music were pursuits Limon learned as a youth. He practiced and perfected these pastimes into adulthood. But Limon had to make a living and had bills to pay. He could never escape the drudgeries of daily life to focus and commit to the pastimes he cherished the most.
Limon had small success as a musician playing strings in bands like The Motel Life and New Manners. But Limon mainly performed solo shows and was stuck in creative gridlock with his own band, The Creepy Eepys.
Whatever fame and monetary success he achieved through his music were minimal. Limon’s main source of income was mostly confined to long hours in restaurant kitchens. He often held down two jobs to pay the bills and fund his musical ventures. “I was either going to continue the route that I was going [on] and work a bunch of jobs I fucking hate and waste my time and energy doing that, or I was going to commit to my own dreams for once and actually put it all out there, put it all on the line.”
With audacity in his voice, Limon was finally where he always wanted to be – at least mentally. “Once the accident happened, I felt like – no, you need to stick to what you’re doing,” concluded Limon. Absorbing the healing power of his skateboard on his many excursions post-accident and going home to The Sierra Lodge, where music forms its foundation, Limon’s plans were fully cemented. “Fuck the stress of money. Try to finish what you’re doing, and everything will fall into place.”
Music and skating, two lifelong passions of Judcody Limon’s always kept at arm’s length to make a living, were now placed at the forefront of his life. “Was I really going to commit to doing this? This is a big [decision],” Limon asked himself when his epiphany was made clear post-accident. The short answer: a vehement YES.
The Sierra Lodge
Nestled in a quaint Ontario neighborhood is The Sierra Lodge, a home Limon shares with a rotating company of roommates. A nondescript, one-story, mid-century residential home from the outside, the insides teem with musical life.
Music accumulated from every genre imaginable is amassed into a small back room devoted solely to an ever-expanding library of physical media. From vinyl records and CDs to obsolete 8-track tapes and cassettes, mixed physical media spanning decades is arranged and overflowing on stressed bookshelves, packed storage boxes, and bulging cases, offering an atlas of musical inspiration.
The Sierra Lodge rests solely on a foundation made of music. Instruments abound every room, everything built from the artistic comradery of local musicians using the space to create. From spur-of-the-moment jam sessions to musicians working on their own projects and helping others demolish creative roadblocks, The Sierra Lodge was a space where music thrived, and everyone was welcome.
It wasn’t until the music died that Limon saw the place for what it could truly be. And it wasn’t until he almost died that he finally set in motion these newfound possibilities.
Working in a restaurant kitchen was demanding. “I [didn’t] really have time to work on my own projects, let alone anyone else’s,” lamented Limon. “I wanted to be able to do everything out of my own home and not have to rely upon a third person.” He had purchased a new mixer and other recording equipment when the pandemic hit in March. The sudden loss of income coupled with the stringent stay-at-home orders postponed his musical endeavors. With the pandemic raging, the economy shuttered, lockdowns still in effect, and jobless by summer, Limon was desperate.
As serendipity would have it, that was when his friend Jenny, herself a musician, gave him a call that changed his outlook. “She hit me up that same week [I lost my job] and was like, ‘Hey, like, I know I’ve asked you before, but I will offer to pay you [to work on some music],” recalled Limon. “You came at the perfect time! It couldn’t have been better timing,” he obliged.
Limon saw an avenue. “I should just commit to making [The Sierra Lodge] a studio,” he concluded. “But that didn’t necessarily pan out. And that’s why it was kind of… hit and miss for a minute there,” he regretfully remembered. Life and the economy might have stopped, but the bills didn’t. Whatever grand plans he had about turning The Sierra Lodge into a studio were mothballed when the local economy finally opened after months of erratic lockdowns.
Limon was faced once again with the heartbreaking reality of pushing his passion for music to the wayside to earn a scant paycheck doing something else. And then life pushed Limon to the literal wayside.
Music is my life, not cooking. The Sierra Lodge is my home, not a restaurant.
Limon’s trajectory forever altered, he revisited his plans for The Sierra Lodge during his many introspective skating trips. “Am I going to do this?” hesitated Limon. He remembered his friend Jenny. “[She was] a sign of [commitment]. You should just commit to what you’re doing already.” The Sierra Lodge was finally poised to become what Limon aspired it to be – a recording studio.
If there ever was going to be a band that would break in his new studio, it would be his own. Music now at the forefront of his life, Limon decided to revive an endeavor he had abandoned. The Creepy Eepys – a four-member band, fronted by Limon – was a long-conceived project that had creatively plateaued for several years.
The band was finally resurrected thanks to Limon’s newfound commitment to a life of music, giving him and those involved the proper time and creative space needed to devote to their project. With their creativity ignited, each band member recorded their part of a new song while socially distanced at their homes. After five exceptionally long years, Limon’s The Creepy Eepys finally released their first new song, “Surf Rock Feva,” in November 2020.
If Limon was going to turn The Sierra Lodge into a recording studio, he would do it right. With recording equipment already at his disposal, he was halfway there. But his plan would require a great deal of investment to meet The Sierra Lodge’s true potential, as well as the meticulous needs of musicians looking for a legitimate recording space. Limon was fully committed no matter the cost.
His musical ambitions long since pushed aside, Limon was finally able to firmly plant music front and center in his life. A satisfying feeling, Limon would be able to have his cake and eat it too, allowing him to eke out a living as a working musician by allowing others to achieve their musical ambitions via his burgeoning recording studio. With his musical aspirations solidified, Limon turned his attention to an even more daunting task, one in which he wished to take another favorite pastime of his and stake it next to music.
#SkateboardingIsFun #SkateboardingIsForEveryone #OntarioNeedsASkatepark
As his body slowly recovered after his near-death accident, Limon became more adventurous on his daily skating treks. He pushed himself to build upon the accumulated skillset he had acquired throughout his skating life and started to shape his unique brand of skating. Judcody Limon wanted to share his enjoyment with the world.
Limon grew up in the “Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater” era, where a once misunderstood subculture was slowly trickling into the mainstream thanks in large part to the now iconic PlayStation video game of the same name. Casting aside suppositions and solidifying itself as a part of the zeitgeist, skating became an entertaining sport and accessible to everyone.
Limon was shaped by the many skating videos he watched as a youth. Released directly to VHS and DVD with little to no fanfare, these grungy videos became a staple for skaters growing up in the late 90s and early aughts. Remembering the sweeping cinematography of icons like Brian Anderson, Tony Trujillo, and Danny Way landing impossible tricks while synced to an eclectic mix of music inspired Limon to create kinetic skating videos of his own.
Those videos Limon consumed as a child serves as inspiration for sharing his passion for skating with the world. More importantly, Limon wants to help inspire another generation of skaters to understand the ecstasy of the activity that has meant so much to him.
Armed with a gimbal and a camera stand, Limon records everything on his iPhone. He employs a meticulous craftsmanship to his videos, an almost Kubrickian persistence where he will skate for hours to get the perfect 15-second clip. The action is captured in glorious high definition, and each video is edited with surgical precision while synced to an appropriate musical track.
The way skating videos are released now differs greatly from what Limon remembers as a child. Instead of long-form compilation videos, Limon cited skater Mason Silva and how he carefully releases his videos in small clips as the new standard. “He’s put out three full parts, just solo parts, that’s kind of the thing now,” Limon said of Silva, “People put out solo skate parts as if they were an album or a single. It’s a whole new way of how the industry works and what people do now.” The main driver of these clips is social media and platforms like YouTube, which Limon plans to primarily use to share his videos with the world.
Limon has a keen advantage his childhood skating idols did not. The advent of the internet has democratized the way media is created and distributed. With that comes total control of one’s identity and product. With his YouTube channel still a work in progress, Limon treats his skating videos the same way he does his music: he’ll release it when he’s ready and satisfied with the final product.
Limon’s ultimate goal is to monetize his videos and continue making more skating content regularly. But for the time being, Limon’s Instagram page is littered with fragmented clips, tiny morsels of his growing skating filmography. The hashtags #skateboardingisfun, #skateboardingisforeveryone, and #ontarioneedsaskatepark affectionately adorn whatever brief clips he has released.
When viewing Limon’s brief Instagram clips, one can’t help but feel the ecstasy emanating from him as he skates. The clips are insufficiently brief but altogether satisfying and soothing. The accompanying lo-fi music is subtle, invoking a feeling of comfort and relaxation, reveling in a genuine feeling of well-being and calm throughout. The enlightenment skating brought Limon during the pandemic and after his near-death experience is on full display. Soon, he will be available for all the world to see via his YouTube channel and other platforms in all its long-form glory. In the meantime, small snippets of his artistry on Instagram will have to suffice.
These clips have already led to fans, many of whom are young skaters discovering Limon’s clips for the first time. Limon recalled encouragement he’s received from fans online. “Oh, this trick is awesome! I learned a trick by watching [Judcody Limon] do something!” That satisfying admiration, especially from kids just learning to skate, has brought Limon’s passion for skating full circle.
To some, Judcody Limon just might become one of the many masters of pavement he once idolized as a youth. But this adoration from fans all but reinforces Limon’s newfound undertaking by removing whatever trepidation he might have had at devoting his life to skating. “That’s, honestly, so cool to me. All I could want is to spread the message of skateboarding.”
Skating Into 2021
Content at where is now, Judcody Limon left 2020 much different than how he entered it. The start of the year ushered in a once-in-a-century global pandemic that laid bare the overlooked and begrudgingly accepted inequities and disparities many millions like Limon faced on a daily basis.
Caught up in the struggle to barely pay the monthly bills, the reflective and solitary lockdowns allowed many to unlock the shackles of an unforgiving world and examine what they were doing with their lives. For many, they returned willingly to the shackles they bore with little hope for escape, forever stuck in a depressing struggle just to make ends meet.
The shackles that bound Judcody Limon throughout his entire adult life had prevented him from living the life he always wanted. It wasn’t until he almost died trying to keep those shackles intact did Limon find the courage to finally break free.
A blessing in disguise, the merciless pandemic forced Limon to look at the imbalances in his own life and realign them entirely. With his life no longer hinging on the whims of others and his talents no longer suppressed, Limon’s destiny was finally his to control. Hell or highwater, Limon no longer lives to work but rather works to live.
Skateboarding and music now underpin Limon’s new life. With his body rehabilitated, his mind at ease, and his talents no longer dormant, Judcody Limon emerged from the wreckage of the pandemic reincarnated as the person he always wanted to be.
A skateboarding savant, a musical maestro, Judcody Limon has finally attained his personal nirvana.
