I met him for the first time in a field a sunflowers, just a few miles outside of the city limits. Back then, that kind of bus fare on my salary was quite an investment, but I was prepared to go the extra mile to make it pay off. The few people I knew who'd met him before told me that pasture was the best place to start looking for him. I found him dozing in the sun, sucking on a piece of candy, right where everyone said he would be. He didn't seem to care how awkwardly I took a seat next to him, or how the pollen would make me sneeze every few minutes or so. I'm not sure he even noticed me at first. For a while, the two of us just sat silently, gazing up at the clouds. It was springtime, and the sunflowers were in full bloom. I'd like to go back to that pasture, sometime soon. The air was clean and sweet and even the dirt smelled like honey.

"I can see why you like it here so much," I remember mumbling to him. He just sort of rolled over, adjusted his knit cap, and smiled at me. He didn't say anything, but he seemed happy to have someone to share his pasture with. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but I couldn't find the words. I was afraid that if I started gushing right off the bat, I might spook him. Next to me, I could hear him rummaging through his pockets. He tapped me gently on my shoulder and passed me a piece of hard candy. I cupped my hands and graciously accepted the surprise. Everyone told me that he had a bit of a sweet tooth. I rolled the candy around in my mouth for a bit and wondered whether or not he gave sweets to everyone who came to see him. I wanted to think that this gesture somehow made me special. Once he saw me unwrap the candy and pop it into my mouth, he closed his eyes and went back to his daydreams.

Growing up, everyone always told me that I was a stick. It never did me any good to argue with them, because I knew they were always right. It never bothered me much to begin with, so after a while I just started to roll with it. There are worse things people could call you, I figured. Compared to him, though? I was thick. He wasn't wearing his clothes. They were just hanging on him. I could see a bit of muscle hiding in his legs, but not much. He looked like he had a bit of a natural perm going on upstairs, though most of it was stuffed underneath his cap. His hair was black and kind of oily looking, like pitch, or maybe molasses. His tie fluttered in the spring breeze, occasionally catching his nose and coaxing out a sneeze or two. This always started off a chain reaction of sorts that climaxed with the collar of his white button-up smacking him in the face, over and over again until he was trapped in a sneeze loop. He'd then open up his eyes, rub down his rebellious collar with a dab of spit, and then nod off again. I'd never seen one person look so relaxed before. He looked to be a good few years older than I was. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he was just a few weeks shy of twenty-four. I let the candy slide towards the back of my throat and mulled over what I was going to say to him next.

"You don't have to be so quiet, you know," he said to me after a while. "If you just came here to hang out, that's fine with me. You and I can just stay here as long as you like, watching the clouds drift on by. I personally find it fascinating." He pulled himself off the ground and spun around so that the two of us were face to face. He crossed his legs and stuck out his hand, grinning from ear to ear. I did my best to return his gesture in kind, but all my nervous brain could focus on was the gap in his front teeth. Eventually, my sweaty hand found his and I started to feel a little less on edge. "Why don't you tell me what's on your heart? It's rare for a person to just wander out here without meaning to." I wrapped my index finger around the laces of my shoes and slowly opened my mouth.

"You're the one everyone back home calls 'Saint', right?" His pupils grew wide and he slowly started inhale. Eyes fixed skyward and his fingers nervously plucking away at the lining of his cap, he breathed out. I started to feel self-conscious. I wondered whether or not it had been a bad idea to have asked him about something like that so directly.

"Yeah," he answered, licking his lips. "I guess I've heard people call me names like that before." He lowered his hands and knit his fingers together thoughtfully. He was still very relaxed, but he seemed a little more focused now. "I figured you might ask me something like that when you made that remark earlier about the pasture. Almost everyone who comes out here to see me nowadays is involved in that world in one way, or another." He cocked his head to the side and started to pick at a few stray whiskers dangling from the edge of his chin. He was sizing me up. "You wouldn't know that name if you weren't," he finished, clapping his hands together as if to complete the thought. "So, why is it you've come to see me today?" With one eye, he watched my lips. The other was locked onto the bottom of my feet. I shifted my shoes a bit so that he could get a good look at the bottom of my soles. Then, I started to talk to him.

I tried to catch hold of my enthusiasm and keep my fanaticism in check, but it was already too late. He'd popped my cork the moment he expressed even a little interest in who I was or why I had come to see him. Back home, Saint was something of an urban legend. Most everyone knew who he was, but no one could claim to be an expert on him. People knew just enough about him to know where to find him and what he liked to do, but no one was quite sure why he lived the way he did. He wasn't really an enigma, and he was too approachable to be considered a celebrity. Saint was just a little part of our city's culture that everyone seemed to love. I was no exception.

To me, Saint was my inspiration. I got into Air Trecks because of all the things I'd seen him do and all the things I'd heard he'd done. I may have met Saint face-to-face for the first time in that pasture, but I'd seen him in action dozens of times before. It had always been from afar, though. Every now and again, he'd fly in from out of nowhere and spend a few hours gliding along our city's skyline late at night. Stormriders flocked to him, like he was some kind of herald or something. He'd talk to them, laugh with them, and offer them favors sometimes. Before too long, people started waiting around, just for a chance to catch a glimpse of him. Once things got really crowded, though, you'd blink and he'd vanish without a trace.

Accounts of his talents varied, depending on the type of person you asked. Got a loose axel on one of your wheels, but can't afford to take it to the shop? Take it to Saint. He'll patch it up for free and probably do a better job than the pros. Can't quite bust that one sick trick you've been slaving over for weeks now? Go to Saint. He'll give you pointers. Got a bad case of vertigo keeping you grounded? Well, at least he won't laugh at you and call you a pussy. The only thing that no one ever claimed he'd done for them was help them deal with rival stormriders. I guess that was why people called him "the saint." He was a non-violent man living in a world infamous for its violent competitions, and I think people admired him because of that. That didn't stop people's imaginations from running wild, though.

Some of the veteran stormriders I knew liked to picture him as an "old boy", leftover from the time when Air Trecks first came to the States several years ago. They said if he were to fight in the East Coast Parts War now, he'd probably be sitting pretty at the top of A-Class. Whether he knew or cared, Saint had street cred. Most everyone agreed he must have fought in the Parts War at some point in his career. "Ain't nobody gets that good just practicin' on his own," the veterans liked to say. "The Parts War we play in now is a different kind of beast than it was a few years ago. Used to be a whole lot mo' dangerous. Now we gots the special anti-stormrider police department to bail out the little 'uns, but they didun't exist back in the day. You watch the way he rides at night. You watch, you learn, and you take notes. He's up there, catching the clouds the likes of us won't be able to dream about for years comin'."

"You just want to talk to me?" he asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You rode all the way out here, from the city, just so you could chat with me?" I nodded dumbly and started tracing circles in the dirt with the heel of my foot.

"Cross town, actually," I quietly corrected him. "Full fare. Wasn't cheap."

He laughed. "Well, shouldn't I be flattered? I sort of figured everyone downtown appreciated all the stuff I've done for them lately, but I had no idea I was such a celebrity!" His cheeks grew flushed and he started patting down a few cowlicks that were sticking out from underneath the lip of his cap. "How interesting…I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I blow through." He then asked me if there was anything specific I wanted to talk about. I had a million questions lined up. I started off by asking what made him want to get into Air Trecks himself. He said he'd tell me, but only if I'd answer the same question when he was done. I agreed, though I didn't want to tell him outright that he was the sole reason I got into the sport. That'd just be creepy.

Saint told me he got into Air Trecks because he had some friends who got into it. He said he didn't go into the World of Night willingly, though, at least not at first. "You may not believe this after catching me lounging around out here, but I'm actually a bit of a worrywart," he confessed. "My buddy asked me to look into Air Trecks for him, and so I did. I found the Air Trecks themselves fascinating, mind you. Still do. They're real marvels. I don't think there is anything else like them out there. Now, after all these years, I can't imagine living without them." The admiration is his voice then began to slowly wane. "But when I learned about stormriders and their culture, I got really scared."

From this point forward, he talked with his hands. Every other statement was now punctuated by the rotation of his thin wrists or the waggling of his fingers. It wasn't until then that I noticed he wasn't wearing any Air Trecks. I wasn't wearing any either, though. "All I could see were the gangs, the violence, and all the forthcoming hospitals visits. I told my friends they were better off staying as far away as possible from that world." He turned to me and smiled real big again. "They didn't listen of course, those rapscallions." I asked him what made him change his mind. Circumstances, he replied. Just circumstances. When it was time for him to ask me the same question, I ended up feeding him some lie about chasing after a big brother I don't have. For some reason, this really seemed to grab his attention. I quickly changed the subject. I didn't like lying to his face and I felt like if I went all in with that one, I'd end up tripping over my lies eventually.

He asked me how long I'd been a stormrider. "I'm just a few weeks in, actually," I said, pinching my fingers together." I was a real greenhorn back then. "I just figured out how to ride in a straight line not too long ago." He laughed and told me not to let myself get discouraged. No one starts off flying on their first day, he insisted. I asked him how long it took for him to learn the ropes.

"As I recall, I was wobbly for a long time. A really long time. And I spent way too much time early on trying to catch all my friends, all thanks to my late start." He sat up and pulled in his knees real close to his chest. "But I think all that struggling did me a world of good in the end. This world we've chosen to immerse ourselves in has helped me mature a lot. You see, growing up, I was never an athlete. I was pretty much allergic to any kind of strenuous physical activity. I hated heights, I couldn't stand the smell of asphalt on a hot day, and I'd never ridden in a car that could go faster than 50 miles an hour. I was pretty much a stormrider's antithesis."

He kept on talking for a while, about how he used to douse everything in all kinds sanitizing agents and how he'd obsessively label everything he owned. Saint didn't seem like he was telling me these things because they embarrassed him, though. He explained his old habits away so logically, like he understood perfectly why he believed it all to have been so necessary. Coming from a guy like him dressed like him, I could see how it could all be true. Saint didn't talk like anyone else I knew. He was definitely a thoroughbred suburbanite.

"So Air Trecks've changed you that much?" Saint went quiet for a while.

"Perhaps," he confessed with a smile, passing me another piece of candy. "Or maybe those old habits of mine just manifest themselves in different ways now." He had mentioned earlier he got into the world of Air Trecks at the behest of some of his friends. This piqued my curiosity more than anything, because whenever we saw him riding around back home, he was always all by himself.

"These friends of yours…those 'rapscallions', you called them, are they still around?"

"Why do you ask?" He was trying his best to mask it, but I could tell that he was treating this question with particular caution. I knew because his eyes were sizing up the bottom of my feet again. I crossed my legs instinctively and did my best to put him at ease.

"Well, y'know…back home, we've never seen you riding around with anyone. We always figured a guy as nice as you had friends out there somewhere, but maybe they just weren't stormriders. Most of just think you fly solo, all the time." I adjusted myself and pulled my legs close to my chest, hugging my knees. "We were worried you might be lonely up there, all by yourself."

"My friends are around," he admitted, relaxing his shoulders a bit. "We just don't live especially close to your city. I'm the only one who really likes to hike all the way out here regularly."

"Our city? You talk like you're not from around here."

"Well, that's because I'm not."

Saint insisted he was telling me the truth. This surprised me. For as much time as he spent hovering downtown, we all had him figured for a local. I thought about asking him more about his hometown, but I decided against it. I didn't like the way he started to look at me when I asked him about his friends and I figured if I asked him where he lived, I'd just make him feel uncomfortable again. He asked me what I thought about the Air Treck world and how much I knew about it. At the time, I pretty much only knew what little my friends had been willing to teach me. It was embarrassing to have to admit to someone I admired just how little I knew about the sport, but when I opened up about it, he offered to expand my horizons a bit.

His wealth of knowledge was incredible. He didn't just know Air Treck maintenance, he knew Air Treck engineering. In just a few minutes, he taught me what sounds to listen for when I suspect my parts are failing and how to ride in just the right way so that I can get the maximum number of miles out of my wheels. He told me all about the sport's history and how people all around the world used Air Trecks to compete in all kinds of crazy competitions. Once he started to pick up on just how much of a newbie I was, he got real big into teaching me all about safety precautions and stuff. Before long, I was drowning in a sea of information. I'm not normally the kind of person with enough initiative left over at the end of the day to want to take notes, but that day was different. I felt like everything every bit of info I couldn't commit to memory was wasted. Inevitably, we got around to talking about the East Coast Parts War.

The East Coast Parts War was the only part of stormrider culture that I could claim to know more about than the average shmuck on the street. From what little I understood about the sport's history, the Parts War had been one of our oldest competitions. At this point in the sport's history, it was more like a tradition, like the Superbowl or something. It got its start all the way across the sea, in the tiny island nation of Japan. Thanks to the Internet and social media, it quickly expanded and became a global phenomenon. Stormriders loved it because it gave them a cheap and easy way to assemble rare and expensive parts that they otherwise would never be able to afford. People dug the community aspect of it, too. The way that it evolved into a team-based competition resonated with a lot of folks, and gave like-minded people another excuse to get together and have some fun. Throw in on top of that all the emblems, the territory wars, the crazy mythology, it was no wonder how it became so popular. It demanded that its athletes not just be competitive, but also creative.

Saint casually asked me if I was going to compete in it someday. I told him that I'd like to, once I got to know some more people. What I really wanted to know, though, was how he felt about it. For as popular as the Parts War was, it was largely responsible for perpetuating the stereotype that all stormriders were deadbeat hood-rats just looking for an excuse to beat the shit out of each other. There are a lot of criminal influences still guiding the flow of things today. Saint had already shared with me that the world of Air Trecks intimidated him at first. No doubt a big part of that initial apprehension was the result of all the stories he must've heard about the Parts War. Much to my disappointment, he didn't have much to say about it. He seemed pretty indifferent about the whole thing.

"There's no arguing that it isn't a big part of our culture," he conceded. "The Parts War and its participants have been responsible for shaping the course of the sport's history. Those competitions helped make what we like to do popular, or newsworthy at the very least. Anyone who says otherwise is living in a bubble." He went on to add, however, that there are plenty of distinguished stormriders who have found fame and fortune outside of the Parts War. As it turned out, there were plenty of other more 'legitimate' applications out there for Air Trecks nuts. Hearing about that stuff was cool, but those professional leagues could never hope to hold my attention. I cut decided to the chase to just ask him up front if he had ever fought in the Parts War. I spared him the details about just how much everyone back home liked to speculate about his strength, though. He just laughed at me and pointed to his feet.

"Maybe I did at one point in my life, or maybe I didn't. Either way, I'm just a filthy casual now. So casual in fact, that I forgot to wear mine when I marched out here today." He clicked his heels together and then slipped back into his favorite reclining position. "But if you really do decide to one day jump into that part of our world, I'd advise you do so at your own risk. Don't be scared, just be cautious. And don't do it alone, either. Try and do it with people you care about. You'll probably end up on the wrong end of things more times than you'd like, but friends make for a way better cushion than pride. Or even money."

We talked until the sun started to set. I needed to wake up early the next day for work, so I ended up leaving him there in that pasture before it could get too dark. I've no idea how he planned on making it home, since he didn't board the last evening bus with me back to the city. That made me doubt whether or not he really had forgotten to bring his Air Trecks with him that day. Before I left, though, I had to ask him one more thing. I hadn't asked him for a real favor yet, so I figured there was no harm in trying my luck. I asked if we could make this a weekly thing from now on, and if next time, he'd be willing to go for a ride with me. I was so happy when he said yes. It turned out he hung around in that pasture most weekends anyway, so he was delighted to know he'd have some company for a while. I'd have to take a few extra shifts at work to cover the costs of all that bus fare, but I knew Saint would make it worth my trouble. On the bus ride home, I debated telling all my friends everything Saint had shared with me about himself. In the end, I decided to keep my mouth shut, at least for now. Part of Saint's appeal was his mystique. I could tell everyone everything about him, but that would just spoil all their fun.


RoadofDorks, here. Thanks for taking the time to read my work! This piece has been a labor of about five years, on and off, and has been through too many rewrites to count. This is my first exercise in publishing it, however. I love both Ed, Edd, n' Eddy and Air Gear, and both have influenced my writing style and my tastes in animation and storytelling more than any other media I can think of. I hope this piece will help celebrate both of those awesome works. I'm satisfied with what I've produced so far, and I'm looking forward to improving as time goes on. If you feel moved, please share with me your feelings, criticisms, questions, and everything in between. Thanks for joining me, and I hope you enjoy the ride.

This piece kinda assumes readers are already pretty well acquainted with some Air Gear jargon, but I'm sure not everyone is in the know. I plan on expounding on a lot of the details that were briefly covered in this opening piece in future chapters, but I've included a few things below in the form of an FAQ that hopefully will hopefully clear up any murky water that I couldn't clear up on my own. I hope this brief overview helps enhance your reading experience and clarify a few things.

"What are Air Treks?"

Air Treks are like roller skates, except they come equipped with an engine and a cushioning system. This technology allows users to ride around at high speeds and jump ridiculously high without suffering injury, provided they know what they're doing. They come in all shapes and sizes, and some of them are more dangerous than meets the eye. They're a real fun little idea, and I look forward to integrating them into the established EEnE universe.

"What are stormriders?"

Short answer, gangsters. Gangsters who use Air Treks (ATs) to do gangster things. Not all Air Trek users are stormriders, but all stormriders use Air Treks. Stormriders like to form teams, run around in matching uniforms (some of them), compete with each other, and generally just have a good time. Some are good. Some are bad. Some are just chaotic and like to wreck stuff. But they're all entertaining to watch.

"What is the Parts War?"

In the comics, 'Parts War' refers to a worldwide competition where stormriders compete to win parts and infamy. It's very much an underground kinda league, and isn't sanctioned by any legal entity. It's "owned" and operated by the collective stormrider community, so it's pretty much anything goes. There are rules, rankings, and a few unspoken laws, but only a handful of competitors bother to keep up with them all.

"Why is the story set in North America? Why the US?"

Danny Antonucci has made a few statements regarding the "where" of EEnE, and every time he's asked, the answer is always the same. EEnE takes place wherever you think it does. The suburban backdrop is meant to invite viewers to place the neighborhood close to their own childhood homes. For the purposes of this narrative, however, the story takes place along the east coast of the US.

"Is there a time-line I need to understand? When does the story takes place contextually?"

The weird thing about Air Gear is that while we don't have people rocketing around on magic roller blades in 2015, the setting of the comics isn't exactly futuristic. The environments are pretty much congruent with the New York, Japan, and Europe we see today, which makes integrating the technology into the EEnE universe not so hard. The author never gives us a year, but the likenesses of certain real-life people who appear throughout the story implies Air Gear takes place in the mid 2010s era, which is congruent with the ages I've assigned some of the characters. Without giving anything away, let's just assume that this part of the story takes place many, many years after the end of EEnE. I did my best to imply the passage of time in this opening chapter, and I think if one reads closely, they should be able to pick up on it pretty easily.

"Will any characters from the Air Gear universe appear in this work?"

Most likely not. I love both AG and EEnE, but I'm probably are more attached to the Eds and company than the AG crew. Besides, their stories have already been told. The EEnE crew has never been introduced to elements of the AG universe, as far as I can tell, so I believe there is more of a story to tell if I focus on them instead. There probably won't be many OCs, either. For now, I'd like to focus of the piece to remain on the characters we all grew up with. Events from AG might be referenced (and then thoroughly explained) and some plot devices might exist as homages to the original Air Gear, but I've no plans to integrate anything more than that.

I think that covers all the jargon that was brought up in the opening chapter. Thanks again for reading, and please let me know if there is something I've overlooked. Enjoy!