Jaagup Mägi crave grind at Kenneli DIY.
We woke up with crusty eyes and creaky knees at the sacred Havumäki Ranch, kicked off a sunrise session to shake off the cobwebs, and hit the highway with breakfast coffee breath. Destination: Tampere—the so-called Skate Capital of Finland, and let me tell you, they ain’t bluffing.
A picture-perfect city cradled by lakes and pumped full of skateboarding blood. Public parks? Off the charts. DIYs? Sprouting like mushrooms after a thunderstorm. Tampere doesn’t play—it builds, it shreds, it delivers.
Jartsi Heikkinen, spinning tricks as twisted as the local graffiti wizard’s fever dream. Saukonpuist DIY.
First stop: we pitched our tents at the local campsite (some say the raccoons are retired pros), and like rabid dogs off the leash, we blasted toward Saukonpuisto DIY, known among locals as the Olympic Training Center—with heavy irony, of course. What we found was a gritty little gem behind an old school slated for demolition.
No fanfare. No pretensions. Just raw, crusty concrete tucked into a quiet neighborhood. The ground was perfect. The vibes were pure. The squad warmed up like a firework fuse.
One small step for Jaagup Mägi, one giant tail pop over a bump covered in alien intel. He wants to believe—and apparently, aliens skate too.
No cowboy boots, no Stetson, just Jartsi Heikkinen slinging Texas Plants like it’s a rodeo on Finnish concrete.
Then came the Soukkapuisto public park. Built by none other than Ville Natunen, a wizard in high-vis who molds concrete like it’s Play-Doh laced with rocket fuel. He nailed it—every curve, every corner, every kink in that park screamed YES. Dreamland? No. This was a concrete hallucination. And we were fully in it.
Antti Lampinen goes classic—Melon engaged, style engaged, gravity denied.
Wheels smoking, tires screaming—Jartsi Heikkinen’s powerslide is a full-on audio assault.
But the sky was plotting. Clouds formed like armies above the city, and next stop was Iso-Villunen, perched high on a hill like some ancient Finnish fortress. And just as all hell broke loose below—rain, thunder, cinematic apocalypse—up on the hill, the gods spared us. Not a drop. Just golden rays slicing through the sky, spotlighting our session like it was the final scene in a movie that ends with broken boards and triumphant yelling.
With a surreal sunset blazing behind him, Jaagup Mägi is pure rock ‘n’ roll on wheels—flames in the sky, fire in the soul.
When Jaagup slides, style isn’t optional—it’s mandatory. Powerslide swagger at full blast.
The next day: Kenneli DIY. Outdoor bowl. A beast. A necessity.
Enter the cavalry: Tuomas Laitinen and Kimmo. Locals, warriors, kindred spirits. The session got hot, fast, and borderline religious. That bowl? A swirling vortex of speed and violence. Smooth like satin, deep like a philosophy degree, and unforgiving like a tax audit. Finnish concrete doesn’t lie.
Kimmo, grinding feeble and ferocious, roaring at the coping like a wild beast staking its turf.
Lien to tail, Jartsi’s warning loud and clear: don’t poke the beast, or you’ll lose a finger. Eyes burning with pure fury.
Wall ride wizardry! Antti Lampinen keeps adding bricks to his skate empire, one trick at a time.
Nicolas, frontside grind nose grab—while Jaagup’s snapping the shot, that trick was a full-on warzone inside my head. Inner battles, mental explosions, and somehow, pure skate magic.
Tuomas Laitinen, smith grind ripping at warp speed—eyes blazing like a man possessed, daring the edges to catch him before he eats concrete. Full throttle chaos, no brakes, all madness.
Jaagup Mägi blasting off with volcanic rage—an air so fierce it’s basically a molten fireball, scorching the ramp and daring gravity to keep up.
But all good things must scatter—Antti and Jartsi packed their gear and hit the road back to Kuopio, leaving Jaagup and me to stare at the sky like two soaked prophets waiting for a sign. And it came, in the form of Teemu Grönlund.
The man. The myth. The wheel behind the wheels. Without Teemu and his crew, Tampere’s parks would be flat gravel pits and broken dreams. He pointed us toward one last park in the city center. Jaagup unleashed his final fire—blasting through snakelike transitions like it was the last session on Earth.
Jaagup Mägi, feeble.
At that point, we were nothing but shadows. Toasted, roasted, and grinning like lunatics.
Final day. The one that always hits like a hangover.
Tent city…
But Teemu wasn’t done. He cracked open the vault and sent us to Kenneli DIY’s indoor bowl—a monstrous concrete womb echoing with years of winter madness. Jaagup had to taste it. No debate. And as Teemu juggled his maintenance wizardry at yet another spot—Muovitehdas Skatepark (because of course Tampere has another banger)—he still found time to tour us through this underground haven where locals rip when the snow buries the streets.
Jaagup’s got a taste of the vert ramp now—taking a bite outta that beast like a hungry skater in a concrete jungle. Vert’s no joke, and neither is he.
Last stop: Helsinki. Smooth ride, no drama. Enough daylight for Jaagup to drop one final line at Suvilahti DIY, kissing the concrete goodbye with wheels still spinning.
Jaagup Mägi, BS grind sealing the deal, a final kiss goodbye to Finland at Suvilahti DIY. Next stop: karaoke on a boat? Hell yeah, we gotta see where this madness takes us!
And that’s the wrap, baby.
What a trip. What a freakin’ rollercoaster of grip tape and glory.
We came back fried, filthy, and spiritually reborn.
Finland—you beautiful, gnarly, concrete-slinging wonderland—kiitos.
To all the locals who made it happen: Tuomas, Kimmo, Teemu, Anna, Jani, Jyrki, Lare, Veeti, Pyry, and the whole wild tribe—you’re heroes in safety vests and legends with trowels.
Skateboarding isn’t just alive in Finland—it’s howling at the moon with blood on its elbows and a smile on its face.
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