Skating Through the Struggle
By Alejandro Rojas
When Carlo Turrubiartes steps on a skateboard, it’s not just a trick he’s committing to — it’s a belief in himself. There’s something gritty, raw, and personal in the way he rides. His fashion, his mindset, his crew — all of it comes together in motion, like a collage built from scraped knees, slammed decks, and late-night parking lot sessions. From getting hooked up with free gear at local shops to dreaming of going pro, Carlo is navigating the chaos of life one trick at a time — and doing it with heart.
By Joseph Rhine
Growing up skating in the Inland Empire, Carlo found identity and escape in the sound of wheels grinding against ledges. “Skateboarding takes up my whole life and routine,” he told me. “If I’m not skating, I feel like a bum.” At first, skating was just a hobby — until he learned about sponsorships. That changed everything. He started pushing harder, committing to skating daily, especially with his best friend James Azpeitia, another local skater making moves. Carlo surrounded himself with people better than him not out of insecurity, but out of hunger. He wanted to be pushed, and in return, he grew.
But growth didn’t come easy. “There’s always going to be an obstacle in the way — physically and mentally,” he said. “Sometimes you don’t want to go back to a trick you slammed on, but it haunts you until you land it.” He talked about how skating taught him resilience — that you are your own worst critic, and the biggest enemy is often inside your head. “Don’t take shit from anyone,” he added. “Use that anger and turn it into motivation.” To Carlo, skating is therapy. It’s cardio, it’s art, it’s rebellion — it’s everything at once.
By Joseph Rhine
That rebellious, creative spirit bleeds into his fashion, too. Carlo describes his look as a blend of ’90s skater bagginess and punk flair. Chains hang off his Dickies, and spiderwebs — his signature motif — show up on his shoes, board, and clothing. “It’s how I show who I am,” he says. That self-expression also led to his own brand, Goons, a streetwear label he launched through a thrift store in Upland called Raglord. “They let me design whatever I wanted,” Carlo said. “We kept it simple, limited the shirts — and they sold out quick.” For a young skater trying to find his voice, Raglord wasn’t just a store — it was a launchpad. “They even bought me a whole new skateboard setup as a welcome gift,” he told me, eyes lighting up.
His journey into sponsorship started with Karma Griptape, a connection built through his friend James. After hanging around the team and sharing his videos, Carlo was eventually offered a spot — though the wait to hear back left him unsure if it would ever happen. “I thought they ghosted me,” he said. “Turns out, they were just waiting to surprise me in person at a pop-up. That didn’t happen, but they texted me the offer anyway. I was stoked.”
By Joseph Rhine
Then there’s Pawnshop Skate Company — a name that’s quietly gaining traction in Pomona. His relationship with them started casually, skating with a stranger and chatting — only to later realize the guy worked at the shop. They connected, and before long, Carlo was offered a board and free apparel. “I didn’t think it was real at first,” he laughed. “But that shop made me feel seen.”
Despite these wins, Carlo stays grounded. He doesn’t see himself as a big skater yet, even if he’s been recognized in public for his videos. He doesn’t want the fame, just the respect — to be known as someone who worked hard, uplifted others, and stayed true to himself. “Skating’s a family,” he said. “And I want to build my own.”
By Joseph Rhinr
Looking ahead, Carlo dreams of turning pro. He’s not rushing it. “I know I deserve it, but it’ll come when it’s meant to.” In the meantime, he wants to keep skating, keep creating, and maybe even start another brand — this time hitting the road and selling boards out of a van while chasing spots to skate across the country.
Carlo’s story isn’t about the perfect kickflip or the most followers. It’s about grit. It’s about the people who lift you up, the mental battles you fight in silence, and the fire it takes to carve your own lane — whether that’s on a rail, on a tee, or in a community. The Inland Empire has no shortage of skaters, but Carlo? He’s something different. He’s not just riding — he’s building something that lasts
By Joseph Rhine