HOLY SHIT. Seconds ago I awoke from a crazybeautiful dream where I was SKATING again, ollies, kickflips, running from cops, one empty pool to the next, The Jesus Ramp in San Diego at the entrance to Highway 52.
I mean hell – I had buttboard races (where you’re sitting on your board) with the kids in my hills, no helmet, no pads, leaving an absurd amounts of flesh on the streets. I can show you the scars.
Yeah, I was good, fearless but never competed. I remember skating down the hill to Allen’s house on metal, then clay wheels. the vibration of the road literally turned me 360 degrees while my board remained straight and determined. So many hills, so much flesh paved over. I won many of the races. Not all, but most.
And then bikes. I had the first freewheel bike with a handbrake in San Diego. I will always adore the people that paid $50 for it, used. David Baily, my introverted and only friend at the time, taught me how to use it. We rode together. Up to the top of the huge dirt wall with speed, pivot in the back wheel or hop the bike 180, then down. Yes I was a child of the stars. At the top of every ramp and pool I wanted to go higher. Fuck what everyone else was doing, I needed to fly. To the moons and heavens, to the stars and beyond.
But this is not about bikes. This is not about skateboards.
I only just realized that against all odds and imperfections, I am still alive.
DAMN, I skated with Tommy Guerrero at Safeway on Market & Church, I called these streets my home even after hitting the goddamn stupid truck that got in my way at Haight and Paige. Sorry, couldn’t stop, and you, you asshole, did. I saw you through your window, and now I have a miss set leg because fast is always dangerous, and danger is always better than peace.
I don’t want peace. I want a challenge around every corner… and I can face them all, with grace.
Maybe that is peace.