Member of the Board: Skateboarding in my ‘40’s

WHEN I turned forty, I was asked what I wanted for my birthday.  I said a skateboard.

My family laughed at me, and I got a rather fine set of framed prints.  But I was serious about the skateboard.

I knew just what I wanted, too.  A dignified long one, made for cruising, made for a bloke with slower reactions and a reconstructed knee.

A few months ago, I finally got one.  I was driving down the streets in my community and there it was, embedded in a pile of household debris.  Like a lost torpedo, beached and pointing to the sky.

In a flash I pulled over, and gently prised it out.  Apart from a busted wheel, it looked fine.  Perfect, even.  Fate, I decided.

By the end of the day, I had a new set of wheels on it, as well as knee pads and elbow braces from a sports store.

But that night, the skateboard sat motionless on the lounge room floor.  Black and bullet-like, hunched over pristine new wheels, it was the picture of restrained energy, impatient and perplexed at its immobile state.

It could not be helped: this forty-something man does not know how to ride a skateboard.

I downloaded instructions on how to ride a longboard skateboard, and I started looking for long, smooth pathways with a gentle slope.  But I did not, dare not, strap on the knee braces and step on the skateboard deck.

My wife wisely pointed out that it would not be a good look to have a mayoral candidate campaigning with a broken arm from a skateboarding incident.  There were enough questions about my judgement, without suffering an injury that would embarrass a teenager.

I deferred to her judgement.  After all, she has form on this.  She once broke her ankle trying to ride a skateboard.  She said it was her brothers’ fault, as they were egging her on.

Still, if a 22 year old girl could not do it without a bone-cracking injury, my chances are looking slim at 45.

And why do I want to skateboard?

Because I surf, and I know the sensation of standing on a board and flowing, just flowing, over a silvery surface.

Because I remember the 1970s, when skateboards first emerged in their swirling paisley plastic magnificence, the second coolest thing after a Sandman.

I visited my aunt in Sydney in the ‘70’s, and glory be, she lived on the top of a hill.  Down the street streamed the skateboarders on bullet-like boards, flared tight pants and long flowing hair.  Cool.

And they rode with such attitude.  Nonchalance and indifference, walking away with stiff-legged dignity whenever they clipped the gutter and rolled onto the road.

Maybe it is not nostalgia that draws me to do this.  Maybe it is because I am a grown man, and if I want to skateboard, I bloody well can.

So now I have decided to see if I can ride this skateboard.  I have updated my medical insurance and I shall report back in future blogs on injuries, triumphs, and what my wife says (probably “I told you”).

I have identified a benign sloping pathway not too far away.  

The skateboard has emerged from under the bookcase, looking resentful and dusty, but still sporting a barely contained malevolent energy.

It awaits.

Follow Chris on Facebook, Twitter or Google+