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1.11.99 Philly? NYC! After spending a great deal of time in the city of brotherly love, I became content to only skate there. Philadelphia was a dream land. I was convinced that no other city could provide better skatable terrain. But I soon grew adventurous, wanting to seek out new terrain to tear up. Living just twenty minutes from New York City, I spent more than one night wondering what might lie nestled amongst those mountainous skyscrapers. But New York was a dangerous city. People get killed and mugged there everyday. I knew it was true, because I grew up watching New York's six o'clock news. I also heard the rumors that the people were mean, always in a rush, and just plain weird. Mean streets. Not the place I wished to start tearing up curbs, and marking handrails. I was truly afraid some irate local would pound my ass if they caught me grinding a curb in their "hood." I mean Philly was such a more relaxed town. Hundreds of skaters peacefully coexisted with the townspeople, and even the homeless who reside in the very same parks we frequented. These people calmly went about their days oblivious to the teenage punks flying by on their expensive boards. There was much less traffic than there was in New York, I was sure of that. The drivers even seemed less stressed, less rushed. New York on the other hand was a bad ass city. Here "bums" would attack your car, wielding squeegees and dirty rags. They would stare you down, and make you feel unwanted. The taxi drivers would run you over. Deserted subways provided the perfect scene for a mugging. My dad who worked in the city assured me all of these rumors were true. Despite all this propaganda, I decided to venture into the city. I recruited a small platoon of skaters to accompany me. My brother Jeff, a competent skater, was the perfect travel companion. His friend Edmund, brandishing the camcorder was ready to document our trip into the unknown. He too was scared, and even bought a bicycle lock, to keep his backpack from getting heisted. To complete our trip, we needed a guide, someone who could find his way through the city's darkest alleys. Someone who knew the streets, the skate spots, and the people. My longtime friend Jim was selected for just this job. Now you may think this may turn into some crazy adventure, and you'd be right. We had an amazing time, with legendary things happening all along the way. So, were my assumptions about this dangerous city confirmed? Not in the least! Not one bit. In fact I found the skaters to be more "brotherly" than the skaters in Philly. That's right, the city of brotherly love is well, not so brotherly. Now, I'm not downing Philly skaters. I've spent many an afternoon with some way rad people there. I'm just saying New York's got them beat. Impossible you say? Well, let me give you one example. We were at this legendary spot. You probably don't have to guess I'm talking about the Brooklyn Banks. When we arrived there, I was a little nervous. There were about thirty skaters, among them some of New York's best all trying tricks on the banks. I felt really shitty standing there watching them ride up, and bust the phattest tricks, then ride away like it was nothing. For a while I was too intimidated to try anything, until Jim rode up and tried a simple old school trick. When he came back to the crowd one of the "good" skaters was smiling. "Was that a pressure flip? I haven't seen one of those in years." Jim humbly smiled back. I soon began to notice something. There was no snaking going on. Every "boy" was taking his turn, just like he learned in kindergarten. It's pretty amazing to think that thirty kids were "taking turns" on one obstacle. Now that I've never seen. Anywhere. So, I rode up and figured I'd try to pop a simple ollie. Yeah! I landed it. I quickly turned around to see if anyone was snickering or pointing at the poser that I was. Nope. Not a soul. So I returned to the masses and waited for my next turn. Before I got to go next, this young kid was attempting this boneless 360. Everyone was cheering him on, even though it was "easy" for them to do. I really began to get a feeling of brotherhood. Now I know that sounds gay, but what I mean is that nobody seemed to be there to prove anything. They were there to skate, plain and simple. Everyone was pushing their own personal limits, and nobody was special. Each skater was acknowledged for his accomplishments. I got my ovation after I landed a double kickflip on the bank. The whole crowd went nuts. I felt so good. It was the first time I felt appreciated in this sport. Not because I landed a trick, but because I gave them something they don't normally see, and they let me know it. Philly's got better terrain, I'll give them that. New York? Well, New York needs improvements on lots of things, roads, subways, schools, housing, traffic. One thing's for sure though. For the friendliest skaters, just head down to the banks on any warm weekend. What you'll bring home is a new found appreciation for our individualistic sport. |