My work commitments in Los Angeles over the past few days
consisted of purely social engagements – lunches, dinners, and post-dinner
events. Those, of course, all took place at normal Pacific Standard Times.
However, my “regular” work commitments continued to run on an Eastern Standard
Time basis. That meant conference calls beginning at 5AM.
Because I was working that strange combination of East Coast
and Pacific Coast times, I found myself with free time between 4PM – 6PM PST
each afternoon. As I’m still not able to run (blasted ribs are still too
sore), I went out for walks. The first afternoon, things were pretty
uneventful. I put in a brisk but relaxing 75 minutes on wide, relatively empty
sidewalks. I managed to bump into an old colleague from Mercer on the sidewalk
and toured the construction site that’s being prepared for next week’s X-Games.
It was fun.
The next day, I headed back out thinking I’d cover the same
ground. It was another beautiful day, with temperatures around 75 degrees, a
breeze, and no smog. I was looking forward to getting out. As soon as I
stepped outside, though, I noticed a difference. Right outside my hotel
entrance was a pack of skateboarders. I’d guess there were about 15 of them,
ranging in age from 14 – 20. Some were sitting on the sidewalk. Others were
standing with their boards in hand. One or two were taking runs directly at the
base of the hotel, where the concrete gently sloped upwards for about 2 feet.
They’d ride up the slope and then hurtle back down, directly into the path of
the pedestrians. “This is odd,” I thought. But, since no one else was paying
them any mind, I decided to ignore them, too. I headed south to cross
9th Street.
As I stood waiting for the light to change, I noticed another
pack of skateboarders on the opposite side of the street, also waiting to
cross. There were literally 25-30 of them just standing there. As soon as the
light changed, each kid tossed his board on the ground, put one foot on top, and
pushed off several times with the other. Before I knew it, they were flying at
me. I stood frozen. The racket was impossibly loud as their wheels clattered
on the street. Skateboarders were now whizzing by me on either side. I forced
myself to start walking and tried to stay on a straight line. Finally, they had
all passed me. The cross-walk sign was now flashing red and I hurried to the
other side.
I took a deep breath and headed off again down Figueroa
Street. Not even 30 seconds later, I heard a growing rumble. I knew what that
sound was – another pack of skateboarders were headed right at me. It grew
deafening as I saw them approach. Quickly, they flew by me. One, two, three –
I stopped at thirty-seven. White, black, Hispanic, dreadlocked, clean cut, old,
young. Who the hell were these people and what were they doing? What had
happened to my downtown walking route that had been so relaxing and calm the
previous day?
That was when I heard one of my fellow pedestrians exclaim
“That’s right. It’s Go Skateboarding day.” So, that’s what this was. It
wasn’t a guerrilla army of skateboarders, come to wreak havoc on those of us not
coordinated enough to join their ranks. That made me feel a little better.
But, I’m telling you, for the rest of that walk, I lived in fear of that
approaching rumbling of skateboard wheels on the sidewalk. I can still hear it
now. It’s terrifying.
