Good Vibrations

I admit I’m a pansy. I’ve spent many years of my life terrified. The rooted-to-the-ground, eyes-squeezed, screaming-prayers-in-my-head terrified. For those of you without such experiences I pity you that your life should be so boring.

The feeling happens when I lose control, something inevitable when I combine my klutziness with speed. Knowing this I’ve spent many nights racking my brain for a way to conquer boarding on land, snow and sea. And when I went home in July for a family reunion I found the answer, the long sloping road I grew up on.

Memorial Drive runs a loop from the highway south of town to Main Street just north of the first stop sign, passing by the VFW, the cemetery, my childhood home and the hospital. I decided Trav and I could skip the first three and hook up near our new house and riding the mile down to the park. My memory holds moments of cruising down the smooth road on a bike, fast enough to tangle my hair. It would be great for Trav to learn and me to gain confidence.

We started a little shaky. Literally the road shook my board, but I’d expected this to be the shady part of the journey. We went down the little dip where the road crosses Willow Creek then kicked up the only hill we encountered. At this point a smarter person would have enjoyed riding down that hill and gone home. We proceeded kicking down Memorial. Occasionally I’d tell Trav life would improve once we made it to the hospital where the road went downhill.

I don’t know that he heard me or that he knows sign language. The rough road caused my board to go slightly backwards while I urged it forward. I felt the shudders course through my right foot, up my leg and trunk and settle in my lungs and throat. It grabbed the air that carried my words and jumbled it around so what came out through chattering teeth sounded demented and foreign. And the wild gestures I threw to signal him got lost in my struggle for balance.

Then as we approached the bridge and the stinky tower (appropriately nicknamed) entrance to the park I saw a familiar white dodge pickup turning toward us. My father drove straight at me. I noticed two craters on the side of the road and thought of the impending disaster. Perhaps a book and cup of cocoa should have been my day’s adventure. Instead my shaky legs stood on a longboard on a busy two-lane road without a shoulder and my dad, who hours before complained about his failing eyesight, headed straight at me. I envisioned a tumble in the ditch and as any sane scared person would do, I held my breath and closed my eyes.

When I opened them the road had cleared and I navigated into the park. Laughing happily I glanced around for Travis. Meanwhile my speed decreased and Trav passed me as my board hit a crack that jolted me backward onto the cobblestone asphalt.

Longboarding on the plains: they told me it couldn’t be done but I didn’t believe them.

They were right.