Skating in a skate park is like dancing without music. It looks like skating, especially on video, and you do all the same motions and get sweaty, and it might even help you get very good at skating, but skating is skatepark is skating with all the soul bleached out of it. Skating in a DIY park is some weird middle ground of this, or at least, that's how most people feel about the bridge. I got there mid afternoon and met a sardine, but only only one other skater was there. It was overcast, then drizzly, then rainy, then heavy rain.
The gloam descended preternaturally by 04:00 and The Bridge was almost too dark to skate. What pop I had withered with the light. The environmentally acquired depression got more severe. Me and the other dude could barely skate faster than a walking speed, eyes down on our griptape, bumping into walls and barely sliding tricks. The roar of taipei traffic on either side mixed with the stench of car exhaust, and bizarrely, someone's extremely burned coffee, made it like skating next to a malevolent water fall with a toxic, smelly sock stuffed in your mouth.
I broke 102 in 28, which was the first time I've hit the ton. I petered around until the lights came on, like halogen artificial suns in an O'Neil cylinder. The rush hour honking started, and the air stayed foul. By 17:30, the lights were up to full illumination, and jpook arrived, followed by mw and a stready stream of others. I hit a few little *****s on teh pyramid, which is new for me, and a ** ***** in teh back with the minnows, and a ** **** on the box. The session got better and better as I got more and more tired. MW and I beered up and went to the family noodle place, then checked out the spy shit on the roof of the hotel next to my house.
No comments:
Post a Comment