> Touring >> Providence trip

NYC-Providence trip

I was trying to get some promotion for my far-fetched notion of skateboarding as a practical form of transportation. Almost a year ago, I completed a long-distance trip down the C&O Canal towpath and felt inspired. With backpack and off-road wheels, I covered 184 miles on a prototype of what I now call a Touring Board- a longboard skateboard designed for transportation. This year, I chose a 200-mile pilgrimage to the Gravity Games in Providence, RI, with a starting point in Manhattan. Of course as a business trip, this year's adventure did not hold the same luster as last year's voyage. But despite the trip's many setbacks, I remain convinced that America will eventually discover the art of traveling by skateboard.

In preparation for organizing a first-ever skateboard convoy, I posted messages about the trip on the Internet and managed to recruit two other adventurers –21 year-old Peter from Antioch, California and 28 year-old Dylan from Port Chester, New York.

Navigating to Providence with sunken compass in deck. Tommy Hilfiger skateboard shoes bought at Marshall's. How'd they do? Results pending Tommy's sponsorship.

As organizer of the event, the group dynamics
concerned me. I joked about the possibility of a sitcom parody. The plot – a low budget PR stunt/trip consisting of three people, united via the web, who think it is a cool idea to skateboard from NYC to Providence with backpacks: character 1- kid ,14 years old, runs (skateboards) away from home, character 2- Jimmy "the club-footed boy", age uncertain, pledges to overcome a handicap, and 3- me, a Capt. Ahab-on-wheels, determined to bring long-distance skateboarding Olympic recognition.

The most harrowing part of the trip occurred prior to even departing from Rockefeller Center. Since this was a promo trip, my VP for Public Relations (my wife) suggested we try to get some air-time on Saturday's Today Show. Despite my discomfort of even watching the loud and "geek-infested" crowd outside the studio, I had little choice but to join their ranks. In defense of those who waved their signs, painted their faces, and hoisted their babies, they were hopelessly under the spell of television. My VP for Public Relations managed to get a producer aware of our presence, and within minutes Janice Huff, the weekend weather woman, was asking me questions about the trip. She asked if we had a charity or cause, and I told her that we were just doing it for "the hell of it". That is when I noticed the loudspeakers around the area resonating "hell of it". In a rare moment of silence, she grabbed back the mike, and said, "This is a family show." I apologized and kept the rest of the conversation terse and unoffensive. I came to understand my blunder days later when people again asked me if I had a "cause". I continued to give bad answers, especially since the New England accent made the question sound more like "Do you have a course". I responded to the strange question by explaining our path followed more or less Route 1. But even when I did understand the question, my answer was wrong. Several people reminded me that I should have a cause, or a charity. Next trip, I'll certainly give the people want they want, and pretend to have noble ideas atop a skateboard.

Team Migration (all three of us) met the next day again in Rockefeller Plaza at 8:30 AM. We pushed off down 7th Ave., cut through Central Park, and rolled happily through the sleepy streets of Harlem and the Bronx. By late morning, the rain started and the mood soured. Skating in the rain slowed our progress and made for dangerous conditions. Additionally, the terrain became hilly and we no longer had the option of carving to slow down because of the slick streets. The method of braking was solely reliant on dragging the sole of the shoe on the wet street- an essential but unpleasant technique for staying in one piece.

We finished slogging through the rain at 3:30 PM, and stayed at Dylan's house in Port Chester, NY which is a musician's commune. I fell into the role that night and partied like a rockstar. We woke to continuous drizzle and got back to the soggy streets. Within minutes we entered Connecticut's "Gold Coast"- wealthy real estate of NYC commuters. This however had little effect on the monotonous appearance of Route 1. I was told that Paul Revere used this same road when stirring up revolution. Today, he would feel right at home along its entire route with the ubiquity of Boston Markets.

Far enough away from the urban mess of New Haven to be quaint, but close enough to benefit from a moat.

We detoured off Route 1 and traveled through some of the residential roads. Country living appeared to be the way to do it in Connecticut. Sprawling lawns with sizable but quaint residences let us know we were still within commuting distance of Wall Street. When we entered any of the big cities, the state's charm quickly vanished. Cutting through the sprawling urban decay of Bridgeport and New Haven, the reserved manners of New England gave way to shouts from front porches, "Whattaya call that?" Kids ran and biked alongside us. The spectacle of three white guys with big backpacks skating through their streets was as foreign as if Paul Revere came trotting by on horse.

Disposable camera replaces rain-damaged Canon and provides fading glimpses of life on the road.

The next day, we hit the road and skated along the oceanfront. Dylan ran out of steam by late morning andopted to take a train home from New Haven. I felt bad that he missed the most scenic and sunny countryside later that day. The coastal route provided subtle rises and dips into the marshy estuararies shimmering with schooling fish. These coastal detours put extra miles on the trip, but avoiding the traffic and autobody shops of Route 1 was worth it. At the end of Day 3, I felt I could go much further than our destination at Hammanasset State Beach Park, but opted for leisure in the 531-site mega-campground.

Disposable camera replaces rain-damaged Canon and provides fading glimpses of life on the road. The next morning, thunder shook us out of our tents, and as soon as we hit the road, the rain struck. For 2 ½ hours, we sought refuge in a McDonald's PlayArea while toddlers and concerned-looking parents began to show up. When the rain cleared, we continued in heavy humidity and traffic. As we approached Rhode Island, the rivers broadened and the terrain grew more hilly. Peter chose to buttboard down the steeper grades, while I weaved a sinuous path keeping an eye on the traffic. Several times, people would pull over on the road to watch our descent. The ever-perplexed gaze of onlookers and motorists made the trip feel like a tiny, roving circus.

We entered Rhode Island the following morning and decided to ditch the commerce of Route 1. We cut inland through the rural west of RI, where grades increased, as did the roadkill. Laboring up hills, and quickly soaring down, the cycle of hardship and excitement underlined the essence of cross-country skating. Hard work always paid-off with a different downhill reward. The inland route through rolling landscape however, took a toll and the only consolation we felt at the end of day 5 was a 25-mile proximity to Providence.

Only 23$ per night! More permanent "campers" visit bathrooms by automobile. Photo taken before site gets hit by monsoon.

The rain started on our last day at about 5 o'clock in the morning. I sat in my bag trying to formulate strategy. By 7, pools of water had formed inside the tent. I drank a warm beer and lulled in a sense of doom. Eventually, we packed up in the pouring rain and took to the road. We persisted through the driving rain with our skateboard wheels plowing through deep puddles and kicking up dirty water all over us. The day somehow managed to get worse, with rain totals for the day finishing at 2 inches. We arrived in Providence to empty streets and the grounds of the Gravity Games closed. Dirty, sopped, and without a place to stay, we traipsed around the city in silence. This was not the glory I had envisioned. We told some people of our accomplishment and they didn't believe us. I finally found an overpriced hotel room and dried my clothes on the room's heating system. The next morning a journalist from the Providence Journal came by the room and interviewed me about the trip. He told my VP of PR (my wife) that beyond being the first people to skateboard from New York City to Providence, we were probably the first ever to want to.

I visited the Gravity Games in bright sunshine and marveled about the effect of weather on my state of mind. The bus ride back to New York made me wonder how or why I did the trip. Touring by car or bus, does little for creating an interest of the area. For three hours on the highway, I retraced the trip as I caught glimpses of familiar spots, and searched for fond memories. I often had to remind myself this was a business trip.

Incidentally, despite an article in a paper that reaches nearly one million people, I have yet to hear from one person who read the story in the newspaper. I guess this can mean only one thing- a bigger trip is in order, this time across America.