Skateboarders have style. It’s the way they move. Fluidity in motion. Open eye signal. They float through the streets, exerting themselves for a few paces and then coasting past the cars. No ceremonial outfit, no clear demarcators affiliating them with a particular clique. There is no Dogtown here. It’s the man, the board and the street. It implies a sort of grace, poetry in motion. There’s an implied glee, particularly in the moments when they coast.

Look at him scan the horizon, going on as if he could never be interrupted. Have you ever seen a skateboarder in a rush or frenzy? Do they sweat as they build momentum? Never. They always are wherever they are. Look at I’m and his hollies. Watch him concourse through traffic. This is no competition. The arrival time is fluid. One cannot go much beyond [a] terminal velocity, save any slopes. No, it’s all about going, nothing about the origin or the destination. Is there longing in their eyes? Fervor, determination, passion? No. There eyes remain placid. They do not fret, they do not smart, they do not fear. All is well, and if it isn’t, it is on the board. It transcends a means of transportation. It’s more akin to a mind-body-spirit centralizing experience. Elation, exertion, energy. Untouchable as he careens. [Carefree] as he crouches. Cool as he kicks and pushes. It seems oddly primitive, yet it is infinitely fascinating.

Do skateboards attract a type of person, or do they adapt these mannerisms upon joining the fold? A skateboarder would not ask that question. They would go uninhibited. There is only room for one. There are no group rides. There is no passenger seat. No trunk space or cup holder. You don’t need a lock. You don’t need much money to participate. You cannot give someone the experience — they must take it on their own. A wooden board on four wheels manoeuvred by the feet, legs, hips and body, propelled by the energy of one man to transport one man to any desired destination. Or, they can remain stationary, a stockpile of potential energy eager to be unleashed.

What’s a frenetic ride? What is a harried journey? One doesn’t grin and bear it. One is. These words don’t do it justice.e My words cannot encapsulate the ebb and flow of these young men as they go, go, go on into oblivion. It’s not an inherently happy sport. But it is a pensive one. Skateboarding is a meditation. It cannot be transmuted; it must be experienced. Or witnessed.

They seem to be going to their hopes, their obligations, their dreams. They seem to want something. They seem to know. What do they know? That whatever happens, one must always go. That is when we are free. So go. Go.