600 miles from Washington DC to Ottawa, Canada by skateboard |
This is the story about how one 20-year-old son convinced me, his 55-year-old father, to try and see if we could ride skateboards almost 600 miles from Washington DC to Ottawa, Canada – capital to capital.
The plan was simple enough. From the steps of the Capital building in DC we would skate gracefully north through Maryland, through the cities of Harrisburg Pennsylvania, Ithaca NY and Kingston, Ontario to finish at the steps of the Parliament Building in Ottawa. Well, that was the plan at least. Tim had been riding his longboard around our small hometown for several years. I (Mark) on the other had not set foot on a skateboard since I discovered motorcycles at age 17. Challenging, intriguing, a high possibility of failure and a tasty coating of danger – all the ingredients for an adventure. What better way to spend two and a half weeks of vacation time? Step one? Training: get me to step on a longboard. During practice runs on cold February Pennsylvania mornings I quickly learned that I was a natural… at falling off. Not really helpful when your intensions are to ride that same board around 600 miles in just four months’ time. Still, undeterred, I stepped up the training and four months, one broken wrist and one cracked rib later I was keeping up with Tim (on the uphills, not so much on the flats and not even close on the downhills). The gear: how I became a sponsored athlete (just like Michael Jordon) Training did highlight some issues. Three to five mile outings of foot pushing a board were fine. However, daylong 30 mile excursions along the Schuylkill river bike path in Philadelphia and around Manhattan in NY had both of us doubting the reality of doing every day for up to three weeks. My 55-year-old knees can only take so much abuse. Heck, even Tim was feeling it. The solution? Spread the workload out a little by getting the upper body involved. How? Sticks! Or landpaddles to be precise. They are just glorified broom poles with a handle at one end and a rubber foot at the other; but way cooler and thus way more expense. The paddles also had the added bonus of providing greater stability and doubled as a handy tool for adjusting the attitude of overly territorial dogs. Another problem was becoming apparent too. Most “rail to trail” bike paths don’t have hills. At least, not the terrifying, death wobble inducing downhills that were going to become a daily reality on the trip. Numerous you tube tutorials clearly demonstrated the solution to stopping on a fast decline. All you had to do was throw out the back wheels into a sideways, 30 mile and hour skid while squatting like a contortionist frog and dragging one hand behind for balance. Okay, so that wasn’t going to happen! Any other nuggets You Tube? Apparently, simply dragging one foot alongside the board will bring it to a graceful halt. And with a little practice that actually worked, about 25 times. Then all we had to do was throw away our disintegrated shoes and start again with fresh ones. Hmm? A thousand dollars a month on shoes was going to hit the budget pretty hard. Back to You Tube. Bingo! Ben Newman from Melbourne Australia has actually invented a real, workable brake system for skateboards. A couple of emails back and forth and Ben’s company Brakeboard agreed to become our first official sponsor. In the several weeks it took for the brakes to arrive from the other side of the world another problem cropped up. Jealousy! Tim, it would seem, made the smarter choice of transportation. His “Pusher II” from Oregon builder Longboard Larry was clearly outshining my heavier, clumsier deck. Unable to justify the additional expense of a replacement deck I fired off another email. This time to the actual Larry himself (Yep, he’s a real dude, not just a clever company name; I’m talking ‘bout you Aunt Jemima.) Turns out that not only is he a real dude but also a real cool dude who agreed to supply me with a brand-new Pusher II deck to match Tim’s. It’s around this time that I started to reconsider my job description for next year’s tax return. “Professional athlete” has a nice ring to it don’t you think? Larry also put us in touch with a new company out of Arizona. Shawn Wheeler of “Braapstik” had recently come up with an awesome, high tech version of the land paddle. It was a nice step up from the over-priced glorified broom pole. A couple of emails and phone calls later and the UPS truck showed up with a two amazing land paddles. Three sponsors! Are you kidding? This trip was getting all too real. We were now just two weekends away from go day. A trip out to Lancaster Pennsylvania gave us our first real “on busy public roads carrying a full backpack” test run. Tim had a great time riding his board like an Olympic slalom skier down the back country roads. I, on the other hand, was practically setting fire to my newly installed brakes. It’ was a perfect sunny afternoon of dragging boards up long accents followed by terrifying downs, zig zagging around trashcan lid size horse deposits (this is Amish country.) Okay! Practice was over. It’s time to do this! Early Sunday morning, June 11th we loaded up the gear and family into the car and drove south from Philly to DC. After 90 minutes of taking pictures with the girls, checking the gear, rechecking the gear, making excuses and stalling we had to face reality. We actually needed to stand on a skateboard and take one first push forward towards Canada. Holy @#$%! So we did. And we went about one hundred feet. Then we stopped, because “hey, that’s the Washington Monument in the distance”. We needed more pictures. And then some more pictures in front of the White House. And then some random street video. Finally, we put the cameras away and started pushing and paddling north. We’d done it. We were officially long-distance long boarders. All that was left now was a mere 600 - give or take - miles to Ottawa. In an effort to maximize the adventure aspect of the trip we had decided to sleep rough as many nights as possible. This meant minimal hotels and real beds. We didn’t even take a tent. Instead we had a couple of hammocks to serve as our home away from home. After our dilly-dallying start the sunset was creeping up fast. The student who was writing free custom poems in a park ate up precious day-one skating time too (like we were going to pass on a free custom poem?) So, after just ten and a half miles of bumpy sidewalks we filled up on Chipotle burritos and headed into the woods in search of four hammock worthy trees. Night one went well. But it was cold. With no sleeping bags we ended up breaking into the packs to retrieve every article of clothing we had. Next morning, before first light, we packed up camp and headed out on our first full day on the road. Within ten miles it ended! The sidewalk, that is. It was time to take on traffic. This was scary. Alternating between going with and going against traffic, depending on conditions, we skated along making good time. Tucked into the shoulders we were able to stay relatively out of harm’s way with just road debris to contend with. That was until the shoulder disappeared too. With no room to skate we walked as far as possible, dragging the boards behind on two wheels. Pretty soon that even became impossible as the narrow back road became even more narrow leaving no room for cars to pass us without steering into oncoming traffic. We were left with no choice. We had to do the one thing everyone told us not to. We stuck out our thumbs and hitched. A couple of thousand cars later a friendly landscaper pulled over and ran us about eight miles up the road to a wider section. The rest of the day was a combination of boarding where we could and thumbing where we had to. By the end of the day we’d taken three rides, met some great people and crossed our first state border into the town of Hanover, Pennsylvania. In Hanover we stopped into the local YMCA. I know the nice folks who run the gymnastics program, so I had to stop in and say hi. We chatted for a bit, told them all about our adventure and then headed off the get another ten miles or so in for the day. After a resupply at Walmart and a refueling at Arby’s we headed up a monster hill out of town. But we never made it to the top. Right before the summit a car pulled in front of us. The driver was a coach from the YMCA. We hadn’t spoken to him before but he’d seen us at the gym and now wondered what we were doing. Twenty minutes later we were setting up camp for the night in his basement and watching American Ninja Warrior on TV. After a good night’s sleep, we were on the road again by 5:30 as the sun was still creeping above the horizon. This was going to be a good day. And, as it turns out, it was. Soon we were flying along beautiful country back roads. There was almost no traffic, the sun was shining and all was good. Now this is the part where you expect everything to go wrong, right? But no! This was just one of those “great to be alive days.” At one point we got off the boards and started walking just because we couldn’t hear the birds singing over the sound of the wheels. Yep, we were taking it all in. Around 5:00pm we came across a park. It was a bit early to stop but we were getting very close to Harrisburg; a major city. We had to make a call. Stop early at what looked to be a good camping spot or push on and try to get past the city before we ran out of daylight. Option two seemed a little risky so we skated into the park pavilion, washed up in the rest rooms and enjoyed a dinner of PB and J bagels. As the sun sunk lower we snuck off into the woods behind the baseball fields and settled in for what would be the coldest night of the trip. I don’t think I slept more than twenty minutes in one stretch. It was a night of tossing and turning just trying and failing to wrap every cold spot. $20 and why fear is just life’s way of testing you to see if you are serious about your dreams. Day four started literally shivering. Gear stuffed into sacks we got moving fast just to warm up. Breakfast at a Sheets truck stop was followed by a great day of skating into and through the Pennsylvania capital of Harrisburg. A highlight of this day was getting paid to skate. Yeh! That really happened. Outside a convenience store, while Tim was inside stocking up on water and cinnamon buns, I got into a conversation with a local. I told him all about our adventure and he shook my hand and wished us both a safe journey before climbing into his old F150 and heading down the road. Ten minutes later as we headed down the same road he pulled up alongside us a held out a $20 bill. “I know you probably don’t want to take this” he said” but I really want to be a part of your adventure.” I took the $20, half astonished, said thank you, and with that, he was gone. It all happened so fast, we never even got his name. We had intended to travel up the west side of the Susquehanna River avoiding Harrisburg. But that was not going to happen. A recent landslide had closed our road. Undeterred (this was an adventure remember, not a packaged tour) we headed over the river and made our way up a great bike path through the Pennsylvania capital. And then, as the city limits ended, so did the great bike path. We were stuck. The road we had been skating alongside was a 70 mile an hour six lane highway with no shoulders. Very skateboard unfriendly. As we took off our packs and began to prepare our hitch hiking signs a local home owner wandered over. We were sort of camped out his lawn like a couple of sweaty hobos so explanations seemed in order. We needn’t have worried as Jeb couldn’t have been nicer and took me into the house to fill our water bottles. After explaining our dead end situation, he offered to drive us up the road to the next bridge crossing where we could pick up our original route on the other side of the Susquehanna. His wife Robin came out to join us on the drive and we learned all about how she and a friend had hitched across the US back in the seventies after graduation. I was quickly coming to the conclusion that the difference between hitching in the seventies and now had little to the reality of danger but more to do with the fact that we are just a scared culture these days. I’m not so naïve as to suggest that the danger doesn’t exist. But I do think our reactions to modern threats are way out of proportion to the reality of those threats. Statistically, crime rates are the lowest they’ve been in decades. It seems there is profit to be had from a public kept in fear. Most of the fear we cling to is unrealistic. As a great mind (mine) once said, “fear is just life’s way of testing you to see if you are serious about your dreams.” After dropping us at the side of the highway there were hugs and pictures. Jeb and Robin left us with Gatorade, a handful of rapidly melting Peppermint Patties and a fascinating list of facts about local culture. Then they U turned and headed home. We, headed north. Canada was getting closer. As we skated north on Route 15 (our busiest and biggest road yet) the rippled shoulder vibrated every bone in our bodies. But the shoulder was flat, it was clean of debris and it was wide. Mile after mile we were pushed around and buffeted by eighteen wheelers thundering past us. Tim risked losing a couple of fingers rescuing a very ungrateful snapping turtle but otherwise the tail end of the day was pretty uneventful. Skateboard adventure vs. skateboard trip Soon, my mind began to wander. I started to think about the few sections we had hitched past. Was this still a skateboarding trip or a hitchhiking trip? I began to ponder the difference between goals and purpose. It had been our goal to skate the entire distance between DC and Ottawa. But for what purpose did we want to achieve that goal? The more I thought about it the more I concluded that our purpose was to have an amazing adventure. So, what do you do when the goal begins to compromise the purpose? When skating on deadly roads could end in tragedy? Something has to give. Either you adapt the goal to maintain the purpose or you stick to your goal and jeopardize the purpose. I concluded that this was a skateboard adventure. That meant skating every inch of road we could and just doing whatever we had to do to get around the rest. In other words, the purpose (adventure) was more important than the goal (skate every inch.) We were done with these cold nights and tonight was looking to be the worst yet. A storm was in the forecast, so it looked like a wet and cold one if we didn’t get our act together. A stop in at the Liverpool (yes, named after the one in England where the Beatles came from) Family Dollar store added a couple of cheap blankets to our kit. Skating on we found a boat ramp into the river and headed down in search of a camping spot. We didn’t have to go far and quickly got busy assembling Fort Gibson. It took a little longer than usual but it was quite a structure. With tarps secured above the hammocks we were confident that this was going to be a snug and comfy night until morning. It was Father’s Day so, with the accommodations sorted out, Tim and I sat at the edge of the river, eating pop tarts, drinking warm water and basically allowing Tim to bask in the good fortune that he had me as a dad. Then it started to rain. Confident in our fort building, we hunkered in for the storm. This night was going to be epic. I fell asleep to a light rain and then… it was five in the morning. If there was a storm, I missed it. Nothing seemed overly wet. So much for epic. By now we’d kind of slipped into a daily routine. Up at 5:00, break camp, eat a first breakfast of cereal bars and warm water, then hit the road by 5:30. We would try to get in about 15 miles of boarding by 9:00 o’clock or so and then rest up for second breakfast. Refueled we’d hit the road again until we came across a good lunch spot and then push on until around 6:00 to 7:00 until a good camping spot showed up. We’d resupply in small-town grocery stores, gas stations or big chain stores. We got a few stares from shoppers as we pushed a cart full of backpacks and skateboards through the aisles of a Walmart but for the most part people were curious. Striking up conversations with locals was one of the best parts of the trip. Downpours and Denny’s Day five turned out to be a bit of a wash out. After a damp morning and with more rain in the forecast we pulled into a Comfort inn around noon and took the afternoon to catch up on laundry and board maintenance. Skateboards don’t do well in the rain unfortunately. Up early once more and smelling good for the first time in almost a week we set off on day six. This was a long one. 40 miles or so of pushing brought us to Montgomery PA. This was a day we had been looking forward too. The girls, Donna, Bri and Missy had driven out to meet us. We enjoyed a combination, Bri’s birthday, Father’s Day and mine and Donna’s anniversary dinner at the Williamsport Dennys. After hugs and well wishes we waived them farewell on continued on our adventure picking up the trail again. After a good night’s sleep, we took off early for what was to be our hardest day of the whole trip. A solid 50 miles of Pennsylvania’s highest climbs. The killer was a 5 mile uphill in 90-degree heat into the town of LaPorte. We stopped there for lunch only to find that the town’s only restaurant, a pizza shop, had already closed for the day. Fortunately, the owner and his family were still chilling outside after the morning’s breakfast shift. When we explained that we had just hiked up their local monster hill they opened back up and served us a late breakfast. We pushed on from LaPorte enjoying a long downhill standing on the brakes the whole way. Another ten miles of cruising brought us into Towanda; and a bed for the night. With relatives living right in town we got to, once again, catch up on laundry, take a real shower and sleep in a real bed. Nothing tastes better than free food We set out the next morning with a goal. We knew there was a skate shop in Ithaca NY. So, the plan was to get there by midafternoon, chill out with some like-minded skaters for a while and pick up some spare bearings to replace mine that were getting a little rusty from a couple of days of puddle surfing. On the road to Ithaca we ran into Leslie. She was bike touring through the finger lakes for a couple of weeks. We were to run into her two more times on the road that day. Stopping for ice at the Parkview Pizzeria we struck up a conversation with the owner Jebb. Not only did he fill us up with ice but he treated us to free pizza too. Well, we made to the skate shop in good time on mostly downhill roads but there was not to be any “chilling” to be had. The only “skater” in the store seemed reluctant to put down his phone and could only muster an unenthusiastic “that’s an undertaking” when we told him about the trip. Undeterred we headed out of town on some of the worst sidewalks we’d encountered. Once out of town it was flat ride to Lake Cayuga and our hillside camp for the night. After discreetly setting up camp overlooking the lake we headed down to the lake and washed up for the evening as the sun set over the water. The next morning, we paid for our sweet camping spot. A seven-mile uphill grunt to the town of Lansing took up the better part of the whole morning. But there’s always a silver lining. Chowing down on a well-earned second breakfast outside a supermarket we were approached by a curious local. Turns out he was on the town council and a good friend of the local newspaper. Whipping out his cell phone he interviewed us on the spot, snapped a picture and told us he’d try to get our story into the next weekly edition. And sure enough there we were a week later in the pages of the Ithaca Journal. Sleeping on a 150-foot cliff edge After a tough day of rolling hills, our next camping spot was a real winner. Taking the advice of a local we tip toed past the no trespassing signs just and around the chained up fence to edge of an abandoned and flooded quarry. Setting up camp as near to the edge as we dared we got to fall asleep overlooking a 150-foot cliff. We awoke the next morning to ospreys flying above the quarry. A sweet start to a good 40-mile day of beautiful rolling hills. The finger lakes region of NY was shaping up to be our favorite stretch of the whole route so far. That evening we stocked up on sticky, unhealthy, gas station treats and disappeared into the woods behind a baseball field. Skating through Mexico and hanging with the Fatman After a brief second breakfast the next morning in Mexico, NY we continued north. A midmorning snack became necessary as we stopped at a cheese shop in Pulaski. I would prove to be a day for good eating. As we skated through the small town of Pierrepont Manor we couldn’t pass the sign that read “Fatman’s Southern Cooking”. Being about as far north as you can be without hitting Canada we were intrigued by the temptation of southern cooking. Once again our timing was off, as the grill was closed. Still, the Fatman himself rustled us up a couple of sandwiches. Before we could skate away Mrs. Fatman loaded up our packs with free fried treats and oversized muffins. We took a moment to pose for a picture on the front porch and then struck out to squeeze in another ten miles before the sun dipped into the lakes. Just as we thought the day could not get any better we stumbled across The Holy Grail of free camping spots. A real babbling brook. We had planned on getting another hour under our wheels but there was no way we were going to pass on this corner of paradise. Hustling off the highway we set up camp in the woods and headed down to relax in our natural bubbling Jacuzzi. We slept well that night. Belly’s full of southern fried treats and the sound of babbling waters to serenade us. Reluctant to leave the perfect camp ground we dragged our heals and got a late start the next morning. This was to be a short 20-mile day to Watertown, NY. We knew we’d be heading into Canada the next day so we treated ourselves to a $48 hotel room. A walk over to the nearby mall helped us resupply. A sheet of grip tape from Zumies fixed up my shabby looking deck. Then it was Canada day Today was going to be a biggie. We were going to cross into Canada. Surreal! We got off to an early start and headed out toward Cape Vincent, NY. After some of the best skating on perfect shoulders we rolled into the border town. We kept ourselves entertained for an hour while we waited for the ferry across the St Lawrence River. The town square was full of war reenactors who were camped out in the town square. Soon it was time to skate to a new country. We rolled onto the ferry and set sail across the border to Wolfe Island. After a half hour “at sea” we skated onto Canadian soil. At the very first small grocery store on Wolfe Island I headed in and stocked up on British candy and Canadian beer. The seven-mile skate across Wolf Island was picturesque to say the least. We counted just nine cars and lost count of the bicycles. Canada was looking promising. We decided it would be better to split the ferry crossings into two days. So we headed about a half mile out of town and hid off into the woods again. Next morning, we were up before the sun to catch the first ferry of the day off Wolfe Island. With the fiery red sunrise reflecting over Lake Erie we sailed towards the Canadian mainland. A quick stop at the first Tim Horten’s (mandatory) took care of breakfast. We had no desire to hang around in Kingston so it was down with the donuts and back on the boards. The sidewalks to the edge of town were smooth and easy to ride. We were loving Canada. And then we weren’t loving Canada As soon as we hit the edge of town the shoulder turned to gravel. Gravel and skateboards are not a good mix. This forced us to skate on the roadway. We had learned from our early days in Maryland that riding where there is no shoulder is a recipe for disaster. But we weren’t ready to pick up the boards and hitch yet. So, we cautiously pushed on while trying to hold a straight line on the 6 inches or so of tarmac between traffic and gravel. We put in 20 miles like this. On the edge of the road and the edge of our stress tolerance. After a lunch break perched on some rocks beneath a shade tree we contemplated our situation. We were very reluctant to hitch again but this was just unsafe. And not just unsafe for us but for every other car, truck, bus and RV that had to zig-zag around us. I was sucking it up the best I could, trying to Zen out my terror by focusing on the road three feet in front of my board. But when Tim finally said that he couldn’t take the stress anymore I knew we had a problem. He was my canary in the coal mine. We chowed down the last of our canned tuna and pushed on another five miles or so just to confirm that we weren’t just being a couple of wussies. Five miles further up the road, still terrified, we broke out the magic marker, made up a hitching sign and stuck out our thumbs. Forty-five minutes of baking (yes, it does get hot in Canada) later our ride arrived. Two self-confessed Canadian rednecks swerved over and offered to take us about 10 miles up the road. Looking for an excuse to get out of an afternoons house maintenance the driver had a change of heart and decided to take us all the way to our destination. But, there was a problem. He needed gas. Which created another problem. He needed money for gas. Had I known that our twenty-minute ride was about to turn into a 90-minute back country tour of rural Ontario I would have gladly paid for the gas myself. Instead we bounced along miles of back country lanes. First to his sister’s ex-boyfriends house to get cash. Then off to a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Then finally back onto the road we left an hour before. We were never so glad to see the now familiar logo of a Tim Horton’s on the horizon. They dropped off, posed for a photo and then headed back south. We shared half a dozen donuts and tried to figure out our next move. Google searching roads out of town showed us that our first choice was no better than we’d just experienced. A second road appeared no better but did seem less busy. We figured that if all the roads are skateboard bad maybe we can still get some miles (kilometers) in if there is less traffic. We skated on sidewalks and through the fast food parking lots of Smith Falls, Ontario in search of our new route. By now it was getting late. The new road looked promising. So, a mile out of town we hiked into the woods behind a church and set up camp. The forecast called for light showers so we loosely threw the tarps over the hammocks and settled in for the night. There is not a single mosquito in Canada. They’re all married and have a thousand kids Around midnight the light showers turned into a full-on rain storm. I hustled out of bed and tightened up my tarp to keep out the rain. Then I looked over at Tim’s set up. He was curled up in a shivering ball in the middle of his hammock wrapped in his tarp like a human burrito. The rain had turned his hammock into a six-inch-deep pool. I kicked him out and as best we could with the rain pelting down we rearranged his crib. It wasn’t great. Everything was still drenched but at least he wasn’t trying to sleep underwater anymore. I returned to my camp and had a fairly comfy night’s sleep. Tim, on the other hand, not so much. We booth awoke to the sound of aggressive mosquitos banging against the tarps. The rain had stopped so we quickly packed up camp. However, before I could even get my shoes on the mozzies were on us. Nasty mozzies too. These guys were in for the kill and there where thousands of them. In record time we tore down the camp, rolled everything into the tarps and sprinted out of the woods into the church parking lot, tripping over blankets and slipping on wet grass along the way. Still swatting at the micro ninjas we threw everything to the ground and just ran as far from the attacking swarm as we could. This was not shaping up to be a good day. Then, as we huddled beneath the churches back entrance wondering what to do next; the rain came back. We just stood there, helpless, semi-sheltered, shivering with cold, watching every piece of our gear get wetter and wetter. Over the course of the next hour the rain finally stopped and the sun came out. As a mist from the drying parking lot arose around us we took a second look at the road we had chosen as our escape route to Ottawa. The road that seemed fairly quite when we pulled off at eight o’clock the night before was now a rush hour speedway of trucks and cars. And zero shoulder. This road didn’t even have a white line we could tuck behind and at least pretend to have some separation from traffic. We knew we only needed one good day to finish. But this was not going to be that day. After cramming all our wet gear back into our packs, we reluctantly turned around and back-tracked three miles back into the town we thought we were done with. We needed a room to dry out and regroup. The kind lady at the front desk of the Best Western took pity on us and bent the rules by letting us check in at 9:00 in the morning. In the comfort of a real room we got to work hanging wet cloths and camping gear from every door corner, light shade and curtain rod. We then disassembled the boards and dried out all the bearings with a hair dryer. It was now noon and while Tim slept I went on the search for beer and food (in that order). I intended to make the most of this stop. By evening, dressed in freshly laundered cloths and smelling like civilized humans again we headed out to eat. As we struggled to understand the Canadian attraction of Poutine (French fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds) we concocted a new battle plan to get out of town. Clearly there was no way out on skateboards. We’d given our best shot but skateboards and Canadian roads are just not a compatible mix we had learned. It appeared that Canada was going to win this round. Ottawa, eh! The next, and final, morning we slept in until 7:00, filled up on the free hotel breakfast, packed up our packs and retraced our route out of town once again. Except this time, we planned to hitch out of town to the outskirts of Ottawa. A little research had shown us that Ottawa has a great system of bike paths. Our final Canadian driver dropped us about twenty miles from our destination. We hopped on the bike trail and spent the next four hours flying along the beautiful shoreline of the Ottawa River. We skated from the countryside into suburbia and then into the city. The weather was perfect. The path was smooth. It was going to be a good finish after a rough couple of days. Soon, the outline of Ottawa’s Parliament buildings grew larger on the horizon. As we got closer and closer the reality that we were down to minutes and meters instead of days and miles began to drive us along. One last climb up to Parliament Hill and we skating through the gates of the Parliament building. Ottawa was in chaos this day. Not following the news, we did not realize that the presidents of the US and Mexico were arriving tomorrow. Added to that were the preparations for Canada’s national holiday “Canada Day”. Finally, after 17 days on the road, we rolled past the hundreds of police and security personal to skate right up to the steps the Ottawa’s Parliament Building. We were done. We did it! We had set out two and a half weeks earlier to see if it was possible to ride/paddle skateboards 600 miles from Capital to Capital. But more importantly we’d set out on an adventure. My definition of adventure is simple. It’s not an adventure if it all goes to plan. Good stories are the reward for bad times. Don’t get me wrong, we had some very memorable good times. From the amazing countryside of the finger lakes to the generosity of the people we met along the way. But the cold nights, the scary roads, the detours and the unexpected moments are what makes for a great adventure. In the end we traveled a total of 589.8 miles. Our longest day of just boarding was 45 miles. We broke one paddle, destroyed Tim’s shoes and my back pack, took hours of video but not nearly enough photos. We met dozens amazingly friendly and supportive people and did not have a single bad experience with motorists. We slept behind baseball fields, next to rivers, behind churches and even spent two nights in a jail cell (the converted Ottawa jail is a cool hostel). We got wet, we got hot, we got cold and we got bitten by more mosquitoes than we could count. But, in the end what we mostly got was the chance to live life fully alive for 17 days. |
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TRAINING:
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Starting on June 12th at the steps of the US Capitol building father and son Mark and Tim Gibson will embark on a three week adventure as they attempt to ride skateboards 700 miles from the US capital to the Canadian capital
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The idea of doing some kind of epic journey between two capitals has always intrigued me. With a practical window of three weeks, running would take too long and a bike would not be challenging. So, skateboards!
One problem. I don't know how to skateboard...YET!
My son Tim has been whizzing around town on a longboard for several years. Dad? not so much. I did have a skateboard when I was about 16. But I can't say that it ever really took over my life. Once I got a motorcycle license at 17 the skateboard went the way of other "toys". But here I am behaving like a 17 year old again (this time with almost 40 years experience.)
The early training attempts were sketchy to say the least. Trying to keep up with a 20 year old is not a way to gradually introduce a "newbie" to the wobbly world of longboarding.
One problem. I don't know how to skateboard...YET!
My son Tim has been whizzing around town on a longboard for several years. Dad? not so much. I did have a skateboard when I was about 16. But I can't say that it ever really took over my life. Once I got a motorcycle license at 17 the skateboard went the way of other "toys". But here I am behaving like a 17 year old again (this time with almost 40 years experience.)
The early training attempts were sketchy to say the least. Trying to keep up with a 20 year old is not a way to gradually introduce a "newbie" to the wobbly world of longboarding.
Quick sidenote: skateboards are the short planks you see kids flying around the skate park on. Longboards are...wait for it... longer. For the sake of this article I'll use the terms interchangeably.
It quickly became apparent that 700 miles could put an irreparable strain on my old knees. The solution? Sticks. Or landpaddles as the landpaddling community calls them. (Who knew there were so many branches to the humble skateboard?) Two cool looking bamboo paddles from Kahuna Creations (http://kahunacreations.com/) later and I was back in the game. Alternating between hand paddling and foot pushing would help spread the workout load considerably.
So all was going well. Until I took on my first hill.
It was about a half mile long and approximately 45 degrees. Very quickly I was traveling at about 80 miles per hour. Okay! On reflection it may have been more like 100 feet long and perhaps not so steep. Still I was going fast enough to realize that jumping off the side and running out was not going to be an option. What's left? Ride it out to the bottom or fall off. I chose the latter, or rather it chose me. As I tumbled uncontrollably across the hard bike path surface my mind wondered to thoughts of Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon. "I'm too old for this @#%$" he would remind himself as he tried to keep up with a younger Mel Gibson (no relation by the way).
As my rolling began to slow down I had an epiphany. "Someone should put brakes on these bloody things!" I mean, really! No way of slowing down! Are you serious? A quick You Tube search ruled out the awesome looking sideways skid technique popular among 22 year old X Games wannabes. Even the less aggressive foot drag technique was impractical without a "free shoes for life" endorsement deal from Vans. A few more clicks and I found myself on the website of a company out of Melbourne, Australia. Ben Newman of Brakeboard (http://brakeboard.com/) had anticipated my dilemma and already created the solution to my problem. A real, honest to goodness braking system for a skateboard. A couple of emails back and forth and Ben kindly agreed to support the trip with two sets of amazing brakes. Things were looking up. I mean literally. As apposed to up, down, sideways.
As of this writing the training is going well. We've done a few long distance training runs (see videos to the left) and most of my bruised body parts are healing nicely (the ego may take a little longer).
With less than four weeks until we push out of DC things are looking doable. We still have no idea whether we can make it or not but that's the whole point of an adventure. If you know you can succeed you're setting your goals too low.
Stay tuned for more updates.
So all was going well. Until I took on my first hill.
It was about a half mile long and approximately 45 degrees. Very quickly I was traveling at about 80 miles per hour. Okay! On reflection it may have been more like 100 feet long and perhaps not so steep. Still I was going fast enough to realize that jumping off the side and running out was not going to be an option. What's left? Ride it out to the bottom or fall off. I chose the latter, or rather it chose me. As I tumbled uncontrollably across the hard bike path surface my mind wondered to thoughts of Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon. "I'm too old for this @#%$" he would remind himself as he tried to keep up with a younger Mel Gibson (no relation by the way).
As my rolling began to slow down I had an epiphany. "Someone should put brakes on these bloody things!" I mean, really! No way of slowing down! Are you serious? A quick You Tube search ruled out the awesome looking sideways skid technique popular among 22 year old X Games wannabes. Even the less aggressive foot drag technique was impractical without a "free shoes for life" endorsement deal from Vans. A few more clicks and I found myself on the website of a company out of Melbourne, Australia. Ben Newman of Brakeboard (http://brakeboard.com/) had anticipated my dilemma and already created the solution to my problem. A real, honest to goodness braking system for a skateboard. A couple of emails back and forth and Ben kindly agreed to support the trip with two sets of amazing brakes. Things were looking up. I mean literally. As apposed to up, down, sideways.
As of this writing the training is going well. We've done a few long distance training runs (see videos to the left) and most of my bruised body parts are healing nicely (the ego may take a little longer).
With less than four weeks until we push out of DC things are looking doable. We still have no idea whether we can make it or not but that's the whole point of an adventure. If you know you can succeed you're setting your goals too low.
Stay tuned for more updates.