Author’s Note
In conducting interviews for this book, I sought to cast a wide net. The
skaters in t hese pages are Black, white, Hispanic, Latinx, and Asian.
They’re many letters in the LGBTQ+ acronym.They are hes and shes,
theydies and gentlethems. They’re abled and disabled. They’re plus-size
and straight-size. They’re amateur and pro. They’re in big cities and
small towns. They’re skaters, skate makers, skate shop owners, and skate
product creators. They skate private skate parks, city skate parks, and their
own secret DIY spots. They ride skateboards, roller skates, roller blades,
unicycles, and wheelchairs. Some of them have been skating for decades
and others for only a year or two. Some skate competitively, others are
enthusiastic hobbyists. They are, like the Midwest itself, more diverse
than they get credit for.
***
Midwest Shreds is a look at skating in a particular time and a particular
place. New skaters are born and made every day, and new parks are being
built every year. Likewise, every day, someone gives up skating, and
beloved skate spots are demolished or fall into disrepair. But overall, I
believe the sport and its culture are evolving in a way that can permanently
sustain its life. Skating isn’t going anywhere in the Midwest, or anywhere
else for that matter.
*******
Columbus, Ohio
SKATE NAKED
***
Jeff Trasin and Jon Hammond, the owners of Skate Naked, had the
vision to see what the old warehouse could be, an indoor skate park the
city so desperately needed. What was first the Buckeye Potato Chip plant
in the 1950s, then later a golf cart showroom and then a window and
siding shop, was transformed by their hands.
“When we first saw it, it was empty. Nobody else would’ve looked
at this place and thought it was awesome,” Jon said, speaking of his gut
feeling that this was where they should be.
“I was like, we can do this, we just need to paint it,” Jeff added,
laughing, knowing there was so much more work ahead of them than that.
On the whole, midwesterners are practical people, dedicated to
function and resourcefulness. Aesthetics are secondary, and in Skate
Naked’s case, they’re hardly considered at all. With the exception of a
spray-painted mural above the big bowl, the park is gritty, both in the
literal and figurative sense. The walls are painted black, and in some places,
they’re built from black painted plywood. On one particular roll-in, you’re
liable to get a splinter if you fall. The roof above both bowls leaks, and
you have to carve fast on your feet to avoid wiping out on a rainy day. The
sheets of coating over the wood ramps are often flaking, and woe be unto
you if you’re the unlucky soul whose wheels add just the right amount
of pressure to break through to the other side. I’m always surprised by
the creative places patrons find to make DIY trash cans—behind a ramp,
inside a wall where a piece of plywood has come loose, or just the edges of
any old platform—and I never leave without a deep coating of black grime
under my fingernails.
And I love it. There’s no place I’d rather be.
***
Skating is inherently rebellious. It’s against authority because we say
fuck private property and skate there anyway. It’s against infrastructure
because if you don’t build us a skate park, we’ll make our own and terrorize
the sidewalks in the meantime. It’s against corporate sensibilities because
indie brands—whether it’s clothing, shoes, or the wheels themselves—
rule the scene. It’s against convention and sometimes even against society
at large because even though skating has its communities, it is notably not
a team sport. Skating is my way of rebelling against diet culture, against
#thinspiration, and against whatever the latest shame-based weight-loss
cult du jour says. It’s the only way I’ve found to move my body in a way
that doesn’t push me somewhere I don’t need to go.
I don’t know that I would have discovered my love of skate parks if I
lived anywhere outside the Midwest, and Columbus in particular. You can
be a beginner here. Columbus is constantly reinventing itself, and over the
last few decades, it has gone from farm town to corporate business haven
to one of the fastest growing cities in the country. It’s a city beloved by
people as disparate as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Saeed Jones, and the late
Aaron Carter—none of whom are from here originally but who all have
made the city a second home.
