The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland by Mandy Shunnarah

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West Lafayette, Indiana

SCHMIDTY’S RAMP & CAMP

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Schmidty’s  is  the  kind  of  place  I felt like I  should  whisper about.  The
address isn’t posted  online anywhere,  and if you  search for Schmidty’s
on Google Maps, you’ll end up at a gas station in rural Ohio, in the exact
opposite   direction   of  where  you  need  to  be.  Not  that  Google  Maps would
help   you.  You’d   be   better  off  getting the  exact  coordinates  from  a  skater
in the know.
    It  was  my  first  time    going  to the  rollerblade    haven  that  is  Schmidty’s,
and    after  winding    around    the   looping    roads    outside  of    the    Purdue
University   campus,  I  saw a  sign spray-painted  with   “R&C”   and   an arrow.
Turning  onto the  dirt  driveway, I  saw a  wide grassy  field  ahead  packed  full
of cars, tents, and firepits.
    Ramp &  Camp is exactly what   it sounds  like:  a   place   where   one   comes
to    skate  ramps  and  camp  on  the  property.  Both    ramp  and    camp  areas
border    a    tranquil  lake,  over  which    geese    and  herons  fly—even  a    bald
eagle   every  now and then.  The  shimmering   lake is   in   view   from   the  top
of   every   part  of  the  ramp.  It’s   not uncommon  for   the  especially  talented
rollerbladers to get  so  much  air   that  it  looks  as  though they  might fly  over
the rails and plop right into the water.


                                                              ***

   I  became  acquainted   with  the  ramps  and  my  campsite  before  I  met  the
eponymous  Schmidty.  When  I  asked   around  for  Tim  Schmidt,  I  was  told,
unhelpfully, “You’ll know him when you see him.”
    But   it   didn’t  take  long  to  spot  the  tall,   lanky   Tim.   Two  braids   hung
from  either  side of  his  helmet down to his  waist,  and  he  has so  many laugh
lines   that   he  appeared to  be  smiling  even when he wasn’t. Yet from  what  I
could  see  that  weekend,   he  was  always  smiling.  When   I  spotted   Tim,  he
had  a   leaf  blower  backpack and  was making sure the ramps were free of tree
debris.  Depending  on   the  size of  your wheels,  the   steepness  of  the   ramp,
and  your  speed and  experience, even a leaf has the ability  to  take  you  down.
    Each  skate  park  has  its  nuances,  its   tricky  spots,  its  weird   little  quirks
that  take  a  while  to  master  and   only   a  moment  to  wipe  you   out.  I  eyed
the  spine  between   the  two half-pipes, which  is unusual  in  that  it’s  one  big
hunk    of  pipe   instead  of two   smaller  bars  of  coping back-to-back,  when  I
spied my friend Siobhan, a rollerblader from Columbus.
    “Watch  out   for  that   spine,”   she   said,   lifting   her helmet  to reveal a red
gash  across  her  forehead. “It’s  slicker  than  you  think.”  I  noticed  the bruise
on her eyelid, the bright purple of a grape juice stain.

                                                              ***


During    the        competition    portion    of      the   weekend     at     Schmidty’s,
one    competitor,  Eddie  Chun,   fell   and   popped  his  shoulder out of socket.
It   appeared   to   all who  witnessed  it—an  audible  ooooof  rose  up  from  the
audience   when   it   happened—that he  would  be out  of  commission.   But   a
few minutes later, he   popped his  shoulder  back  into  place  and was   able   to
get in a few more runs before his heat was over.
    It’s      that       kind     of   singular     focus,    eye-on-the-prize,    do-it-anyway
attitude   that   made  Ramp   & Camp   possible.   Tim   grew up on the property
that houses the   skate   park,  which   spans   several   acres   and   includes   the
mobile  home  park  his  parents own,  where   he works. He   has lived there his
whole  life.  Long before he built  the  skate  ramps, he  was  just  a  kid  running
around the field, flipping his motorcycle off a hill.



                                                              ***


    One     of  the  best   aggressive    quad    skaters  in    the    game  right      now,
Bambi     Bloodlust,   was  there,   and   although    we   all  knew she would  win,
the   rest   of     us  didn’t  back    down   from    the   challenge.  And    there  was
money    on  the  line.  A    guy   hollered that  he   would   give   fifty    dollars  to
whoever    jumped   from   the  handrail  around  the  top   of   the   ramp   down
to   the  incline,  a  space  about   three   feet  high  and  three  feet   out.  Beyond
that   gap,   the ramp itself is  roughly  five   feet   tall,  so   it  would   have   been
a   three-foot free-fall  onto   a    five-foot  slide,   totaling   an   eight-foot    drop.
Eight  feet  may  not  sound like  a  big  deal,  but   only   a  cocky  nonskater,  an
extremely  skilled  skater,  or   a  completely  reckless  skater  would tell  you it’s
an easy trick.
    Because   Bambi  was   the   most   skilled  among  us,   we all   looked   to her,
trying   not   to pressure   her  but   desperately   wanting to see   her do   it.  Not
only   to  nail  the   trick,   but   to  stick   it   to   this   guy  who   offered  the  fifty
dollars,  probably thinking   none   of  us   could actually  do it. I  wanted  Bambi
to prove him wrong. We all did.
    The   competition   continued  on   with   quad   skaters  doing  jumps,   spins,
handstands,   and  cartwheels  on   the    transition—gymnastic  moves  that  the
best   rollerbladers incorporate   into   their  own   runs   and, by  extension,  are
forced   to   respect.  As  the  minutes  passed,   the  guy  who   had   offered  fifty
dollars got impatient.
    “I’ll   give  one  hundred  dollars   to   whoever   jumps   off  the   handrail!” he
yelled.
    More  time  passed, and  just when  the  crowd   thought   no one  would  take
the    triple-dog-darer’s    challenge,   Bambi    climbed   the    wooden   handrail.
She’s an  impossibly  small  woman  with  a  mane   of   dark   brown  hair  down
to   her   waist   like   a   pony.   She   balanced  the handrail   between  the   front
and  back wheels  on  each  of  her  skates,  raised  herself  to  a  tentative  stand,
balanced  for  a  split  second, and  jumped. I let  out  an  involuntary  gasp. Her
wheels  hit  the  incline and when  I  blinked,  she was  back   up  the  other  side
of   the   ramp,   propelled   by  the  speed from  the   jump.  The  crowd  erupted
into screaming cheers.

                                                              ***


    Because      male       rollerbladers   outnumber       female       and     nonbinary
rollerbladers,   events   tend   to   have   a   cultivated   machismo. Rollerbladers,
especially   when   there’s   a   competition,   will   egg    each    other   on  to  “get
upside   down!”  and   “the   crowd’s   getting  bored,  so   if   you’ve  been  saving
your   big   tricks   now’s   the  time!”  and  “do   a   backflip!” But  I  learned that
those   challenges    are   less   about   goading    each   other   and    more   about
issuing   a   friendly  challenge. Whether   or not   the  blader  actually heeds the
command doesn’t matter. If   they  don’t,  cool. No  one  boos. No  one  is  really
disappointed.   But   if   they   do   get   upside   down  and   do   a backflip, that’s
when the performances get really fun.

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