The skateboard deck [board]: seven plies of wood (usually Canadian maple) glued under extreme pressure and molded at high-heat to create concave. The multiple layers allow the deck to withstand the damage it will inevitably sustain during its lifecycle. This is the crux; the foundation; the core of existence. At one time, you needed to search to find what you were looking for. Now, all you need is a mold and a woodshop down the road.
Skateboarding is not mainstream – odds are it never will be – and that's why we love it. Nobody loves skateboarding because it makes them feel safe or because the rules are set in stone. We love it for being none of those things; for that feeling of freedom when you step out your front door – adrenaline pumping, nerves on high alert – and let the board take you away. The rules are made only by the pavement you skate and the pull of gravity. You don't have the restrictions of snowboarding caused by needing to gear up, drive to a mountain, and pay for a lift ticket only to enter a land contained by boundaries and patrollers on skis. And unlike surfing, you don't need an ocean on your front step to get good. All you need is a board.
Most of us remember buying our first skateboard. Obsessing over the trendiest brand, most unique graphic, perfect size and consistency. The wheels and trucks [axles] and bearings and hardware all somehow fitting the new mold you were constructing for yourself. Hesitant to ride for fear of tainting the creation that represented your step into an alternative lifestyle of self-expression.
For many of us, it was the first piece of artwork we ever bought. And the most poetic thing about that piece of art is the way you destroy every aspect of it, trading beauty for skill. The handrail takes the paint and the rider takes the trick.
Many never moved passed the first board. They shifted to skater kid only to realize that reaching even an intermediate level was one of the most difficult undertakings imaginable. It is crushing to be thrown from something that moments before was so precious and adored. It does not take long to realize that skateboarding is a sport, it is competitive, and concrete hurts. But the aspect that really gets the heart pounding is how pain and fear force a person to confront their own identity.
There is nothing like facing that fear. Everything else fades away as your concentration heightens and the thrill of speed and exposure take control: tether’s cut. Sure, there are different levels of commitment, but the most basic form of satisfaction that every rider shares is the feeling of letting it all go on a long stretch of rolling asphalt.
Originally, skating was a way surfers passed the time between swells. As the activity evolved, the shape of the board began to reflect identity and purpose; and the true nature of the rider. The deck is the conduit. It was forged by the needs of the skateboarder in the street, in the drained pool, in the blacktop schoolyard, worlds away from the beach.
For those of us who stuck around, we have seen deck designs shift constantly. Boards have changed so much and the sport has grown to embody so many forms that any and everything has been made possible. From wooden planks with roller skate wheels in the 50s, to clay wheels in the 60s, to the first fishtails and polyurethane wheels in 70s California, to the short noses and side rails of the 80s, to classic concave boards – somewhere along the way fatty cruiser wheels on longboards, penny boards, and new-age fishtails entered the scene – you would think we had exhausted the possibilities. By the time the second Tony Hawk video game came out in 2001, skaters adopting the digital version were offered more choices than they would ever scroll through.
That’s just the edge. As a fresh-faced thirteen-year-old, my best friend had an aluminum board that weighed nothing and turned boardslides into death traps. My neighbor started a board company in his garage by taking old-school water skis, cutting them down to size, and slapping some trucks on. The number of board companies that have come and gone has been incessant. In the past, you might visit your local shop or flip through catalogue after catalogue looking for the right board. But the nature of individuality in the sport has led only to more genuine forms of self-expression. At this point, you might as well just make your own.
Today, anyone can make a board. I smiled inside a shop in Boston recently when four fifteen-year-olds sat down with the shop owner to discuss creating decks of their own. If you are a dedicated rider, you know what you want. There is no need to sit around and wait for it to pop up in your local shop. DIY is here and it extends to your skateboard. So, design a shape, make a mold, get a friend to create a graphic, and bring an unrealized part of your identity to life.
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