THE SIDEWALK IS ROLLING IN TALES : The Camaraderie of In-Line Skating Sets the Writer’s Wheels in Motion

Writers find different places where people and their stories are plentiful. Bars are usually dependable, and spots where anglers cast and muse aren’t bad either. Gyms can offer curious tales delivered through a veil of sweat, and I hear that auctions of any kind are a fine resource if you’re willing to sit through all the noisy commerce.

I never expected to find such a place perched warily atop a pair of in-line skates.

This may not be Hemingway’s movable feast, but movable snack does apply. While gliding here and stumbling there, I’ve been privy to fleeting glimpses of personal lives and rolling-rolling-rolling snatches of anecdotes.

I can’t say exactly why. Maybe it’s the transitory (literally) quality of the experience, the knowing that all you have to do is step on it and you can get away from the stranger you’re talking to. Or maybe it’s the openness that shared experience can bring, even when the experience is as trivial as cruising over smooth asphalt.

The first time I went out, it was obvious I didn’t know much of anything.

In-line skating isn’t difficult, but it can be limiting, especially at the start. There’s little fun to these early stages (not falling down preoccupies you). Looking good is impossible, and other skaters, especially those who look great, pick up on that.

So there I was, trying to avoid the choppy strokes that are a novice’s giveaway, when Larry, an East Coast transplant, rolled up beside me. I noticed his skates were quieter than mine, a sign of superior skill. The backward move, done less than six feet in front of me, was another. But Larry wasn’t taunting; he wanted to gab.

“Hey, what kind of wheels you got?” he asked.

“Round? Slow?”

Larry laughed. “No, those are precision ball-bearing wheels, good for speed. You’ll love them later on.”

He learned that it was my first time out, and I learned that he used to live in Connecticut, had a dog that was run over when let off the leash in a Los Angeles park, and that Larry was dating a woman he met while skating. She goes to Cal State Fullerton, where she’s studying acting and banking, in that order. Larry wasn’t sure he wanted her to be an actress: no future in it.

“You’ll be good at this,” Larry said as he sped off.

I decided to rest for a while in a shaded area near the beach.

Other skaters weaved between the bikers and walkers, some dressed for skating success in their wraparound Spandex and neon pads, others frumpy and worried-looking. Up the way, stomping more than skating, came Todd, who would tell me later that he was 8, his mother just got a divorce and what he really liked to do was play video games.

It was hard to make out what he was when I first saw him. He was done up in every safety apparatus imaginable, all in apparently adult sizes. You could barely see the boy under all the stuff: huge safety helmet, huge wrist protectors, huge elbow pads, even huger knee braces. He slowed while passing and I thought he seemed embarrassed. His mother was down the strand a bit, apprehensive as can be.

I said “hi” and Todd stopped immediately, answering “You, too?” Somehow, this kid knew I was just a beginner, like him. Knitted brow? A discouraged curve to my mouth?

“Yeah, I should be wearing pads. Haven’t fallen yet. How ‘bout you?”

“Nope. Can’t wait to get home, though. Something new for my Game Boy. Wish Mom wasn’t so nervous all the time. Do you know how much further this sidewalk goes? Gotta run!”

“OK, you have a very wise mom, y’know? All that protective stuff is smart.”

“Uh-huh. Gotta go!”

Since then, I skate maybe twice a week. I’ve become decent; I don’t think about tipping over all the time. I can’t do anything fancy, just more or less move forward in a relaxed gait. Maybe a quick turn every now and then; I’m proud that I can stop on command, by twirling in a half-circle. This is good exercise--in-line skating works you pretty well. An hour of it, I figure, is better than a half-hour of jogging, which bores the spirit right out of me.

I usually go on the strand by the beach where I live, but sometimes I go on the bike path on the San Diego Creek Channel trail in Irvine. It takes you by UC Irvine and, I hear, goes all the way to Newport Beach. Who knows when I’ll try that, maybe when they motorize these things.

Every time I go out, I seem to meet people. Sally with the inordinate fear of hills (“I’ll get going and I’ll land on my head and I’ll probably die”). Hector, who got laid off from his accounting job (“Are you unemployed, too?” he asked, and seemed pleased to learn I was a writer with flexible hours so I could skate on weekdays). And Beth, who hoped skating would help her lose weight (“I’ve always been fat, probably always will”).

The people are really more interesting than the basics of good skating, but I feel obliged to reveal what I know, which is little.

Push out on the skates and use the inside edges (something like skiing and, I’m told, much like ice-skating) for speed and balance. Lean slightly forward (but not too much; the forehead is a sensitive part of your body) and bend the knees. Approach downward slopes with as much caution as possible. Don’t depend on that silly little brake pad they equip your skates with; I think it’s meant to look cool, not stop you.

One last thing: If Larry zooms up, doing that backward business of his, don’t take it personally. He may be showing off, but he’s all right.

This column is one in an occasional series of first-person accounts of leisure activities in and around Orange County.