Rolling Down the Highway

I pulled off the road into a dirt clearing along the mesh fence that served as a makeshift parking area just as a few other cars were arriving at this secret spot. I recognized a few regulars I knew by sight but not by name. We were involved in our own routines: lifting gear bags from our trunks; sitting at an open car door to lace up our skates; donning protective knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards; and tossing our street shoes back into the car.

I made my way carefully over to the opening in the fence and stepped onto the newly paved asphalt of Route 24 in Hanover Township, New Jersey. This stretch of highway had been under construction since 1988, as an extension that would connect the freeway from Springfield to Morristown, where it would intersect with I-287. The construction had been long delayed by a host of budgetary, developmental, and environmental issues, and they were making slow progress. A nice 4-5 mile chunk was completed and the mostly flat 4-lane route was the perfect surface for weekend rollerblading. This was sometime in 1991-ish, when the inline skating fad took hold and everyone was slipping on a pair of wheels for a bit of dare-devil fun.

As an avid downhill skier since I was a child, when my father introduced me to the sport, I was always looking for ways to stay in ski-shape in between winter ski seasons. I even had a specialty ski machine (i.e., ski treadmill) in my basement. Other skiers I knew had picked up inline skating because the physicality of the two activities included very similar movements. Weighting and unweighting your legs on the skates was the same up and down motion applied to turning parallel skis in the snow. All it took was a flat surface in a safe area, unobstructed by cars and traffic, and I could practice skiing in the spring, summer, and fall. By the time the snow started falling in the winter, I'd be ready to hit the slopes.

I'd learned about this off-piste site from the ski shop owners in East Hanover where I went to get my skis tuned. I loved to stop in to browse the latest equipment and clothing, chat with other ski enthusiasts, or look for ski groups to join on excursions to the mountains.

Of course, trespassing on a closed highway was surely illegal, and it's not as if we were there stealthily under cover of darkness; we were skating in broad daylight on Saturday and Sunday mornings. The authorities looked the other way. The clandestine skating mecca also drew bike riders, runners, walkers (with or without dogs), and families with strollers. It became a car-free linear park akin to Time Square closing off streets to traffic in the summer so people could do swing dancing.

My rollerblading compatriots and I aided and abetted each other during our weekly forays of inline crime. We needn't have worried however – no one was really monitoring the road with ubiquitous 21st Century security cameras or drones. This was the 1990s!

I'd start out my workout from my car drop off point, skate towards one end of the road extension until it met the connecting part of the highway that was closed off, then turn around and cruise back to the other endpoint. I could spend several hours skating and never get bored with it. In the summer, it was sizzling out there, speeding along the black tar highway under the bright sun without any shade. I was sweaty and exhilarated, with a cooling breeze on my face. I'd wind up with a funny tan line on my calves where the top of the skate boot stopped.

You could tell when the seasons were about to change when the fuzzy brown and orange Woolly caterpillars appeared on the roadway, signaling the spring.

I got pretty good at inline skating. I could slalom on the flats and schuss downhill like I was on a mountain, picking up speed and weaving back and forth between imaginary gates. Whether that translated into improved skiing was up for debate, and was hard to measure. My ski vacations or weekend ski outings were infrequent, and you needed to practice skiing in actual snow often and on varied terrain to get better at it.

Inline skating also had dangers built in: you were careening along a highway at high speeds trying to keep in your lane, so to speak, avoiding obstacles along the way – innocent caterpillars, people, bikes, dogs. One time, I was pushing up a bit of a hill – that took some finesse and skills – when a guy on foot was heading down the hill with his dog (off-leash). The dog got in front of me and there was nothing I could do to keep from falling. My legs slipped out from under me, and I landed hard on my lower back. I saw those stars just as you’d expect. The dog walker kept going, never even offering a hand to help me stand up. I sat on the pavement a good while, until I could test out my body parts. I don't remember how I got back to my car. Maybe I took off the skates and walked. Fortunately, I didn't tear up any skin or break any bones. So I probably rested for a few days and was back at it the next weekend.

My blading days on Route 24 came to an abrupt end one day on November 17, 1992, when the new road was finally open to cars. It was a sad day. The pop-up inline skating haven was no more, and the weekend warrior crew dissolved as quickly as it formed.

I sought out other places to skate: the not-quite half mile path around the Oval in front of Livingston High School; and a mile-long paved loop around Overpeck County Park in Leonia, N.J., near where my mother had been working for a while in Ft. Lee. It wasn't the same. Continuous loops are boring and crowded. It took the fun out of it. Like the inline skating fad itself, which fizzled out around 1995, my days on skates did too. 

I had already taken up long distance running, and became serious about training for marathons (I ran my first of 34 in 2001). I stopped skiing, and in turn stopped rollerblading. I did not want to risk breaking a limb. Then, in 2018, I left New Jersey and moved to California.

A couple of years ago, the non-profit animal rescue group I work for, organized an appreciation event to thank staff and volunteers. It was an evening of roller skating and food at a local rink they rented out for the night. I had not put on a pair of skates in close to 30 years! Would I remember how to do it?

I picked up a pair inline skates from the rental area and walked over to a bench and sat down. These were not the personal blades I’d had years ago. They were rentals, so the fit wasn't perfect; I tried to get them as tight as possible, but I still felt wobbly. I stood up, balanced, and gingerly took an unsteady first step. Yikes! Did I actually do this before? It used to be effortless. I was holding on to the wall outside the rink area to walk to the doorway onto the floor. I stepped onto the skating area, completely unsure of my footing. I made one lap around, holding on to the sides of the wall for dear life. Oh my God, what made me think I could rollerblade at 60? I saw that some children and adults were holding on to a triangular wheeled frame (like a walker with training wheels.) I needed that, too. When I made it back to the starting point, I sidestepped my way over to the check-in counter and asked for a rolling trainer. Now I could make a second attempt without the fear of falling on my ass – or face. With that assistance, I could skate! It was coming back to me a little bit at a time, and soon I was picking up some speed and making nice loops around the floor, as music played, and colored lights bounced off the floorboards. 

I was back on the highway of my youth, carefree, and fearless. For a half-hour at least. Then, I took off the skates, returned them, and exchanged them for my own sneakers.

Once again steady on my feet, some co-workers and I headed over to check out the miniature golf course, and hit a few colored golf balls into sand traps surrounded by neon palm trees.