Aside from a small stint in my early teens, skating was nothing more than a fantasy up until I began the second year of my A-levels. I loved the idea of it, soaking in the sun, shooting the breeze with my mates in a dirty carpark, speaker blaring; but I had no one to experience it with, no one to bell when the itch hit.
It was a rather boring day at college, and I was kicking around in front of the maths building, when a fella I had briefly met through a friend asked if I wanted to sack it off and go get a beer. I don’t recall the last time I’ve turned down such an offer, so I gladly jumped in the back of his little honda, and off we went.
In the boot of his car was a pleasantly damaged skateboard, and it struck up a fruitftul conversation, Paddy had been skating for years, this was my in!
Before you know it, I’m jumping in the honda once more on an excursion into the countryside. After countless winding roads, at speeds far beyond what I would now deem responsible, we came to a halt, and Paddy jumps out.
Ducking under an overgrown fencegate, I first laid my eyes on what would come to be my own personal heaven for the next 2 years, and possibly the future location of my headstone, at some point.
Pilton skatepark lay before me, neighbouring the Glastonbury Festival site. With the carcass of the pyramid in the distance, a sea of green, grey, and whatever imaginative art (often phalic in nature), I stepped onto the board.
…And immedietely fell right on my arse. What suprised me however, is how little it bothered me, and how quickly I wanted to be right back ontop of it. This was what i wanted, a deeply unforgiving sport, with biblical rewards.
I was hooked. Immediately. I couldn’t get enough of it. To be a beginner to anything is daunting, but to skating, as someone who has been nothing but an onlooker for so long, it was absolutely terrifying.
It should come to no surpises for the skaters reading, but my anxiety was misplaced. The community surrounding this sport was nothing like what I expected, these hardened skaters that had no reason to pay any mind to me, showered me with helpful tips and advice when I seemed unsure, and rivaled a colloseum in uproar and applause when I managed even the simplest of motions.
I couldn’t believe my luck, here I was, doing what I always wanted, and it was just as I imagined; better even!
There was no judgement, no nastiness, just a melting pot of different people, all with one clear goal. To enjoy the day, the people, and above all else, the sport.
For the next two years, I dragged anyone I could get hold of to this place, this Garden of Eden. Sunshine, rain, or galeforce winds, I was there, whenever I could be.
We made friends, we cooked food (poorly), we drank, we smoked, and thoroughly enjoyed this almost secret freedom that we had discovered.
Pilton for me was not just the birthplace of my love of skateboarding, it was also where I found my voice, and my confidence. Before this, I was quiet, angsty, and generally unhappy with how life seemed to be (having lost my stepfather to terminal illness only a few years prior).
Pilton acted as a catalyst for growth, giving me the power to find who I wanted to be, who I wanted to surround myself with, and understand what true living is. To succeed is not to secure millions, nor is it to force myself into careers and choices that ‘seem right’; to succeed is to understand what it is that makes life worth living, to dedicate yourself to it, and never forget how you earnt it.
I think everyone has their own Pilton, some place where an apiffany was finally made. Whatever that is, I hope this reminds you of it, and brings you some joy and memory of community.
It is the place of my wins, my losses, and ultimately the place I remember most fondly of my entire upbringing. It is in essence, the birthplace of Shoehorn.
Featured image by Reuben / Co-Editor in Chief
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