By Erin Sherbert
By Howard Cole
By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
I'm on my back. My body is straight and taut, more rigid than it should be. I tuck my chin into my chest and follow the line of sight down my navel to the patch of blue sky I can see between my toes. The force of my grip on the handholds is completely disproportionate to the situation. I know this, but there's no convincing my fingers. My fingers are responding to the fact that my face is only a few inches from the pavement and the pavement is moving and, even though it's not moving very fast, this is a vantage point that takes some getting used to. I try to focus on earlier days of reckless abandon when I, having never before stepped on a skateboard, sailed down the ramps of a parking garage that may or may not have been closed, clinging gleefully to a friend who may or may not have been completely smashed. What I remember instead is being a small girl in the back seat of an old Dodge, watching the rushing asphalt through a gaping hole in the floorboard between my feet; the overwhelming sensation of speed was accompanied by an icy hint of vertigo that left the flavor of aluminum in my mouth. And that old clunker could only reach a fraction of the speed achieved by a modern street luge -- typically an 8-foot-long chassis made of aircraft-grade aluminum and equipped with modified skateboard trucks and wheels -- which can easily hit speeds over 60 mph.
"This is one of the fastest street-luge courses in the world," says 16-year-old Ian Heald, rocking back and forth on a skateboard modified with additional wheels to simulate the action of snowboarding. "They're not usually straight shots like this. Those dudes are gonna fly."
Heald is one of a small crowd sprinkled along the stomach-lurching grade of De Haro Street to watch 48 of the world's greatest street-lugers compete in the Red Bull Streets of San Francisco. Heald sticks his teriyaki-chicken skewers into one of the 1,800 hay bales lining either side of De Haro, from Southern Heights to Mariposa, and whistles gleefully as Pamela Zoolalian, the world's top-ranked woman street-luger, streaks by like a pink-haired, leather-encased bullet. Smoke and the smell of burnt rubber from her shoes fills the air in the braking zone as she pulls up just shy of the athletes' pit area. It's amazing to me that she can stop at all.
In The Street Luge Survival Guide, a book written in 1998 and still considered the luger's bible by many, local author and X Games medalist Darren A. Lott writes, "We are not idiots because we use our shoes to stop." But he goes on to say, "At 70 mph, you are traveling over 100 feet per second; you can barely get your shoes on the ground in 20 feet."
Of course, stopping isn't always the problem. During the qualifying rounds, Jeremy Gilder, a self-identified "gentleman amateur" from Oxford, England, hits the "cheese grater" (a patch of bumpy road) at a bad angle, which causes him to pivot slightly when he gets air over the second intersection; the askew landing hurls Gilder down the road ass-over-tip into a hay bale. Up close and personal, luge wrecks are almost as horrifying to watch as those in drag racing because, here, bodies fly across the track along with wheels and vehicles. Gilder isn't the first casualty of the day, nor will he be the last, but no one gives up.
"I already had one guy go to the hospital for stitches," says Tom Mason, the 2000 Guinness Book of World Records honoree for street-luge speed and the world-class racer most frequently disqualified for "rough riding" (i.e., pushing, slamming, and ramming other racers). "But he's already back on track. I expect at least a half-dozen more athletes to get put in an ambulance. But you got to suck it up and keep riding."
Other racers take a more delicate approach to the rough-and-tumble aspects of the fledgling sport.
"People look at what I do and think I'm a thrill-seeker," says Gilder, "but I'm really more of a novelty-seeker. I'm interested in breaking new ground, doing something that hasn't been done before. It's quite good to be in a sport so early in its formation, to help shape it, in a way."
While ice luge was added to the Olympic Winter Games in 1964, street luge grew out of skateboarding in the late '70s when folks like Bob Pereyra and Dave Perrydecided to lie down on their boards and give cars something to think about. Since then, the development of equipment has been slow; most skateboard wheels melt at these speeds, trucks snap in half, and shoes disintegrate, but speed records keep getting beaten. Surprisingly, the sport is still considered "craven" by skateboarding purists who believe balance is paramount, even as the elder skatesmen of their own sport take luge to more and more alarming heights.
"It's totally a youth-oriented game," admits 40-year-old Chris Chaput, who was the world's freestyle-skating champion in the 1970s and who now spends much of his time developing and manufacturing his ABEC IIwheels between street-luge races. "It's great that all these old pro-skaters can get involved while we can still be big fish in a small pond, but it's only a matter of time before the kids catch on."