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... More >>>