This is a cheap longboard skateboard I bought at the insistence of Australian Dave when we lived in Melbourne. The groups of man-children I ran with had taken to using these boards for our weekend pub-crawls and I didn't want to be left behind, literally.

On more than one occasion, we would also skate very fast down very steep streets as the others waited at the bottom to watch for oncoming traffic. As a group, we sucked as skaters and not one of us actually knew how to stop a board. Also, there was typically beer involved with these slalom runs, so it was stupid at best.

One day, Dave and his wife Kate invited Sandie and I to Kate's rural hometown of Aubrey-Wodonga. I don't recall why. It was a pretty little town with a really good Army surplus store and an abundance of hills, so Dave and I brought our boards and spent the afternoon scouting.

We found a big one. It started steep, then sloped off gently and had no cross-streets. It was the perfect longboard skateboard slalom hill.

Because I'm me, I went first. It was the fastest I'd ever gone on a skateboard. I remember reaching thepoint of no return, going too fast to stop (as if I could) or jump off. I knew that if I tried to control it too much, I'd lose control. The best thing, the only thing I could do was relinquish control to physics and fate, hang on loosely and enjoy the ride.

Then came Dave's turn. He had a short skateboard that day and didn't think it would make the hill. Flush with hydrenalin, I grabbed his board and did the run again.

The board didn't like it, but by the time I figured that out, I was again past the point. The board speed wobbled violently. I hung on loosely and prayed. When I made it to the gentle sloping part, I was stoked. I hooted. Dave hooted.

Then I hit a patch of gravel. The board came to an instant halt. I kept going.

Five minutes later, once we had determined there were no broken bones, I looked at the 3-inch circle of gravel rash on my hip and muttered, "Sandie is going to be pissed." The quote would become the stuff of legend in our circle and, one day, similar comments would be handed to me as examples of why our relationship didn't work.

Last night, Screenwriter Tom invited me to his sister Lauri's house to hang out. According to Google Maps, Tom lives .9 miles away from me, which is an easy walk, but an easier skateboard.

I don't ride my board much. My pack of fellow idiots lives across a very big pond and most steep hills in the South Bay tend to end in blind intersections. But I was feeling spritely last night, so I went for it. It turns out that the route to Tom's is quite hilly. I chickened out about three times on the way over.

We ate, we drank beer, we argued which was a more perfect film, Ghostbusters or The Sting. (I won't tell you which side I was on.) It was a great evening, as it always is with Tom. At around 9:30, I collected my board and headed home.

It felt good to skate with a little buzz. The streets were empty, save PCH, which I could hear buzzing in the distance. There was a decent decline at the end of Helberta Avenue. I went for it. I thought I had control, but about halfway down, I realized it was another Aubrey-Wodonga situation. I was going too fast to jump off, but this time, the run ended in a t-intersection at Sapphire and I really couldn't see what was coming. At first, I panicked. My brain raced for an out. I always have to have an out, but I couldn't think of one. I also knew that the rubber in my trucks had long worn out, making my board incredibly wobbly. The more I tried to control it, the more it bucked and swerved.

So I let go.

I didn't know what was going to happen. I just felt the wind in my hair and smelled the night rushing up my nostrils. Thankful, I safely hit an empty Sapphire, took a wide right and opted to walk the next couple blocks.

I'm not normally one to let go of things, to let life make choices for me. It feels good.