I think it might have been the fumes, but it was one of the more satisfying ventures that have been embarked upon since, uh, I forget. The sheer momentum required to swing that plank of lumber around, is the same energy that carries one far past the downhill slope and through the lazy flats of suburbia. Normally I consider suburbia the equivalent of hell. A longboard changes that. Suddenly a mental map emerges.
Secret trails start to appear.
Along with looking at every wave on the ocean, one starts to examine every patch of asphalt for its riding potential. Every hill for its speed capabilities. Every corner for crashing probability and every run-out for a safe escape. A whole world appears out of the blandness of a paved subdivision. A plan is hatched for the next full moon along a smooth stretch of highway.