Urethane wheels came to Ventura without fanfare. There was no advertising campaign, or even word of mouth. They just showed up like a gift from heaven and changed everything.
It was after school in November of 1973. The sun was out and we were playing skateboard tag in front of the Big T supermarket on Pierpont when Ross Keck came gliding down the supermarket parking lot on his skateboard. Ross was older and had great style, but it wasn’t his smooth arcing turns that had us gaping—it was the late afternoon sunlight glowing through his wheels.
We chased after him, yelling, “Hey Ross, wait up. Wait up, man.”
Ross jumped off the board and held it over his head as the four of us surrounded him begging to see.
“Okay, back off,” he said. “Back off and I’ll let you try it.“
We each got to take a quick spin, and the wheels were fast and smooth with traction like I’d never imagined. I handed Ross the board back. “These wheels are unreal.”
“Yeah, you’ll be able to get ‘em at the shop soon enough,” he said, then dropped the skateboard to the ground, glided away, and just like that our composite wheels had become relics. Ross told us the Cadillacs cost two bucks each. That was a lot of money, but it didn’t matter; we would beg, borrow, or steal to get a set.
It was after Christmas when our local surf shop, William Dennis, finally got the Cadillac wheels in, and when they did, we were there. The wheels came in four colors: blue, red, yellow, and translucent gold. Dan, Stevie, and I got the gold, Cameron got yellow just to be different. Right there on the shop floor we took off our composite wheels, spilled out the ball bearings, and slid on our new Cadillacs. Carefully, we dropped the ball bearings back in one by one, tightened the bearing nuts just right so that each wheel spun smooth, and headed straight to the four-story Holiday Inn parking lot to try them out.
From that day forward the term “sidewalk surfing” took on a whole new meaning. New concrete and asphalt waves seemed to turn up every day.
Then, miracles started happening. The city paved the mile and a half road to the Cross on the hill. The Cross, originally erected by Padre Junípero Serra in 1782, had served as a signal to ships at sea that they had reached the San Buenaventura Mission. But now, for us, the road to the historic landmark was 20 minutes of countless silk-smooth turns on a winding slope.
A few months later, St. Bonaventure High School paved a 10-foot embankment around the northeast corner of their football field, creating an asphalt bowl. The school officials didn’t like us skateboarding on their property and called the cops, forcing us to scatter. But as soon as the cops were gone, we were back. Frustrated with us, the school installed rows of asphalt speed bumps to keep us out, but that night we came back with crowbars and shovels and removed strategic chunks of the still warm berms. Surprisingly, the school put down more speed bumps, and we came back with more crowbars and shovels, this time littering the football field with the asphalt debris. Nothing would keep us from riding that smooth, static wave.
Soon, William Dennis had a skateboard counter. Kids came in who didn’t even surf to get the Cadillac wheels. If we were hanging around, Bundy the shop manager would let us install the wheels for customers. The sport was growing and people everywhere could now get the sensation of surfing without having to get wet.
Then, in January of 1975, word was out that a skateboard contest was coming to town. Some newly formed skateboard association out of Los Angeles had arranged a contest at our Cross Road. Naturally, our first thought was to sabotage the event. The idea of a bunch of Southers coming to town and creating a circus at our sacred spot was blasphemous. Unfortunately, Bundy at the surf shop was on board, and even giving out entry forms. He encouraged us to enter. “Come on man, you guys are experts on your skateboards, why not show the world what you can do?”
No way. The idea of an organized event with rules, regulations, and time slots went against our nature. We pledged to boycott it. But when the day of the contest came we were there to take in the spectacle, though in defiance had left our skateboards at home.