Inspired by the snowboarding scene in "A View to a Kill," and some neon infused Warren Miller films, Tim (my brother) and I vetoed skis and started snowboarding in 1993. I was five and Tim was three. We obsessed, and thanks to our parents' support, rode the slopes on nearby Mt. Hood from December to April. We pushed each other, we chased each other down the runs and helped each other up from our frequent crashes.
When enough snow accumulated in our backyard, we made jumps and rode homemade rails. During the summer and fall, we strapped on our snowboards and bounced on our trampoline, hoping to perfect new tricks for the coming season.
Eventually, our appetite to play on boards drove us to skateboard. Familiar with grinds and pumping transition, we emulated early skateboarders, riding bowls at skateparks and the miniramp we built in our backyard. With the same attitude and excitement as our first day snowboarding, we rode for hours.
When I went to college in Maine, we continued skateboarding together on my breaks. Regardless of our location or the time of year, our sessions took us back to our early days riding together on Mt. Hood.
100 miles from the nearest paved road, we skated a miniramp on the beach in Nicaragua. A stone's throw from the thundering beach break, we skated when the waves closed out and the tides were wrong. Each sunrise and sunset, we took turns riding Tim's pool board.