What a strange thing, to still be obsessed after all these years. Outside of life’s essentials, there’s nothing I have done as compulsively and routinely as I have ridden a skateboard. There’s nothing remarkable about my abilities, either. I’m not progressive. I rarely, if ever, go for broke. There’s likely nothing I can do on a skateboard that you, fellow skater, can’t do. Any of you. And yet, how much time have I spent, more often than not alone, rolling and chasing those fleeting moments of bliss we’ve all experienced: a smooth carve, a longer-than-usual powerslide, an ollie up a curb, and grinds, oh, sweet grinds. Adapting to and overcoming friction and resistance, mostly through struggle, hopefully with style. So many days and nights, sitting alone in parking lots as the sun goes down, thinking about all the things that were swept aside as I rolled. Yet somehow never thinking of what I look like to others, this boy, this man, at once 13 and 35, alone with his thoughts, his struggles, his triumphs, and his toy. —Jeff Thorburn