The first visit to this parking deck a decade ago ended with a security guard’s escort.
Wielding a longboard, the plan was to carve all the way down to street level from the rooftop, but the guard caught me on one or more cameras climbing the stairs. After taking in the sunset, I turned around to find a beige, four-door Buick circa 1980 rounding the corner to the roof. He rolled down the window.
“You can’t be here. Sometimes people jump.”
“Can I ride down? You can follow.”
The man pulled a u-turn, then inched up behind. Rather than stand and carve leisurely, I opted to sit and shoot the curves as fast as possible. I pushed twice, sat down, then pulled my feet up. Gripping the sides of the board, I raced counter clockwise down around six floors. The creaky escort rumbled along, tracing my route. We made eye contact at the bottom as I crossed the sidewalk onto College Ave. He gave me a smile and a nod.