Foreword by Travis Stewart
Article by Kevin Dowling
Black and White Photography by Kevin Dowling
Color Photography by Corey Oringderff
Videography by JP Primiano (ButterTV)
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On a long weekend in March of 2020, a large group of friends and acquaintances from all corners of the globe gathered at the oldest skatepark on Earth to herald in the long awaited return of the Pow Wow. When it was announced in Q3 of 2019 that we’d be returning to Kona Skatepark in Jacksonville Florida for the biggest inline festival, everyone quickly made plans and booked their travel to get back to the concrete paradise. Sadly, the world seemingly had other plans as the grey clouds of a worldwide pandemic descended swiftly to everyone’s front door. We moved quickly make decisions to how to address the weekend for the hundreds of guests, competitors, and public who were en route to the event. What happened next at Pow Wow 10 was on a need to know basis. We became nothing more than whispers. We feel that it’s now time to tell the truth of the one that almost got away. - Travis Stewart

The whole world seems to be crashing around us. A global pandemic is collapsing economies and hurting people we know and love. Governments continue to divide us. The Federal Reserve is covering the spread for the banks, airlines, and big box stores as our favorite small businesses post messages of their inevitable downfall. Wild to think that a few weeks ago I was at the 10th Pow-Wow: the first Pow-Wow in 4 years.

The Pow-Wow is an inline skating festival that takes place in Jacksonville, Florida at Kona Skatepark. I have attended, photographed and written about the event for years. What started as a small regional contest has grown into one of the most important events our community has ever enjoyed. People come from around the world, set up campsites and enjoy a weekend of communal revelry. The Pow-Wow has become a great escape for us as we take on careers, start families and are forced to “grow up”. It’s a weekend where we can be the truest version of ourselves around a group of people who love and celebrate each other.

Part of growing up is letting go. A few years ago the founder of the Pow-Wow, Blake Tayler, made the tough decision to put the annual event on a hiatus. The owner of Kona was unhappy with how boisterous the event was becoming and Blake was starting a new life with his wife in a different part of the country. A year turned into four in the blink of an eye. Blake always wanted to make it at least ten Pow-Wows and brought it back in order to complete his original goal. When asked why he brought it back, he quickly stated, “Because I wanted to finish.”

As I made my final preparations to depart Atlanta to head to Jacksonville for the gathering of the goons, my wife looked me sternly in the eyes and suggested that I should stay home. I’ve never faced a pandemic and thoughts of the media blowing things out of proportion, coupled with my conditioned response to not live in fear, led me to place a kiss on the forehead of the best thing that ever happened to me and tell her, “It’s fine babe.”

A few hours into the drive, the current President of the United States made his announcement that we were declaring a National Emergency.

I called wifey and we debated the collective irresponsibility that the community was going to be participating in over the weekend. Despite thoughts of being an irresponsible citizen and husband, I rambled on, hoping for the best while fearing the worst. As I arrived, I took a phone call letting me know that the television series I am working on was shutting down due to Covid concerns. Damn.

Upon my arrival to Kona I grabbed my disposable camera and headed to the entrance. Stern looks from the owner and his employees were distributed as they explained that the event was closed to spectators. If your name was not on the list, you would need to leave. My nerves rattled as the Kona staff member flipped through the 4-page document. As dangerous as attending a large gathering had become, I now feared not being able to partake in the tradition. “There you are! Kevin Dowling, Media.” I cleansed my hands with the massive bottle of sanitizer, thanked the lady and walked into the aging shrine that makes evident humans' natural instinct to play and gather.

I do not remember who the first person was to approach me. I think it was Luis or Montre, but they immediately told me that the park had been closed to spectators and we were on a media blackout. Signs with rules in regards to not posting anything online were scattered through the park. One of the most comforting surprises of the weekend was that the tribe listened and determined that social media would bring unwanted attention to the event. In the year two thousand and twenty, we would forego social media over the course of three days.

After the event, I spoke with Blake Taylor and learned that in order to prevent unwanted local media and attendees trying to come to the event, the blackout was agreed upon by the park owners, sponsors, competitors and the few attendees that had already checked in. An official meeting with the park owner, sponsors, and organizers was held to determine the safest course of action. Hand sanitizing stations were added, shop bathrooms remained open late throughout the weekend, and security was placed at all entrances to the event in order to make sure that we stayed within CDC recommendations.

Unfortunately, as we collectively geared up for an invisible enemy that will likely take the lives of people directly and indirectly tied to us, the terrible reality of our sport’s dangerous nature commanded our attention. Fritz Pietzner - nicest guy, Carriers Shop owner, and incredibly talented skater, took a fall to his head which he is still recovering from weeks after the event.

People we love, who we will never see or skate with again, have been lost by this community to similar falls. What we do in private is up to us. As a collective, should we be taking safety at these gatherings more seriously? Thankfully Fritz is still with us. Although his road to recovery is likely a long one, it sounds like he is making progress daily. Please support the gofundme that has been set up in order to help him on his road to recovery.

The amazing local firefighters and EMT showed up within 5 minutes of the initial fall. This is thanks to Blake Taylor and the Kona staff making them aware of the event prior to its start. As the local heroes loaded up our fallen friend, I was summoned to begin my podcast with Billy and Austin. I am not sure what I said, due to the existential crisis I was engulfed in, but I hope that the discussion went well.

As the night fell and our responsibilities dissolved, we wandered around the camps. Nursing our nerves, we enjoyed conversations of life, love, adventure, hopes and ideas. These shared tales coupled with our familiarity with one another made us forget the ominous uncertainty that hung over the rest of the world. We shared hugs and high fives against our better judgement. The night ended with Rory Mellehan handing me the last remaining copy of SkipBootZine as I ferociously preached about Paul John being incredible to anyone who owned a pair of ears.

The safe arrival to the hotel brought with it something unfortunate: the time needed to process the earlier phone call in regards to being newly unemployed. An intense uncertainty of the future of my career and not being able to uphold my responsibilities dominated my thoughts.

The next day I awoke from the nightmare-infested half slumber and proceeded to grab a cup of coffee from a local shop called Southern Roots Filling Station. As the girl afixed the lid, I hoped that she had properly sanitized herself and equipment. We shared a nod of concern and a small smile that let me know she understood my trepidation, but I had nothing to worry about. The caffeine provided clarity that this might be our last gathering for the foreseeable future.

Smiling faces, huge laughs and the Livingston family campsite quickly dissolved my fears. If this is the end of life as we know it, at least we get to spend a few days with our incredible friends from around the globe.

The day’s events began with yoga instruction by Savannah Weierstall and vendor markets opening their tents and tables for people to buy their wares. A mini ramp jam was cancelled, but Carson McNichols put on a clinic. He flawlessly landed a 270 savannah to revert 450 shuffle on the extension - probably one of the best tricks of the weekend. Kurt Newman strapped up for a photo on the mini and Chris Padilla stayed lacing it all weekend.

The Older Bladers contest (thirty five and older, to be exact) was next on the docket. We have increased what is considered “old” in our sport from 25, in the early aughts, to 35. The event was incredible. The tricks being done by these supposed-older bladers would have been unthinkable in days past. Garrett Slobey, Mike McCarthy, Phillip Gripper, Dallas Kilpatrick, Daniel Podschun and a sand bagging Grant Hazelton duked it out in the finals while the sun started to roast the crowd. Blake Taylor landed a perfect fishbrain on the shotgun rail, stomped the landing and threw up his hands upon impact. The crowd exploded. That moment of applause felt like a collective realization of the hard work, hard skating and hard choices he makes in order to bring us together. We are grateful. Grant won.

The women's division was incredible. The attendees were getting rowdy as the Bladies destroyed the freshly built obstacles. The competitors engaged with the crowd while fighting to dismantle their opponents. Carla Pasquinelli, Mery Munoz, Liene Nulle, Chynna Weierstall, Daniella Salgado and Mikayla Petraski put on a finals’ performance that will be remembered for years to come. The deal felt sealed when Chynna 360 top soul to alley oop souled the shotgun rail after laying fury to the entire course throughout the final. When the dust settled, members of the crowd discussed the diversity, talent and professionalism that our Bladies exude. They had set the bar high for the upcoming Invite event.

After an incredible day of skating, I was starting to get tired. The Invite began as I crawled up the hill to take refuge and grab some food. My sun-cooked neck ached as I stood in line for a bite to eat. One of the local food trucks had committed to staying with us all weekend in the face of uncertainty. A few skaters helped her refuel her generator. The chef’s staff had abandoned her in fear of becoming infected. Handmade teriyaki tempeh and vegetables over perfectly prepared glass noodles were absolutely imperative to rebuild the energy that the day’s festivities had depleted. As I sat on the hill overlooking our beautiful community of tents, grills, skates and camaraderie, I came to the realization that we were going to witness one of the last great sporting events to happen before the world went dark.

The sun was falling in the sky as the Invite finals started. Montre Livingston stood on a quarter getting ready to drop in. I ran towards him to grab a photo. As I approached, a remarkable moment unfolded. Montre pointed at his youngest son who was standing on another ramp close by in skates, helmet and protective gear and screamed in the most Montre of ways, “Are you ready to see your Daddy go to work, boy?!?” And, boy, did he go to work.

Sascha Simms was doing incredibly difficult wallrides and flowing through the course after shredding all day. Joe Atkinson was skating in his absolutely perfect manner which has allowed him to win several global skating events. Wake Shepman was reminding everyone why he tours the world with the Nitro Circus. Chad Hornish was skating so well that he will be established in people's minds as one of the nations top professionals. Soichiro was doing the kind of tricks, with the kind of style, that has made him many people's favorite skater. It was a finals packed with some of our culture’s most talented individuals, but Montre could not miss. Every single trick that he tried (and there were a lot) was unreal, yet he landed them with ease. It was absolute domination. As Robert Guerrero would say, the chicken was focused.

Other competitors were still skating and asking the judges for more time as Montre took off his skates and declared victory. From the second he told his son he was going to work until the moment his second skate was removed, he had one hundred percent confidence that he would win. Montre had been hyping the crowd up between every massive hammer he dropped. Now, as he stomped around the course, he let them participate in his victory. He went to work, ladies and gentlemen, in front of his kids, his dogs, his brother, his wife and a group of beautiful individuals that consider each other family from around the world. We lost ourselves in the moment. Montre won the contest, but it felt like we all won a small victory against the fear and doubt gripping the planet.

The night gradually came to a close. Sammy Chase and his band, Royal Graves, played a wonderful set and the boys from Skookum, including the one and only Brian Shima, played us into the wee small hours of the morning. As I was leaving the park, Montre’s son skated by me. I looked him in the eye and said, “Your dad is my hero.” He smiled, nodded and skated to the top of the snake run.

It has been a few, extremely complicated weeks since the Pow-Wow. I called Montre to get a quote from him about his victory. He couldn’t speak because he is an essential worker. Many of the members of our community are. We have a wide range of skills. Some of those skills will now be used to aid in the fight against a virus that has brought our world to a standstill.

We will likely lose loved ones and watch the world change around us in the coming months. I am not sure what these changes will mean for our community. I am confident however, that rollerblading will continue to be our escape from whatever kind of world this becomes.

I have to get back to push-up challenges, filing for unemployment, virtual happy hours, feeding the sourdough starter, jogging, home schooling, social distancing, drinking myself into oblivion and trying to find the silver lining of this terrible mess. I’ll see you all at Pow-Wow 11. - Kevin Dowling

Color photography by Corey Oringderff
Black and White photography by Kevin Dowling
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