 | Click here to see all 23 photos from this Weekend Warrior adventure. |
Text by Mike Carni
Photos by Keith Romanowski
Anyone who has a strong passion for riding bikes knows how life consuming it can be. Often times we find ourselves making important life decisions based around our bicycle. Although we try to give ourself as much time to ride as possible, there are certain responsibilities we all must adhere to. Those of us who are not privileged enough to make riding our bikes our profession oftentimes have full time responsibilities. Work, school, family, and significant others all require much time to attend to—that much more time spent off the bike. While most of our week is consumed by the aforementioned obligations, we look forward the weekends. A two-day span that we sometimes can devote entirely to leisurely events—prime riding time. Usually during the week our riding time is split between local curb spots and prefab skateparks that seem more like daycare centers. This is the basis for our tale. A tale of 48 hours of adventure.
It’s a warm Friday morning in early October. My eyelids are heavy as I sit at my computer. The eleven-hour overnight work shift has taken a toll on my body and mind alike. But it’s Friday and my weekend is here. I find Keith Romanowski and James "Maria" Carlucci online and eager to shred. We sit and converse for some time about where to ride. After many failed suggestions we finally conjure up a plan of action. We shall venture from the high tides of Long Island and into the concrete jungle known as Philadelphia. The plan is to meet up around two in the morning to depart for an early opening session at FDR. We part ways and I catch up on some much needed sleep.
A cool brisk five-minute pedal brings me to Maria's house where I find him and Keith putting the finishing touches on Maria's new bike. Ronnie Rutlinger has joined our three-man caravan and has just arrived. An Internet conversation with a girl looking to hook up with Maria keeps us occupied while Maria dials his bike in. Finally it’s time to load up and head out.
A drive of approximately two hours lands us in FDR park directly underneath Interstate 95. The four of us waste no time relieving ourselves on the broken glass and rubble before talking a quick walk-through of the park. Next to the train tracks where the boxcar-Joes hitch a ride, adjacent to the naval base, sits a mass of concrete waves sculpted in between the interstate support pillars. It’s pre-twilight still, but the park provides just enough light to let us get some warm up carves in. The sun finally peaks its head and the distant city skyline reflects its rays just above the monster bowl corner. The session ensues with the company of some local bikers and skaters alike, while Keith snaps some photos of the action. After a few hours of carving and pumping it was time to move on. 
We had a very loose schedule of what we wanted to do for the remainder of the day. A quick stop at WaWa for breakfast led to our decision to ride a hip spot nestled away in the suburbs. Only one of us had been to the spot prior to the trip and we were unsure of an exact location. After a short wild goose chase we made the call to spot guru Mark "Ratikid" Gralla to point us in the right direction. A series of left and rights landed us in the middle of no man’s land. Four bikes and an array of camera gear made us stick out like Waldo on a blank piece of paper. Only moments into our session we were being bombarded with a shower of stones by the local hood rats. We were pretty sure they were hired security by some unnamed riders to help prevent other riders from one up-ing them at their spot. Through the midst of the stone shower we were able to get our runs in and get some photos. Eventually we were even able to lure the bombardiers from their trenches to take a group photo with us. Some time during all of the ensuing chaos a full grown man resembling a clothed urban bear decided to strike some poses on the hip to the delight of Keith's soul stealing device. After a sidewalk brawl broke out only a few yards away we decided it would be in our best interest to slither back to safety.
Once we high tailed it to safer streets we decided to head over to the home of the Owls. The temple Owls. The tennis courts that get more use by bike riders than tennis players, made famous by the riding of the Props Mega Tour Two crew were at our destination. The bank-to-fence that separated us from the football game going on some yards away was sure to draw some attention once the riding commenced. A few hits later and we had already drawn a crowd of 30-plus people. It got to the point where we couldn't even get a run in at the fence anymore since it was swamped with local onlookers. We decided to make everyone even more happy and asked them to pose for a group photo that would surely end up in the magazines. Once we had set up a school class-type photo with some young temple Owls and some more random lurkers, Keith once again snapped some candid shots. This was enough to clear them out of the run-up long enough for Maria to climb his way half way up the chain link fence on two tires. After few more random photo opportunities it was once again time to move on.
Next on our agenda was a cobblestone-type bank spot located at a wonderfully painted school. We had a nice relaxed session there that lasted around an hour. Most of that time Keith and myself spent on the playground getting dizzy to the point of not being able to walk. This juncture of the day was merely a recharging point for what lied ahead. A quick pedal up the block led us to the company of Mark Gralla, Ryan Navazio, Jeff Zielinski, and Tom White. They were busy putting in work shooting some photos and filming some clips. After a quick game of catch up we said our goodbyes as they headed to the Owls nest we had just ventured from. During this period of time, Maria discovered he had a flat and was in the need of a new tube. Even though none of us had any supplies, we were in luck, for just up the street was a bike shop. The next spot lay in waiting as the sun began to dwindle further south in the west and our window of opportunity shrunk.
We needed to make a decision fast whether it was a go or not. The spot in question is one of high risk and high reward. A place often crowded in the summer but seldom visited in the cooler months of the year. Tucked away directly next to a police station lied our target: the white walls of a Philadelphian swimming pool. Once on the other side of some walls and a six-foot fence that separated us from our session would land us in a place of no escape. If discovered there would be no chance of evacuation. One of the walls of the pool’s perimeter was being used as a backstop for a game of stick ball. The only way inside would be to mysteriously bypass the local ball players and scale our way inside. Maria was first over the fence to scope out the scene. The pool was bone dry and asking us to dirty its transitions with our tires. Seconds later his bike was on his way over along with Keith and myself. Maria and I wasted no time trying to figure out how to ride the foot-and-a-half transition in the eight-foot deep end while Keith set up. The window for our photo shoot was quickly escaping as the sun had already set below the tops of the neighboring skyscrapers. While catching our breath between runs I noticed the sound of someone rattling the fence that overlooked the pool. It must be the police for sure, I thought to myself. To our approval, it turned out to be two small kids who were merely there to retrieve their ball that they had hit over the fence. They asked to watch us ride, which we agreed to as long as they would pose for a group photo, which seemed to be the theme of the day.
Before we knew it we were on our way out with another successful mission on our successful day. After some meandering around we grabbed some grub and headed onwards to another spot. By this time the sun was as good as a flashlight in outer space and the Quikcreted tranny barrier seemed to be too much effort for our weary bodies to handle. Next thing I knew, I was fast asleep in the back seat and dreaming of the next day’s wonders. 
Once again we found ourselves alive and ready for action. Ronnie was killed in action during the previous night and Rich Guidece would serve as his replacement. The wheels of Maria's civic turned as we ventured along the highway on another picture perfect October day. Again we were on our way to a spot that would make any BMXer or skater's eyes light up with joy. Somewhere outside of downtown New York City lied another hand sculpted cement spot fully equipped with a bank and tranny-to-wall, some rollers, and other random concrete blobs. We spent a good portion of the day at this spot riding and having a good time without a single soul showing up to share it with us. The session ended with Maria making good use of the tight-kinked tranny-to-wall as I found my pedals on a wallride-to-crankflip.
Onward to another city! As the odometer racked up the miles and the gas tank was slowly emptied we found ourselves at our final destination of our weekend. A city somewhere in New Jersey that offered plenty of street to keep you busy for days on end. We made our way into an apartment complex littered with banks, hips, and wallrides. We enjoyed the seemingly endless lines and shot some more photos. As our time there was winding down it was my turn to put in some work behind the lens and snap a photo of Keith. Keith gathered speed and took multiple passes tucking his way high above one of the hips. That was until he got stuck mid-tuck and went nose first into the landing sending him straight over the bars and onto his head. Mauled by the rough brick and gravel that sat at the base, he was left bloodied and bummed. This would mark the end of our session here. I mounted Keith's 48-pound camera bag on my back as we continued to venture through the city. We pedaled around for a while longer hitting everything we found on the way as our weekend drew to an end under the orange October sky.
Hopefully this tale of two days has been one that you can relate to. For you are also a voyager, one who also looks forward to the weekend to get out and pedal that bike. One who is eager to find what adventure awaits the moment your foot leaves the front door. Here’s to next weekend!
