By Sarah Shaddock

The Broadway Bomb, a longboarding race that spans from 116th St. down to the Charging Bull Statue in the Financial District, has transformed from an initial group of sixteen longboarders in 2002 to the largest skateboarding race in the world. If all goes smoothly, the nearly eight-mile race is set to happen this Saturday, October 11. Although, it is important to note that the race is, well, illegal.

Without a permit for the anticipated 4,000 skateboarders, the race remains unsanctioned and cannot continue–but, of course, it will try. The hype is growing and skateboarders are coming from all over the world to compete for the title of the fastest skateboarder in New York City. So when Jimmy Soladay, professional longboarder and current organizer of the Broadway Bomb, returned my request for an interview, I expected him to add to the hype of the event. Instead, he announced its demise.

The thirty-four year old Guinness world record holder and GET DIE BOYS crewmember rolled into Washington Square Park doing a one-wheel manual around the fountain. His skill at skating is impressive in itself, but only after learning the details of his involvement with the Broadway Bomb could I understand the depth of his dedication.

Soladay is not the founder of the Broadway Bomb and his initial involvement in the race happened by chance. “I moved to New York City in 2002,” he explains, “and on my third day in New York I was skating down Broadway and someone asked me, ‘Are you participating in the skateboard race?’ I looked to my left and saw some skateboarders going by and I thought, ‘I am way faster than them–are those guys even racing?’” Four years later, the founder of the race, Ian Nichols, reached out for Soladay’s help as the event gained unprecedented amounts of popularity. Soladay started the race’s Facebook event and he began to pull permits for the race.

For the past four consecutive years, he has organized an after-party barbecue at the East River Park; however, this year the state has denied the permit for the after event. Concerning the race itself, Soladay has applied for a permit with the 33rd Precinct Police Department that would allow the skateboarders to participate legally.

“I have never, ever been permitted. We need $600,000 that would pay for the insurance, police presence, and the inconvenience to the city at large. That’s what they want.”

Among financial impossibilities and a falling out with the event’s founder, Soladay has found himself responsible for the race, its participants, and its consequences.

Last year, at around six in the morning, hours before the race was set to begin, the police raided Soladay’s house and he was detained for the day.

“They forgot to arrest the other six guys in my apartment who ran the event for me,” he laughs. “I faced nothing. They just inconvenienced me for the day.” His minor charges included “creating a dangerous situation for the city at large and contributing to the delinquency of minors.” He looks down at the board he came here with and held it in his hands. “Apparently these wooden skateboards with rubber wheels are so incredibly dangerous.”

For someone that comes off as a person who does not really care about his reputation, Soladay strives for clarity over his position as the organizer. He stepped in to control the crowds when the founder could no longer do so and he trademarked the Broadway Bomb name for apparel when he felt that it was time to put a leash on something that grew so out of control. He ended the Broadway Bomb’s official slogan of “You could die.”

“It’s not what the event is about,” he adds, “and plus, ‘you could live’ is cheeky.” He reiterates over and over that these decisions were made to gain a sense of control over the growing number of participants and to keep the race safe for the city at large.

I looked down at Soladay’s tattoos on his calves. One read, “Skate and Destroy.” He gestures to the other, which is of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He jokes that he’s an asshole. He’s passionate, really.

He understands the legal risk. Absent-mindedly moving his board beneath his feet, Soladay continues, “My passion for the way this makes me feel when I’m on top of it is more important than a fine or a ticket. It’s something I have dedicated my life to. It’s brought me exactly to where I belong.”

At its inception, the Broadway Bomb was meant to crown the fastest renegade skateboarder alive. At this point, Soladay concedes the dangers the participants face and he no longer cares about the fastest skateboarder. “Am I concerned who is the fastest? No, we already know who those people are.”

“The fast guys, they’re professionals,” he explains. “When you’re a professional skateboarder, people are going to follow you that don’t have the skill to do what you’re doing. Therefore, it becomes popular but also dangerous.”

There seems to be a theme of risk in this interview. It is evidently on his mind. I ask him if he is excited for this year’s race and he concedes that he is nervous. All the participants risk facing the consequences of breaking the law–primarily a fine for reckless skateboarding. With the sheer amount of participants (professional or inexperienced) and the threat of New York City traffic, the race has high potential of injury of either a participant or a bystander.

For Soladay, that is why it has to end. He talked to me about the history of the race and its progression, but this year would be different. I no longer expected a shameless promotion of the Broadway Bomb, but I did not expect him to tell me that this would be it: “I know for a fact that this is the last vigilante Broadway Bomb that will ever occur in history. Year 12–this is it. We’re done. The Broadway Bomb has to become legal or we’re not going to do it again.”

Again, absent-mindedly dragging his feet on his board he tells me that his sixteen-year old self would “kick his ass for saying that.” He laughs but he is not happy. He could reiterate the rules of the event–common sense, really–over and over. Wear a helmet, do not skitch, do not knock down others, and stay on Broadway as much as possible. He has a way of working the system, already having planned where the after-party would be held. He jokes on me, saying, “You’re a reporter, you’re going to snitch on me, about all of this.” All I have to say is check the confetti.

I ask him if he has any advice for any skateboarders that want to participate this Saturday and he says, “Don’t.” We both laugh. As an avid longboarder, it is an honor to talk to someone like Soladay, whose dedication reaches beyond him. He does not seem to be afraid of much but it is evident that he does not want to bring harm to anyone. Soladay reiterates one last time, “this is the world’s biggest skating event. It fucking is.” He is proud, but more so he is responsible. So, he decides to pull the plug.

“I don’t want to kill anybody. I don’t want to kill anybody. Do I have Skate and Destroy tattooed on the back of my leg? Yeah, and its going to be there for the rest of my life. Do I want to spend the rest of my life skating and destroying things? Absolutely. Do I want to spend the rest of my life knowing that I organized and participated in an event that may have ended someone’s life? No. This is the last Broadway Bomb–the illegal event–ever. Next year, if we do not get permission to shut down the road of Broadway there will not be a Broadway Bomb ever again. I will see to this. My name is Jim Soladay.”

He stands up. This seems to be the ending that he wanted and I let him have it. Now, all we can do is wait for the final renegade Broadway Bomb.

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