“Hang on... ” said the young man sitting on the edge of the pavement. One of his roller skates needed adjusting. He pushed a set of yellow sunglasses, almost the size of ski goggles, back on top of his head.
His two friends stood in the street. One was tall with a small goatee and a pierced eyebrow, long bleached hair sticking out underneath his helmet; the other was bare-chested with the thin strip of his black shorts showing above the waistline of his worn, low-slung jeans.
The air around the men was vibrating excitedly. On several previous occasions, they had postponed their attempt, usually because of some small annoying hitch that prevented them from going for the ultimate experience. Today the whole universe seemed to co-operate, setting the scene for a perfect morning. The sun had risen over the mountains, quickly heating up the humid earth. A handful of clouds moved unhurriedly across the Lausanne sky.
During the half-hour trip by metro and bus to one of the highest parts of the town, their impatience had almost turned into agony. Now they stood in front of the north entrance to the Olympic stadium and looked down the road with excitement. Red-leaved maple trees grew on the left side of the black asphalt that seemed to continue down through an endless flood of buildings. Slightly further on, the street dipped even more, making the town look like a miniature version of San Francisco.
In just five minutes, they would reach the harbour.
A simple framework set up to propel them into the outer spheres of freedom, requiring plenty of unrestrained speed. As travellers in a world with laws that knew no law, they would encounter traffic lights about a dozen times – adrenaline would be necessary to get them across the red ones. But then again, it was early on a Sunday morning in summer and very quiet; only occasionally did a car go by.
“That’s it – let’s go!” the man with the goggles shouted. He pulled the glasses back over his eyes and pushed a button on his wristwatch. A “Yeeaaah!” of endorsement came almost in unison from his two friends.
The skates made only a slight sound as they gathered speed on the dark, even surface. The young men had chosen to go by the east side of the stadium. The first sharp right turn went well, they were all in good control, making wide slalom-like turns without skidding.
After passing two green lights, they slowed down in front of ‘Ms. Twenty-two’, losing a few precious seconds as they did so. One of the steepest streets in town, the ‘lady’ had earned her nickname by promising lots of adventure. With a twenty-two percent gradient, the road seemed almost to disappear down into the lake; that alone made it a frozen and slippery nightmare for car drivers in winter. But the street was really a little piece of dreamland for the few who embraced gravity instead of fighting against it. This marked the start of serious fun.
Howling like a pack of wolves, freed from the captivity of daily life, the skaters thrust themselves on to the blackness of the newly laid asphalt that made perfect contact with their wheels. Their sudden yells startled a terrier on a balcony, its wild barking fuelling their delighted screams as they took another two turns, nearly getting in one another’s way on the narrow street.
A modern structure with bright blue windows flashed past, reflecting square images of the surroundings just before they crossed their first red light – luckily, there were no cars on the intersecting road.
It would take very little to end the adventure. An unexpected bump, however small, or even the tiniest pebble would be enough to toss them into a tree or through a shop window. Yet none of this seemed to worry them on their unstoppable journey.
The sweet and heady scent of freshly baked bread hit their nostrils and disappeared within a fraction of a second before they tore across another traffic light that had turned red. For a brief moment, no sound could be heard, except the wind singing in their ears and ruffling their hair.
Intoxicated by excitement, they crossed the Chauderon Bridge, standing high above the roads and buildings underneath. A bus was in front of them as they drifted by on the leftmost lane, shouting and making provocative gestures. Behind the windows, a few sleepy passengers glanced at the skaters with curiosity.
Further down the street, a powerful off-roader, impeccably clean from a recent car-wash, stood in front of the central train station. The driver, a newspaper in his hand, was on his way back to the car. He climbed inside, dropped the paper next to a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of flowers lying on the passenger seat and, with the engine making its comforting throaty roar, slowly manoeuvred the vehicle out of the parking space. After crossing the roundabout, he turned up the Avenue Louis Ruchonnet.
With the wrist of one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, he turned on the radio and heard James Brown singing, ‘I feel good’. He cheerfully hummed along and turned up the volume.
At that same moment, the car found itself facing one of the three skaters head-on as they came out of a sharp turn. The driver froze, his vocal chords suddenly too paralysed by the abrupt change of scene to utter a sound. He automatically slammed his foot down on the brake and pulled the steering wheel hard to the right.
He lost control of the vehicle. It swayed dangerously from side to side as he counter-steered to avoid the skaters who were heading towards the side of the road. Blue smoke rose from the wheels and the car did a U-turn before skidding backwards across the street. For an instant, music from the car windows blended with the sound of squealing tyres. Still clasping the steering wheel in shock, the driver was now facing the direction he came from, his eyes wide open in fear. The skater with the naked torso managed to jump on to the pavement just in time to avoid a collision.
Seconds later, the car hit a lamp post by the side of the road in an explosion of crushed steel and shattered security glass.
The three young men slowed down hesitantly, taken aback by the new turn of events and the sudden silence that followed. The shirtless skater smiled quietly as he looked back over his shoulder. With a raised arm, he made a two-fingered victory salute. It was all turning out exactly the way he thought it would. Their downhill conquest was becoming anything but a runaway victory.
