The thrill of skateboarding down Colorado’s paved roads and paths

By Malena Larsen

When most people think of skateboarding, they imagine half-pipes and kickflips. But for Colorado locals and professional downhill skateboarders Loryn Roberson and Justin Rouleau, the sport involves hay bales, high speeds and epic mountain passes.

Rather than riding on sidewalks and skateparks, downhill skateboarders send themselves down steep hills and winding mountain roads.

"In Colorado, downhill skateboarding is all about bombing mountain passes," says Roberson, a member of the USA Women’s Downhill Skateboarding Team.

Roberson’s downhill skateboarding roots can be traced back to college when she needed a means of getting around campus. She enjoyed her mode of transportation so much that she eventually started a longboard organization at school.

Roberson's success in downhill skateboarding continued to grow. She earned third place at an international competition in 2015, three years after her first race. Although she took a break from racing, Roberson returned to the scene in the fall of 2022.

Similarly to Roberson, professional downhill skateboarder Justin Rouleau was introduced to the sport because he simply needed a way to get around.

“I got into it [skateboarding] when I was a freshman in high school,” Rouleau says. “I had to find my own way to class every day and my school was two miles away, up and down a couple of hills. The day I realized soft wheels go faster on pavement was the day it all started.”

“Faster” is an understatement. Downhill skateboarders can reach speeds up to 80 miles per hour. Riders slow down and stop their boards using something called slide pucks on gloves. Slide pucks are made out of polyurethane and allow riders to transfer weight from their feet to their hands.

“Once you can slow down and stop, terrain options expand for you,” Rouleau shares.

When he was 15, Rouleau attended a local meetup for downhill skateboarders.

“I showed up with just a helmet, no gloves, the wrong board,” he says. “But the community was welcoming, they gave me gloves and overnight I made lifelong friends.”

A few of those fast friends included downhill skateboarders Justin DuBois and Zak Maytum. According to Rouleau, friends and teammates, like DuBois and Maytum, are absolutely necessary in the sport.

“With downhill skateboarding, once you get to higher levels, it has to be a group activity,” Rouleau shares. “Once you’re riding longer roads, you need a car. Sure, you can go down but you need a way to get back up. It’s not really about teams, it’s really a group of friends.”

During official downhill skateboarding events and races, roads are closed to cars and hay bales are placed on the sides of the mountain roads for the skaters’ safety. However, during everyday rides, this is not the case. This can make it difficult to find safe, car-free spots to downhill skateboard in the state.

“It’s a touchy subject,” Roberson says on finding the best spots to downhill skateboard. “But Copper to Frisco is the most basic place for beginners — people will ask if you’ve done it. A few bigger options are Cottonwood and Loveland Pass. But you have to be strategic to avoid cars.”

“It’s a touchy subject because of the legality of it,” Rouleau explains. “It’s not illegal but it’s not strictly legal either. We get the police called on us all the time. If you get a cop on a bad day, you could get a ticket.”

Due to this risk, Rouleau recommends golf courses as a great go-to for those looking to get into the sport. Some golf courses have steep pavement, are car-free and are perfect for learning how to slide corners. Plus, as long as there isn’t snow on the ground, many are available to skate all winter long.

“Then there are runs like one we call Maneater,” Rouleau laughs. “There’s a guardrail that you can hit. Or you could go skate Leg Burner by Estes Park. Boulder is filled with stuff like Flagstaff Road and Sugarloaf Road. I can get going 70 miles per hour all before work. But I always push the golf courses for beginners.”

Despite the high speeds, risk and ambiguous legality of this sport, both Roberson and Rouleau described the feeling of flying down a mountain road as “meditative” and “calming.”

“A lot of people who don’t do extreme sports assume that our heart is racing,” Rouleau says. “But you’re actually hyper focused. I’m one with my vehicle. You feel every single tiny bump in the road, every tiny wind shift.”

“It’s a meditative feeling,” Roberson describes. “You have nothing to focus on other than the road ahead of you — you’re free from all other distractions. It’s almost like a flow state with a taste of adrenaline.”

Malena Larsen is a writer and Minnesota-to-Colorado transplant. In addition to writing, she spends her time running in the mountains, visiting local craft breweries, and avoiding aggressive geese.