The Wooden Whirlwind: My Journey into Fingerboarding
You know that moment when you wake up, and all you can think about is something you’ve never done before? That was me one Saturday morning, nursing a hot cup of black coffee and staring at the little pile of wood scraps in the corner of my garage. I’ve been into woodworking for a few years — mostly making birdhouses and a couple of picnic tables — but I had never ventured into the quirky world of fingerboards. I’ll admit, it seemed a bit ridiculous at first, but there was something about those tiny skateboards that sparked a little fire in my gut.
The Spark of an Idea
So, there I was, scrolling through Instagram, and I stumbled on some folks showing off their fingerboarding tricks on these miniature boards they had crafted themselves. It was inspiring, really. I mean, who knew such a small piece of wood could bring so much joy? I started watching videos of people grinding and flipping these tiny boards, and honestly, I was hooked. I thought, “I can make one of those! How hard could it be?” Ah, such beautiful naivety.
I quickly gathered my tools. I mean, I dusted off my good ol’ table saw, pulled out the hand sander, and even dusted off my scroll saw — which hadn’t seen the light of day since, well, I can’t remember. Feeling pretty confident, I headed to the local hardwood store. I picked up some maple and walnut. Honestly, I love the smell of fresh-cut wood; it’s like grounding yourself in nature, even when you’re knee-deep in sawdust. That rich, aromatic scent is just something else.
The First Attempt
Let me tell you, my initial attempts were laughable, to say the least. I picked up some common mistakes right off the bat. I thought a simple rectangular board would do. I mean, how complicated could it be? Well, I misjudged one tiny measurement — just a couple of millimeters — and when it came time to shape it, I ended up with a board that looked like it was designed for a toddler. I made a mental note to actually measure twice and cut once.
As I took those overly-wide planks to my sander, the sounds bounced around the garage, blending with the whir of the fan trying to combat the summer heat. I almost gave up, taking long pauses to stare into space, questioning my sanity for thinking I could actually make something that could flip and grind like those sleek fingerboards.
The Realization Hits
But then… oh boy, the turning point came on an overly humid afternoon. I actually had a breakthrough. I remember being on my knees, gathered around my workbench, sandpaper in hand, feeling that exhilarating friction against the wood as I worked on shaping the concave. It started to look like a real fingerboard! I couldn’t help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh of disbelief. I mean, who’d have thought I’d find satisfaction in crafting this tiny object?
When the board was finally done — I made a slight design on the tail using my Dremel — I couldn’t believe it. I slathered on some clear finish, letting the sweet almond smell of the oil permeate the air. I let it cure for a day, and the moment I picked it up, I felt like I’d just built my own little piece of art. Crazy how pride can hit you like a freight train over some wood and glue.
A Little Bit of Help Goes a Long Way
I started looking online for some wheels and trucks, realizing that there’s a whole world of fingerboarding parts out there. I landed on a brand called Blackriver — they’re like the “Cadillac” of the fingerboard world, if you can believe that. I mean, who knew you could get truck sets that cost more than what I’d spent on my first set of “real” skateboards as a kid?
I went for it and ordered those parts, waiting with the kind of eagerness you’d normally reserve for waiting on a pizza delivery. The day they arrived, I remember bouncing back and forth out in the garage, fiddling with the truck screws with my little screwdriver — which, let me tell you, is way smaller than any tool I’ve ever had and took a lot of hand-eye coordination that I truly didn’t expect to need.
I got to that final assembly and, oh man, the feeling when I saw it come together was euphoric. The weight of it, just right. It was my own little handmade marvel and I didn’t just want to show it off; I needed to test it out.
The Beauty of Unraveling Mistakes
Using that fingerboard was a whole different adventure. I remember nearly smashing the coffee table to pieces, and oh, the dog — she looked at me like I was nuts. Flipping it around wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked. I flung it off the edge of that table only to see it ricochet off the hard floor like a cheap plastic toy. At one point, I almost wiped out my collection of antique coffee mugs with a particularly ambitious trick. Every session was filled with laughter and mishaps. But I kept going.
After what felt like a thousand attempts, I landed my first ollie. The feeling was electric — I honestly laughed out loud and probably scared the neighbors. Just a man in his garage, fist-pumping into the air like I’d just won the lottery. There was something genuinely rewarding in embracing the frustrations and finally having that victory.
Closing Thoughts
So, yeah, it was a journey. I messed up, measured wrong, spent money on things I didn’t know I needed, and nearly lost my sanity somewhere in that garage. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. If I can make a fingerboard and find that joy, then you can tackle anything you set your mind to, whether it’s woodworking or another totally random hobby.
So, if you’re sitting there thinking about trying something new, maybe it’s fingerboarding or giving woodworking a go, just go for it. You’ll probably screw up a few times — heck, probably a lot! But those little victories? They make it all worthwhile. And who knows, you might just find yourself laughing over the simplicity of a small piece of wood and the warmth of coffee on a slow Saturday morning, like me.
