The cul-de-sac ends at the top of a hill with a panoramic view of the San Fernando Valley. From there, Hermano Drive descends, curves left, and grades gradually before curving right in a precipitous trajectory more reminiscent of a black diamond ski slope than a suburban neighborhood.
At the end is busy Reseda Boulevard, with only one stop sign between the corner of Hermano Drive and the dangerous cross traffic.
But as of 2016, the Tarzana enclave has four other signs not found on any other road in Los Angeles. Made of metal, there are two on the way up and two on the way down, and each one declares: “NO SKATING ON THE STREET AND ON THE SIDEWALK.”
As skateboarding has gone from a maligned subculture to an Olympic sport, signs along this hillside lane citing Sec. 56.15.2 of the city's municipal code – “No person shall ride a skateboard in Hermano Drive” – reflects the conflict that occasionally arises over its most dangerous manifestations.
Aaron Barlava in front of his parents' house on Hermano Drive in Tarzana.
(Mel Melcón / Los Angeles Times)
The ordinance was much needed, said Aaron Barlava, 25, who grew up on Hermano Drive, as he shot hoops outside his parents' house on a recent afternoon.
“We always had groups of kids going up to the top of the hill and racing down on their skateboards at excessive speeds,” he said. “It's not to say that we don't like skateboarding. …It's a safety hazard. “That is a very steep hill.”
The hidden feel of this community of about two dozen homes drew many of its residents to Hermano Drive. But it also attracted groups of teenagers who saw its topography and knew they had to “bomb it.”
Getting on a board and going down a hill as fast as possible, known as “bombing a run,” is a dangerous and sometimes deadly activity. The list of fatal accidents. includes two teenagers who died within a few months of each other more than a decade ago in San Pedro, prompting an ordinance that restricted where and how skateboards can be ridden throughout the city and described bombing hills as “a significant danger.”
But the high hills never failed to attract a certain breed of young adrenaline junkies. And about nine years ago, a group of them decided that Hermano Drive was a place worth bombing again and again.
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When Los Angeles Councilman Bob Blumenfield started getting calls in 2015 from some Hermano Drive homeowners about groups of teenagers repeatedly slaloming past, he said, “he went over there and said, 'Damn, that looks like a fun race. '”.
However, Blumenfield, who described himself as a “skating rat” in his youth, introduced the ordinance to ban skating on the asphalt hill, calling it an “extremely dangerous activity.” Municipal code, he noted, allows ordinances restricting the use of skateboards in public places where skateboarders have demonstrated “a willful or wanton disregard for the safety of persons or property.”
Bob Blumenfield at a Los Angeles City Council meeting on September 26.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
For months, residents drove a little slower in Hermano, worried that the combination of limited visibility and high speeds would eventually result in hitting a skateboarder.
“I had to respond to real safety concerns that community members had, which became the place where kids were skating (what they call bombing) and then wandering off right down the street,” the councilman said recently. “When you turn onto Reseda Boulevard, you don't know what's around the corner.”
In the years before the ordinance went into effect in April 2016, there were reports of multiple injuries caused by skateboarding in the cul-de-sac, Blumenfield said, but there haven't been any since.
Sasoon Petrosian said he hasn't seen a single skateboarder on the street since he moved into his home on one of the steepest stretches of Hermano Drive eight years ago.
Cars travel down Reseda Boulevard where it intersects Hermano Drive in the background in Tarzana.
(Mel Melcón / Los Angeles Times)
“I see cars rushing up and down, and runners rushing up here and rushing down,” the 43-year-old engineering director said as he took a break from dismantling Christmas decorations on his porch. “I haven't seen anyone skate here. [The ordinance] “It has definitely worked.”
But at least 11 citations have been issued for street skateboarding, according to records obtained from the Los Angeles Police Department through a public records request. The department did not provide additional information about the citations or how it enforces the law, which provides a $50 fine for a first violation and $100 for subsequent violations.
While street bombings are no longer as popular as they once were and appear to have been eliminated on Hermano Drive, they are still a point of contention in some communities.
Last summer, the San Francisco Police Department arrested 32 adults and cited 81 minors during a confrontation with participants and spectators at an annual skate event dubbed “The Dolores Hill Bomb.” The unauthorized event draws hundreds of people to the steep hills near the city's Mission Dolores Park, where the most daring race down public roads at high speeds, resulting in injuries and one death in recent years.
The department said in a news release that police action was necessary at last year's bomb site because the gathering had turned into a “riot” after an altercation broke out between attendees and a police sergeant.
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Skaters have long been at odds with police and property owners.
From the vilification they faced in the 70s and 80s, to the “skateboarding is not a crime” era that continued well into the 2000s, successive generations of inmates were vilified and banned from many shared public spaces.
But skateboarding's rise from an underground street diversion to a major industry and legitimate sports enterprise coincided with a transformation of its image in suburbs across America.
A 2010 photo of skaters “bombing” down Bluebird Canyon in Laguna Beach.
(John W. Adkisson/Los Angeles Times)
The best-selling video game franchise, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, along with ESPN's X Games and “Jackass” star Bam Margera, brought new generations of kids into skateboarding culture.
Social media and YouTube allowed anyone with a board and a smartphone to share their latest tricks and falls with the world and interact with millions of other skaters doing the same thing. Then came the ever-widening embrace during the COVID era of the '90s and the skater aesthetic of the early '90s. Nowadays, it's not uncommon to see teenagers in the Valley wearing vintage Thrasher or Nirvana t-shirts over ripped baggy jeans and Airwalks.
With its anointing as an Olympic sport in 2020, skateboarding completed its transition to mainstream acceptance. Many young parents who grew up skating now see it as a healthy way to get their children out from behind their computer screens and do something active with other young people.
On Friday afternoon, Cory Masson was one of two dozen gold-dipped long shadows gliding across the graffiti-strewn pavement at Pedlow Skate Park in Encino, less than two miles from Hermano Drive. The 9-year-old boy disappeared straight into the empty bottom of a smooth concrete pool and came back out the other end, hitting the landing.
Born in 1977, Cory's mother, Brenda Masson, grew up in the '90s skating in the Valley and “watching security guards hit our boyfriends in the head with skateboards.” She wasn't familiar with Hermano Drive, but she described the fact that skateboarding was specifically prohibited there as “the strangest thing I've ever heard in my life.”
Today he spends long days at the skating rink watching his son and chatting with other parents.
“Cory is on the spectrum and I was looking for something for him to do solo,” she said. “I think the population of skaters has grown exponentially and there are a lot more girls skating. “We have seen an extremely positive change in that.”
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Luna Luna, 19, of Reseda, practices a hardflip while skateboarding at Pedlow Skate Park in Encino.
(Mel Melcón / Los Angeles Times)
At the same time, there is a rebellious streak in the sport that refuses to die.
Martín García said that “he grew up bombing hills; “That’s something we did.” When asked what he liked about death-defying racing, the 27-year-old Van Nuys resident's eyes lit up as he remembered the feeling.
“Is sick,” he said. “The fact that it's fucking dangerous, that's what draws people in. You go down that hill and escape death four times, it's like, 'Wow'. And your friends are impressed.”
Ramon Black, 37, said he still skates in Pedlow frequently. He understands the dangers of dangerous roads, but said he and his friends loved bombing another steep hill in the Valley when they were kids.
“I understand why they do it. It’s a matter of safety and responsibility,” Black said as he waved to his friends as they walked by. “When you're young you don't care about those things, but now that I'm older I know better.”
Eduardo Galván is a lifelong skater who grew up in Venice, one of the crucibles of the sport. The 59-year-old is now “more of a cruiser,” riding his longboard primarily in the South Bay and running a business in Tarzana that sells a variety of products online, including skateboards.
Galvan said he had never heard of Hermano Drive, but he doesn't think the government should determine which places are too dangerous for skating.
“We will do it anyway. If you’re a real skater, it doesn’t matter, you’re going to skate anyway,” she said. “This is your freedom.”
