Shirtless, sun-baked backs. Baggy jeans sagged so the boxers show. Vans sneakers worn down to the rubber nub. Plastic polyurethane wheels clanked on concrete. Rock music vibrating.

Reckless. Rebellious.

Saturday marked the third annual Skate Fest held at Spalding Skate Park since the park opened in May of 2000. The event combines music, food and skating. This year, 7 Star, a rock band from St. Louis, performed from 6 to 8 p.m.

Speakers blasted on the stage especially for this event. Dominos Pizza stands dealt by the sizzling slice. Families, dogs on leashes and barbecues filled the park with a congenial air that arose from an event that appeals to "all ages," said Kristi Bolton, a special events manager for the Champaign Park District.

Fifty-year-old Rob Burnser from Champaign proved he can goofy-foot and grind alongside his teenage son.

"Been doing it for years," Burnser said hastily, anxious to attempt another jump. With his son spinning "laser flips" at his side, Burnser testifies that skating is an ageless sport.

Skating is not just a pick-up parking lot pastime anymore.

"It's growing," said John Hallier, a special events manager for the Champaign Park District. "Two skate shops have popped up in the last year alone."

Hallier explained that a culture once endemic only to major cities such as St. Louis, Los Angeles and New York has now permeated throughout Champaign.

"Yeah, it's dope and definitely been getting bigger since I first started skating (at Spalding Skate Park)," said Champaign teenager Leif Cobble.

With backward baseball caps more trendy than safety helmets, one might think these "street hoodlums" have traded common sense for a concussion. However, Urbana resident Ralph Costley begs to differ.

"These kids know what they're doing," Costley said. "It's about balance. And they've been doing it since they were little."

Costley, a 65-year-old grandfather, attests "skating is one of the less dangerous sports."

"When I was a boy, we played sandlot football. Full contact. No padding. Now that's something that really 'rang my gong,'" Costley recollects while rubbing his head.

It isn't the skull-cracking concrete and "fashionlessness" of helmets that concerns Costley when he watches his grandson.

Rather, what worries him is that "there aren't enough events like this one to bring the community together," Costley said, handing his grandson a bottle of Gatorade.

"I think it's great," he said about a culture that once was associated with retox and drugs, baggy clothing, oversized sweatshirts, knocking over grocery carts and grinding the railings at public libraries.

What was originally born to rival and reject familiar society now relishes it. What was once "dope" only for the adolescent generation is now embraced by Costley and his grandson alike.

"It brings the generations together," Costley said.

But when asked when he planned to hit a 50-50 grind, the grandfather chuckled and rubbed his head.