When the Wheels Stopped Turning

When the Wheels Stopped Turning

By Deliverance Hope

This past weekend, I was on my way back to Waterloo to continue covering the story of the horses when something unexpected happened.

I drove past the old skating rink.

And just like that, I was no longer simply headed to cover a story.

I was suddenly driving straight through one of my own.

There it stood, the old building that once held so much life, so much laughter, so many memories, and more than a few dramatic wipeouts. Only now, it looked tired. Weathered. Worn down. A little forgotten.

And out front was a sign that made my heart sink just a little:

For Lease.

Well.

That did it.

I sat there in my car, looking at that old place, and in my mind, the years rolled backward faster than a girl on skates trying to impress somebody on a Saturday night.

Because once upon a time, that building was not just some old building.

That was the place.

For years, my family ran the roller skating rink in Waterloo, and if you knew, you knew. Back then, roller skating was often the thing to do. If you were looking for fun, your friends, your crush, your future best friend, or just a reason to get out of the house and feel alive, the skating rink was where it all happened.

It was more than a rink.

It was a little world of its own.

The music was going. The lights were dancing. The wheels were rolling. Kids were laughing. Teenagers were trying to act cool. Somebody was always showing off. Somebody was always falling down. And somebody was always pretending they meant to fall down.

There were the fearless skaters who flew around the floor like they had been born with wheels on their feet. There were the couples skating side by side like the world had slowed down just for them. There were the beginners hanging onto the rail for dear life, wearing the exact expression that says, “If I let go, tell my family I loved them.”

And then there were the all-night skates.

Oh, those all-night skates.

Back then, the thought of skating all night sounded exciting, thrilling, and completely normal.

Today, staying awake past 10:00 feels like a reckless life choice.

But in those days, we lived for it.

We looked forward to the music, the crowd, the laughter, the friendships, and that feeling that the night was full of possibility. It was not just about skating. It was about belonging. It was about connection. It was about having a place where you felt known, where familiar faces became dear ones, and where friendships were built one lap at a time.

In so many ways, the rink became its own kind of family.

And maybe that is what hit me the hardest as I sat there looking at that old run-down building.

Not just the fact that it had changed.

But the fact that I had.

Because there was a time when I would have flown across that skating floor fearlessly and free, looking forward to the next all-night skate without a second thought.

Now?

Now I would like to announce that before attempting even one full lap, I may require:

a helmet,
knee pads,
elbow pads,
hip pads,
wrist guards,
prayer,
possibly a spotter,
and perhaps a medical professional standing by just off the rink floor.

There was a time when I skated like the wind.

Now I would be thrilled to survive one full round without hearing something pop, pull, crack, snap, or issue a warning.

Welcome to the new age.

And yet, as funny as that is, sitting there in my car, staring at that old rink with the For Lease sign out front, I realized something deeper too.

The building may be worn down.

The paint may be faded.

The doors may no longer open to the same music, the same crowd, or the same excitement.

But the memories inside that place?

They are still alive.

They still shine.

They still carry laughter.

They still hold the echoes of wheels on polished floors, of music filling the air, of people gathering, of friendships forming, and of a time when life felt a little lighter and a little more magical.

Some places do not just exist in brick and wood.

They live on in us.

They become part of who we are.

And for me, that skating rink will always be more than an old building by the roadside.

It was joy.

It was friendship.

It was community.

It was growing up.

It was looking forward to the weekend.

It was making memories.

It was a place where friends became like family, and where family created something others came to love too.

So yes, this weekend I was on my way to cover the story of the horses.