Tyrone Williams pedaled a BMX bike out of Flatbush. To teach the next generation to spin and grind, he’ll have to turn his obsession into a real-world business.
It’s late in the afternoon as the first bite of winter creeps under the dark hoodies and skinny-legged jeans of the skaters and BMXers all gathered on top of the rim of the bowl. They peer into concrete structure, similar to a swimming pool—about six feet high and 50-by-100 feet across, cratered with slopes and ridges. Millennium Skate Park is crowded with t-shirted amateurs carroming over six-foot-high sub-boxes—looming ridges protruding from the depths of the bowl—and zig zagging through little bays off to the side, sometimes colliding and sending one another crashing to the ground. The park heaves with kids from Bay Ridge, Coney Island, and Staten Island bonding over boards and bicycles and asking each other questions like “Where’d you get that board?” and “What kind of frame is that?” The Verazzano Narrows Bridge looms behind them, like the ultimate riding challenge, never to be conquered.
Situated confidently astride his bike, alongside the beginners gripping candy-colored bike frames pedaled with matching sneakers, stands Tyrone Williams—the idol of them all. Known all over the world as “Rone,” Williams pedaled out of the streets of Flatbush, where he grew up, into hip hop fame, and never without his beloved bike dressed up in Yankee logos. Rone finds that wherever he goes, that bike brings New York with him.
Dressed in baggy jeans, a long sleeved black t-shirt, and black Vans, Tyrone speeds his bike from one end of the obstacle course that is Millennium Skate Park to another in seconds, showing off his moves. He quickly twists the handlebars halfway around, counterclockwise, with his right hand—a 180 Bar Spin. Patrons of the park gather round, watching keenly. Some ride BMX bikes themselves. (BMX stands for “bicycle motocross.”) Others glide on inline skates or skateboards. In the world of the skatepark, bikers and skaters are two sibling tribes in the same family, one nation united by speed. They wear the same outfits—tight jeans and voluminous hip-hop shirts. They listen to the same music, either rap—favorites include Juelz Santana and Wu-Tang Clan—or hard rock artists like UnderOath, and speak the same distinct language. “Grease” describes a grimey maneuver; “no-homo” indicates that a rider doesn’t want something they said to be misconstrued as being gay. Both skateboarding and BMX at their roots are freestyle activities with a carefree ethos—sports without teams, without leagues, or even rules, just the quest for ever greater challenges and feats.
Williams’ short, twisted dreadlocks peek out from under his fitted New Era cap as he grinds the pegs of his bike on a rail.
The kids stop to stare. They clap as he lands tricks that will take them years to learn. He’s unmoved and relaxed while he rides; if he’s is showing off, it’s only to be friendly. Whether a trick is extremely hard or quite easy, Williams is adamant about landing every single one. If he messes up or falls he remains composed and never distracted. He rarely chats between tricks and keeps his energy focused on the sport. He tries again and again until he lands his tricks, confident that his efforts paid off.
“Cool. How’d you do that?” a kid no older than 8 asks Tyrone. But he continues to ride. Some kids recognize Tyrone from the music videos he has appeared in, and whisper to one another about it.
Tyrone and his BMX bike were at the center of the action in “Lap Dance”—a 2002 rap-music video by the group N.E.R.D. that inter-cut softcore porn with shots of a pack of BMX riders cruising Brooklyn. That was his first, unlikely stop on a road that has led Williams far from Flatbush, where he grew up.
