At the grand reopening of Wheels, Durham’s iconic roller skating rink, last week, I’m waiting outside for the slate of speakers to start when I notice someone in a hot pink velour tracksuit approaching from over the hill.
Even though it’s raining and 15 minutes before the ceremony, the main lot has already filled up, with this tracksuit-wearer—like many others—relegated to the distant overflow area.
As the figure gets closer, I realize it’s my old friend and sometimes INDY contributor Cy Neff. I’m hit with dual waves of surprise and nostalgia—Cy doesn’t live here anymore, and I thought he was out of the country. But it feels perfectly right that he’s here. We both grew up going to Wheels for field trips and birthday parties, and also had our share of Wheels outings in high school, some separate and some together.
He sits down next to me.
“Couldn’t miss the opening,” he says.
For those who haven’t been following the saga: Wheels Fun Park had the same local owners for 40 years, but when they retired in 2020, the city bought the facility from them, planning to build an aquatic center. When residents discovered the rink might be lost, they petitioned the city council to preserve it alongside the planned aquatic facility.
Now, the facility is owned by the city, with the rink operated by United Skates of America. Meanwhile, other parts of the original Wheels property are being converted into the new aquatic center; Durham voters recently passed a bond referendum that will fund that $43 million project.
I immediately comment on Cy’s outfit; he grins and points toward the building’s exterior, where there’s a striking new art installation by local artist Dare Coulter who was commissioned by the city to create a site-specific public art installation. From a distance, the installation looked like a mural, but I now realize it’s something more sculptural—colorful cut-out figures of skaters mounted on poles against a blue backdrop. And there’s Cy, immortalized in his hot pink tracksuit as part of the permanent display.
Coulter, the artist, is one of the evening’s speakers. She arrives wearing a black and white striped skirt, knee-high platform boots, and a letter jacket that says DURM BULL CITY—an outfit that’s simultaneously paying homage to 1950s roller rinks and present-day Durham.
To create inspiration for the installation, Coulter held a “skate party” last April at the outdoor pavilion at Durham Central Park, taking photos of community members to incorporate into the artwork.
“It’s not just that this is artwork that’s outside of Wheels,” Coulter says. “It’s artwork that’s of Wheels. The people in this art grew up going to Wheels.”
Durham City Council member Carl Rist, whose now 30-something sons grew up celebrating birthdays at Wheels, takes the microphone next.
“This is what local government does,” Rist says. “Think about the story. You had a local entrepreneur who decided they could no longer run this great community institution. They came to the city who had the resources and people with expertise that could make this happen. We took over Wheels, and then the community said, ‘Wait a minute, we want to make sure that stays a roller skating rink.’ And so we have processes to do community engagement.”
He pauses, looking out at the crowd.
“Nobody here has not seen the headlines in the paper, right? Our federal government—there’s nothing but denigration to hear about the role of government from our federal government. It’s all bad news. What we have here is a model for how local government is uniquely positioned to do good in the world.”
Preserving the rink wasn’t just about nostalgia. The dozens of community members who showed up to city council meetings in 2022, advocating for the rink’s preservation, emphasized how Wheels contributes to community safety by giving young people a structured place to gather and providing physical activity in a place where recreational spaces are unequally distributed. Following the overwhelming public response, the council directed Parks and Recreation to explore ways to maintain the roller rink alongside the planned aquatic center.
“When you’re a kid, Christmas or your birthday would never come quick enough. I think the same is true here for Wheels,” said Durham Parks and Recreation Director Wade Walcutt.
By the time the mayor cuts the ribbon, more than 100 people are gathered outside. The rain is starting to subside.
After signing a waiver (“DO YOU HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE? IF NO, WE STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU DO NOT SKATE”) and getting through security (“No vapes? No weapons?”), I step inside.
It’s like the big reveal moment on HGTV renovation shows when homeowners see their transformed space for the first time. Right behind me, a woman wearing a backpack with blue-wheeled roller skates strapped to it freezes in the entrance way, her hand clasped over her mouth. She pulls out her phone and starts taking a panoramic video.
“Oh my god,” she keeps saying, “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
While the exterior of the building is new, the inside looks pretty much exactly like it always has, but everything is just new and beautiful: bright patterned carpet dotted with colorful stars and swirls, disco balls, multicolor lighting, DJ booth pumping out Usher and Missy Elliott. The snack bar is stocked with bags of cotton candy, soft pretzels with cheese, and lava-hot slices of pizza. The dining/birthday party section with picnic tables stands ready for the next generation of celebrations. It’s disorienting in the best way possible, like somebody took my childhood memories, ran them through the wash, and handed them back to me pristine.
There’s a new graffiti-style art piece at one end of the rink, a riot of neon colors against the wall.
“It smells new,” Cy exclaims, inhaling.
There’s a woman toward the entrance greeting people with such zeal, embracing patrons like long-lost relatives, that I figure she must’ve grown up here. (She gave the “Oh my god” woman a big hug.)
But no, she tells me: her name is Netta Thomas, she’s from the nexus of “Philly, South Jersey, and Dela-who, Dela-what, Delaware,” and she is a professional whistle blower—like a literal whistle blower, blowing a whistle around her neck to hype people up.
“I’m 67 years old and I’ve been blowing this whistle since I was a little girl,” she says, before adding, “I’m gonna go skate now,” and gliding away.
Many attendees have brought their own skates, but you can also rent them—they’re shiny and new, beige with four orange wheels. Employees are walking around with trays of samples of mozzarella sticks, chicken tenders, and cheesy bread.
On the floor, a handful of superbly skilled adult skaters are letting their inner child out, some spinning gracefully in the middle of the rink while others fly around the rim. I went ice skating at the outdoor rink in Cary’s Fenton development in December, and the ice was so cut up that you could barely slide without getting your skate caught on a chink in the surface. This is the polar opposite: you barely have to move to start rolling. The floor is so smooth and slippery it feels like you’re gliding through butter.
Some differences between the OG Wheels and the revamp: There used to be a projector screen on the far wall of the rink that played music videos; that’s gone. Probably for the best—nothing kills skating momentum like getting distracted by a Bieber video.
The original Wheels also had not only a roller rink but another building that housed a massive play structure, a four-level fortress with nets, tubes, a huge ball pit (accessed by two slides), and these sort of car wash components where you’d push your way through big soft brushy roller things.
I ask DPR’s communications manager Mary Unterreiner, who’s standing by the edge of the rink watching people skate, what’s going on with the play structure.
She says the building that houses it is part of the property that’s going to be turned into the new aquatic center. Right now, she adds, the gym is still in there, unused for years. I get a fleeting mental image of the clowns from Durham Parks and Rec’s Creepy Clown Walk living inside.
Arcade games and prizes were another element of the play structure building, and fortunately, a version of that arcade experience has been recreated inside the new roller rink. There are various ball-throwing arcade games and a prize booth stocked with whoopee cushions, big foam dice, erasers, candy, and blow-up aliens.
Over the course of the night, I try to find people who grew up coming here to talk to, but it’s tough—most of them are busy skating on the floor. (Lamenting to a sheriff’s deputy that I’m having a hard time finding people, he told me he grew up coming here, but then declined to be interviewed.)
I do chat with another person who’s pictured in the art installation: Caitlin Gooch, a Wendell resident and friend of Coulter.
“I just feel like community doesn’t just stop where we are,” says Gooch, who founded a nonprofit called Saddle Up and Read that uses horseback riding to encourage literacy. “Community leaders like me being incorporated into public art is really important. And I have locs. I’m really thankful that she incorporated me in my locs.”
By the end of the evening, the rink is filled with skaters. Some are shuffling sideways, palming the wall for stability, while others twirl elegantly in reverse. Watching everyone find their rhythm feels like witnessing a glimpse of the rink’s revival.
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