Bright Crafts in Dark City 

“I started going to Asbury Park in ’98,” says Phil Browne, the co-founder of Glide Surf Co. “I was 17, driving to Casino Skatepark white-knuckled, and then driving out before dark because I feared the full-on biker gang who ran it.” 

Such was the Asbury Park, New Jersey, experience during its famed “city of ruin” phase. The coastal town had fallen from charming Victorian grace decades earlier and into economic despair, fires, racial disparity, and corruption. Asbury’s once-bustling waterfront became a ghost town kept alive only by rock-music venues and gay-community investment.

Growing up as a competitive shred kid some 25 miles down the coast, Browne transitioned to unconventional surfboards in his mid-twenties after experiencing their flow. During his strikes to Asbury, he saw how left-of-the-dial creatives flourished there due to its affordability. With surfers like him drawn to the town’s summer peelers and gray winter bowls, he and his partner, Jessica, figured it’d be the perfect location to open a surf shop specializing in alt crafts, and Glide was born. 

For a decade now, the shop’s been a fixture on Bangs Avenue among the coffee-houses, art galleries, and revolving cast of on-trend restaurants. During any season, 20 to 30 curated handmade boards occupy Glide’s racks, along with wetsuits, house gear, and responsibly sourced apparel.

“When we first opened,” Browne says, “people looked cross-eyed at a lot of our stuff. But within a couple of years, they were buying it.” When Browne had his original vision for Glide, he called shaper Ryan Lovelace to talk shop and order boards for inventory. Being the only regional retailer to sell what might as well have been alien spaceships back in 2012, they formed a partnership that’s become foundational to Glide’s success. After selling out of his first Lovelace order, Browne called for more.

“[Lovelace] was like, ‘Why don’t I just fly out there and shape boards in your zone?’” Browne says. “‘That’s kind of the way the European model works.’” Lovelace hopped on a plane and shaped boards at Chris Chaize’s factory, and Brian Wynn glassed them. But Browne wanted more control over the costs and the timeline. He began entertaining the idea of branching out into surfboard manufacturing and partnered with John Oppito of Rozbern Surfboards to open the Heavens surfboard factory.

“I told Phil that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Lovelace says. “By the next trip, he’d rented a space and built a surfboard factory. I was like, ‘You know, I was kind of kidding.’”

Lovelace handshaped 48 boards in under two weeks during his next residency. Glassing those boards was Browne’s trial by fire, but he learned quickly. “The Heavens was pretty deep in the hood,” Browne says about the location. While Asbury Park’s downtown and waterfront were becoming increasingly desirable, the west side remained unchanged at the time—making it a cost-efficient place to build boards. 

“As far as this town had come,” Browne continues, “the southwest corner was still pretty heavy. We were in the thick of it, which was wild but amazing at the same time. We posed zero threat, so everyone was cool with us. They used to call me ‘Surfboard Man’ while I was riding my bike through the neighborhood.”

As Glide and the Heavens took off, Lovelace began traveling to New Jersey every few months. He’d stay with Browne and Jess, shape all day, then they’d surf and have dinner together every evening.

“I don’t know anyone else who I can be that mean to,” Lovelace says. “Phil just gives it right back. He’s like a brother to me. Neither of us had any funding when we started. If you’re going to create a business, the best way to do it is to put in the work and learn to build what you’re going to sell. Phil would wake up, surf dawn patrol, head into the factory and glass boards, spend the whole day at the shop, then go back and glass boards at night. That’s where Phil and I are the same.” 

Glide has outlasted other shops in the area. Part of its success is due to Lovelace’s early suggestion to adopt “the European model.” Browne regularly flies renowned shapers from all over the world to Asbury Park. Custom orders stack up as the shop’s loyal patrons grow.

Meanwhile, Glide’s now-hyper-gentrif ied hometown has become a victim of its popularity. Browne says he and Jess could never afford their house if they had to buy it today. The Heavens had to relocate to an industrial park outside of town.

“I’ve watched it change,” says Lovelace. “You can’t even recognize things when you come back every few months. You look at the building that was our factory and can’t figure out, ‘Is that the window we used to piss out of?’” 

[Feature Image by Rob Cusick]