*Latest//

06/10/09: Looking Back

It’s been more than a while since I was picked up from a sweaty, hot, coastal Berwick-Upon-Tweed by the wife of my ex BBC friend and fellow escapee John, so I feel I should probably finish off the tale, properly.

That day, after a brief interview with the town paper, leaving me no time to grab a fetching panini, glaring at me all the while, from the enticing coffee shop across the street, I was whisked away to The Spread Eagle Hotel in Jedburgh for an evening of TLC by the kindest folks in town.

John and Lorna Campbell are people for whom I have the highest regard. It takes a lot to leave a comfortable job in the media for a seemingly even more stressful occupation: that of hoteliers. It also takes a lot to raise a child whilst doing this – the adorable Frances the Frog. However, they have admirably coped with the change, or at least put on a very convincing front! The food just kept on coming – pasta, steak, chips, vegetables, cake, ice cream – all topped off with lashings and lashings of my favourite kind of tea: hot tea! I went to bed that night incredibly happy.

…Happier still the next day to be going home by train, after John had kindly dropped me at a town where I could get a bus to the train, if you get the idea. I had decided that I wanted a quick break, in order to not prolong the inevitable pangs of homesickness that had started to overtake me on the highways and byways of rural Scotland. I felt free, sure – but what good is free if there’s no one to hug you at the end of it all? I wanted my happy ending.

Interestingly, it took a while to get it.

After a month of moving and shifting, running around trying to sort things, and struggling to return to a sense of normality in my personal life, well lads, it’s been really something to finally come to some sort of peace. Ironically, the peace and joy I had in the mountains would take some time to reach me on my ‘glorious return’.

You always hear about people struggling to come back to themselves after a big trip. I would say that for me, it was the thinnest I’d been in a long time, the tiredest I’d been in a long time (I had two events after Perimeter this summer, and needless to say I was wiped OUT by the end of it all), and dealing with daily life was the most stressed I’d been in a long time. I was also very disorganised, as I’d been living life for me, in the moment, and even though that was just for a month, by golly, did it annoy everyone else around me!

It is only now that I have been able to look back on it, coupled with the feedback of others, for what it was. The most amazing time of my life. I keep saying that about the things I’ve done, but really, this trip is the place in my core that I draw strength from when times get tough.

If I can skate up a mountain, will teaching a class of thirty children how to use professional video editing software be as much of a challenge?

Let’s find out.

03/08/09: Pease Bay – Berwick Beach (FINISH POINT!)

I was woken early by the lady of the house, who, after I’d showered again (it was just too nice to resist), gave me tea, porridge and toast. I showed the family my website, and my TV coverage. I got fairly emotional watching the shots of me skating in Orkney, and did my best to hide my eye-welling-up moment from them, as I didn’t want to come across as a bit of a narcissist. I was just so chuffed. Man, I’d got myself from Devon to Shetland, and then skated all the way (apart from the dangerous bit) from Shetland to here. Wow. I think it was only then that it started kicking in that this was going to come to an end. Today.

I left the family to their day, after thanking them profusely, and headed down to the bottom of their lane to foot up. This was the last time I’d have to do this. This procedure of cutting preventative moleskin patches for the ball of my pushing foot, the rubbing of more talc than was necessary into my feet and my socks, the careful lacing and relacing of shoes until they felt just right. No more.

I had a big hill to get up out of Pease Bay, and it took me quite a while to get going, as it was the first thing I’d encountered that day. Once up it, however, it was a flat push across Coldingham Moor, checking my position and progress on the map that I was holding whilst pushing. No cars at all, just me and my thoughts. I found some sweet roads, and really opened up my stride, with approving looks and a wave from a police car, the first piece of real traffic I’d met all morning. It just shows if you’re visible, wearing a helmet and skating in a non daft fashion on a cycle route, you will get the time of the day from the law.

Coming into Ayton, I nearly got lost. I’d had to freestyle it a bit to cut out the Eyemouth loop which was, to me, an unneeded diversion. So I cut straight through on some country lanes, and ran across the dreaded A1 (slight parallax error resulted in a near caravan smooshing but we got past it – lesson learned, eyeballs wide) to head down into the village. The biggest hill of the day awaited, and my muscles sighed at the visible rise in gradient ahead. Weep.

The hill just seemed to go on and on. I had to take painkillers because my legs were in so much trouble. I reckon I’m a fighter, but even I needed a bit of help to stop my efforts crumbling on the last day. Just when I was seemingly at my lowest ebb, reduced to a crawl, I heard a noise.

Jets.

Sure enough, high above me, in a completely unrelated to my trip mission, zoomed the proud Tornadoes of 14 Squadron. I yelled and cheered and screamed with happiness. I was laughing my head off through the tears. Thank you guys, we didn’t know we’d see each other again but it made my day, and also served to show me just how much I’d come to know Scotland. That I could know the exact pilot in that jet, where he had taken off from and who he was as a guy, not just a plane driver, that summed up the trip for me. I wanted to know Scotland, its land and people. I didn’t know anyone except a small bunch of friends in Glasgow before. Now I knew a man in a flippin’ supersonic jet! You couldn’t have planned it.

After the hill crested, and I said my final thankyous to the sheep in the fields along the way (you must think I’m very mad by this point), I flew downhill towards the border. A small girl at Clappers showed me where the real border was, and we crossed it together, but I wanted more. I wanted signage, I wanted ENGLAND. Well, just down the road from my wee momentary companion, there it was. A great big bloody block of rock with a metal sign on it saying just that. I spent a good while there, contemplating what it meant, and finding funny ways to take photos of myself, the best being resting the camera on my pack the other side of the road, timer on, legging it across to clamber up and strike a pose, baby.

I was high as a kite after that, and really tried to be careful as I saw Berwick come into sight eventually. I didn’t rush anything, I just enjoyed holding on to the last moments of my trip, my event, my whole year of planning and thinking and dreaming it into reality. I even walked down some killer hills because I was simply too excited to safely negotiate them. I wasn’t going to fall here, nope, I was going to get there in one piece to have a cup of blinking tea, so I was.

I ran out of water just before I hit the town so I was delirious amongst other things, as I sweated up the hill after some cyclists who’d helped me find the way (remember the map ran out at the border). I could have stayed on the pavement going into the town but I thought, “No. You skated all this way, you’ve earned this wide, smooth, downward sloping run into Berwick-Upon-Gnarly-Tweed. Go for it girl.” And go for it I did.

I wasn’t sure, when I planned the trip, where exactly in Berwick to finish. The Tourist Information office? The Newspaper? The Town Hall? Well, my query was answered when I spied a sign for Berwick Beach. After a fun blast down as far as I could go, I was on the sand, walking down the cliff path to my finish. And how different it was to Shetland’s Norwick Beach!

It was hot, children were throwing themselves in the water, old people were cooking along nicely, and some clever people like me sheltered in the shade of the cliff, contemplating. Then I cut loose. I ran, camera on, like a mad thing, into the sea, sploshed about a bit and realised as I felt the water seep in my supposedly waterproof shoes that I was done, it was over. I did it.

Phew.

After an hour on the beach, taking it all in, I headed back up into town, where I became Normal Laura, changed into some clean clothes, helmet and hi-vis in my pack and hair sort of…managed…into place. I did an interview with the local newspaper, and awaited my lift to freedom.

02/08/09: Edinburgh – Pease Bay

It was a Sunday. Emma and Katie hadn’t returned home from their visit yet, so sadly, our paths would not cross again on this trip. I slunk out, dropped the keys through the letterbox after locking the door (I did lock it Katie don’t worry) and trotted down the echoing staircase of the tenement building that had been my home for the past four days.

I skated into the centre of Glasgow, trying to say goodbye in my head to everything I encountered but knowing there’d be something or someone I’d forgotten. I caught the train through to Edinburgh from Queen Street, psyching myself up for the last big effort. The last big day. Nowhere in my brain was prepared for this thought yet, so we just carried on as usual.

Arriving in Edinburgh, I bought the last few maps I’d need for the trip: one to cover my journey out to the edge of the city, and one to get me down to Berwick (well, almost…it clipped it by a few miles so it would be a freestyle effort to get to the end). I had no idea today would be such an epic one. Probably the biggest day of the trip so far.

It was a really, really nice day. I walked through the narrow streets down to where I could safely join the cycle path out towards the coastline. My helmet, strapped to the back of my pack, kept bashing against things so when I finally came to put it on, it was covered in white paint streaks that would be a nightmare to rub off when I finally got bored enough to bother. I found the cycle route easily, and followed it down until it reached what can only be described as a 400 foot (at least) downhill tunnel of dark awesome, which spat me out the other side and along the way to Musselburgh with a huge grin on my face, speaking stoked gibberish to my unwitting soon-to-be video blog audience.

Coming into Musselburgh, the path started to wind along the coast. Passing Prestonpans, the curious power station at Port Seton (where I had a wicked cool lunch involving cherryade – old skool!), I had a mixed old time. Sometimes the surface was perfection, sometimes it was a grit path, like a bad joke. It seemed to alternate, and I put up with it, simply because of the great exit from the city I’d had through that tunnel. I was able to turn round and track my progress along the coast by the distance of the Edinburgh skyline from my position on the path, known as the John Muir Way.

The journey was so very varied, I was drawn into it further and further. I couldn’t stop moving because there was so much to see and do. One second I was skating along, the next I was dragging my board, the next I was bushwhacking along a thin sandy trail behind the gorse next to the beach, deep in jungle territory yo. It was terrific, real exploring stuff, and I knew there would have been no one daft enough to try and lug a longboard along for the ride here, except perhaps me.

Taking the inland route towards Haddington, I was glad I wasn’t following the tourist route up to North Berwick, as I met my first really nasty drivers of the journey. A few before had been confused, but none until this point had revved up behind me as I tried to pound down the road to the minor road turning. These guys (well, one was a woman) were horrid. Honking, swearing at me, and giving me foul looks as they couldn’t bear to wait two seconds to pass me, I made sure they were all eyes when I gave them both the finger for their troubles. And here’s one for your mum…Pow! *celebration skate*

Then it became a 5-mile hike across another grit trail. Sure, I could have taken a B Road, but I was so angry at the incident with the drivers that I walked a sure safe path rather than take a risk when I was so peeved. I called friends along the way to chat about their own skate journeys, managed my mobile office, ate, drank and had to stop more than once to sort out my feet. They were near blistering, after five miles of ‘normal’ movement. I suppose it wasn’t my normal movement now. Who would have though walking was so painful!?!

Amazingly, I managed to get myself to Dunbar in one piece. I never imagined I’d get this far and still have something in the tank. It was late afternoon, I filled myself with calories, and gave my feet one final inspection, sat on a church lawn, gaining strange looks from all who passed. They were met with a polite smile and a ‘…oh, who am I harming?” kind of shoulder shrug. By this point in the trip, I’d gone from waving at every car and person to selecting those who looked like they wished me the least harm. It was probably more a protection thing as I got into the busier part of Scotland, but I think I was also reserving my best love for the people of Shetland and Orkney…it was hard to top their kindness and good spirit in support of my trip.

So on I went from Dunbar. Pushing away from the setting sun, I felt the shadows slowly creep up over things, as the evening prepared to kick in. I wasn’t done yet though. I skated along the coast again, hiked along grit trails again, and waved at passing trains and sang as I passed another power station at Torness. I got to Thortonloch, and decided that the A1 was not for me. It’s the main road from Edinburgh to Berwick and further south, so it’s busy, scary and not part of the cycle route, but there seems no sane way to get past it, so I hit the beach.

Leaping across the metre-wide streams of tide flowing in with a £600 skateboard and a heavy pack on is a little bit of a risk, but I enjoyed scaring myself, and giggled my way up to the coastal path, where I hiked along the edge of a field. Taking in the view, it was spectacular. Azure blue sky, rapidly darkening, with a still glass ocean and coasters anchored up for the night, their deck lights just coming on as I stood there, with a gentle breeze flicking my helmet straps around on my face. Pretty darn rad.

Let’s keep going. Right across this field of corn and over this 5 foot wall. That took a while, I’ll tell ya. I’m a midget, if you didn’t already know! I’m surprised no one sent their caravan off the road at the sight of a skateboard being flung over a wall onto the A1 grass verge, followed by a backpacked lady skater in a state of disarray! I must have looked like an ungainly disco turtle!

Crossing over the A1, I started skating towards the border. The difference between the Border and the Borders is well, the length of a county. I didn’t realise this though, so thought I was headed into England right there and then. No no. So I kept going, looking for this national border I was adamant was just around the next bend. The line on my map was in fact for the Borders, not the Border. Bit premature Laura. Patience.

It was really dark now. I skated down towards Pease Bay where I couldn’t find a room at the inn at the caravan park there. So I hiked, in darkness, up the massive hill out of the bay, and carried along the main road. Pushing on the board, I started to get anxious. This was the latest I’d been skating: from 1030 to 2230…where was the Perimeter Good Luck that had followed us the entire way? I knocked at a smallholding and asked if they knew anywhere I could set up my bivi for the night. They suggested a farm up the road. Otherwise, it was the phone booth bench.

Dragging my board up the lane to the farm, I wasn’t sure. There was a big manor, or a series of small cottages. I tried the manor. People in, but just not answering. I tried to make myself look as normal as possible, but it’s just not easy when you’ve spent 12 hours skating and resemble Stig of The Dump. Fortunately, a very kind family at the cottages let me pitch my bivi behind their house and I spent an uncomfortable night in the close quarters of a shelter I’d only used once on my entire trip.

…NO I DIDN’T. I LIED! The kind family directed me to their parents house, which used to be a B+B. I was promptly given a cup of tea, a roast beef sandwich, a hot shower and a room with a double bed for the night….AHHHHHHHH! Had you though, didn’t I?

Thank you to my saviours of the East Coast, who shall remain anonymous. I shall never forget your kindness. Goodnight.

29/07/09-01/08/09: Glasgow Rest Days

Emma (another Emma!) and Katie, my dear friends from Glasgow, accommodated me wonderfully in their beautiful flat near Kelvingrove Park. I had a foam fold-out bed which was amazing, a proper duvet, and my god, INTERNET! The two things I had come to care about most when I was off the board. Even the rumble of the lower level trains passing underneath the streets became a lullaby to my back as my confused body (“What? No skatings today Laura?” lay there trying to summon sleep.

Two very arty women make for a beautifully composed décor, and I revelled in the fact that I was somewhere so pretty. When you only have a backpack to decorate, you don’t really have a lot of choice in how things look. Indeed, you don’t really get a chance to sort yourself out most of the time, but here I was able to get laundry done, and eat myself silly on healthy things, and talk to friends about their lives over copious cups of tea. Joy!

I’m quite sure that my language isn’t really coming across as gnarly and rad just now but I don’t care. All I can say is that my time in Glasgow was beautiful, meeting up by chance with a contact I thought I’d never see again as I left a museum, encountering enthusiastic female longboarders passing through the park (even if she didn’t have her board on her just then – YES!), chatting about boards and events and people we had in common – all in the heat of warm Glasgow summer days.

I visited all my old faves on a rambling eating tour of town – Tchai Ovna Tea House (Spiced Turkish Apple Tea, Crackers with cheese and pickle), Ichiban (Chicken Katsu Curry and Yasai Gyoza!), Mao (try the Malaysian Chicken), I couldn’t get enough. I ate a lot in those four days. And even when Emma and Katie had left on a visit up North, I continued my eating spree alone…and didn’t feel guilty about a single bite.

It ended up being a tour of my Glaswegian friends and their cats! In between cooing over cats (shout out to Mymy, Emmy, and Annieteedles!), me and my pal Arwen decided it was time to re-enact our very first long distance skate trip from Glasgow to Loch Lomond. She on her bike, acting as support to me skating. Well that’s how it was once. The last time we did those 25 miles, we took all day and I ended up needing some serious rest afterwards.

This time, we flew along, unhindered by tiredness, two friends side by side, only the leaf litter on the ground and an impending storm front in the way. We got to Loch Lomond, had a celebrationary lunch, then caught the train home because, despite our best efforts to want to skate/cycle home, the weather was against us. Returning to Glasgow, we had a confusing skate through the ghetto to get to Arwen’s home, where a much needed cup of tea – great work by the way! – was provided and supped.

My final stop on the cat tour of Glasgow was to my friends Karen and Karen. Eating was a theme of the afternoon, as were the antics over the last three years of their cats Puff and Mini. I used to live with the Karens back at the start of my longboarding life, and it was the train station car park near the small flat we all shared where I learned how to not look like a total wally on a skateboard in private. Good times! Thanks guys!

And so Glasgow, for all its edible comfort and bed-rest-related bliss, had to come to an end. The final push, the final push.

28/07/09: Dunfermline – Edinburgh, Edinburgh – Glasgow (by train)

I woke up early, in the usual amount of pain that I’d become accustomed to by this stage on the trip. Back stretched, ankles clicked into place, I got up, had a super breakfast downstairs in the Italian restaurant I’d been in the night before. I’d been too tired to take it all in last night, but it was a jaunty little place, and it felt a little strange having toast there, given how ‘Italian evening’ it felt. The girl who had looked after me the night before at the desk bought me a packed lunch for the road, including posh mineral water and some very heavy sandwiches and fruit. I smiled, and took it willingly because although it was weighty, I was going to need every last calorie.

Pushing off on the national cycle network route, I left through the town park, and whizzed along silky pathways, my only distractions the dogs that thought I was a chew toy. In order to get to the Forth Road Bridge, I had to go out of Dunfermline on a back road. Great surface – but a lot of trucks. I pulled in and let them all through, and panted it down to the bottom of the road. After asking directions from a kind lady runner in training for a marathon, I traipsed over a field, straight into the tall grass. Lesson: don’t take directions too literally. The path was running parallel to the tall grass. Oh dear, Hatwell.

Then I saw the bridge! I’d never been across it, but I’d been on the train bridge that runs right next to it. It was mammoth, and there were lanes of fast moving traffic streaming onto it. Get in. But how? I took a phone call from 45 Commando in Arbroath, asking if I’d like to come and visit them. Few days too late, sir, I replied – I was on my flipping way, oh hell yes.

In another bright spark moment, I’d decided to put some cushioning foam in the bottom of my shoe. Pain. Just pain. It manifested itself as a white-hot heat, boiling my toes and the ball of my foot. The opposite effect to the one I had intended, I was suffering now. Every push was agony, which sort of ruined the experience of crossing a massive bridge that wobbled as cars went past you. Pushing through a headwind like never before, with bridge workers giving me thumbs up and cheers as I passed, I braved it out to the other side, barely taking in the view. I got onto solid land, and promptly collapsed, dry heaving from the nausea the pain had brought about. Not very glamorous, and certainly not very sexy. Hooray for distance skating!

Foam hastily ripped out of shoe, I pushed on, in better spirits and passed the ‘Welcome To Edinburgh’ sign. I probably scared the man passing me as I filmed a video blog celebrating this fact, but pah, he’ll get over it. They’re a tough bunch, those Scots. UnLESS he was a tourist, now he’ll need therapy. The cycle route into the city was great, except for the constantly changing mile markers – it’s never fun to go from 4 miles left to 2 miles left to 5 miles left, keeps you on your toes though. I pumped my board through tunnels and smooth sections, and after a few breaks where I sat, looking quite dishevelled to the well-spoken English housewives on their fake jogs (try some real exercise ladies!), I finally made it through to Haymarket.

I’ve never seen Edinburgh from this angle. It’s funny, because normally, during my university years, I would come in on the train from this direction but now, it looks totally different. I’ve joined up all the dots to make a complete picture of the route into the city now. I saw the castle, high up on its mound, and wondered if Princes Street was as bustling as ever.

My romantic vision of skating down Princes Street was…in a word…demolished. A bit like the road surface really – there is none! They’re building a tram system for no good reason. It’s over budget, just like the Parliament building across the way and down the hill. I wandered, bright and neon, through crowds of people from many parts of the world. I jostled for space as I came through the Princes Street Gardens, the only paved area I felt I could make my way safely through. Eventually, I came out at Waverley Station, my stop for today. Seemingly a short distance from Dunfermline, but fiddly and ever-stop/start. I don’t mind saying I was rather tired that lunchtime.

Not one to sit and ponder in places filled with people (I’m more of a loner these days), I got straight on a train to Glasgow, my old town and haunt, to revisit some characters from my past. Even though I’d only skated two days since my last rest days, I was exhausted, probably more mentally so than physically. Time to catch up with old friends.

27/07/09: Perth – Dunfermline

After one more day of blissful rest and relaxation in Kinnettles, where I got to do ‘normal’ things, like going for a cup of tea somewhere, and browsing books, it was time to get going again. Yesterday I’d found myself in Dundee ice rink, where I’d finally had chance to stick on those ice skates I sent up before my trip, and really let loose, leaving small children freaking out about the old lady at centre ice giving it some freestyle ice skating welly. However, now, it was time to hit the road once more, however comfortable it was at Emma’s.

We had an emotional goodbye – having not seen each other for three years, it was a bit of an intense five days to spend with your mate from 500 miles away – so I can forgive Emma for shedding a few tears. I had to stay strong or I’d have crumbled and not got anywhere, and that wasn’t the idea here. After I prepped my feet, stretched a while and had some photos taken, I turned, waved and pushed off on my way out of town with one heck of a wobbly bottom lip.

Perth’s hard to get out of, not because of the terrain, but mainly the fact that I had no clue where I was going. By now, I sort of rely on instinct to carry me, and thankfully, I was right, ending up on the cycle route out to Bridge of Earn. I had a clever idea about changing the lacing arrangement on my pushing foot, don’t ask me why. However, after two miles of boiling hot pain and vibration (it was all sweet downhill roadside cycle path after a sweaty uphill out of town), I ended up at Bridge of Earn almost in tears.

It didn’t help that an old people’s home was kicking out for day trips round the village, with its dear inhabitants passing me in their assorted chairs and scooters saying, “Och…it’s that skateboard laddie off the telly. Poor wee laddie’s hurt his foot.” I did score a 50p donation off one of them, so it wasn’t too bad. Laces re-arranged, I carried on out of town on to the country roads past Kintillo…towards the hills in the distance. Hello? I thought we were done with hills? Apparently not. Blinkin’ Ochils.

I think I did a lot of walking, pushing, cursing and the rest of it to get through those nightmare inclines. The downhills were amazing - fast, winding and infinite. The dense country hedgerows soaked up my whoops and hollers of joy as I realised that I was heading south, and that I was happy. I got to Glenfarg, necked a can of something sugary, and pounded off again, leaving the shopowner probably quite confused.

Heading towards Kinross, I got my first sight of Loch Leven and the coast beyond. Absolutely incredible feeling to know I was heading south, I’d got myself there, and that if I really went for it, I could be in Dunfermline by the evening. From Perth! The wonder!

The roads were fairly quiet but the surface out of Kinross (where a number of delightful youths took care to verbally remind me of the curious nature of my attire) was the kind of surface you put on a road if you want a skateboarder to cry out with frustration. It wasn’t bumpy enough to stop my board, but it wasn’t smooth enough to get any kind of rhythm going either. I was annoyed, kicking my board ahead when I’d had enough. I felt like a proper teenager again.

Then I ended up laughing my ass for about an hour and a half. After making my way through country lanes to a forest area north of Dunfermline, I realised…I was in the middle of something a little bit dodgy. Men walking out of the isolated forest, doing up shirts, heading to their Beemers and Mercs looking more than a little bit guilty. Cars with eagle eyed gentlemen, well-dressed, looking out for something as they drove back and forth along the smooth single track lane I pelted along. Somehow I knew I would be safe here…I don’t think I was quite their…flavour. I’d found myself in a gay dogging area! Wahey! The laughter was because I only realised it after I reached the main road again. Oh Laura.

Then it was time to get to Dunfermline. A fast road involving races with motorcycles, more stoke than I had handled since Shetland and sheer guts out (all over the road) skating to get to the city centre. Where there were no campsites, bed and breakfasts or hostels. Doh. With little energy left, I found the nearest hotel I could, playing it safe given how little I had spent on accommodation so far, got a nice discount and one sexy bath. There’s nothing to do in Dunfermline except eat pasta (in about 5 mins flat) in the restaurant down the hall from your room. Goodnight, see you tomorrow Edinburgh. What a bizarre thought.

25/07/09: Rest Day in Kinnettles

I should preface this by saying I have a cat wedged between me and the computer, so apologies for any typos!

After the madness that was the battle to get into Perth yesterday, you could quite understand why I've been doing nothing but eating, sleeping and sitting on the computer all day. Emma's off out with her family for a well deserved day of play, so I'm just flopping here by myself. It's easy to forget on a skate trip that the rest of the world exists, that giant phone bills don't happen and that eBay won't cut you off if you don't pay your sellers fees. But these things do, and eBay will, and they need to be sorted out.

I suppose it's indicative of the shift in landscape from the wild, barren hills of Shetland to being on the cusp of Central Scotland. I'm going to be around people for the first time in what feels like ages. People are the visible energy here, not the landscape. Whilst I accept that I've been travelling undeniably on a vast long ribbon of concrete created by humans, it doesn't really feel like that. Someone's just drawn a line along which I can trace my journey. Now cities are coming into it, I'm having to change my thought process, kiss goodbye to the desolation I adored, and say hello to a slightly more hard, city slicker approach to proceedings.

I'll get there. Central Scotland holds many memories for me, good and bad. It's the place I first discovered what being an adult was all about, where I had my heart broken and fixed and broken again, where I gained a degree and had a career that I chucked in to follow a skateboarding dream nearly 3 years ago now. Edinburgh was a cold city where I rejoiced in the last gasps of my gothic era (no I didn't wear makeup but I did have a Cure t-shirt for every day of the week). Glasgow was a place of joyous freedom, of wild nights out and carefree love affairs and long summer skate days. I learned to ice skate here, longboard here and thrashed myself silly in the gym (never again yo) every day after a long, hard day in the transmission rooms at work.

I wonder what will have changed, what will stay the same? What feelings will be stirred in me as I try to make sense of it all again? Every street I saw in Glasgow as I came up on the Megabus to Aberdeen just a little over 3 weeks ago held an emotion for me. My old stomping ground, my thinking space, my loving space, my skating space.

All I can hope, on this journey south now to Edinburgh is that I am able to clear some of the demons of the past, and revisit the good times that made this place stick in my head so much. Now, for more soup!

24/07/09: Blairgowrie - Perth

I'm going to say this now - today was so annoying! There's nothing worse than finding the only road to where you're going is really busy. But before I'd even got to the road, I had the weather to contend with. The moment we arrived in Blairgowrie, suitably refreshed, the rain came down in buckets. Just unreal amount of rain. I despaired.

I dozed, Emma did puzzles, I spoke to a newspaper and a radio station, Emma read her photography magazine. I eventually had enough time to go and get my feet ready, before the rain came down again. I wept inside.

...Finally, a break in the weather. Let's go go go! Emma dropped me out by the cemetery because it was a bit fiddly getting out of town. I started skating and quickly realised I'd bitten off more than I could chew. The traffic was wild. This was my first indication that I was nearing populated areas. I was forced onto the grass verge by the sheer power of the trucks going by me. I hiked along the side, all the while, my feet getting wet. I ended up on a forest trail going alongside the road until that too became a bushwhacking affair, which isn't good for skating feet.

I arrived eventually at the junction with a B road, after a run in with some disgracefully mannered builders who told me what I might like to do with my skateboard. I told them that their mums had all done it first, so I didn't want to copy them and be uncool. The skating from then on was fast, the surface amazing, the corners tight, the traffic...thankfully patient. We had the radio on in Emma's car to see if they'd play the interview I did...it was Tay FM, so it might have made difference in the driver's sympathy towards my cause, you see.

Coming down towards Luncarty I was glad to see some pavement at last, because I'd been doing hills that were a bit past my skill level and I had the fear in me. I took the pavement option until I could no more and then it was the verge until the next bit of pavement as the traffic volume increased to the point that it was impossible to even cross the road.

Some gems of people in the town before had suggested that we look for the cycle path that runs right into Perth in Luncarty, and as I stumbled up the hill, skating over trippy skippy pine cones, Emma had her car parked victoriously at the cycle path sign, where we made a pact to meet at an arranged place in Perth city centre.

I'd estimate I skated 4-5 miles of winding but smooth and perfect bike path next to the busy main road, under dodgy river bridges and alongside the river itself, through a golf course and into Perth - the long way, but the safe way. My bad mood - of which there was not much, let's be clear, dissipated entirely on skating these paths - those Perth skaters, if there are any, don't know how lucky they are.

Phew. Did it.

A big city yo! Oh my gosh! Everything everything everything!!!!

After a trip to tourist information, and a brief look around a few shops, we headed back to Emma's house, victorious. 3 days, 2 ski zones, 1 skater. Oh and one very important person, a support driver sent as if from the heavens themselves. Thanks mate, it meant the world to me to have you there. I won't forget these three days in a hurry!

23/07/09: Braemar - Blairgowrie

Waking up in the tent, with rain absolutely bucketing down, my heart sank. My feet hurt, my head hurt and my stomach, let's not even go there. We tried to be cheerful but it wasn't easy when you know you've got 34 odd miles to go to the nearest town after this and one more ski zone to topple.

After being unable to seduce the campsite owners with my stories of the open road, apparently there's too much paper work to fill in, I paid up for me and Emma and after some faffing in town, we got underway. And time passed really quickly!

I don't know how it happened but after not very long at all, I found myself at the Glenshee Ski Centre. It was a hard push in the rain out of Braemar, wind in my face, as we came through the valley with massive hills on either side. And I will admit that the walk, yes walk, to the top of Glenshee was a gritted teeth affair (the gradient would have killed my chances of getting to Blairgowrie had I taken it on, so I walked to conserve energy). But we had some fun at the top and I enjoyed the walk down the 20% other side, for sure. A walk and a half though, past Devil's Elbow. Massive hills. I think Britain's downhill skaters need to tap that place.

Once the road became manageable again, and after a few snack stops, I skated down the road towards the Spittal of Glenshee. Don't ask my why it's a Spittal, I don't even know what a Spittal is, but it was a windy road to get to it, with lots of twists and turns, almost like a corkscrew.

The road widened and I got some good miles down then, really putting my foot down on the hills. Anything's got to be better after the trials of the mountains, I thought and actually - it was. My strength and stamina had much improved, given they'd taken pretty much all they could take over the last 24 hours.

We just kept going. Every time Emma opened her crossword book, I'd whizz past, giving her no opportunity to finish. I think it became an ambition of mine to do that in the end, ha! And so it was, with pummelled feet, and a wet and muddy board, that I edged towards Blairgowrie. But not after much annoyance from the Bridge of Cally road surface into the town - it perpetually tried to throw me off, being horrid big pieces of gravel sunk badly into tarmac. V-v-v-v-v-vibrations.

Finally, after leaving some of the bigger hills to the raft of 4x4s that were coming into the town in what I can only assume is Blairgowrie's rush hour, I arrived, and we had another little celebration when I arrived at the supermarket in town, watched by adolescent eyes who wished they were as cool as me...I'm actually SURE that's what they were all thinking.

Then it was back to Emma's house, for a night of deceptive home comforts...nope, still one more day to go before you can come back and open the parcel with your ice skates in, Laura.

22/07/09: Tomintoul - Braemar

After the rain of the night before, I woke up to bright sunshine and warm concrete. Too bad my friend Emma wasn't getting into town, or I should say village, until after lunch. Oh well. I had a lovely breakfast and a great chat with the lady who works at the hotel, and went up to my room to get my gear ready for the day ahead.

It felt good to know that I wouldn't have to carry the pack for three days at least. My back has been pretty sore of late, especially my neck, where it whips round to check for traffic and whips back to the road ahead to make sure there's no potholes or anything. But I chose this, so I'll bear this. Anyone know a good health spa/chiropractor/adamantium skeletal replacement centre?

The morning was awesome for one thing and one thing alone. After the amazing trip to the RAF just a few days before, I received word that my friend Ian, who had organised my visit, was going to be flying that day, and would I like a flying visit? Well, I sent a text back declaring such a thing to be a fine proposal, and I set off immediately to find a large party of people who I knew would also appreciate the gesture.

I don't have much money, so presents are out of the question at the moment, but what I do have is the might of the RAF at my disposal in the area of Tomintoul. Imagine Brenda's family's surprise when I ushered them all the way down the street, baby in pram, babes in arms, youngins running and oldins trying to catch up, to the village green to await something special.

"I'm not able to give you present guys, but I just want to thank you for helping me out with the room, and really making me feel welcome in your town....urm...if you wait here...urm...something should happen."

A few minutes of anxious waiting and excitement later...we looked up, all ten of us (it seemed like there were ten of us) and an RAF Tornado, piloted by Ian himself flew what felt like mere metres above the village green where we stood, screaming and shouting and jumping around like fools waving up at the already disappeared jet. I looked over and saw that Brenda was crying a bit like I was - just because it was such an intense moment, and we just hugged. I'd known this woman all of a day and we were hugging and crying and just being happy.

A great way to start a day to the mountains. Already at 1164 feet, and in the highest village in the highlands, all I had to do was wait around, fully robed and ready to go, for my support driver to arrive in the form of my friend of many years in Scotland, Emma.

She arrived and we had a grand old time of about one minute of catching up before it was like nothing had changed, no time had passed and we were immediately onto route planning and I was stretching in all kinds comedic ways to get that classic laugh out of her.

Straight out and on the road, I met a man called John who was lovely, doing a survey of some sort on the land, and who donated. I pushed on, loving the fact that I was carving without that giant pack for the first time ever. Amazing. Then, The Lecht.

"Ah yes, Emma. I see the extent of the problem now, old bean.", I quipped in classic whatwhatpippip RP. A monstrous hill, with bulges, bumpes, blind summits and at one point, a 20% incline. Being the kind of gal I am, I set off whistling nervously, and pushed up to the incline. I had to walk that bit or I do quite believe my leg muscle would have popped out through my skin. I did however skate most of it. 80% skate, 20% walk. I'm going to be honest, but I summited, and trotted down to the car like nothing had happened.

After a rest, we hit the road again, and I carved alllll the way down the other side. Over the next hill, the real downhill began. Not having any leathers, or downhill experience to take on such a beast, I walked it and took it from where I could manage it. Still quite a rush blasting up the other side.

Then the rain happened - cold wet mountain rain, and I just about survived by thinking about warm things and nice things and...flowers...Hell no, I didn't !!! I swore and cursed and ranted and cried and pushed and walked and struggled until on one hill, a short cut road to Balmoral, I had what I believe to be a hypo and really started tripping out. There were nice hills though, real beauties - sweeping long hills that were nicely paved and easy to get out of trouble on.

At one point, I found a cairn and placed a Canadian coin there for my friends at Rayne and Long Treks on Skate Decks for helping me with the board I'm using, and that was a joyful experience, thankfully caught on camera.

Once we'd got through the short cut road, it was still 9 miles to Braemar, the town I thought I could make for the day. The altitude and exhaustion was clear, as I stumbled along, barely able to walk, and I'll admit this, even though it's not very lady like, I actually had to be sick whilst skating. The road was fast and traffic like wise, and the fear was in me, but I kept skating as fast as I could, my stomach turning.

Arriving in Braemar was one of the sweetest moments ever - such a day, such a day. Emma had fed me, and watered me, and kept me going over some serious hills. She'd parked up every so often and I'd skate there, and I'm very proud of her for getting me through this day - it was a toughie. But that's what friends are for, she'll say.

We found a campsite, pitched up amongst the midgies and the ducks, and I had a glorious shower before cleaning my bearings in the dark with a headtorch on and then it was a night of upset stomach (as I expected) and fitful dreams before the next day's exhaustions. Unreal day of distance skateboarding. Go team!

21/07/09: Grantown Upon Spey - Tomintoul

Only a short day, distance-wise, but a long and arduous one gradient wise. No one was lying when they said it was all uphill to Tomintoul. For 14 miles. I was dropped back at my finish point the next day by Anita and Ian, who took photos and were just wonderful in raising my spirits for the day.

It was time to do it. Time to show off some leg. In the rising heat, I unzipped my trouser shorts to the shortest they went, and found it so much easier to skate. Henceforth my legs have stayed like this. I had to stop every so often, as the mountain air filled my lungs a bit too much. Following an old miltary road, also known as the A939, I passed...very little...except mountainous nothingness. Rounding a corner, I finally caught sight of an arresting view - the Cairngorms. Very soon I would be feeling their effects on the rest of my body, not just my eyes.

Slogging on, I got a phone call. A lady named Brenda had sorted me, via the amazing bush telegraph situation I seemed to have found myself the subject of over the last few days, a hotel room in Tomintoul, as she was stowed out at her place. This was amazing! I smiled as pushed up the hills, knowing I'd have somewhere to sleep that might just offer a shower and bedsheets.

I came across the most amazing hill I've ever seen shortly afterwards. Just google Bridge of Brown to see what I mean. I had to walk down it and up the other side, with a break to chat to some nice mountain guides in between. If there is every anywhere that the UK should be holding downhill skate races, it's up here, in the Cairngorms.

Skating up a slightly less arduous hill into town, I called in to visit my kind saviours, and answered all their questions over lunch, which I couldn't get enough of. I've learned to not turn down hospitality, because it involves calories usually, which I need. Everyone was so wonderful - and I discovered that there are actually more English people in Tomintoul than Scots, which is a strange ratio, given that I was somewhere so Scottish!

When I got to the hotel, the Glenavon, I discovered two Navy guests, upon hearing of my arrival, had left a £25 donation for H4H for me, and that all my meals were covered by the kind Tominoul family I'd just come from visiting.

I tell you, there are some kind people out there. And as the rain came in on that small mountain town, I counted my blessings. The next three days would be my biggest challenge yet. Bliiiimmmey.

20/07/09: Forres - Grantown-Upon-Spey

Today was a day of difference, juxtaposition, and contrast. After a wonderful breakfast of porridge with cinnamon and raisins with my host in Findhorn, I skated through the magical community, trees and ferns glistening with dew, to the main gate...where I was picked up by Ian, of 14 Squadron RAF Lossiemouth, in his roaring pick up truck!

It was time to go and visit some Tornadoes. What a strange thing to do given the place I'd spent the last 14 hours! Ian is the regional organiser for Help For Heroes in this area, so he invited me out to visit the squadron, see how things work, and hopefully get to touch some jets. If nothing else, this visit was going to make every single male relative of mine, and a lot of my female friends incredibly jealous! It turned out to be a lot, lot more though.

Arriving on the base in my skating getup, I walked around with my board under my arm, and dealt with the curious looks. Seeing as Ian is pretty high up here, no one was about to argue! I was shown around by Dan, who took me to the mapping room to print out my route for the next few days, using special software. He folded and glued the pages into a special little navigator style booklet for me, and I was thrilled to stick a 14 Squadron sticker on the front of it.

I met Eric, the squadron mascot, who looks to be some kind of python. He was fairly dosile, but essentially one giant muscle, ready to pounce. Apparently his cage ends up with a lot of stolen stuff in it - because who's going to mess with a giant snake? He even has his own flying uniform, one single long flight suit trouser leg, which bears an embroidered pilot's badge on it. Genius.

Then it was out to see the jets. Oh yes. Oh yes oh yes. I entered a hangar and there must have been around 8 Tornadoes sat, in varying states of repair or readiness. Dan took me down to one at the end, and I leaned my board up against an engineer's tool desk, covered in greasy equipment. He helped me climb up a rickety ladder to the air intake of the plane, whereupon I was instructed to swing myself onto the fuselage and clamber across the top of it, until I was carefully helped into the pilot's seat. Oh yes oh yes oh yes.

I was shown what every button does, told what I could touch (nothing) and what I couldn't touch (everything), and actually, it felt quite comfortable there. However, I couldn't imagine being sat there for 8 hours on a mission. I then moved out and along the fuselage (about 4 metres up), teetering along, and tried out the navigator's seat...more buttons, more to not touch but still the same feeling of...wow.

Then it was time. Time for something so cool I'll always remember it. Picture the scene. 80's rock music playing through the engineer's radio over the speakers in the huge hangar. Tornado jets parked up all angled towards me. Smooth smooth concrete floor, and two engineers silhouetted as together they push open the massive hangar door in readiness for another departure. One Tornado takes off into the sky nearby outside, engines roaring and glowing red hot. And me? I stand on my board, and when given the nod that the camera is ready, I do it. I skate down a hangar of RAF Tornadoes into all of this noise and excitement. If you look at the photos, you can actually see the stoke on my face. Oh yes.

Sadly, all awesome moments must come to an end, and after a photo shoot at the gate of the base with another jet, it was back to Forres, to begin skating to Grantown Upon Spey. Out of town it was harsh, uphill and more than once I had to walk the windy turny corners in order to save myself from becoming road gourmet. Out on the moors, I was attacked by the wind which beat at me from all sides, making it a total grind to get up hills and round bends where it couldn't decide what it was doing.

Finally, fiiiinally, I started to perk up - I think it was seeing the Cairngorm National Park sign that did it. I was stoked. I'd got myself from sea level to the mountains in an afternoon. Yes you could do it in a car in half an hour, but I'd done it on a skateboard - so there. The downhills into town washed away my blues, and through pine forests, which smelled amazing, I landed in Grantown.

Jen's chap Jim had worked his magic and that night I stayed with some parents of a friend of his, Robert. Anita and Ian filled me with risotto, cleaned my stuff for me, and gave me a wonderful bed which I knew would be horrendous to get out of in the morning. I slept fitfully, but happy, after a day of wonderful opposites. Thank you to everyone who made this one so special.

19/07/09: Nairn - Findhorn

After changing my bearings with Jen's husband the next morning, and having a breakfast fit for a king, I was dropped kindly back at Nairn, where I continued my trip out to Findhorn. A brief hike later through the town, as the one way system was against me, I was out on the road - following the cycle route for once.

Skating along a quiet B road, I eventually warmed up and was able to really pant it along, enjoying the scenery for once, as there was no rain, only a lovely clear sky. The roads were recovering from yesterday's flooding, and in places I had to jump over parts still blocked by ankle high water. I found forests, so I took pictures. I saw Brodie Castle and skated past many curious tourists. The ducks at the castle were loving the fact that an entire field seemed to have flooded to their satisfaction.

I was thirsty - mints seem to really dry my mouth out - so I was going through the water quite quickly, which didn't worry me too much as it wasn't far at all to go. Attacked by a dog in a a small village near the castle, I legged it out as fast as I could manage. I'm used to dogs, now I just bark back, and that seems to stop them, but not this one. Rurrrrrrrr. Fortunately, the roads were smooth and flat and all was well after that. No real drama, except coming into the town of Forres, where the pavement next to the main road was thin, bumpy and full of teenagers who thought I had the power of flight to pass them as they sat blocking my way.

Coming into Forres, people started to look at me. Then it was out and out staring with mouth open, until I'd smile to reassure them I wasn't a nutter and then they were loving it. If I have my fundraising vest on, I really like making a commotion as I come through towns, as it gets the H4H name out there, and also gets people thinking, which is of supreme importance.

Skating to Findhorn down a perfect 4 mile cycle path, I wondered if my contact, met on the train from Helmsdale was for real. Was there actually going to be a groovy eco-community there, with an old whisky house and a lady called Auriole who might put me up? Fortunately for me, there was!

And so it was that I found myself sunning me and the board out on the Moray coastline, drinking elderflower juice and taking in the stillness near that beautiful cycle path. Skating without a pack on, I nearly totalled myself coming down a hill towards said path. It's been a while.

You should really check out Findhorn online. It's a cross between the Shire from LOTR and well, something else really. Quite a special little place. I doubt I have the patience to live such a right on life in close quarters with so many others doing the same thing, I like my space, but it certainly would give me somewhere to sport those orange trousers I got in Orkney...

18/07/09: Culloden - Nairn

It was a rainy start in Inverness. After a big breakfast, I headed into town to buy another top to last until I got the old one back. Returning to the B and B to pay, we discovered that their son, a world curling champion, had given the first on road donation to Boardfree when they had passed through the town all those years ago...for those of you that don't know, Boardfree is how I got started in longboarding. I also travelled with them around Australia as a support crew member, so it was quite a coincidence indeed! I knew there had to be some kind of connection between these people to the magic of the trip, and I'd found it.

I got a ride out to Culloden Battle site, where I sorted my feet out in the dry comfort of the visitor centre toilets. It was torrential rain outside so the B and B owner insisted on taking me out of town to at least get on the right road. I wasn't about to disagree. I didn't know much about the history of Culloden, but it certainly was a powerful place, filled with tourists packed around the flags marking where each clan fell.

Hiking in the rain, I checked my map under trees and in forest trails where I found them, deeming it too dangerous to skate. Any shelter would do, from the torrents and splashes of the unthinking cars. After being sat in the back of a people carrier which kindly stopped by some sympathetic souls, and having a wonderful conversation with them for half an hour, I felt geed up. I was going to skate by gosh. So I did.

And I got drenched. Soaked. My bearings flew along, loving the fact that a constant flow of liquid was keeping them rolling. They wouldn't be laughing in the morning but for now I let them have their fun. The rain got worse, and I kept skating, until I was stopped by a lady at the roadside. "Do you fancy a cup of tea?" Oh Jen, you legend.

Following her car into her village, she took me in, dried me off and gave me some hot food and something to drink. Her daughter had recently joined the RAF and she totally understood about Help For Heroes. After a break in the rain, I set off again, thankful that I had met such a lovely person. The skate into Nairn was nothing after that.

I arrived at a very nice looking restaurant, soaking wet again, and they gave me a drink too! I called my saviour of that afternoon, after discovering that my Nairn contact would be out til late, and thankfully she returned and took me back to stay in the guest room at the house back down the road. I was treated like royalty, and I would like to thank Jen and her husband for really looking after me that evening, as I'd have been a bit stuffed otherwise.

17/07/09: Forsinard - Helmsdale

Forsinard - Helmsdale (Skate), Helmsdale - Inverness (Train)

Waking early to get some kind of advantage, with a crick in my neck that still hasn't really disappeared, I got up and made myself some of my super duper golden syrup porridge. The volunteers were just getting up as I left, and all wished me well as I pushed off into uncertain weather.

The advice that it was a bit uphill, then a lot of downhill towards Helmsdale was quite accurate really. I was flying down a hill, all by myself for miles around, when suddenly out of nowhere a Scotrail train wooshed past, horn going crazy and all the people waving at me - driver included! That set me up for the whole day really, and I was incredibly happy from then on.

I had a nice chat with a farmer, whose poor little sheepdog was shaking in fear at my board. I kept forgetting and the little thing would just tremble even more in its box on the back of a quad bike. The animules, they no like my Demonseed. Continuing down through the Strath Hallader valley, I realised, from my father's advice as an expert fisherman, that I was in prime fishing and hunting territory. This was confirmed to me as I was passed by countless flashy 4x4 vehicles. They were filled with well dressed fathers and bored rich girl daughters trying to get their Blackberry phones to acquire a signal, and they were always quickly followed by bashed up Land Rovers.

A lot of ex-Army men were out fishing on the river, and they all donated to the cause quite generously - there'll be some river guide not getting a tip today! I kept skating on, making up songs about Nazi sheep who all have matching tattoos on their bums who want white fleece supremacy. I got a fly past by a Tornado...a portent of things to come....

The moment I got into Helmsdale, I went into a corner shop and got a sugary drink followed up by fish and chips. I was recognised from some recent coverage on STV, and felt a bit disgusting munching down on food like a beast whilst people punted questions at me about the trip.

I crawled slowly up the hill to the train station, whilst glancing at the sea I could have been skating down had the main road to Inverness not been hella dangerous for a little one alone like me. It wasn't fair, but I had to do it for my personal safety - I'm not about to risk it for glory. I'm not about that. So the choice to get the train to Inverness was difficult but sensible. No skater wants to cut out 70 miles of a trip really, but there were not enough alternatives to make it viable to stay on the road between these two points.

With the Highland Games near Inverness that weekend, I was out of luck for a place to stay. I was offered a hostel, but with a full dorm and the security of my stuff to think about, I opted for a nice looking B and B who gave me a tenner off.

I showered and hid from the rain, thoroughly depressed at having to make a jump down country. To top it all off I discovered I'd left my evening Icebreaker top in the bird reserve, so I had no other clothes to wear up top but my skating top. Delicious. I used up some of my dried food and washed clothes using and ingenious clothes line array hooked between a light on the mirror and the pull cord of the heater over the door to the bathroom - winner.

16/07/09: Reay To Forsinard

After an amazing breakfast, with some truly inspired scrambled eggs prepared for me by Jean, it was time to leave Reay. Before I went though, we had some visitors from the bird reserve - who offered to take my heavy stuff with them back there, as that was my stop for the day. Genius! Not going to turn that down. Jean and Derek walked me up to their church and waved until I was long gone in the distance, bless their tired arms. What people, what kind, kind people.

Past the power station at Dounreay, the surface went horrid - that orange stuff that people thought was really good once upon a time, but once it wears away just tears at your soul, if you happen to be a skateboarder. The drivers were bad, amongst the worse were a mysterious convoy of trucks with expensive looking satellite surveillance equipment on the back. It was also here that I met my first other charity journeyers - cycling up to John O' Groats no doubt. Quote from one: "And I thought I was mad!!!"

Finally I reached the turning down to Forsinard, a 39 mile stretch of single lane road, welcoming me into the Highlands proper. Finally heading south! I pushed forever down what seemed like an infinite road of pure perfection. The weather was warm, and I was using up my water quite quickly. Stopping to eat an apple, I chatted to the sheep.

After a while I came to my first RSPB sign by the side of the track, framed on all sides by wild brushland and peatbogs. After another 5 miles, I arrived at the reserve centre - conveniently (for some) also the train station for Forsinard. I had a cup of tea and chatted to Colin, one of the reserve guides, about birds and war and...cups of tea.

I got some laundry sorted - seems like every day is a struggle for this, and helped make a curry with Jo, one of the volunteers who took my stuff for me earlier in the day. It was nice to feel a little bit normal, and just catch up on journal entries, and watch Father Ted with everyone that night. Chilled out. I've been craving a bit of my old ways in between all the skating.

The other volunteers got in late that night, and as I slept in the living room on the floor/sofa/halfway between the two, I heard them go quiet as they discovered the note on the kitchen table about the mystical skateboarding girl resting up in their home...

15/07/09: Farewell To Stromness

Stromness-Scrabster (Ferry), Scrabster - Thurso (Skate), Thurso - Reay (Taxi)

After posting a load of stuff I didn't need (and the amazing trousers) back to the Westcountry, I checked in and picked up my ferry ticket down at the terminal in Stromness (thanks Northlink!). The crossing was smooth, the weather calm - we saw seals and porpoises and the Old Man of Hoy.

It was pretty crazy to think that I'd finished the 'pioneer' part of the trip, skating places that no one had been before. I feel lucky to have those memories, and I'd invite anyone to go up there and skate round Shetland and Orkney because they are a secret stash of pain, stoke and wonder.

It was goodbye to the goldrush towns and hello to the highlands. Upon landing at Scrabster on the mainland UK, I thanked all the Northlink staff, and it was hard to get out of the town and up the hill thanks to all the people who knew about the trip from the STV piece, great stuff - lots of woops and car honks.

Then I got scared. Mainland. Crepe. I went to a shop, there were lots for a change, and bought some food, and went the only place I could think to get a bit of local knowledge and sympathy for my plight. Bob, the manager there, gave me a drink and told me the best thing I could do, given the route I was taking and the weather situation (big black clouds), would be to get a taxi out to Reay and avoid the power station traffic coming from Dounreay. Imagine one thousand crazy Homer Simpsons all trying to get home to Thurso first and you'll understand.

My grandfather's infamous map said 'camping at Reay', so I went to Reay, kindly dropped there at a discount by Vera's Wheels taxis. In the shop, the man who ran it said 'no camping at Reay - map BAD!' - so I skated with all my might, on his recommendation, a half mile down the road in an electrical storm on a carbon fiber bake tray of a board, to arrive dripping wet and sorry for myself at the door of Jean and Derek, who run the Old Inn at Reay.

The rest is history, but needless to say they took pity on my plight, sorted me out with somewhere to sleep, something to eat and I went to sleep that night with the seasickness drugs slowly leeching their way out of my system. I slept like a log. Thank you Jean and Derek, you saved me today.

14/07/09: Resting Up on Orkney

I slept in, I laughed at myself on the early morning radio, featured alongside the woman who was looking for a particular episode of Heartbeat if anyone had it, and the cockrel, free to anyone who would take him.

After a nice hot shower, I got dressed and breakfasted and went into town and bought quite possibly the loudest pair of orange trousers from Zimbabwe in a diving shop that I've ever seen. They're phenomenal. Don't worry, eye fans, they'll only be worn around the house. Perhaps my brain was addled and needed to express itself. I also got a rad puffin t-shirt to wear with pride. And even if I never saw a single puffin on the entire trip so far, or ever, I knew they were out there, loving being puffins. I got an Orkney sticker for my board, to add to the Shetland flagged one on there already, a proud moment indeed.

After shopping and watching half a film in the hotel, Dave met me and we went on to Skara Brae, a proper old archaelogical site of interest. But I wasn't interested enough to pay £7, just interested enough to have a poke around the replica buildings and laugh at the Cribs style approach me and Dave took when filming a little video of it.

Then it was off to the Ring Of Brodgar, a proper mystical place of standing stones to take some cheesy us and our boards shots. What the tourists from all parts must have thought of us carrying longboards in the pouring rain across the grass and through the mud, I don't know, but we got some great photos regardless.

Back to Kirkwall to find some shoes. I'm a size 4 normally, but the only shoes in the sports shop that worked were a pair of size 6 trail trainers, rugged and ready for the challenge,and with enough room for my feet to be happy. I worked out that I was down to the plastic chassis in my first pair of shoes, well on the pushing foot anyway, so I had effectively been hammering my foot against a hard surface with no shock absorption for three days. Nice.

After doing some laundry and web work at Dave's house, where his lovely mother provided some great conversation, it was back to Stromness for an emotional goodbye with the man who became my big brother of longboarding in 5 short days of being around each other. Cheers Dave, you're one heck of a support crew, and I'm proud to know you - ride hard!

I sensed that after my visit, at least more people knew about skateboarding on the islands, and whilst I know I'm hardly Tony Hawk or Adam Colton (two awesome skaters yo), just being visible on a board out there might stretch the imaginations of some little ones or big ones enough to perhaps make them want to order something in and try it for themselves. If that happens, then all the better - but for now, I'm happy knowing that there are two longboarders on Orkney (great to meet you Joseph!) and that they love their secret skate hideaway.

13/07/09: Orkney - Day 3 of 3

After a night of very surreal dreams, where nothing much seemed to make sense, I got up and got ready for my close up. I went to Superstation (a cupboard of a studio), Orkney's independent new station, BBC Radio Orkney, where I taught Rory the reporter how to skate, and after getting on the road (the one up past the distillery), and arriving at St Mary's - STV.

Ken and David filmed me skating around the beautiful village of St Mary's, talking about the trip and generally getting out of the way of the caravans and lorries who kept infiltrating the shot. I pushed across the symbolic Churchill Barriers, and kept going up hills, when really all I wanted to do was stop and have a little break and a look around, but still, it was fun to do, and I'm proud of those shots, because for the first time, looking at them through the viewfinder, I really got an idea of how I must appear on the road to many people - fascinating, and more than a little strange!

After they left, I continued. The weather got warmer and warmer and as each barrier passed, new things appeared to ogle and be curious about. Orkney has a great deal of history going on, that's just right there in your face, no messing. Very powerful.

The road condition worsened as I headed to St. Margaret's Hope. Using breathing techniques to keep me level headed as I pushed hard up the hills out of town towards the ferry at Burwick, I tried to stay calm. I think I lost my soul on the hill of Olad - a little treat that no one told me about so that I didn't worry in advance - thanks Orcadians - but get there I did, down to the Burwick ferry. This is where most tourists catch the foot passenger ferry across to the mainland, and you can see John O' Groats from this point. Mad.

I was exhausted, done, pickled, whatever. I sat amongst the concrete blocks waiting for Dave to come and get me. A little feral cat took the biscuits I left for it by the waiting room portacabin and I watched it from twenty metres away, nibbling away, trying to make sense of how to approach the dry pieces. I was just trying to come to terms with the fact that I'd skated Orkney, south to north, west to east.

12/07/09: Orkney - Day 2 of 3

"Oh aye, the wind'll not be bothering you too much today. It's not much of anything really." ...or words to that extent from Dave on the phone this morning as I enquired about which way was best to skate - from Kirkwall to Stromness, or vice versa. I took the vice versa and the wind was in my face from the get go, miserable miserable pushing. I tried to see the humour in the situation but when you take three pushes forward and get pushed about five back, you do start to question your sanity.

In addition, starting out from Stromness, I went a mile in the wrong direction and this slowly dawned on me as I found myself coming to the junction out of Stromness that I'd taken to head north the day before. Bummer. I hate going the wrong way, and with the limited information available on the map that my grandfather had given me (this map is now notorious), I called Dave, he set me right and off I went again.

Coming up a particularly loathesome stretch, I summited and saw for the first time on a board, Scapa Flow in all its glory. This is a place that means a lot my aforementioned grandfather, so being able to skate round it was awesome to say the least. Stunning place - just still blue water for miles, with ships anchored waiting to load up with oil I suppose.

Halfway round, change of tack. If I've got a support team of one, I'm going to use that badboy. So I called Dave, he picked me up from past Orphir, in a bus stop layby, gave me a cup of tea and a snowball and off we go in the car to Kirkwall to attack the problem from the other direction. Tailwind territory.

Again, my tired brain, done in from the 50 miles the day before, made me miss the turning off to Stromness via the Flow, and I ended up hiking out of town past the distillery which just reeks of nights in front of a fire having a dram too many. I actually saw the place I was heading to from the other side of the valley. Back down the hill Hatwell, oh dear.

Skating out of Kirkwall, now on the right road, I turned right and headed up to St Olaf's Cemetery. Now it's a long story, that I'll save for another time, but needless to say, I went and visited some people for my grandad, and had a good cry and got on my way after local photographer Ken came and took some shots of me skating for Orkney Today.

Blasting along with the wind at my back, I was able to enjoy the scenery, and after a particularly hairy hill down to the bus layby, I arrived, happy in the knowledge that I'd completed the loop round the outside of the island.

11/07/09: Orkney - Day 1 of 3

Thanks to the kind donation of a room to sleep in for the duration of my stay in Orkney, I was able to set off the next day with a very light pack and a very happy heart. It took a little while to get going, as it seems to most days for me, particularly after the hills of Shetland but there was a fire in my heart today - a fire for skating further!

Skating up north from Stromness towards Birsay, I gathered pace, and really stretched my legs out. The roads were nice, the traffic light and the scenery great. I passed many fields of cows and twisty turny bends leading to up and down hills, but for the most part it was lovely skating. It started to warm up and when there's no road signs anywhere you can't judge how much water to drink, just in case!

I had a race with some cows in a field by the road which was AMAZING! They started racing me and I actually had to go back to see if they were for real. They followed me back at pace, and then lurched off again after me when I set off, camera filming all the way. I was slightly sad that we couldn't continue our race on, as barbed wire stopped them in their tracks.

Coming up past Twatt (hur hur), or at least the turning for it, I pushed like a mad woman. Today was going to be a big day, I could feel it. I reached the top of the island and hooked a right. Stopping at the Yellowbird Gallery, a beautiful little place, I bought a card and chatted to the artist, Jon, and he let me fill up my water bottle.

As we got further on, Dave called to find out where I was - when I told him he was astounded! "Oooohhhh MAAANN No WAAAAYYYY!" He eventually caught up with me and together we bombed two miles of beautiful tarmac and laughed and hooted all the way.

After that it was a long drag to Finstown, panting it just to see the reaction from Dave. From Finstown, we headed along to Kirwall, making a mileage of just under 50 miles today - not bad going, survived the busy evening traffic and boy did I eat well in the hotel when I got back! I finished the day exchanging road stories with Douglas, the hotel's owner, who has also done some miles, on a bike, I might add.

RAD RAD DAY.

10/07/09: Off To Orkney

After a really nice stay in Walls, it was time to move on. With Wolfgang's little boy chasing around the living room running and jumping over the board whilst I held it still with my foot, I wondered how I could ever leave such a friendly and warm place. True welcomes are amazing when you get them. But move on I had to.

After a few media things in Lerwick, I checked back at the TA centre for Tam or Jane, but couldn't find anyone about. So I skated to Tesco to thank Paul for all his work on my behalf and had lunch with him and his crew in the staff room. I get to all the glamorous places! On time, I popped my seasickness pills and headed off, whilst my body tried to process the new inner ear happenings. Interesting skating - wish I'd bothered to talc my feet, they're fragile little things now.

Onto the ferry. Force 5 tonight - not bad as such but should make for an undulating ride to say the least. Not that it bothered me, asleep on the lower deck for the whole time. Thank you Northlink! I set up my sleeping bag and mat, watched by a jealous family who only had those horrible chairs they put on ships to make you think you're actually comfortable when you're not...they later remarked on their admiration of my sleeping rig whilst giving me a donation off the ferry.

Into Orkney, you notice the smell - manure, fields, agriculture. The stiff evening breeze sent it all across the water right up my nostrils. I grabbed my bag, hooked my lanyard round my board and jaunted off down the exit tunnel to the car park.

"FLANAGAN!!!"

"LAURAAAAA!!!!"

Big hugs ensued as I met my longboarding brother, a man I'd been in contact with for sometime. There are only two longboarders on Orkney, and Dave Flanagan is one of them. He'd sorted me a room in the Stromness Hotel, and as we drove there, the excitement for both of us was unreal. Just mad conversations about the trip, skating, boards, setups, oh - twas a dream come true.

A climb up a million stairs into the staff quarters later, and I was left to get a good night's sleep before the wonder that was to be the next day. Perhaps Dave thought I'd take a breather before getting started...oh how very wrong he was...

09/07/09: Back In Lerwick

I'm in Lerwick today, trying to come to terms with the fact that yesterday I finished skating the length of Shetland. My goodness! I woke up this morning at about 4 with my legs cooking. A Norwegian was outside the hotel on his phone, talking loudly for what seemed like ages, and I had that familiar thump in my stomach of "...where am I skating today? What's the weather doing? How long is it going to take to get ready?" Then I realised. No skating necessary today! Still didn't get back to sleep though. Clothes to wash!

I had a terrific breakfast of berries and yoghurt, croissants, tea and eggs hollandaise - I stuffed the food in like it was going out of fashion and I'm not sure I remember any touching the sides. I'm sure it was quite shocking for the chef to witness.

Afterwards, I met Jane from Radio Shetland, who did an interview with me, which involved sitting on the side of Scalloway Harbour, looking out over the sea, chatting about my travels so far. To get some sound effects, I skated down the street, leaving old men cursing and children curious. Straight after this, I met Jim from the Shetland Times, who took me back through to Lerwick, on the way risking life and limb for some shots for the paper on the main road. When he'd got the shots of me barely holding onto the board above my head in the wind, we raced back to the car, cackling and whooping like schoolchildren!

I'm currently updating from the TA Centre in Lerwick, who have been kind enough to let me use their resources to get back on track, and have even given me some lip balm, at last - YES!

Staying tonight in Walls, on the west coast of the main island, with Wolfgang, who I met on the ferry from Toft - Ulsta a few days ago. The offer of a place to stay with laundry facilities was just too much to resist!

08/07/09: Saxa Vord, Unst - Ulsta, Yell

Today was a massive day. I wasn't happy with the progress I'd been making across the island so far - I know I have more in me than 18 miles a day, and I knew it this morning. I got up early at the resort and grabbed some breakfast in the bunkhouse's self-catering kitchen. So nice to sit at a normal table and make my own food and take time to do things like make a cup of tea and go ahhh!

I left at around 9.30am and flew out of Saxa Vord with all the power of the Norse gods pushing me on. I don't really remember any of the road until I was a few miles in and I was stopped in my tracks by a Viking longboat just sat there by the side of the road. Deserted! So I went in and had a look at the workmanship and was thoroughly impressed. There were wood panels inside on the northern facing parts to protect it, and it would have made an ace place to shelter for the night.

After this, I pelted up the hills to Valhalla Brewery, Shetland's main microbrewery, who supply the island and afar with some seriously fine looking ales. I had to negotiate a growly dog and a singing cat to get in and find someone to show me around, but eventually I did. In time, Sonny, the owner arrived back from town to talk to me, pop a brewery sticker on my board and give me a donation.

Randomly, along the road, a man stopped in a van and said, "Are you the girl from Tavistock?? I'm a Tavy man!" We chatted for a while and it turned out he knew my dad's shop back in the day, which was very surreal for us both. Just a moment in passing, but it will stick on both our minds I should imagine. The media are certainly doing a good job of spreading the word. I'm only just now realising that I'm a 'feature' on the roads...love it.

I got to the ferry in no time at all. Unfortunately, there was a one and a half hour wait, so I sat in the waiting room shivering with the wind and alllll my clothes on. I got bored a bit, so after making some telephone calls through the corroding payphone, I went and played on a boat that had copper pipes like a xylophone on it. Anyone who knows me, knows I like a bit of impromptu musicking, so that kept me amused for quite some time.

After getting to Yell and having some soup at the Wind Dog cafe, I went outside and got ready for the road. I still felt strong, but I wasn't sure how strong. Wearing my jacket helped as a sail to keep me going but it also got a little warm too. I could smell myself. Bad.

I pushed and pushed through the moorlands of Yell, up and down. The hills became flat and the flats became fast straights, with the wind behind me, I managed to get to Yell in around 2.5 hours. Now that's 17 miles, up hill and down hill. That's not bad for me!

I got into the ferry terminal, and after asking around, got a ride to Scalloway with a local councillor and his son - where a contact had kindly got me setup with a room at the lovely Scalloway Hotel, right on the waterfront. After a shower and dinner, I was done, and utilised all the mobile signal I could to get as many calls to friends and family through as I could. Then sleep descended. Shetland was done.

07/07/09: Voe to Toft, Ferry To Yell, Bus To Gutcher, Ferry to Unst, Minibus to Saxa Vord!

"Saxa Vord..much more than a place to nip for a wee."

I woke up at around 1.30am in the sail loft, freaking out at the clanking and hammering noises. This place used to be a knitting workshop on the waterfront, responsible for producing the very jumpers Sir Edmund Hillary used on his 1952 ascent of Everest. Were there ghosts? Was I in for it? No. I remembered that the bakery across the road would be up all night working. Keith had talked about it, and boy didn't I feel like a right nonce for entertaining the idea of spooks. To alleviate any final fears, I went through to the bakery in the morning to buy some cheese scones, fresh from the oven. No ghosts, only bakers who had seen me on my board over the last few days.

The rain had come in during the night so I took a walk up after breakfast to the main road, to see if it was okay. It was. So I had to stop panicking and get on with it. No excuses. If I wanted to complete the mainland today, it was 10 miles to Toft.

WORST 10 MILES OF MY LIFE.

Headwinds, pain, madness, joy, tears, bliss, excess, sugar breaks, water breaks, dragging the board, dragging myself, anything just to get me up the hill. 5 miles of up hill past Dale's Voe, and I was done. The views were amazing, which sort of made the situation a bit twisted. Some of the downhills afterwards, down to sea level, were the most amazing hills I'd skated so far in the trip, and I think the adrenaline was the only thing that got me back up the other side in some cases.

I got to the ferry a wreck, but happy. The surface had been bad, the wind was horrendous, but I'd done it. And some people on the ferry saw this and donated kindly. Bless em.

A change of tack now. To beat the wind, I had to skate south, which meant a journey up as high north as I could get. After transporting myself to Unst through the variety of means shown above, I ended up badly needing the toilet, as you do when you skate a lot...vibrations, innit. The driver took me to Saxa Vord Resort, which I didn't even know was anywhere near where we where. I'd just been intending to get to Haroldswick and skate south from there. But muscle cramp kicked in, and fatigue from the hills swept over me in a warm wave, and kindly, the people there, after hearing my story, gave me a room for the night.

Saxa Vord is the coolest place ever. Not because it's snazzy looking with loads of posh things to see and do, but because it's the housing for a top secret RAF base that was a listening post during the Cold War, and NOTHING has changed. It still looks like something out of the X-Files, with bare furnishings, gunturrets, and scary looking aerials and domes up in the distance on the hill. Brilliant. I had the best stay there. My room was obviously an officer's in the past, as it had loads of room and some enviable storage facilities..

Before I went for dinner in the Sergeant's Mess lounge, I took a walk down to the sea. Little did I know, until I saw the sign, that I was heading for Norwick Beach, which is the beach that I was planning on ending up at, had a South-North routing been possible. I dipped my feet in the sea at the edge of the world, and the energy of the place still has the hairs on the back of my neck tingling. It was crackling with power and you could almost imagine the Viking longboats coming across the sea, warriors with their swords raised and torches flaming. This is where the wind comes from, and I can tell you it loses a lot of it's energy by the time it gets to us in Plymouth!

A great and serendipitous day, finished with a dinner of lamb hotpot and conversation with Nigel at the bar, a true Unst legend.

06/07/09: Veensgarth-Voe

After getting all my gear together, I had a lovely breakfast at the hotel, with one of the guys who had donated the night before, and his kids and their nanny. He donated again after hearing more of my tale, and so did Gordon, the most eccentric hotelier I think I've met. Hans arrived from the Shetland News, to do an interview with me for an online piece he was working on. Lovely guy, we had a great chat, and he took some photos of me getting ready outside.

After Gordon left to take some people to town in his Hummer (oh yes), I was waved off by some of the guests and their kids, and then it was back on the open road again.

It was a hard slog out of Veensgarth. Though I had a lighter pack, having left some things for Gordon to post on to Orkney, it was still hard, against the wind and with a brooding sky above, it wasn't very fun at all. Three pushes. Stop. Repeat. All the way north. There were some lush downhills but the headwinds controlled my descent to something more manageable, which I suppose, with hindsight, I'm thankful for.

Dirty chipped roads and sheep ticks hiding in the grass, that's what I found out. Hans caught up and we chatted about the state of Shetland and the issues facing the island. Wind farming is a big dividing topic, with some family members not talking to each other now because they feel so strongly about it one way or the other. There are plans to put wind turbines all the way from Voe to Toft - which is a lot of beautiful scenery to ruin, so there has to be a good reason to do it. These things only have a life span of 25 years as well, so there has to be some better way - tidal energy perhaps? Tourism is too precious, as is the natural beauty of the place, to slap a load of ugly turbines onto.

Hans told me I was much further on than he thought I'd be, so I was quietly chuffed. I'd done 12 miles without really knowing much about it, and with only 6 left til my intended destination of Voe, all was rad. I slogged it, walked it, skated it, and finally found some downhills to be proud of. Hardly any footbraking, woop!

Coming into Voe, I saw a bus stop Hans had mentioned he'd put water at, and I drank it all like a beast. I left the main road and headed down into Norwegian fishing village heaven in Lower Voe, where all the houses are wooden and painted that amazing red colour with white window frames. Denise the owner of the Pier Restaurant and Bar, the only place in the village to get hot food, told me about the Sail Loft Bod.

Keith, the custodian of the Bod, worked right next door on a mussel farm. There were ropes and mussel shells everywhere, and he explained the life cycle of the mussels and how they were farmed. Pretty interesting believe it or not! He showed me into the Bod, and I picked a bunk in the room with the woodburner. Out of a possible 20 bunks, just mine was going to be filled tonight, so I had a bag of peats to myself to burn and some serious socks to dry.

The bolts on my board were an issue for me from the start, too long - so long that they didn't fit around my skatetool, meaning no adjustments could be made. So Keith did the awesomest thing, took out his angle grinder, and chopped those puppies down. Sparks everywhere, all over a Demonseed Deelite. Rad. Just Rad.

Now if only my socks would dry...

05/07/09: Levenwick - Sumburgh

After the horrendous rude awakening of yesterday, I grafted on up the hill out of the campsite after a quick Jetboil breakfast. All the sweating and pain of the day before was rewarded as just over the hill from the campsite lay a few miles of some sweet empty down hill. Sunday traffic too, so all I had to do was let gravity take my tired legs down the way.

Approaching Sumburgh I met some locals who chatted away merrily about their lives here. People seem happy to just start a stream of talking then go about their business again, which I like, because I'm in the same mindset. It's so lonely on the road sometimes that having anyone to talk to is just great. I'm only two days in and I can see what Rob Thomson is on about. Just sometimes it would be nice to have someone to share this journey with, shared experiences and all that.

I arrived in Sumburgh, struggling up and downhills, and found myself to be crossing the actual runway of the airport! On a skateboard! The security guards came down and watched me do a video blog, and went on their way, but the fire trucks were a bit more imposing as they came to investigate me, so I hightailed it after another rebellious blog. One of the coolest places I've skated though, the planes just take off over the sea off a launch ramp practically, and you should have seen the looks I got from the well to do women on their way to the mainland waiting in the airport's main checkin area...love it!

After a bus ride back to Lerwick, I pigged out on food from Tesco. A bit too much I think, as the sun came up and got really hot, and I started feeling really sleepy. I wanted to get back on the road as Hans, a local journalist, wanted to meet me en route, but it wasn't happening as I'd hoped. After a few hissy fits and mild panics, I slept a while in my bivvy in the main campsite in town. Then I got up, showered and made the determined step of yomping out of town.

The hills were enormous, the roads too dangerous. I walked up the side of the road through the dockland area of town and it was impossible to start skating at all. Way too risky. So I hiked to near Tingwall dragging my board on the lanyard all the way, and called Paul from Tesco, to make my next plan. He suggested a campsite on the coast, quite a walk away but I still had no other option. Or so I thought.

Turning off the main road, I went down into the village of Veensgarth. A cute little Norwegian themed place again, one where I felt very comfortable. As I passed a big red building with a Hummer outside, two men came and talked to me. "What are you doing? Oh! It's Help For Heroes? Where are you staying? No...no you're not, you're staying here tonight or my Marine brother will kill me." Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gordon of the Herrislea House Hotel, Veensgarth, one of the kindest men of Yell there are. I've heard some stories about Gordon since, which confirm my view that he is, indeed, a legend.

The first true kindness event on the trip, I could see from my room, the road upon which I was to travel the next day. Looks like an uphill to start...

04/07/09: MV Hrossey - Levanwick

I woke up and all was smooth and calm, as it had been for the 10 hours I'd been asleep, I'm told. I put on my shoes and left the cabin, where the three other occupants all had their berth curtains closed and were snoozing away. Out on deck, I looked across a mythical land, cradled in mist. Shetland. I'd bloody made it. After all this thinking, dreaming, planning, spending, sorting and panicking...Shetland. On our starboard side, the Clare mirrored our track along the coast, with the duty of delivering cargo to the islanders.

Everything felt different, the colour of the sea, the Arctic nature of the wildlife, everything felt...wild. I was very happy. I had a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea in the restaurant as we came in past the main island, and it struck me that I was actually going to be skating the entire length of it. I could see the hills from the ship, and I was more than a little perturbed, but...what will be will be. Seeing a seal in the harbour and jellyfish all around the ship made me a little more chilled out - cool to see creatures!

Making landfall, I left the terminal in Lerwick and headed straight to the supermarket in town to stock up on food and began a search also for gas. I met Paul, the manager, who gave me some great advice. He also called me later to tell me he'd told every media outlet on Shetland - great work, sir!

So, for the off. Out of Lerwick, I climbed some massive hills, and it then became time to skate properly. First time in traffic, first time with a big pack, what a baptism of fire. I slogged like a fool, and boy was my ego brought down quickly. The pack hurt, my feet hurt, I hurt. But they do say the best training for a skateboard trip is to go on a skateboard trip...

All at once, horrific and beautiful, today will never be forgotten. I found a campsite up at Levanwick and stayed there in my bivvi, nursing my wounds and my broken expectations of the distances I could hope to cover. A low evening.

03/07/09: Soprano's Cafe, Aberdeen

All it took was one cup of tea and I immediately began to feel better about life. It had to be the most special cup of Earl Grey tea, but yep, it's done some of the trick. I'm very tired from the sweltering train, then the freezing bus, in equal parts. One more big trip - nay, voyage - to go, and then I'm at the start point for my trip. Weather dependant, I will try and head south for Sumburgh tomorrow. But let's just get through the next 15 hours first eh?

I'm doing a lot of looking back just now, to where I came from and all the people I miss there. Bring on the ferry!!

02/07/09: Plymouth - Aberdeen Bus

Leaving Plymouth was very hard. Saying goodbye to sponsors, loved ones and my homeland was tough and pretty fraught. Lots of final checks - you never feel totally ready - and I know there are things I've forgotten.

In Exeter I got stopped by a nice guy called Mike who saw me on the news, nice to chat to someone about it - takes some of the nerves away a bit. It only hit me as I waited to leave Exeter on the train that this trip is going to keep me away from home for quite some time. I was still in shock that I'd actually managed to reach the day where I'd be (almost) ready for something like this. We'll just have to see, fingers crossed and all that.

I hear it's 33C in London today - total nightmare.

And down comes the rain again.

The train was roasting, and I gradually felt most of my body's systems slow down to a stutter as the lack of AC in the carriage affected me more and more. When you wake up and your mouth is dry, well, you feel a bit cack. The countryside rolls by, hot burning fields, ready to erupt into flames at any second with the heat attacking them. Passing through fragrant pine tree tunnels, the scent hits me as we race through the land, and I realise that me and that board, we have only got each other now, we have to become family.

Waves of panic and fear come and go all at once as I wonder what I'm doing here and how much I miss my life back home. It's okay, I've dealt with it before but I'm never cool with the pangs of wibbly sadness returning. It could just be this hot train keeping me fully annoyed and thinking too deeply.

*Victoria Coach Station*

I'm pathetically, undeniably scared now. Without anyone to level me out my nerves seem to be getting the better of me. That's the thing I am rapidly discovering about going solo. There is no one but yourself for company - you have to get out there and talk to people if you want contact with other beings...including my friend Vic, who just randomly rocked up for a five second visit!

I'm sat on my board trying to avoid catching swine flu worrying if my knees will hold up. There's a man with a disturbing black doll in a clear fronted box - it's alarming. Teenagers on a eurotrip to Amsterdam teem in front of me, queuing to have a holiday that will no doubt involve much first time adolescent debauchery. I have 4 hours til I need to get my bus - but I can't decide what to do other than sit here and write, to avoid wasting my phone battery.

That buzz of leaving has been slowly melted away by the debilitating heat of the London night.

29/06/09: Boards Ahoy!

Some excellent news just in. I've just received, from Canada, a lighter version of my favourite shape, the Rayne Demonseed Deelite. I'm not sure, it could be one of the first in the country. This deck has been generously donated by Paul Kent, and all at Long Treks On Skate Decks, who I worked with previously in the year to provide tech support for their Peruvian skate trip. Being quite small, I find most boards a challenge (ha!), but having one that's low and light will make all the difference to me on those hard hills and long roads.

I'm truly grateful for this last minute gift. The final hurdle has been crossed, the kit list is complete. I'm nearly moved out of my house, and, well, there's the small matter of a little distance skate to do now, isn't there?!

22/06/09: Day of Change

Well, it's a bit mad around here at the moment. Today I just finished working at the ice rink, which has been my stable job for 2 years. I never expected to be a rinkie for so long, or to love it more than any other job I've had, but I did. I really enjoyed getting the kids up and skating and smiling at the end of it all. Now it's time for the next chapter.

I'm going to be starting teacher training when I get back from this trip, I've also sorted out a new place to live for my return, which has plenty of room for all my kit and boards etc!

I met polar explorer Antony Jinman today, in Cotswold Outdoor! A very inspiring chap whose expeditions take him to some of the places I adore. Baffin Island, Greenland, and a jaunt across good old Devon. Great to talk to and he reminded me of my reasons for doing this adventuring malarkey.

For the adventure of it all.

You can visit his site at: http://www.antonyjinman.com

 

17/06/09: Transportation to Shetland Is Booked!

As the title to this post indicates, I've got my way sorted up to Shetland, and all for the princely sum of £69.50! Jeez, that's cheaper than a Jetboil! It can be done, and all you need to do things this way is a strong stomach (which I don't have) and a sense of adventure about things (which I do have!)....

Megatrain to London £15.50

Megabus to Aberdeen £20.00

Ferry to Lerwick, Shetland £34.00

Bosh. Done.

Just the skating bit to do next!

Few bits of kit left to source - still waiting on board and wheels, and head torch but that's pretty much it now, chaps and chapesses... :D

Look out for a link to my Photobucket folder coming soon with some photos of my gear being tested, set up and generally played with...

11/06/09: Don't Think I've Forgotten You!

Gosh, life moves on apace! My friend Ben is currently skating along some of the road I'll be taking on in July, up in Northern Scotland. At this present time I'm booking transportation options up to Shetland. I've decided that I'm going to man up and really feel the distance, as I do on my travels in America. Discount buses and ferries all the way! The whole point of this trip is to travel, meet people and FEEL the distance.

I'm under no illusions about how hard this is going to be for little old me, but compared to what others do (particularly those being aided by Help For Heroes), this has to be easy. Everything's relative though, so I'm stocking up on Stugeron, ginger sweets and a good book!

I've almost got all of my kit - just finalising board stuff now. It's getting a bit close to the leaving date to be thinking of that. I've got plenty of options, so we shall see...we shall see.

This trip is all about adventure, the unknown, the spirit of kindness and generosity and giving it my best shot.

27/05/09: The Kit List Completionism Continues...

I've finally shelled out on the two most expensive pieces of kit (aside from the deck) that I needed for this trip. Thanks to some awesome work on the part of Cotswold, I've got myself a Rab Ridge Raider bivi and a Quantum 400 Endurance down sleeping bag. Each weighs under a kilo, and feels lighter than...something very very light! They pack down well into my bag, and along with a Thermarest Prolite sleeping mat, I've completed my camping kit. As well as an inflatable pillow that was won courageously for me at a Plymouth pub quiz...I'm so sorted!

I've also had an awesome chat with a freelance journalist based up in Northern Scotland who wants to get my story out a bit in the press. In fact, I blethered on for nearly an hour and a half, so I hope there's enough material there for you, sir!

I still have much to get but at the end of the day, I have a month to find these things, I'm doing all I can to procure them and by golly, I've then got to get around to doing the actual...ness...of the whole thing.

Things have been doing well this week people, going well. I'll get some photos of the gear up soon, so you can see what I'm talking about!

15/05/09: Things Are Clanking Along Nicely!

Well, it was a wonderfully productive day yesterday. I had a brilliant meeting in store with Ryan and Rob and they really helped me through my kit list, pointing out where I could make changes, savings and the like. I'm still going to be spending a fair wedge on kit, but with their sage advice, I won't be wasting any of said wedge.

I also met a lovely lady called Carol who owns a hotel in Elgin. She has offered me a place to stay, regroup and hot meals to boot! That was my second random act of kindness - the first was about a month ago, when a nice man gave me £2 towards the charities as we shared a taxi trip in Reading. There ARE some nice people out there, and I'm very fortunate to find myself in the right place at the right time to meet them.

Cheers Everyone!!!

14/05/09: By The Way...

I wouldn't be me if I wasn't just a little bit scared by this trip. A pretty website, a kit list to cherish and a board that hopefully will make itself known soon enough...none of these things matter if I don't put in the work. It's all good and well doing all these things to distract me from what I'm actually going to be doing, but when it comes down to it, I'm a little bit scared. I sort of feel like my time has come to do something like this, but the fear of actually doing it..wow. Some feeling!

13/05/09: Sponsor Meeting

Tomorrow I have a meeting at Cotswold Outdoor in Plymouth to discuss my kit requirements for the trip. It's all very exciting, and they've agreed to provide me with a kind discount on the things I'll need. And cripes do I need a lot. When you decide to travel 'fast and light', you sort of have to accept you're going to get caned for a lot of cash...

13/05/09: The First Post

Hi All! Welcome to the final version of the Perimeter website. I've been working hard to get the site up and running so that you can find out more about my plans this summer. A few bits more to add but this is the basic setup. If only everything was as simple as web design! I have a massive kit list to get together, sponsors to find, a donations page to set up and...oh yeah...I still need a board. That old chestlenut.

Come on back here whenever you please to find out what's going on in the world of me and my journey. I'll add more as I go along and the plan at the moment is very much to be on the road early July. Starting in Northern Shetland, working my way down to Orkney, then across to the mainland and down the East Coast of Scotland to the border.

I plan to be flexible, so things may change, but the route above is very much my goal for this summer's adventures.

Thanks for stopping by - feel free to email me! Cheers then!