Day One Complete

The local mechanic drove from Dunbeath, some half hours drive south, and fixed the van quick smart. My blog, written whilst the chap was on his way, caused worry across the land apparently. The team clambered into the van and sped off towards the northern tip of Scotland, and my mobile phone began to buzz with messages of support from people nationwide.

We hung around John o'Groats for a little while and the it was time. I kissed the start line, jumped on the board, and five four three two one, push......

The weather was incredible. Perfect. The scenery was breathtaking. I'd been waiting for this for a while and the earlier delay wasn't going to spoil the party.

The first stretch was a two mile uphiller on horrible cracked roads. By the end of it I was knackered. An hour and a half later, not long after cameraman Dimitri had taken a spectacular dive out of the van after his 'foot caught the ground', I hugged Dan, Becki and Si goodbye. They had to head south, back to England, back to their lives. Guys, thanks for being there at the start of all of this. Even though Holly and Dimitri were coming back a lump came to my throat as the van disappeared over the hill. I was on the road from John o'Groats, and I was alone for the first time.

Five miles later I was in Wick, 17.1 miles south. I'd been skating solidly for just under two hours and I was ready to die. Mary and Neil, with whom the whole team had stayed last night, knocked up a splendid cold buffet of salad and prawns, and I blinked away my nervous fatigue as a pudding of cheese filled my belly.

Still, after lunch I didn't want to move. It was half past two, there were 20 miles between Wick and Dunbeath, today's checkpoint, and it seemed like an awful long way.

The road were brilliant. Five miles of uphill turned into consistent ups and downs, steep and shallow, fast and slow. The sun beat down and a sharp wind came in off the coast and I felt like I was on top of the world.

A signpost: Dunbeath. Yes! A funny old man on a 1948 highlands motorcycle kep us talking for 15 minutes and all I wanted to do was finish. All he wanted to do was take photos of us next to his bike. Across the valley was a devastatingly steep climb. First though, we had to get to the bottom, which meant speed. The wheels turned, a roar and a cheer went up from a nearby pub, and the bottom came and went in a blur. It was too steep, pushing impossible. I stood up, walked to the top, talking to the camera until just over the brow waiting trusty Holly in the support van, tucked into a layby. "Let's call it a day guys."

Job done. A quick drink in the pub from where the cheering came, and those who cheered dipped into their pockets and donated £45. That made my day. Well, that and giving Dimitri a whooping at pool.

A big one tomorrow, the next checkpoint is Tain, 60 miles south of Dunbeath. It's BFUK's longest day, for six nights we are now without accomodation so will be camping in the van, so I have no idea where the next internet access is coming from. But with a bit of luck we'll be back online soon to keep you updated with this skateboard journey of skateboard journeys.

Do my legs hurt? Yes, a little. But I have, shall we say, a chafing issue. I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Oh dear, deary me. Until next time....