The Why Not? Blog

100 Things - Emi Green

2010-05-05T07:09:00.001Z

Lake Geneva Crossing Trailer

2010-05-03T12:45:00.001Z

A Summer of Adventure

2010-03-24T09:36:00.003Z

A little while since I've written here, but on the five-year anniversary of the day a Tierney Rides T-Board landed on my doorstep and prompted a swift re-evaluation of life, it's great to check over the shoulder just as a new career is unravelling into the future.

It has been over three years since Elsa rolled me into Brisbane, all tears and champagne and old men blocking the finishing line. I still love looking at the photos of all the Brizzy skaters charging down the crowd, a couple of them landing flat on their backs after tricks-for-the-cameras-gone-wrong. I didn't see the stacks with my own eyes, I was just around the corner, handing the project minicam to Simon Thorpe, the BoardFree cameraman, so he could film the finale through the tickertape.

For a while I couldn't quite connect myself to the guy who had pushed a skateboard across Australia. It took seven months to recover physically and more than a year to get the psychologicals back in order, but after that it was a case of bashing through the undergrowth of a strange new world. A career in Adventure? Really? Sure, why not? Skating acrosss Australia 'wasn't possible' either, remember?!!!

So, fast forward. Most of my ramblings these days are on www.davecornthwaite.co.uk/blog and this summer there will be plenty to catch up on. I'm working on a book about last winter's source to sea expedition along Australia's Murray River and the first bricks of foundation are being laid for next Spring's Stand Up Paddle journey between London and Africa - all as part of www.thegreatbigpaddle.com

Before then, though, a couple of smaller Stand Up Paddle journeys, one around Lake Geneva with Sebastian (www.100things.com.au) Terry and another across the UK from Bath to London. Then in July I'll be shooting over to Peru for an 8 week job, looking after almost 200 Adventurists as they set off over the Andes en route to Ascuncion in Paraguay riding on three-wheeled mototaxis. Genius.

Skating long distances, Beats Walkin'

2007-06-30T20:29:00.000Z

Sam ‘Bam’ Benson just called. He heads out from Barnstable in the morning with more than 2500 miles of road ahead of him. Bearing in mind he has never left the UK and never seen a mountain, his journey from Devon to Spain is a true, plucky, pioneering endeavour. Skating via France, Switzerland and Italy, topping the Alps and coming down the other side, he will experience the burn that only endurance athletes are familiar with, but it will push him on and drive him south perhaps a little slower than before, but with the knowledge that he has conquered his first mountains. He’s been in contact with me for almost a year now and I’m proud to say that my own journeys have provided some inspiration for this one. In many ways Bam’s route will be far tougher than the one which took me across Australia. Put aside his personal learning curve, which will begin for real when he brandishes his passport in Calais and skates off into an unknown mainland, an education like no other when travelling under your own steam. Then tuck in, dealing with European drivers when you’re in a car is no fun, whether they have more respect for a skateboard we shall see – at least he won’t be able to understand the colourful support directed his way! My push over the Great Dividing Range in south-eastern Victoria seems like a walk up the stairs compared to Sam’s Alpine challenge, and then you have the language barrier, which will frustrate on occasion despite the linguistic talents of his team. And it’s his team which will keep him going, they have chosen to support Sam to the hilt, as mine did with me, and they will ensure that his efforts reward the charities he supports. The Lowe Syndrome Trust, Link Community Development and Sailability are about to benefit from another journey, one which many curious passers-by, listeners and viewers will still find odd, while many more will now accept that longboarding is a commonplace, viable form of transport. For every single person out there who says Sam’s venture is madcap and ridiculous, there will be one hundred who will quite rightly recognise his spirit, energy and determination. That is just what it will take, in addition to no little self-belief and a fair bit of pasta, for Sam to make it to Spain by September. Ride safe, man, and don’t forget to skate on the other side of the road.
- Visit Sam’s website at www.bwboardfree.co.uk, and donate online at www.justgiving.com/beatswalkin

A quick mention too to other BoardFree journeys which are currently underway. Having pedled a recumbent bicycle from Japan to Switzerland, Rob Thompson is continuing his journey by riding a rollsrolls longboard the length of the Rhine river. His journey can be viewed via www.14degrees.org. Across the pond and beyond, Matt Ishler is also spending a lot of time on a rollsrolls, riding from BC to BC, British Columbia to Baja, California down the North American west coast.

In other news, facebook addicts now have the option of joining BoardFree: The Official Group, so they can be easily kept up-to-date with all BoardFree news. Also, I’m continuing to work on logistics for a sponsored 24 hour non-stop skate, which will incorporate individual and team relay competitions. We’re also looking for groups of people who have never skated before to step up and take on the challenge of attempting the 24 hour mission. We will teach you to skate, put you through your paces and make you believe that in just a matter of months you can achieve something just a little bit extraordinary. And, if current plans come through, it’ll all be filmed for a documentary too. All interested parties please register your interest (with no obligation to take part) by emailing 24hour@boardfree.co.uk

Are You The Skateboard Man?

2007-05-15T23:48:00.000Z

I've been trying to call them for two days, it's always engaged or they just don't answer. I missed a parcel...it's ringing again. They pick up.
"Hello, Royal Mail Swansea."
"Hi, I'd like to organise redelivery of a parcel, please."
"No problem, what's your name, please."
"Cornthwaite. C.O.R.N..."
"Do you live in St Thomas?"
"I do."
"Are you the skateboard man?"

Four months ago I was on my last legs, willing blistered feet and a heavy head along the final stretches of the New South Wales Pacific Highway towards Queensland and Brisbane, soaking up car horn after car horn, the most energising sound in the world for a skater one week short of completing a five month journey. In Queensland the ocean bubbled up on my right, small dogs snapped at my heels, the team and I went to Wet N'Wild for a media call. I was on the news for half a minute because I went down a water slide. They say the Australian summer is a quiet time for good press.

Comedowns don't come much heavier than this one. My right foot has been pawing at the air since landing on UK soil in mid February, brain struggling to switch off after two years of intense focus. A goal so distant and, to many people so unlikely, becomes surreal when finally achieved. I'd mapped out every physical step between John O'Groats and Land's End, from Perth to Adelaide, Adelaide to Melbourne, then to Sydney, and then...

And then it hit me. Waving Elsa above my head, right hand gripping a champagne bottle draped in British colours, Brisbane skyline behind me as Getty and Reuters snapped away for the next day's news. I'd always believed - known almost - that I'd get to Brisbane. I just hadn't thought about what I'd do once I'd made it.

That night I cramped up, entire body in spasm. My mind had shut down for the first time in 20 months and without focus my stomach, thighs, arms, shoulders, back and calves jerked in fury, their job finally done. I slept little that night, my brain firmly whirring back into action with a disconcerting concoction of satisfaction and worry. It's still happening...

The rest of the team went their own way, having spent the past half-year volunteering for a hellishly stressful project the need for money started talking again, it always does. My mind started to back away from BoardFree quicker than reality could let it. Imagine, five months without a break, the only time you spend alone is when you're pounding the road hard, for all the beauty of the journey between Perth and Brisbane, it wasn't what you could call quality personal time. A camera thrust in your face everytime you stop, every time you have an argument with your girlfriend. Phone rings, another interview: whatever was happening at that time - whether it was mediation of a team incident, putting together a blog for the website, bandaging up blisters - doesn't matter, the more people who hear about BoardFree the more people donate. It's a correllation that bolsters the foundations of this project; the media face arrives, the media voice, the positive, public side to BoardFree, never false but never letting slip what was happening behind the scenes.

And it's what happened behind the scenes that I'm dealing with now. Everyday spent reliving the good: the kindness of strangers, receiving donations, car honks, and the bad: the cover-ups, the way fatigue deteriorates communication and the loss of a beautiful friendship, a love that should never have slipped away. The self punishing side that tears away at your basic person, how endurance and a lack of privacy reduce you to a pile of emotions where life is a series of ups and downs, where constants and stability disappear with the relationships that fade away amidst your confusion.

And here, at the end, writing it all down, page after page after page, still longing for the privacy and getting it in such a different way to that which you would imagine, unable to extract some distance from the whole picture, I find myself wondering whether or not BoardFree was a good thing. And it's a ridiculous question because it was good, the core group of people who formed to create this dream, to believe in the ideas, the charities and the journey pulled together despite the hard times and made it through to the end. I have my regrets, yes, but I loved and was loved more during BoardFree than ever before, I achieved and I'm sure my team achieved more than they previously had. But with gain comes loss and until I've dealt with that loss, until the final page of the book is written, my journey isn't over. It started with me alone and sadly it ends with me alone. But there should be no pity in this - it was all my own doing.

Certain things help, like the emails of support and interest that have started to come in about a new journey, a twenty-four hour non-stop skate marathon. The glee people take in discovering the AquaSkipper, for now the only non-boardlike transportation I have big plans for. Now and then I throw a chapter of the book at a friend and their self-contained giggles make me want to write more. On the 2nd June a charity skate between Bath and Bristol, co-organised with Lush Longboards, will take more than a handful of people 15 miles on a board to raise money for Link and Lowe - I've received countless emails from skaters preparing to take part; all encouraging, all excited, all determined to make the skate for themselves as much as the charities. And that's the way it should be, the ability to take on a challenge and come through on the other side having done your utmost is more than a learning curve, it's a building block for your future. The lads - I hope at some point soon I can add some ladies to this sentence - who are preparing to embark on their own BoardFree skate journeys this summer have memorable times ahead, and are most certainly about to embark on a good bit of construction of their own personal foundations. Moral fibre, my Grandad would call it. That each and every one of them is willing to part with self to a degree and skate for a cause that warrants attention shows the metal of these people. Sam and his team from BeatsWalkin (Devon to Santander for Link, Lowe and Sailability), Charlie and Bob from the Test of Manhood (London to Morocco for Everyman, the male cancer charity), Ben Stiff (The length of Britain for stroke victims) and Rob and Jack (Wales, charity tbc) are all about to use their decks as weapons of good. Who says the pen is mightier than the board?

In addition to the strangely stalkerish recognition of the lady at the Royal Mail depot, my other highlight this week has been receipt of a large brown envelope. Inside it was a certificate from the Guinness Book of records, confirming that they have accepted my record submission and I am now, officially, a Guinness World Record Holder. Tell me that's not cool!

So it goes on, doesn't it. I hold my hands up and say that sometimes life takes the very glass that you once said was half full and makes you believe it's half empty, but even in the time it has taken me to write this blog I've had a couple of good emails from encouraging friends, have very hopefully found a lovely flat in London which will house me for the next few months and also spoken to a lovely lady who is providing a new home for Kiwa, my beloved kitten who needs a more settled home than her globetrotting Daddy can give her.

The glass is starting to look full again, which is a relief because I was about to call the heavies in.

If anyone didn't manage to donate to Link Community Development, the Lowe Syndrome Trust or Sailability Australia during the UK and Australian Boardfree journeys, there's a new online giving page in support of the 2nd June charity skate at http://www.justgiving.com/lushboardfreeskateathon, your donations would be gratefully received and will be shared equally between the three charities Many thanks.

One year on...

2007-04-30T20:24:00.002Z

Exactly one year ago a small group of people stood on their own in John O'Groats, northern Scotland, watching on as I pushed off on my longboard Elsa to begin the first of two long distance skate journeys. 34 days later I rolled into Land's End with a right foot that looked a little bit like a bowl of chicken and mushroom soup, but BoardFree UK (BFUK) had been completed. A couple of months later I flew to Perth with a slightly larger team, and together we travelled across Australia, concluding a record-breaking 5823km journey in Brisbane on January 22nd this year.

Several months later, I've just returned from Scotland having taken part in a challenge of a different nature. The Drambuie Pursuit began on the Isle of Skye and ended in Inverness, my destination on day 3 of BFUK. Inverness and fatigue always mix well. 15 teams of 4 battled it out for the top prize of a trip to New York, and although myself and my three Welsh teammates didn't make top spot we had a good crack, there's a rather funny video on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9AAEmy-Rt8, and there's more on the Drambuie Pursuit on http://www.drambuiepursuit.com/.

So, exactly twelve months on from the beginning of a series of life-changing journeys, I'm stood at a crossroads of sorts. 4516 miles on a longboard takes some beating, and tapping out a book and preparing to launch rollsrolls longboards headfirst into the UK market doesn't quite seem enough on its own. A successful Aquaskipping session (http://www.bouncefree.org.uk/) in Malta last week has spawned ideas for a new, long-distance challenge (or several of them), but this doesn't mean the longboard will permantently hang on the wall. Logistical prep. for a 24 hour non-stop skate later this year has begun, with the east coast of Australia a likely destination. I'm hoping to be able to pursuade a bunch of Aussie skaters to relay alongside me, in a kind of 5 verses 1 scenario. Nothing like making life easy, eh. The 24 hour skate will be another fundraiser for the BoardFree charities, Sailability, Link Community Development and the Lowe Syndrome Trust, as will a June 2nd 15 mile skateathon from Bath to Bristol, organised with Lush Longboards. We're hoping to get 240 skaters to join up, meaning the accumulative distance travelled will equal the distance I skated between Perth to Brisbane, if you're interested in taken part visit http://www.lushlongboards.com/06-content.php?page=SKATEATHON, and if you can't make it there's an opportunity to donate to the BoardFree charities on http://www.justgiving.com/lushboardfreeskateathon.

This post is sponsored by Underworld-Shop.com, Canada's top Streetwear & Skate Shoes Shop also offering Longboard accessories

A Lush Day Out

2007-04-07T19:24:00.000Z

A couple of days ago Rich Auden from Lush Longboards gave me a call, saying that he'd been thinking about doing a charity skate. And that was about as far as he had got, apart from perhaps deciding on a good route, before calling me to ask about organising charity skates. That led me to taking the reigns, as I suspect Rich wanted, and I'm pleased he called, because today I had a very nice day.

There's a pretty and smooth cycle path leading from Bath to Bristol (or the other way) that winds through trees, alongside a canal, occasionally near a railway track, and I decided to do a reccy. How do you spell that? A bus from Swansea to Cardiff and then a train straight to Bath, and there I was. In Bath. I'd never been to Bath before. Waiting there for me were three young men who travel under the cunningly-hatched group name of 'The BeatsWalking Crew'. Sam Benson, Bam for short, is skating from Devon to Spain this summer in aid of the BoardFree charities. It seemed wise, as we hadn't met yet and I was planning to skate a 15 mile route somewhere vaguely inbetween our two houses, that we should meet for the first time whilst having a skate. With Sam were two members of his 4-person support crew. Chris Morris, or Mo Mo, and Tom Fletcher, or.....Tom. Tom and Mo Mo did as they will be doing from the 1st July onwards, driving on ahead and scouting out the area. Meanwhile, Sam and I skated along the path, stopping now and then at a pub, where Mo Mo and Tom had cleverly positioned themselves. We talked over a pint, and later over ham and eggs, and I shared stories from my UK and Australian journeys and they told me what they were planning, and I caught more than one glimpse of excitement in their faces. I know how they feel, they have a long road ahead of them, adventures and tough times and more adventures, and the start is coming close. Very quickly. Sam is about to embark upon a journey that he will remember for the rest of his life, and Mo Mo and Tom, along with the other Tom who's joining them, won't be able to forget about it either, because Sam will keep reminding them. One thing I find incredible is that Mr Benson will skate along the south coast of England in early July, and at some point when stepping upon a ferry destined for France, will whip out a little reddish coloured book and wave it in front of someone in uniform. It'll be the first time he's ever done that, because the book is his passport, and that will be the first time he's left the United Kingdom. Keep your eyes on www.bwboardfree.com.uk and donate on www.justgiving.com/beatswalkin, it's going to be one heck of a ride.

Lastly, the Lush Longboards BoardFree Charity Skate, which we hope will become an annual thing, is going to push off at 10am on the morning of Saturday June 2nd. Full details will be posted soon on www.lushlongboards.com and www.boardfree.co.uk, but rest assured the 15 miles between Bath and Bristol will be skated by more than just a handful of people, and we're aiming to raise hundreds, hopefully thousands of pounds for Link Community Development and the Lowe Syndrome Trust, two of BoardFree's charities. For those of you who are wondering about Sailability's cut of the funds, they will be the sole recipient of my 24 hour skate marathon on the east coast of Australia a little bit later this year. See you on the 2nd June, peeps.

Catch 22

2007-03-27T17:01:00.000Z

I've been sat on my bed reading for an hour, Kiwa curled up on my legs with late afternoon light glowing through the window, trying to fill my head with words that I can dump effectively onto a new page of my book, which is coming along by the way. I met Barbara the other day for lunch. She's my commissioning editor. She walked into Starbucks beside Holland Park tube and greeted me with the words, 'Hello Author. Because that's what you are now.' I was quite chuffed at that, and then proceeded to ask her lots of questions about how the book was to be distributed in Australia and when my advance was going to arrive. You know, the serious stuff. I've learned to be honest in the past two years, not that I wasn't before please realise, but honest in the form of actually going ahead and asking or saying things that sometimes you wouldn't, because it's embarassing or something similar. What I'm getting at, is the following. I told Barbara, to some degree, that I was finding it a little hard to believe that I am capable of retracing the footsteps of my last two years. Going through the whole journey again and then writing it down isn't an easy process. To think about, let alone actually do. In all honesty, I'm fucking terrified that now I have this chance to be an author I'm going to write down such a bunch of drivel that no one will want to read it. It's all I ever wanted, you see, and I can't afford to write a pile of tat that will have my writing career hanging in a WaterStones exit this time next year. Who would have thought that skateboarding across Australia would be one of the easiest things I had to do this decade? (PS. Barbara, try not to worry. I'll learn to harness the fear and turn it into something good. Honest.)

So dreams can come true

2007-03-13T05:47:00.000Z

In the past couple of years people have asked me questions that I've decided to answer with a cliche. Each time I do so I grimace inside a little. For example, 'Dave, why did you decide to skate across Australia, having only just taken up skateboarding?' I'd look a bit whistful, look them solidly in the eye and answer, 'Because I believe you can do anything if you really want to. The sky's the limit. The limits are in your mind. Never say never. Anything's possible. Nothing's impossible. Life is good. You're in control of your own destiny. Why not?'

And by the time I'd reeled off everything I read on this morning's ten sheets of motivational toilet paper the journalist had done one of two things. He'd disappeared completely, often through tired, unoriginal self combustion, or he'd turned into a zombie. Just nodding. Not needing to write anything down, because he'd heard it all before.

And then I'd realise what I'd done, apologised for using all the cliches in the world. And finished it off with a personal critique of cliches, to which this day I'm still very proud off. 'But, you see, cliches are here for a reason aren't they. It's because they're true.' And that normally finished off anyone else who was still standing around.

Dreams do come true, however. For as long as I can remember I had an intense amount of competitiveness in me, but no particularly direct ambition. I didn't want to be a doctor when I was a kid. I barely wanted to go to University because when I was asked to start thinking about it at the age of 16 I realised straight away that I was 16, 'and frankly Mr Gombault from the Careers Department, I'm not going to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life when I'm 16. I mean, I'm 16. I haven't even had sex yet.' And he looked at me sideways as if to say, 'neither have I,' and then I came out of my daydream and nodded vaguely so I could leave the Careers department and go and play football.

When I was 17 I decided the only thing I wanted to do with my life was change it. I wasn't very popular in school and I just wanted to have something to talk about so I could make some friends. I opted to give myself an extra year before going to University and take a gap year. Ironically, even though I was accepted onto a scheme which would see me go and teach in Uganda for a few months, I was still informed that I had to decide which University I wanted to go to and what I wanted to study at the same time as everyone else. Brilliant. I was going to East Africa to become a man and give myself some thinking time, and then I was lumped with the numbing realisation that all the newness of travel and life was going to abruptly come to an end in September 1999, when I was going to Swansea to study Management Science. Just brilliant.

In Africa I put the high powered maths and business course to the back of my mind, and started to write for the first time. I wrote a long daily diary, I wrote long letters home, I wrote poems to my first ever girlfriend Jessica and then cleaned up my housemate's sick when I tried them out on him first. But I'd finally found something that I really loved, writing. And ever since then I wanted to be a travel writer. And that dream hasn't changed for a moment.

And now, I'm smiling as I type this by the way, I'm about to become a travel writer. Because although I submitted tongue-in-cheek articles about my exploits in various jungles to the student newspaper when I was in my early twenties, it wasn't really travel writing. It was just pretending. The real stuff, the big cheese, was getting a book deal. And one day, having spent a few months living off an advance and writing for a living, I was going to be able to walk into Waterstones, start casually browsing the travel writing section and then exclaim loudly, 'oh bloody hell this one looks good,' and start waving it around above my head so the pretty girl down the aisle could see it. And yes, there it was, my book, with my name on, and my words inside. A whole book. Available for everyone to read.

And now it's going to happen. Because last Friday I was offered a book deal. And yesterday I accepted it. And now I'm writing a book that I'll be able to find in Waterstones a few months down the line. How bloody good is that, Mr Gombault? How bloody good is that?

Moving on...

2007-03-07T22:21:00.000Z

I have learnt two things this week. One, that however often people tell me to eat more I just can't summon the energy to go downstairs and make some toast. And two, that I should never, ever, answer the phone having just been holding a runny egg and bacon sandwich. For the foreseeable future I will be chatting away merrily to someone in a different part of the world, and then realise after the handset has been returned to its cradle that I have yellow on my ear.

But, I always try to make a positive out of a negative situation. And besides the obvious light that shines down on a 27 year-old WHO IS STILL LEARNING, my cat Kiwa will now enjoy a tasty snack everytime I've been on the phone.
She likes licking my ear, it's how I wake up in the morning.
I haven't trained her to do that, by the way.

I'm in a bit of limbo. I flew back to the UK one month ago. Since then some good things have happened. I read about something called an AquaSkipper, and then decided I was going to go for a world record on it. When I started I was rubbish. and then, worryingly, I continued to be rubbish. But the local swimming pool in Swansea has given me a warm, calm environment on which to bounce this brilliantly odd contraption around in, and at the end of my second session yesterday I was finding my rhythym. The AquaSkipper, or more precisely, it's motion, has given me a new fun project to work on at the same time as I deal with everything else - which I am about to explain below. So, before I move on to the other stuff, I would like to welcome you to BounceFree! I have a BounceFree related blog at http://bouncefree.blogspot.com/, and the BounceFree website is currently resident at www.boardfree.co.uk. I'm very excited about all of this, by the way, and I hope the videos and diaries make you chuckle. Ultimately, I'd like to do something extraordinary on the Aquaskipper, in time for Comic Relief 2008. Middle of March. I have a year to be a world champion. Sound familiar?

So, when I'm not bouncing, what else am I doing? Reading and writing, I am. Said Yoda. The BoardFree story is forming on paper, or at least on a screen, and to focus my efforts on the written word I've created a little reading haven in my study, which separates me from other distractions like internet and playstation and cameras and cats. Although I lied about the cats bit. Kiwa in particular enjoys my reading haven and tends to spend an awful lot of time on my lap, when I'm in there. As soon as I know when the book will be unleashed (I prefer 'unleashed' to 'released', it sounds more spectacular and might set it apart from other, more timid book releases) I will let you all know.

What else. What else? Oooh, I'm a company director! Sat on a plane in Altenberg, Germany, I prepared for take-off with the realisation that still less than two years after I stepped onto my first skateboard, I now have a good hand in taking forward rollsrolls, the marvellous company that created Elsa, my board of choice for UK and Australian journeys. Now, you might be a little unnerved to find that a company director is capable of saying, or indeed writing, the word 'Oooh.' Please don't judge me. I can't quite explain this longboard thing, it's a wonderful feeling rolling along, carving left and right down a hill. There were times in Australia when I was speeding along and quite uncharacteristically felt the urge to yell out 'Weeeeeeeeee!!!' Seriously, I actually said 'Weee', and I'm quite sure I'll be saying it again in the near future. I now have the job of marketing rollsrolls boards to the whole world, so watch out.

This Saturday the first of many public talks will occur at the TNT Travel Show near Covent Garden (see events at www.boardfree.co.uk for details). On and off for the rest of the year I'll be travelling around the UK and Australia telling people how it is possible to do anything, and that the best reason for them to do anything is to be happy. I will share stories from the road, tell people about big blisters and dodging snakes - and undoubtedly as the tour goes on and people become more and more interested in how I managed to battle an army of snakes with just a skateboard and a water bottle, the whole scenario will get a bit exaggerated. That's just what happens after you've had to live for two years with a blister the size of a small country enveloping your foot. If you are in London this weekend please come along. You can even bring a book if you're not interested in the talk, but it will make me feel better to have at least one person sat there in a crowd of lonely plastic seats.

Right, I'm off to read some more in my haven and mull over the concept of AquaSkipping at the same time, I'm sure. Thanks for reading...and oh! I forgot to say, the justgiving.com/boardfree site is now offline and we raised a huge sum of £19645.39 for Link, Lowe and Sailability, and this total will be added to by other people skating for BoardFree this year (see Sam Benson's epic European trip on http://www.justgiving.com/beatswalkin) and also by donations from book and DVD sales, hopefully.

The funny little things in life

2007-02-21T05:57:00.000Z

I'm buying a mobile phone charger in Swansea city centre. An enthusiastic assistant takes a good look at Elsa and screws his face up in thought. "I'm sure I've heard about you before," he says, pointing at my board, "don't you have one big calf because you skateboarded around Australia?"
"I guess you could say that, mate," I smile at him. Then, just as I thought the moment was over the man said something which summed up why the government doesn't let certain people have passports.
"Woah," he grinned, a bit too insanely for my liking. "I'm not surprised your legs are so big with lions chasing you all the time."
I looked at him, trying to work out whether he was serious. It didn't take much to realise he was, the blankness in his eyes gave it away.
"Cheers for the charger, mate," I thanked him, and left very very quickly.

In London last week, I scoured the Metro for something juicy. I found it. At the back end of the news there was a picture story about a bizarre looking device called the AquaSkipper. Shaped like an oversize, ungainly bike, it had specially designed hydrofoils at the end of its 'legs' which enabled it to 'bounce'or 'aquaskip' over the water. What caught my attention, though, was the fact that there was no motor involved, it took the skill of a single rider to pump the machine along. 'Here's something a bit special,' I thought to myself. 'Wonder whether I could cross the Channel on one of these?'
A few days later, this morning, to be precise, I wrote to Duncan McDonald who imports AquaSkippers into the UK. 'I've recently aquired a taste for the unusual,' I told him, 'could I possibly have a test run with an AquaSkipper?'
We spoke a few hours later. Watch this space.

Post BoardFree plans are starting to come together, although definite details won't be confirmed until the first week of March. I'm crossing my fingers regarding the book, visit Germany in 10 days for rollsrolls business and am a couple of days away from launching a website which will be the online base for an upcoming speaking tour. Finally, for now, the BoardFree homecoming party will see a few team members come together on Wednesday 28th Feb, for what will hopefully be a big fundraiser at Swansea's Sin City club. Oh, and listen in to BBC Radio 2 on Sunday afternoon at about a quarter to five GMT. I'm on the Johnnie Walker show.

My study

2007-02-14T14:00:00.000Z

It's 5:34. I really shouldn't be up this early. Outside the wind whistles down the street, rain patters on the window and a moody orange glow from the street lamps haunts my study. My study where I planned BoardFree's UK and Australia, my study where I once received new faces who were interested in joining me on the expedition. Simon, Kate, Holly, Laura, Dim, Pete and even some others who didn't make it. My study from where I'm writing a book about the period between March '05 and now. My study in Swansea. I'm home.

But home is different now. Instead of preparations for a brave, unknown endeavour, I now face a new future with the long road of achievement behind me. BFUK, done. BFOZ, done. So now what?

Good question. It was asked hundreds of times in Australia but I always remained upbeat. The first two BoardFree projects were life-consuming. For 22 months I thought of little else (apologies to everything and everyone that encountered my solid, wide-eyed stare) and it truly becme a way of life. Now, back in my study where everything was done to ensure that both the UK and Australian journeys succeeded, I sit here happy that everything that could have been done was done. And now it's time for more.

There has been little sitting around since reaching Brisbane. New ideas started to form, new opportunities presented themselves. Plenty of interest in the book - from prospective readers and publishers alike - makes me confident that I'll have a deadline to work to very soon. Soul food has been brought to me on golden platters recently, I feel very privileged to even have a story so full of adventure and good intention and pain and character to tell. It's a warming thought. So many things could have ended BoardFree prematurely. None did.

Media interest in BoardFree continues. Women's magazines have written, the major papers and smaller publications continue to get in touch. The TV is coming out to film my reunion with my parents in Oxfordshire on Sunday, and I'm a guest on a national daytime show this Friday, it's presented by a couple named Richard and Judy, and it's watched by millions. Two years ago I was sat in my study, depressed to the nines, face like a raincloud, life filled with little more than working routine and computer games. Then a longboard arrived in the post and now look!

I'm working with Peter and Hagen from rollsrolls in Germany to promote the longboard around the world. I fly to Leipzig in early March to press the 'Go' button on the new, improved rollsrolls. It is a board that thrills. I mentioned soul food earlier, if there was ever a longboard to fill your belly it is the rolls. I will try my best to give everyone in the world a go over the coming years.

And then, to top off the list of schedule-fillers and merely confirm the reasons for my not resting since Brisbane, there's the speaking tour. It begins on March 10th in London at the TNT Travel Show and will continue for over a year, taking me around the UK, back to Australia and perhaps further afield. The aims of the talks are to motivate, inspire and increase donations - they will begin in earnest as soon as the book and DVD are ready to accompany me on my travels. What use is a story if there is nobody to tell it to? Sometimes, audiences can be created.

Finally, another answer to a regular question. Will there be any more journeys? Yes there will. I'm biding my time because of other commitments at present, but I'm planning another world record attempt before 2007 is through. What that is, you'll just have to hold on for a bit to find out.

So, 5:56 now. I'm not up because I like it. I'm up because of jet lag. After flying in Saturday morning to be greeted by a cheering group of familiar people wearing t-shirts bearing the words 'They said he could't skateboard across Australia, but he's only bloody gone and done it,' I've been wandering around like a zombie. Fighting sleep in the middle of the day, waking early, feeling sick, losing appetite. And you know what I think about most when I'm in the middle of this state of bodily disfunction? 'Man, I'm going back to Australia later this year, and I'm going to have to get over the dreaded lag all over again!'

Living with Lowe Syndrome

2007-02-05T07:36:00.000Z

Connor Gardiner is eleven and a half years old. He stands 4'1" in heels (please don't ask!), walks with his head tilted slightly to the side and wears spectacles holding lenses which, despite their thickness, will never be able to give him perfect eyesight. When he was born Connor, like all boys with Lowe Syndrome, had cataracts. As a consequence, the lens in both eyes were removed, and so begun his life.

When we first met at the 3rd December at the BoardFree event in Rushcutters Bay, Sydney, he was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers and full of agitated energy. Out of his element, Connor clung to two things which enabled him to feel happy. His Dad, Alex, cares for him almost full-time and often looked down to find his son wrapped around his waist. And then Connor met Elsa, my board. The two of them rolled around, colliding into ankles, emitting screams of pleasure and then, when it all became too much, Elsa hit the floor suffering what was to become her greatest injury of the Australian journey. Just a couple of inches of surface covering fell away - I won't deny I had a pang of disbelief when someone handed me the board! - but it revealed another side to Lowe Syndrome which I hadn't seen before.

Tha National Organisation for Rare Diseases defines Lowe with the following description: "Lowe Syndrome, also known as oculo-cerebro-renal syndrome, is a rare inherited metabolic disease that affects males. This disorder is characterized by lack of muscle tone (hypotonia), multiple abnormalities of the eyes and bones, the presence at birth of clouding of the lenses of the eyes (cataracts), mental retardation, short stature, and kidney problems. Other findings may include protrusion of the eyeball from the eye socket (enophthalmos); failure to gain weight and grow at the expected rate; weak or absent deep tendon reflexes; and multiple kidney problems (e.g., renal tubular dysfunction, renal hyperaminoaciduria, etc.)."

In reality boys with Lowe and their families are often a forgotten lot. Relatively few sufferers of Lowe exist (between 300-400 registered boys to date) and this means that the disease often slips through the wide open cracks of the Welfare State. Support, therefore, is not always forthcoming, Alex and Connor are just one example.

Until arriving back in Sydney after rolling into Brisbane, I hadn't spent more than a couple of hours in the presence of Lowe Syndrome. Connor displays the consistent copybook traits of a lad with Lowe. He's affectionate, loving, has a wicked sense of humour. Looking at him, it's easy to forget he's not far off twelve years old. His size alone makes him appear six or seven and his behaviour bounces from shouting and violent to loving and kind. One thing is constant: he never stops. I watch him eat and he can't focus on his meal. At breakfast he takes a spoonful and wanders off, changing TV channels and repositioning his radio, before returning for another bite. He rarely finishes a bowl and I can't comprehend how he maintains his energy levels for eleven hours a day, but for all the constant attention he demands he is a pleasure to be around. When he finds something funny he tilts his head back and gurgles a giggle, now and then he'll sit down beside Kate or Si or Dan and just be still. His inquisitive nature never ceases seeking for information. "Whadilly you do today?" "Where's Shiman [Simon]?" And sometimes he gives you love that you've never had before. On my first night in the house I was heading to bed. Connor held my hand as I walked upstairs and then, before I closed my door, he ran back in without a word, put his arms around me and kissed my hip, then ran away again.

Despite his affectionate, cheeky nature, he is hard work to live with, and I've just been here a week. His dad, Alex, loves him wholly and has the patience of a saint. Kate and I have tried to take some pressure off him, preparing Connor for school in the mornings, dressing him, getting breakfast down, standing hand in hand waiting for the bus. The bus arrives, Anton the driver gets out and leads Connor around to the sliding door. Other pupils are inside already, all suffering from some mental or physical disability. One of them, a girl wearing a wide brimmed black hat, waved to Kate, Si, Dan and I as we stood in the driveway bidding farewell to Connor. Connor was sat behind the girl and pounced on her arm. We all laughed. "He doesn't want anyone else to wave," Alex told us later. The next morning the same scenario, except Connor was now sat in front of the girl. She waves cautiously and then Connor turned, sensing some movement. Instantly the girl pulled her hand behind her head and feigned a scratch. She learned well! Connor stuck his arm out of the window and waggled it until the bus disappeared.

Kate offered to cook Alex and Connor dinner tonight. "Let me ride in the Ude [Ute]!" Connor asked, his hundredth request to take a drive in Cheech, my once on-the-road support vehicle. This time, he got his wish. Little eyes just peeking over the dashboard, he directed Kate to the supermarket in Strathfield and helped her pick out a parking spot. Walking to the shops, every car was a new interest, "what make is that one?" he pointed, then after passing a new car, he got cheeeky, "why would anyone buy your ute, it's old?!" Inside the supermarket, the fruit shelves gave Kate some headaches as Connor picked up each different fruit and veg, sniffed it (his poor eyesight means all new objects are sniffed to gain some familiarity) then offered a final assessment, either "Yum" or "Yuk!" A few grapes disappeared into his naughty little mouth, and Kate couldn't help but snigger when he grabbed a carrot, took a bite and then popped it back on the shelf!

I'd often wondered how I'd feel if I had a child with a disability. Completely removed from the reality of this - I'm not in the game of having kids just yet - I suppose the thought was based on an inate selfishness and love of freedom. How would I react at the birth? How would I deal with things? Would I put the child up for adoption? Seriously, I asked myself these questions from the safe vantage point of distance. Then, leaving Kate in bed to get some much needed sleep, I found myself dressing Connor, a half-hour process as he struggles and pretends to be a dog and cries and runs away. Right there and then, as Connor lay on his back and pounded the bed with fists and feet, it suddenly occurred to me that the questions I'd once asked myself were folly. Nothing really mattered, I realised. As I chuckled at Connor refusing to allow socks onto his feet, it struck me that if I had a child I would love he or she, no matter what. I love this kid with his thick glasses which he swaps for mine now and then, this lad who loves TV and has a brilliant fascination for his portable radio which he carries around the house and plugs in so people can listen to it. Admittedly, living with a boy with Lowe Syndrome probably isn't the best way to recuperate from a five month skateboarding journey, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. I'm going to miss the little fella and his Dad, and I'm looking forward to standing with Connor for one last time in the morning, holding his hand as the School Bus approaches over the hill, waiting to see what happens as everyone waves goodbye.

Please donate @ www.justgiving.com/boardfree

Give us a wave, Australia

2007-02-02T13:34:00.001Z

11 days on from Brisbane sees six members of the team in Sydney, two on a plane back home and another two in the UK already. Becs, Bev, Dan and Si leave on Sunday, Kate and I a little later in mid Feb. The feet have been resting, although the occassional skate has been allowed and oh my goodness it's nice to roll around just for fun, knowing that I don't have 70km to commit to. BoardFree Australia's major engagements officially ended on the 31st January with a reception at the British Consulate in the City, a marvellous affair which brought together faces from the past six months, all to chat and reminisce and stare gawping at the stunning view through the window, the Opera House and Harbour Bridge majestic despite gloomy, grey weather. All quite English.

The post-Brisbane vacuum hasn't had much chance to suck the life out of me. Physically I crashed and burned after the 22nd, nausia and lack of appetite punishing me for five months of hard pushing. Still, rest was needed and a haven was provided, I rested up with Kate, Dan and Si on the Gold Coast with our new extended family: Chris, Nat, Tyla and Kye Cleator, enjoying fine company and warm Queensland swimming pools. But underlying everything, however relaxing life was for those few days, was planning. Typical Dave, there's no time for a week's holiday when there's a future to plan. Work work work, think think think. And the ideas start to form. Fundraising events in Sydney and back home, a homecoming gig in Swansea on the 1st March. BoardFree the book, title still to be decided, is in the formative stages. The chance to capitalise on Elsa's fame is handed to me by Peter Sanftenberg of rollsrolls, who wants me to market the board to a wider audience. His dream of being "rich in life" is one I share, I have found few things more satisfying than seeing the beam of delight radiate from the face of a person who has just ridden a rollsrolls for the first time - I remember how I felt and I still feel the same after all this distance. Of course, I need to eat and the money is helpful, but I would spread this board around for free if business wasn't an option. It's more than a big toy, it's a lifestyle. Skate to work, skate to school, skate and roll and ride. Life feels good.

In Sydney, we've been staying with Alex and Connor Gardiner. Connor has Lowe Syndrome, and sharing a house with him deserves a blog of its own, it's on the way....

It's just passed midnight, some complimentary tickets from the English Cricket Board via the British Consulate gave, Kate, Dan, Si, Becki, Bev and myself the chance to witness a strange thing tonight, England beating Australia!!! What an occassion, my first live cricket match, the realisation that watching cricket is a drawn-out social meeting with plenty of sub-plots. The cricket itself was great, but the day's main headline was farcical. On the news this morning it was announced, "No Mexican Waves Allowed at the SCG tonight." And they were deadly serious. Recent mexican waves led to the unforgivable sin of spilt drinks and soggy suits, and therefore they were off the agenda for today's game. But, and here's where it gets good, that didn't stop the crowd. 30 overs into the first innings, England were 170 odd runs for 3, and a bellow of cheers reverberated around the ground, gaining momentum as a beautiful cascade of colour rippled around the stadium, forging laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. "We're not allowed to do this, but we're going to do it anyway! What, exactly, are they going to do? Arrest us all?"

The police moved in, offered the 34,000 a double-take, and then started to wrestle man after man out of the Barmy Army contigent and out of the stadium. It became apparent that the instigators of the deadly wave were to be evicted, yet the party pooping continued. Mexican waves are great at sports games, they're harmless, make people happy and improve on the spectacle, so they continued through to the end, everyone present grinning goofily at the fact that they were having fun and breaking the law at the same time. Every time one of the poor sods in the stalls was frogmarched out of the ground for having fun the crowd turned and boo'ed the police, often offering a parting farewell to the brave heroes who had once led the placid rebellion in the form of a small, breaking Mexican Wave. Cheers around the stadium, brilliant! And then, once the fun could have dissipated, it began again in an even more foolish style. 'Beer Snakes,' I'm going to call them. Empty plastic cups, slotted into each other, will eventually become long and impressive. Across the stadium, short white lines were held aloft by proud cricket fans, drawing cheers and applause at the inventiveness of it all, and inviting a torrent of more empty beer cups from surrounding supporters, which prompted the line to disappear for a few minutes and then be held aloft again, longer now thanks to the extra cups. Just brilliant. By the end these Beer Snakes were popping up all over the ground, more eyes on them than the cricket, some of them over 20 metres in length - just how many plastic cups would it take to make them? - and the whole situation, with poor blokes still being led away for starting a wave, became a wonderful pantomine, topped off by the simple fact that England, after all of their rubbishness in past months, finally pipped Australia to the post.

Made it!

2007-01-23T07:14:00.000Z

I find myself pushing slowly through the streets of Brisbane, behind me a sizable group of skaters and two police cyclists, I'm led by Cheech driven by Dan who in turn follows a deep red police car, lights flashing, leading the way. A Channel 9 news car ran alongside me, recording everything for viewing on tonight's news.

My left side aches heavily in response to a 40kmph fall last night - my first 'stack' of BoardFree Australia. Yesterday's approach to the Queensland capital was mixed with emotion, fatigue and irony. Falling for the first time (my mud-induced topple in Sydney doesn't really count, I was moving at zimmer-frame speed) just 3km before reaching the city will be yet another of those laughable anecdotes that riddle this incredible journey. When Elsa slipped out from under me - two uneven surfaces finally combined to dismantle me from my trusty steed - I ran with three steps, weight moving forward more with each one, and then went down. I finished 30 metres down the road, having rolled and scraped half the distance, and immediately picked myself up and hobbled out of the traffic-route. My eyes scanned around, seeking out Elsa who had luckily rolled safely down a side road and then, happy that my board was in tact, I collapsed on a grass verge and shut my eyes.

When they opened, I was surrounded by people. Kate, Dan, Laura, Dimitri and his camera, Simon and his camera, Holly and her camera, snap snap snap. Chris Cleator was there having driven up from the Gold Coast - we'd stayed with Chris for a couple of days, he's a sponsor and now a friend. Some strangers peered over, and another man was by my side. He spoke to me, "Dave, I'm a physio, take it easy and I'll look you over..."
"How did you get here so fast?" I asked,
"You skated past me back there, I drove home as fast as I could to get my camera and when I caught up with you...well, you were here."
"Fair enough doc, do what you will." I laid there, eyes to the sky, chuckling to myself at the ridiculousness of it all. I've just managed to skate across Australia, some 5815km, without falling off my board and here, now, minutes from the end, I fall, and fall badly. I'm grazed, bruised and scratched, insides have been in a tumble dryer, want to be sick, feeling dizzy, pained, light headed. Five minutes later I'm on my feet, snow white bandages covering my hand, elbow, shoulder, a small dent in my helmet which ultimately ended my tumble. Thank god for the helmet. A man in his late sixties stood beside a bicycle dressed in a mauve cyclists top. He told me his name was Tom, he'd read about my journey in the morning newspaper and wanted to escort me into town. I agreed, got back on my board and set off downhill, more cautious than ever, counting my blessings, blood pumping.

Just before the fall, I had pushed up a long, steep incline to Mt Gravatt. Coming over the brow of the hill I saw Brisbane's CBD, hazy in the early dusk, rising out of the horizon more majestically than any city I've seen before. This moment will stay with me forever. I pulled the cars over and stood, staring, tears filling my eyes, memories of the beginning of the journey in Perth flashing into my head then flashes of the journey - heading onto the Great Eastern Highway, pushing along the Nullarbor's ninety mile stretch, rolling through Adelaide, the Great Ocean Road, everything I'd seen and done. There it is, after all this time, I pushed out of Perth on Elsa and kept on going until now. I can see Brisbane. So close, so close. Two women, separate but meeting us seconds apart, arrive with donations. A man runs from the bottle shop we had stopped beside and hands me a beer, "well done mate," he said shaking my hand.
"I'll save this for later," I smiled back at him.

At 7pm I rounded a bend and there it was, The Gabba, Brisbane's chief sporting arena, the home of Queensland's cricket, towering large over Stanley St as I rolled into the shadow of the stands. Another snapshot which I'll keep for life. I stopped opposite the entrance, walked across the road, sat on Elsa beneath the south west lights. The irony of stopping here, the scene of recent British sporting failure in the Ashes, was not lost. Emotion came over me, I'd made it. Of all the things I'd prepared for on this journey, actually reaching Brisbane was not one of them. I cried tears of happiness, sadness, joy and fatigue as Pete and Dim interviewed me. Whatever happened tomorrow during the final 3km didn't really matter, I'd skated from Perth to Brisbane despite everything. I'd made it. The team came over, we all embraced, clapped, smiled. I flinched at every hug as an arm touched my recent wound, acquired just up the road, but I didn't care. We'd made it. Back into the cars, elated, driving east to Bo and Elsa's who we had met on the Nullarbor and who had offered us food and accomodation. They fed us, they looked after us, they prepared us for the next day, the final day of BoardFree Australia.

So, after an early wake-up and 8 interviews even before I left the house, I found myself surrounded by TV cameras from 7, 9, 10 and ABC. Skaters turned up and Magic Touch reflective jackets were promptly dispatched. I put on my C1rca shoes for the final time, my 14th pair this journey, lenses trained upon me. I issued instructions to the skaters, checked traffic plans with the police who had provided two cars and two cyclists for the final journey. We got on the road and pushed slowly, away from the Gabba towards South Bank. The traffic was heavy, one of the skaters fell backwards after a little trick-gone-wrong. Laura was with me on another rollsrolls, Dan waved in his mirror. I smiled the whole way as Dim and Holly ran alongside, doing their utmost to capture the final moments. The final 3km took almost half an hour and I rounded the final corner around the Queensland Performing Arts Complex to whistles and screams. I couldn't believe the sight that greeted me, hundreds of people lined up in a crescent, a red, white and blue finishing line held by local Sailability members. I kept my composure, stopping at the roadside to let the skaters behind me overtake and join the crowds. I didn't know until later that several children at the finish were disappointed when some of the skaters tried tricks in vain and hit the concrete right in front of the crowds, the children thought I was one of the fallen and couldn't quite understand what they were here to see! Simon was the last to speak to me, his minicam recording my last thoughts before the journey finished. I handed over my vest, revealing a blue BoardFree t-shirt, the same colour as the one I wore when BFUK finished and when I broke the world record. It was time to go. I pushed off, once, twice, three times, a little carve and then straight for the line. Brief confusion when my route was blocked by a wandering man but then in a split second I was over, arms aloft, line broken, cheers, applause, shouting, a cacophony of celebration. I stood Elsa on one end and rested on her, head down in a moment of self-thought. 'Dave mate, you've done it, it's over' I told myself. Then stood up and faced the crowds, the cameras, the questions. It flew by, the questions came in and I answered passionately, stressing the need for donations, offering Elsa for sale at the right price, discussing the hardest parts of the journey, the stresses, the tensions, the positives. Bruce Dickson from Sailability had flown in and addressed the crowd, then I was led to the shores of the Brisbane River for photos with Getty, AP and another news agency from the UK. I popped champagne for the cameras, sipped a little, sipped some more for follow up shots. Felt decidedly dizzy and clinked glasses with the team. Hugged the Real Wiiings team, Chris and his wife Nat, Jo who works for them, daughter Tyla and son Kye - a group of people I met days ago but now consider family. So glad they could be there.

We all walk down the road, stopping briefly to sign more leaflets. The phone rings, it's started again. I do an interview with the ABC as we head to The Fox, a local pub which is hosting the finale reception. I thank Megan and Clive from the British High Commission, their support has been invaluable since Clive first called to offer their assistance on the day I pushed out of Perth, and without them this finish would have likely been a rather drab, unorganised affair. Instead it was planned, colourful and a finalé to remember. Lucy from the Sunday Mail buys me a pint. Her article in yesterday's paper prompted several donations on the road, we had spoken only once previously on August 24th as I climbed Green Mount Hill out of Perth and it was another rare occassion when I gladly put a face to a familiar voice. The phone continues to ring and I speak to the BBC World Service, and Triple J's Robbie Buck who has been a regular supporter of the journey. In fact, my interviews with Robbie have probably incited more recognition than any other radio coverage - If I had a dollar everytime someone has come up to me and asked, "Are you the guy off Triple J?" we'd have raised a fair bit more than $45,000.

I sit by myself very briefly after I speak to Robbie, soaking it up in a quiet room off the main lounge. Mr Buck quite happily admitted to his audience of 200,000 plus that he had fully doubted my chances of crossing Australia on a skateboard when we first talked in Perth. His delight that the 'pommy bugger' had pushed on through was evident, and I dare say many of the listeners shared the sentiment.

The following hours were a blur. Kate dealt magnificently with the media, the girls had managed to raise over $300 at the finish line. Smiles were abound. We retired exhausted to Bo and Elsa's and collapsed. I spoke to another nine radio stations that evening, inbetween managing to watch four tv reports on the main Australian channels. The next day I spoke to Eammon Holmes live on Sky News, was on the BBC back home, and ITV. Most of the national UK papers ran a picture story, my ugle mug grinning with Elsa in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other, the Brisbane skyline dominant beyond the River behind me. What a finalé, what an ending. When the time came to go to bed Simon awaited, struck his by now usual pose, hand on hip, ready for amateur dramatics. "Dave," he said, "do you know what you've just done? Perth to Brisbane on a skateboard. Perth, to Brisbane, on a skateboard."

Goodnight folks. We made it.

The big morning

2007-01-22T14:50:00.000Z

It’s 06:45 on Monday 22nd January 2007 and the phone has rung seven times this morning. In ten minutes I give my first interview, and it doesn’t look like there’s going to be time to go to the toilet then until half nine.

Next door the team are spread out on mattresses like a parade of homeless, and I wonder if their dreams are permeated with mock-up phone calls, because surely they can hear the ring tone through the wall, again and again and again. We’re all very sleepy, it’s time to wake up.

Coffee, Cereal. Kate takes two calls when she’s pouring her milk. In six hours, if all goes to plan, BoardFree Australia reaches its climax. How do I feel? I don’t know how to feel – excitement, sadness. I feel kind of empty and unsure – how did we get to Brisbane so quickly? The joy of it all is slightly tempered by our fundraising total. Perhaps $120,000 was a big ask, but with the attention the journey has received I don’t think it’s been unrealistic. We currently rest just over $40,000 - although the finishing line approaches there’s still an awful lot of work to be done.

Queensland. State Five

2007-01-20T23:28:00.000Z

Western Australia, South Australia, Victoria, New South Wales and now Queensland. Two years ago I knew the names but not where their vast bulks sat in the giant Australian jigsaw. Now, thanks to an intimate five months skating across the world’s sixth largest country, only a quick bout of Alzheimers would rid me of my love for this great, empty lump of land.

I crossed the last border of BoardFree Australia on Wednesday 17th January. Waking up in Tweed Heads, I had just 4km to skate before Tweed turns to Coolangatta and the clocks – rather confusingly considering Queensland is directly north of New South Wales – turned back an hour. Earlier that day, I had already spent three hours in Queensland, surfing with Real Wiiings’ (www.realwiiings.com) Chris Cleator, who has been sponsoring our surf lessons this journey (see video on www.boardfree.org.au gallery). Bobbing up and down just out of reach of some waves that frankly scared the crap out of me, I gazed north at the glistening skyline belonging to the skyscraper-clad Surfers Paradise, and couldn’t help shivering with excitement. Long ago, two months before I flew to Perth, a friend sent me a photo taken of her standing beneath the famous Surfer’s Paradise arch. I looked at the photo on my computer screen, then turned left to stare at the Australian map covering my wall. ‘Dave,’ I thought to myself, ‘it’s going to take a bloody big effort to get over there mate.’

Two hours after I rolled into Queensland I pushed into Surfers, the sky almost blocked out by towering high rises that line this section of the coast. Strangely, the place seemed just a little too empty for all this urbania. It seemed like everyone walking past held a surfboard under their arm. Of the few cars which passed, most honked a horn or waved. Many donated. “Surfers Paradise is bloody close to Brisbane,” Simon had told me the day before. That thought settled nicely in my brain, closing out all the unnecessary noise that comes with traveling through a city – however empty it is.

The next three days flew by in a blur of media attention and a little too much complacency. The phone is off the hook, Kate a picture of efficiency when our Knight Rider ring tone pierces the air. “Hello, this is Kate from BoardFree speaking, how may I help you…?” The Sunday Times, Queensland’s largest newspaper, send out a photographer as I skate north of Surfers. Several radio stations ask questions live on air, I’m becoming adept at fielding the ubiquitous cricket jokes and am fond of asking presenters how many times an Australian has skated across his or her own country. Hong Kong calls, the Times and the Telegraph run stories in the UK. Richard and Judy want me on in February. It’s all quite bizarre, but not nearly as much as the email received from a lady at the ITV, who really wanted to cover the end of my cycle journey across Australia.

Two days of rest separated the Gold Coast from Brisbane. We stayed in Hope Island with Chris Cleator and his delightful family, and I found myself feeling more at home than I’ve felt in years. From there we rushed in and out – to a TV shoot with Channel 9, to the Wet n’Wild Water Park where the team were treated to a day out and I was the subject of a media call. Ever grateful for publicity – all which contributes to our growing charity total – I still find it strange seeing my ugly mug on the telly, especially when the focus of the piece isn’t BoardFree or one of our charities. A 30 second NBN piece showing me plummeting down a ridiculously steep water slide with a face like jelly will always serve to add to the awareness of this journey – but I’ll never quite get to grips with the way Australia has taken to BoardFree, and am happy to be the occasional light entertainment which brightens up the otherwise dismal news reports.

Closing in.....

2007-01-19T01:31:00.000Z

Fetching a cool glass of water before heading to bed to sleep away New South Wales and welcome in a new day of skating in Queensland, I stopped for a moment and peered through the blinds above the cabin sink. Despite the hum of the television and the general chit chat in the room, I could clearly hear the constant rising and falling chirp of the cicadas outside. Usually, this sound is a must in a Hollywood movie during a night scene in the country – the insect choir ensures that there is never a completely quiet moment, no matter how peaceful and sleep-inducing it is. Considering the leg-rubbing suspects are a couple of inches long and thousands-strong in the trees, it is a romantic soundtrack always given free. I remember listening to this tune as a boy holidaying in France and in my early twenties working and traveling in Africa, thinking to myself how funny it is that when humans go to sleep most other things continue as normal. Then, to aid the passage of normality, I headed to bed.

The Pacific Highway runs north from Sydney to Brisbane and beyond. It has been my main passage since mid December when I skated out of the New South Wales capital a fresh world record holder, and today, a month on from that momentous day in Sydney Olympic Park, I found myself still pushing along the Pacific Highway with a green road sign drifting past to my left bearing the message, ‘Brisbane 153’. Almost immediately, to my right, the driver of a truck heading in the opposite direction towards Byron Bay leaned out of his cab, extended a fist of salute and yelled, “You go Davooooooooooooooo.” His voice disappeared as he continued south and gave me some fresh mental fuel for the kilometers to come.

The tidal wave of support continues from passers by and motorists. Ash Grunwald, a cult Australian singer who I met when he supported Xavier Rudd in Sydney on New Year’s Day, pulled over on his way to a surf spot near Ballina and tried out his luck on Elsa. We talked a little and it didn’t take long for him to make an offer. “I’ve got a gig in Coolangatta on the 20th, come along and I’ll interview you on stage, if there’s room we’ll have a skate! We’ll donate $5 per CD to your charities and get the punters to put some in too.” He drove off, surf board in the back, leaving us all with huge grins. Some people can’t help enough.

The donations continue. Becs, Bev and Laura are driving themselves into the ground, bringing in $200+ dollars per day, which we’ll distribute between Sailability, Link and Lowe. Contributions also come in from people who pass us on the road – often the van logos are enough to persuade some pocket-dipping, as Bev well knows after she became 50% of what must be the fastest donation in history when she accepted a $10 note from a motorcyclist as they both drove at 100kmph along the highway.

My fondest moments of the last week have involved Simon. Often the class clown, Si is a remarkably determined lad when he wants to be. To honour the section of the journey bought by his mother and sister, Si decided to jump on one of our bicycles on a very hot day and peddle 45km to Grafton alongside me. By the end of the first hill he was gasping like a fish, the team were chuckling to themselves. On the second hill he walked a bit, by then I’d skated off and was waiting 15km up the road at a petrol station. But he pushed on, reached us, and then pushed further. To be joined on the road by a team member has been a rare thing for most of this journey – for one of the guys used to seeing me collapse in a ball of agony at the side of the road it made me immensely proud that Si was willing to go through the barrier and then some. 10km from Grafton little pieces started to fall off the bike (it’s older than our vans) and poor old Si had to ride the peddles and walk the final 5km. But he wouldn’t give up, much to the chagrin of his poor legs, which hurt so much he had to stay in the swimming pool all afternoon because he couldn’t climb out. What a star!

Premature reflections

2007-01-15T06:09:00.000Z

I start with an email just received from an old friend named Kara.
“Dave, G'DAY MATE! You flamin' galah, I just wanted to tell me how much you have delighted me/reduced me to tears over the last few months - I feel like I have been there with you in spirit every step of your incredible adventure, sans metal spike in my foot... You write BEAUTIFULLY. I was so proud when you made it into the London Metro and I almost told a whole (grumpy in the morning) tube carriage THAT'S MY FRIEND! Just wanted to say your adventures have made me laugh, made me cry, have been my best book of 2006.”

I read this message whilst sat in McDonalds, Kempsey NSW, surrounded by people who guzzle on Big Macs and slurp down vats of Coke, and I feel the tears welling up, rising and blurring my vision, dripping down my cheeks. Simple yet heartfelt, honest words from one of those few people who are able to be honest in everything. Enough to make me cry. Even sob. I’m touched to the core and waste three minutes of internet time trying to regain some control. I’m sure a fat man with a too-large-moustache is looking at me sideways. I wipe my eyes for the final time after crying in a fast food restaurant and realise I just learned more about myself in the last few minutes than I did during my 23rd year, when I didn’t cry once. I’m 27 years old, in the middle of something wonderful, so physically and emotionally drained that I can barely hold myself together half of the time yet can blame this state on partaking in what many would consider to be an incredibly macho endeavor. I’ve skateboarded across Australia and I’m still able to cry like a girl when someone’s overly nice to me, and what have I learnt? That I can deal with all of it, as long as some people care.

The first days of skating in 2007 have flown by. Every metre I travel on Elsa now extends the world distance skating record. Every two days more than a 100km falls from the total left until Brisbane. A wave of support from passing motorists on the road pushes me towards Queensland, the last State, the place where it ends. Every other car honks its horn, passengers take photos, strangers hang out of their windows and shout at me;
“You’re a legend!”
“You’re the man, brother!”
“Keep going mate, almost there!”
“Yeaaaaaaaah!”
If you haven’t been on the road with us it might be hard to imagine how it feels to be a part of the BoardFree team right now. I skated across a traffic light-controlled crossroads in Coffs Harbour and every car queuing on the other side - all ten of them – let their horns go. Awesome! After all it has put us through, Australia is willing us on, willing us to succeed.

In Nambucca Heads, at the Big4 campsite which had kindly put us up for night, Dan returns from the toilet to find five kids looking at the back of George. One of them, about seven years old, asks Dan what I do when I need to pee. Dan says something along the lines of “well, he just stops and goes in the bush.” The child then had a think and trumped Dan with a blinder,
“Ok, but what happens with Bush Teddies?”
“What are Bush Teddies?” asks Dan, confused.
“Poos in the bush!” the kid replied, as the others in the group wet themselves laughing.

As time goes on and the road, which was once so long and seemingly endless, becomes shorter and more tangible, our thoughts turn more and more to life after BoardFree Australia. After twenty one weeks on the road we have lived through Bev’s song: “when will we get to Brisbane, how long do we have to go? Through Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney…..” And now, we’re closer to Brisbane than Sydney. The route map, studiously updated at the end of each day, is now home to a red line which leads all the way across Australia. The distance travelled is boggling, having skated it I am still struggling to fathom the achievement and I’m sure that none of us will quite get to grips with the last half year until we’ve had time to reflect. Some will go back to live with parents, others to the homes they left before flying to Australia. Jobs need to be found, debts cleared, and in many ways it may seem to some of the team like they’re going back to square one, perhaps even further back than that. Of course, the memories are one thing, but the experience each team member has gained during this journey will stand them in good stead for progress in future careers. I’m quite sure, though, that at this time, when the journey’s end approaches fast and worries supersede excitement, that the CV benefits are lost on most.

Personally, I’m starting to feel sadness when I think of Brisbane. “Don’t wish away the kilometers,” my cousin Kate tells me, and in all reality I don’t. But saying that, I still have to skate them and every day another 50km or so is scrubbed from the remaining total, a figure that now seems tiny compared to the distance traveled already. I know I’ll miss life on the road when it’s over, but at the same time I’m sure that there are more journeys to come so I don’t have much to worry about. I’m looking forward to not waking up with a grudge against the upcoming 70km day – the irony of my decision to embark on such an adventure because I’m not a man who likes rigidly imposed structure never escapes me. For more than a year I have been bound to attempting an achievement which can only be obtained by structure and discipline. A prisoner in my own ambition.

Mostly, though, I’m shaking with excitement. The opportunity to start anew, again! I want to talk about this journey, about BoardFree, about the possibilities that we all face if we put our minds to it. I want to write a book – a process that is as daunting to me as the journey itself, I now have to relive it all again! – and find myself a new home. And for just a couple of weeks, I want to allow myself a good rest.

For now though, chickens must not be counted. There are 20km or so to skate. It ends on Monday 22nd January. Watch this space.

Here we go again...

2007-01-02T07:54:00.000Z

The new year started with a bang. The BoardFree team stood side by side within a calm Rushcutters Bay crowd, staring wide eyed as the fireworks jumped from Sydney Harbour Bridge directly ahead and leapt up from the top of the centre's high rises slightly to our left, dancing flashes of colour reflecting off the water and glass walls surrounding the harbour, smoke filling the air as over 100,000 firecrackers were released to celebrate the Bridge's 75th anniversary. Earlier, Simon led the team in what was possibly the most atrocious conga Sydney had ever seen. The genius plan involving ten of us joining the line for the toilet, only to break off chanting the famous "da da da Da, Da DA" when we reached the front of the queue, never quite materialised. So, we gathered courage, in Si's case it was certainly Dutch, clutched each other's waists and staggered most ungloriously into the dark. One thing came of the conga, which Si insisted on calling "The Congo" all night. As the line of unchoreographed pommies became increasingly smaller (it really was a rubbish conga) a familiar face and head of curly black hair appeared, saying "I saw these people dancing and thought, I recognise them!" It was Dee Farrer, she who back in late 2005 became the first ever applicant for a BoardFree support team position. She hoped to be the team snapper - a void eventually filled by Holls, of course - but for various reasons the application was withdrawn. Still, to see her here in Sydney - a complete surprise for all of us - it really hit home just how much has happened since all this began. To put it all in perspective, when Dee applied the support team was just going to be four people strong, and we were all going to live in one van! So 2006 was over, and just as quickly 2007 began. I, being the elder statesman of the team, decided to retire soon after. My lack of staying power during late night social occasions is now part of the programme, at 27 years old my legs ache after I walk across a room and I vanished to bed only after Si drunkenly wrapped a long arm around my shoulders and came up with an inventive metaphor for BoardFree. "Dave," he stumbled, "you are Jack...."he paused, raising his free arm high into the air (I couldn't help but stare at the sloshing plastic cup at the end of it) to really drive home the point, "...you are Jack..." he repeated, breathed in deeply, and then, only when the drunken pause got to the stage where it really was just a drunken pause, he let the punchline go...."and BoardFree, my friend, is the beanstalk. It started off as a little seed...." he paused one final time, he loves a ramble does Si, and finished predictably... "and it just continues to grow, higher and higher, higher and higher, higher and high......." We walked off, because it was going to take a while. Funnily enough, the first text I received the next morning was from Holly. It read something along the lines of 'For some reason nobody knows where Simon is this morning.' It later transpired he slept on Bondi Beach and went for an impromptu early morning swim upon waking up in what, with reflection, is possibly the coolest place to spend the first night of the year.

One last day of non-BoardFree left. My first New Year’s Day in Australia began lazily, had a productive internet-related middle and ended with a truly Australian soundtrack. Luna Park was the venue: I skated there from Rushcutters Bay, through Wooloomooloo, past The Rocks, over the Harbour Bridge with the Opera House sat down below like a proud mother. This was the first time I’d seen Sydney’s icons close up before and I couldn’t help thinking to myself, ‘the year has started well’ as I rolled down the other side of the bridge, dodging the occasional pedestrian and getting my legs slowly back into skating mood.

In North Sydney I had a quick drink with Sally Thurwell and her husband David. Sally runs the Alumni Department back home at Swansea University and was the instigator of the Dare Dave ‘Bouncy Ball’ challenge – possibly the most bizarre thing to happen on the Nullarbor Plain last year! After we parted company I made my way down to Luna Park, met up with Kate, Becs, Bev and Laura and screamed our heads off on some fairground rides before ducking into the Big Top to see Ash Grunwald and Xavier Rudd, who filled the Park’s arena with the music that took me across Australia. Xavier and his guitar tech Jamez have been supporters of BoardFree since the early days (take a look at www.xavierrudd.com) and although I’d hooked up with Jamez last year in London’s Hyde Park this was the first time I’d met Xavier. He sat stageside cross-legged at whilst Ash Grunwald ripped his guitar to shreds, shook my hand and shook his head, uttering something like “you’re some kind of beast, man,” which I think was a compliment. “How’re the legs?” he asked, peering over.
“Ready to finish,” I smiled, flexing the calf.

Ash, dreadlocks gathering on broad shoulders, came off stage and picked up Elsa with amazement. “This is some board, can I have a go?”
“Go for it,” I nodded, and he rolled backwards and forwards, separated from a hushed crowd by a large black curtain. It was a pleasure to meet him, he was truly blown away by the whole thing and after the show tucked a BoardFree leaflet into his pocket, glancing at Elsa one last time and saying “I have to read up on all of this.”
The chance to roll onto the stage as Xavier talked about the project was lost when a crowd invasion took the clock down. Slightly disappointed, I sat on my board just meters from Xavier mesmerised by his manipulation of three didges, guitars, drums, symbols… This man’s music was in my ears on the Nullarbor, in Adelaide just before I had that accident with a signpost, on the Great Ocean Road as the rain poured, and it stayed with me that night as I rushed with the girls to the train station amidst a torrent of water falling from the sky. In the heart of the summer, Australia was getting the rain it really needed. Good signs for the year ahead.

One year isn't enough....

2006-12-30T12:45:00.000Z

2007 is 24 hours and a couple of dramatic fireworks displays away, and as I sit in a room overlooking a dark Rushcutters Bay in Sydney I know I've just had the year of my life. There are two other years in my past that I can look back on and say, 'yep, just had a real goodun.' 1999 shook my body free of school and introduced me to adulthood, to travel and to self belief. 2001 led me back to Uganda, to a strange few months of waking up under canvas to the rumblings of baby redtail monkeys using my tent as a slide. It was a time when I realised the values I'd take with me through life - some were selfish and dedicated to freedom and happiness, others led me to believe that whatever you were doing and wherever you were, things can end instantly. Five and a half years ago I had long hair to my shoulders and was at my best when a parrot sat on my shoulder, but for all my hippyish actions and appearance I was totally businesslike in my approach to life. Commonsense came first, and logic dictated that if a chance came along and I didn't take it, then I'd be kicking myself too hard not to regret missed opportunities. I wasn't going to grow old with regrets, I wasn't going to rely on the school-university-training-work cycle of life to send me forwards. I'd behave, I'd have ambition, I'd take the little chances that came along and sooner or later something would smack me in the face so hard I'd be an absolute fool not to sit up and take notice.

As a kid I'd daydream about drawing cartoons and making comics. Once in a while I'd take up a pencil and the resulting drawings looked like I'd taken ten dogs for a walk at a time. I couldn't draw. I loved football, I played until I was sore and aching, until I could barely walk home from the park. I dreamt about making it pro: I wasn't good enough. I started to write in '99, a daily diary I kept in Uganda about falling in love with a country and a girl. Later that year and into the next I wrote a book called River Road, based on the area in Nairobi that the guide books warned travellers about. I loved River Road, stayed there every time I visited Nairobi. The book was about following your own instincts, about positivity breeding positivity. It wasn't preachy, it was just a story that I fell in love with. I didn't back up my computer, I had only printed out a handful of pages, I got home and nothing worked. No retreaval possible, it was gone. Hundreds of hours, hundreds of thousands of words. It hit hard. I didn't write anything longer than a newspaper article until my first longboard turned up in the post four years later. It wasn't so much that I couldn't write, it was that I'd lost a little bit of my spirit. I'd simply had nothing to write about.

The hills I used to walk became new again. For two weeks I looked around from the passenger seat of a car or through the window of a train, thinking 'skating that road would be amazing, every road out there is skateable.' I pushed along getting stronger and stronger, physically and mentally. This was it. I woke up, I love this thing. I want to skate all day. I left the job. I decided to skate all day. I skated. I planned.

And in 2006 I skated all year long. The length of Britain. Never been done before. 900 miles of hills and cars and blisters and new friends. No regrets. The skin on my right heel would never be strong again. So what. No Regrets. I'd just found something that very few people ever did and it made me dizzy with happiness! Why the hell should I be the only one to benefit from this, EVERYONE should get a board and try this. It might not work for everyone but it HAS to work for someone.

This is brand new, this is amazing. This isn't a crazy dream, this is unusual reality and that's why it's special. What do you mean you're going to skateboard across Australia. You're never going to make it, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA MAKE IT. It's huge! Do you know how big Australia is? Do you know how hot it gets? Have you heard of the Nullarbor? It means no trees, and that means no shelter. With your pale skin we're taking bets on how many hours you'll make it out of Perth. Do you know what a kangaroo looks like after a road train hits it. Forty metres of red stain on the road. That's you if you try this. That's you.

People wrote these things. Strangers said I would die. Friends said I would fail. Who denies a dream! I'm f***ing doing this!

So I did. And now, with less than 24 hours to go until 2007 I have done it. Sure, another 800km or so separates me from Brisbane. That's to come shortly. But I crossed Australia on a skateboard this year. I skated across the Nullarbor, through Adelaide, along the Great Ocean Road, through Melbourne, across the hills and mountains, up the coast. Into Sydney. Across Australia. People came with me. People who I ddn't know a year ago. People who I did. A select band of people who believe in dreams and wanted to see this one through. Sure, it was my dream, but dreams are infectious. Jobs were left, lives were halted. Income stopped. This new word entered the vocabulary. BoardFree. What does it mean? Subtract Board, add your dream. That's what it means. Just be free. It always takes a risk, but if you make it count then it's worth it. Every time I step onto Elsa, my board, I BoardFree.

Nothing was wasted in my 2006. Despite tears and debt and arguments and strain, I don't think anyone on my team would say they've wasted 2006. Do I regret BoardFree? No chance. BoardFree changed my life, it gave me a new life. Can you get any better than that? The best year of my life is ending. I might just try and do better next year.

8 Legged Freaks

2006-12-24T00:57:00.000Z

“Shit! Shut the windows, QUICK!” Dan seizes up, pointing out the front window. I instantly think something has gone wrong with the vehicle, we’re pelting south along the Pacific Highway towards Newcastle and all of a sudden Danny isn’t his usual calm and composed self. “”Huntsman!” he growls, quick!”
A large pile of legs and fur scuttles towards us along the bonnet of Cheech, our trusty Holden Jackaroo. It stops short of the windscreen and maintains its grip despite our 60kmph progress. Half the size of an adult hand, this arachnid has a glint in each of its eight eyes and although I don’t have a big problem with spiders I don’t fancy wrestling with this one. It edges towards the edge of the bonnet and then makes a dash for the passenger side window, which I’d pulled shut seconds earlier.

I can see three of its hairy legs strutting out from behind the wing mirror. On the walkie talkie I’m telling the other two vans about our present plight. They pull alongside on the three-lane Highway and I see Becki and Bev screeching. On the far side of Kylie, the vehicle they drive, I see Laura looking in completely the opposite direction with a hand covering her eyes as an extra precaution: she isn’t a spider fan as we discovered back in Orbost, Vic, when another Huntsman invited itself into our cabin and plunged to the floor web assisted.

Our spider, slightly larger than our pal in Victoria, decides to make a dash for our roof and chooses the front windscreen as the most direct path. Kate screams her usual on-off scream, “ahhhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhhhh!” Dan clenches his teeth, one eye on the road and another on the six inch critter which is currently displaying its ugly grey underbody to the unhappy occupants of Cheech the Jackaroo. Simon pulls alongside in George and I see him mouth “OH MY GOD” as the spider finally disappears out of view. Dan’s flicked a switch and the windscreen wipers are swinging furiously but its too late, our little friend has ascended too far.
“If that thing gets in here I’m going to crash the car,” said Dan matter-of-factly.
“Pull over then mate, I’ll get it off,” I told him, with a calm sense of urgency. Dan obliged, finding a dusty sideline with enough space for three vehicles. “We’re pulling over,” I talk into the radio.

The Huntsman had plonked itself right I the middle of the roof, out of reach from either side of the jeep. Simon jumped out behind us and ran across, mini-cam in hand. “Dan, tell us your thoughts, what’s just happened?” he asks the arachnophobic driver, at the same time as positioning him close to the car so the spider, which had by now ventured out onto a side windscreen, was in the background of the shot. Dan relayed the story, always keeping a worried eye on the Huntsman, which by now I was preparing to sweep off the vehicle with the only implement of choice, a metal salad fork courtesy of Bev’s mad scramble in the back of Kylie. “Well that’s going to do a whole lot of good,” I said as she passed it to me. “I’d be quite happy to be the spider right now.” And then it was all too late. Before Dan had finished talking to the camera and as I edged closer with my culinary sword the spider sprinted into the rear wheel well, disappearing for good. Suddenly, we all became aware of just how many spider entrances there are in an old car. The gaps in between doors and frames looked mammoth and god knows how many underground passages there were emerging from the chassis. Kate, Dan and I got back in, slamming all doors shut. Kate pulled her knees up to her chin, Dan looked at me with a blank face. “If that things gets in here I’m going to crash,” he reassuringly told me one last time before starting up the engine.

Made it!

2006-12-17T06:03:00.000Z

A giant red sun has just gone down on another day in Australia, but I'm viewing this sunset from 15 floors above groundlevel with the euphoria of success still present in the air. The remaining five days of the 60km per day push disappeared in a flash. Three days earlier the road to Wollongong finally achieving what the 4600km of road before it had failed to, the skin covering my right heel wearing away to a red mulch of flesh and puss after another day of hard pushing in hot hot weather. It was always going to happen, I'm just lucky we fended it off for so long.

Win TV in Wollongong surprised us on the road as each pound of the concrete wave sent a shiver of pain through my body. Apparently one of the journalists passed me on the road and sent a crew out - they were waiting at traffic lights in the south of the city and the resulting 25 second piece that night showed me looking more than a little bedraggled!

An old friend I met in Uganda in 1999 just happens to live south of Sydney, and she turned up at our campsite all smiles. Carmen has travelled more than anyone I know and despite a fair share of challenges she continues to see life as a chance, not a chore. When we first met I was fresh from school and finding my own feet, she was touring East Africa solo and needed a spare bed - my friends and I had one and we've remained in touch ever since.

Sydney was less than 100km away and one major topographic challenge lay ahead. A giant escarpment rises up from the sea north of Wollongong and there are two ways to the top. I could either ride alongside the freeway up the Bulli Pass or take a 20km undulating route along the coast, over the Seacliffe bridge (a relatively new addition to the Australian road system after the adjacent clif face was destroyed in a botched attempt to widen the old road near Coalcliff) and then up and up and up towards Stanwell Tops. I chose the latter and three hours after pushing out from Wollongong I was on the post-Bulli Pass freeway, moving ever closer to Engadine.

The Welcome to Sydney sign sits 40km or so south of the CBD and it crept up almost too quickly. Passing underneath it - my attention borrowed by Holly and Dim's positioning in the middle of the shoulder I was skating along - I glanced up at the last minute and saw three words that made my day. So close now.

At Engadine I finished the day. Juergen and Colin from the Magic Touch, a company that had first supported BoardFree by providing temporary tattoo logos to advertise on my big calves during BFUK, had kindly offered to put us up for the night in the local Motel. A BBQ came with the offer, as is tradition Down Under and we all sat in the Motel garden as aeroplanes above began their descent towards Sydney airport. This, more than anything, made me realise just how close we were to passing into BoardFree Australia's fourth city.

Shortly before the BBQ a campervan appeared in the Motel carpark. The team gathered round as my parents disembarked and approached. My Dad held it together but my Mum's face was contorted with emotion. "My baby," she cried, "I'm so proud of you." I welled up, holding her tightly. "Thanks for being here Mum, it means so much that you've come all this way."

Simon had began to develop a new habit. A new milestone was on all of our minds, this time not a mere celebration of zeros (the 1000km, 2000km, 3000km marks had all passed way back) but this time a real target. In 2003 Jack Smith, an American skater, had crossed the United states for the third time, a distance of 4830km. By the time I reached Engadine I had totalled 4770km skated since Perth. My aim was to follow up the next day with 59km and then have a 2km parade through Sydney Olympic Park the next. "World Record" Simon mouthed at me not long before we all retired to bed. "World Record."

Up at 5am the next day. My brother Andy and his girlfriend Maddy had joined us the night before and they sat behind as I sped up the freeway into Sydney. Skating a total of 59km meant that an awful lot of meandering through the city suburbs had to be done to amass the kilometres needed - the distance as the bird flies from Engadine to Sydney Olympic Park is barely 30km - so I trawled through back streets and along riverside cyclepaths, finding myself facedown in a puddle at one point after Elsa got stuck in the mud created by the falling rain. An old woman strolling along with music playing in her ear glanced sideways at me as I skated path. "Got a deathwish have you?" she snorted, not giving me a second look. Her naivete stuck with me all day, last-minute paranoia hanging in the air as I thought of the potential consequences of finishing the day 1km short of Jack's record. "We're going to wrap you up in cotton wool," Bev told me, "Wouldn't it by typical if you got run over or shot or something." In the mid afternoon I was closing in on my 59km target and then took a wrong turn. I skated through Rookwood Cemetary, trying to keep the noise of my scraping wheels down as I passed by religion-marked sections of land. Some graves were decorated with flowers, some left to the elements. "Got a deathwish, have you?" The old woman's words from earlier haunted me, and I realised then and there that I didn't ever want to be lying in a grave. I want to be remembered for what I did and who I was rather than where I lay when it was all over. 'I'd hate to be slowly forgotten,' I told myself, hoping someone somewhere would hear me, 'I'd hate to be stuck in a grave which no-one ever visited.'

I found the Victoria Gate exit after 45 minutes of floating through the cemetary and just a couple of kilometres later sat outside Sydney Olympic Park's bicentennial gates, exhausted in a way that only city skating can exhaust, knowing full well that the effort - as always - was more than worth it. With 1km left to equal Jack's record, then 1km more to break it, I knew that as long as the cotton wool was applied I'd be a record-breaker the next day.

And so it was. At 3pm this afternoon I gathered outside the Bicentennial Gates with a group of skaters from the Monster skate park, with Kate and Kelly and Lisa and Jackie from Sailability Australia, with two camera crews from 7 and 10, with an AAP photographer, with a man named Mark who had heard about my journey a month earlier and bought a red rollsrolls because of it. Juergen and Colin representing the Magic Touch and all of the sponsors who stuck their necks out and helped a beginner skate his way across two countries. Alex was there with Connor, who was going to ride through his Lowe Syndrome on a tricycle, my parents were there, my brother and Maddy, my team. My team who helped me here, my team who were mostly strangers a year ago on this day. Kate, who is so much more than just a team member, my personal lifejacket who puts up with more than any woman should.

We started off and continued down Australia Avenue, left for a few hundred metres and then left onto Olympic Boulevard. Kids skating alongside, the team walking, Kelly in her wheelchair, Connor peddling hard. Everyone moved ahead for the last 100m. I walked with the team, arms on shoulders, final words. "We did this together" I told them before they pushed me ahead, into a funnel of people, across the line. 4831km skated, Laura screamed, Holly cried, my parents smiled. I'm sure, even though I didn't see him instantly, that Simon mouthed the two simple words, "World Record."

The 60km a day mission

2006-12-13T02:18:00.000Z

Outside the rain falls heavily, a storm blowing away the excessive heat that has plagued the last two days. Through the mosquito-netted sliding door of our cabin beside Lake Conjola kangaroos bounce around searching for shelter and food. The brightly coloured parrots which earlier fed from the hands of Holls, Kate and Laura have flown away now and an almost eerie calm has descended despite the gusting wind which bends trees sideways beyond our veranda.

I’m exhausted and will likely be tucked up in bed by 8pm tonight. Today was Day 6 of the 60km per day gauntlet, which has so far taken me 381km from Cann River, across the New South Wales border and north up the coast past Eden, Narooma, Bateman’s Bay and Ulladulla. Five more days of 5am wake-up calls should see me roll into Sydney on Saturday and break Jack Smith’s old world distance skateboard record, a target I’ve had my sights on since waking up on a balmy Swansea morning in April 2005.

So, can anything go wrong? In short, of course! After an hour or so of skating tomorrow morning I should pass the 4600km mark from Perth but beneath my socks lie war wounds attributable not to the Nullarbor Plain or Great Ocean Road but to eastern Victoria and the south coast of New South Wales. I have never had to skate hills like those I’ve upped and downed this week, not even during the Scottish leg of John O’Groats to Land’s End earlier this year. Blisters on the ball and Achilles region of my right foot and also blistering on my left heel which was injured in Adelaide a couple of months ago leave me with pain at every push. I’ve been lucky for much of this journey, skating through muscle fatigue and pretty minor blisters but avoiding repeats of the horrific blistering and infection that plagued the UK journey. Prevention is always better than cure when it comes to a journey with little rest-time built into the schedule, but as the prolonged journey rolled into its fourth month my body is struggling to deal with the strain it’s under. My immune system is shot; a small ulcer on my lip has still not healed after more than four weeks and there is little chance that my feet will heal completely before the journey is out. Heading up the BoardFree project may mean there are more commitments than simply skating – school visits and charity events to name but two regular features in the schedule – but be in no doubt, when a Western Mail journalist back home in Wales described BoardFree Australia as an endurance style event he couldn’t have been more wrong. This is one hell of a big country, pushing across it on a skateboard in 73 days is no holiday, but in many ways even I have only just begun to realise just how hard it has been. I dreamt recently about a giant hand picking me up and plonking me down in Perth, just in time to start the journey over again – but this time I knew what was coming. Horrifying!

Team spirits are in some kind of limbo at the moment. We haven’t had a proper rest since Adelaide and everyone’s completely whacked, we’re going through the motions everyday and barely have the energy to carry out an argument, let alone solve any lingering issues. Nothing too serious is going on, the core of the team is excited about getting to Sydney and reaching the record, but a big mention needs to be given to the girls recently. Fundraising and feeding is their forte and they haven’t stopped for weeks. Drooping eyelids are symptoms but not excuses and hundreds of donated dollars to go straight to Link, Lowe and Sailability have been extracted from unknowing but willing locals on our route.

To end, I hope that the record-breaking push into Sydney lifts our spirits just enough to keep us going until a week-long break from Christmas Eve onwards. We all need it, we’re all looking forward to it. God help us, my feet are begging me for a rest!

What a Weekend! Sydney in Style...

2006-12-06T07:09:00.000Z

Regrettably little time recently to blog, so I'm going to zoom through the last week and paint a picture of the next week as quickly as I can.

The Great Dividing Range took it's toll on my feet. And shoes. If only I could get a foot sponsor. After a 78km day from Orbost to Cann River my right foot looked like a tennish ball. No choice but to call a halt to skating and start the Sydney fundraising break early. Heart-breakingly, stopping two days early meant that I was 60km shy of the New South Wales border and 110km short of the east coast. I sat up front as the hills whizzed by so much quicker than they usually do and felt like crying when I crossed into New South Wales for the first time. Not, as hoped, on Elsa. But in a van. Horrible. The drive up the NSW south coast is not easy, hill after hill, bend after bend. As the hours went by (and in total it took over ten of them to reach Sydney) I became more and more depressed. There is nothing worse than driving a road I have to skate later - and not even in Scotland did I face roads like this. Forget the Great Dividing Range, my biggest challenge yet was to follow the fundraising weekend.

Spirits were lifted though by the hospitality shown to us by Sailability clubs at Illawarra, Kogarah Bay and Rushcutters Bay. Each holding an event on consecutive days between the 1st and the 3rd meant that Sailability ended up well over $8500 better off by the end of the weekend. Another one of our charities, the Lowe Syndrome Trust, had a presence in the form of the Brady and Gardiner families and as young Connor ran around scaring the crap out of everyone by testing microphones and making full use of Elsa as a transportation device he served as a timely reminder that although Sailability is obviously a focus of this journey, finding a cure for Lowe Syndrome is still very much at the forefront of BoardFree Australia’s aims.

The next day was the final break most of the team were to have for a while. Spread around Sydney in various accommodations half of them sat back in the afternoon and tuned into Triple J radio, probably the biggest national station in Australia and defined by many as ‘cool’! They tuned in for a reason – finally, after five or six telephone interviews with good old Robbie Buck for the afternoon show I’d made it to Sydney and could visit the studio. A fair few people listen to the show – the closest equivalent in the UK would be Radio 1’s Colin and Edith or Chris Moyles (don’t even know if there shows are still on it’s been so long!) so it was a privilege and a coup to visit the Triple J hideaway, tucked away in the ABC somewhere in Sydney central.

And then the drive back south. I lay in the back of George, sleeping for most of Tuesday as Cann River drew ever closer, stretching my body out and resting up in preparation for the biggest test it would ever have to face. Sure, Elsa and I have rolled 4200km from Perth so far, but the next 600km are the closest thing a skateboarder gets to hell. BoardFree Australia is heating up…

As the flats begin to incline....

2006-11-29T23:45:00.000Z

Central Gippsland disappeared in a flash. Relatively flat ground betrayed what lay ahead and I pushed east with a number of things on my mind.

The troubles with the team that riddled our passage through southern South Australia had abated. With future journeys in mind – not to mention a book about the inception of BoardFree – the team is never far from my thoughts. My life is at its easiest when everyone is on form, operating to their full potential and enjoying themselves. Of course, even now, tiffs and moods break out regularly and when stuck in a vacuum it takes a while for the temperature to change again. On the road I mull over every detail of this journey, wondering whether or not I’ll have a team this large for future treks, questioning whether or not glum faces mean they’ve lost enthusiasm for BoardFree or that there’s just a low moment in the offing. Without doubt the more people the better in terms of keeping me mentally healthy, but it adds pressures for a skater who also manages his team and acts as ultimate mediator in disputes. My reading of personalities and how they fit into a pressure-cooker environment has improved as the kilometres go by, my ability to deal with a number of different personalities differs depending on my fatigue but I’d hope has strengthened. How to improve your curriculum vitae in six thousand easy steps!

The flat land separating Melbourne and the Great Dividing Range that lays across eastern Victoria caused my shoes to wear down at the sole, and bit by bit the lack of cushioning beneath my toes started to wear down my feet. As blisters started to form – slowly enough to evade my complete attention: blister pains are a regular feature of my life now – the towns of Traralgon and Sale offered up opportunities to visit Specialist Schools, home to children of various ages and disabilities who have the opportunity to sail with Sailability. On consecutive days I followed a brief talk with a ‘High Five Roll’ along lines of pupils, meeting hands with everyone and realising that Sailability’s work goes far further than just an entry to sport, it’s a chance for people – youngsters especially – to develop a sense of independence and physical individuality. At first glance most people wouldn’t believe what these kids are capable of in a boat, their achievements – not necessarily rewarded by medals or trophies – increase awareness of disability amongst the able bodied. I was happy to hand over contributions to local Sailability clubs at Wellington and Gippsland willing to recognise us, on behalf of BoardFree.

In Sale we followed up a wonderful Channel 7 report filmed at the Latrobe Specialist School earlier that day with fundraising at a local pub. Dim and Pete joined us in their new van, Natalie, and brought with them a new and unexpected guest, my brother! Family support has budged weight from my shoulders throughout this project and to see Andy waddle in with Aviator sunglasses and a familiar cheeky grin was another lift at the end of a great week.

The next day he cycled alongside me for the entire 72km between Sale and Bairnsdale, and then on the following day ran shuttles towards Lakes Entrance, surely drawing lines for the rest of the team as they had a long-time concern confirmed: the Cornthwaite family might be physically fit, but Dave certainly isn’t the only crazy one.

We rested for a day in Lakes Entrance, a beautiful little town beached on the man-made channel between Gippsland lakes and the wide ocean beyond, and were fed by the generous Sheryl and friends from Kickback Cottages. Sheryl had heard one of my radio interviews earlier in the week and hadn’t hesitated in joining forces with friend Jodie and cooking up a feast for us. On the BBQ, of course.

Ahead was a long road to Sydney. One rest day never seems enough when 800km of hills looms ahead. The condition of my feet also stressed that a longer break was needed and on Monday morning – as I pushed north-east under the glare of television cameras which would be responsible for world-wide news reports thanks to the Australian SNTV – the aching in my feet, ankles and legs didn’t bode well. The Great Dividing Range was coming closer, and with it was to come my greatest challenge yet.

Is that New South Wales we can smell?

2006-11-23T07:32:00.000Z

Melbourne seems a long way off considering we were still there at 4pm yesterday afternoon. 122km, one tv and three radio interviews later the team - minus Dim and Pete who have remained in the Vic capital on vehicle hunting duty - are sleeping in pink (yes, pink) cabins at the wonderful Park Lane Tourist Park, who have sponsored our stay here tonight.

The team is on funny pills at the moment. Earlier Holly recounted the moment when she randomly drove past the bodyguard of Neighbours star Dylan, whom we met on Monday night for a brief spell before he was ushered away by his enormous Maouri guard. Holly, being Holly, decided to call the guy 'the Kiwi Bouncer', a nickname which totally confused Kate, who in what is possibly her blondest moment yet thought Holly had seen a bloke bouncing fruit along the road.

Simon, who hasn't broken anything in at least four hours, is gaining a reputation as a festidious video editor but an incredibly difficult man to 1) get out of bed and 2) to encourage to write a blog. To put it in perspective, this morning the team had orders to be in the vehicles by 7am and Simon was still brushing his teeth at ten past. But more importantly, his blog couldn't be more out of date despite countless requests from fans of his nonplussed style: I've skated over 3000 miles since he last made an entry, ridiculous!

In five days or so we'll be in New South Wales. State number 4, it's safe to say we have high hopes for our first leg of the east coast of Australia. With another 82km down today I'm preparing for some hard pushing. At some point over the next few days I want to make 150km in a day, watch this space.

New friends, another city and most importantly, two more team members!

2006-11-21T21:45:00.000Z

The kindness of strangers keeps us going. Sat in the St Kilda district of Melbourne, typing away on my laptop whilst sat at what can only be described as a 'power desk', I continue to wonder at the experiences that await myself and the BoardFree team around the next corner. Barely three weeks ago a complete stranger drove along a South Australian road linking Strathalbyn and Wellington. She passed a slow-moving Holden Jackeroo, laden with stickers promoting a skate journey for charity. Peddling in front of the Jackeroo was a chap on a bike, and just in front of him was a skinnier sole who was pushing along on a bizarre-looking yellow skatebooard. "What the hell is all of this" thought the woman, before a connection between this strange troupe and a television story sometime back began to form. She pulls over, waits until the skateboard draws level and asks him, "Are you the guy who has skateboarded from Western Australia?"
"I am" he smiles, dragging his board to a halt.

Her name is Johanna, her boyfriend's name is Jon, and three weeks after that chance encounter J & J have kindly let the entire team descend on their home. We've had a hard few weeks, physically and emotionally, and a stopover in Melbourne is just what we've needed. Fundraising-wise, it's been tough. City living tends to close off most people and it's always noticably harder to exude donations out of the urban bussle, but the money continues to flow in and it wil continue to do so with the team working this hard.

On Friday night Laura Hatwell flew in to Melbourne airport becoming Boardfree's ninth member. After a baptism of BoardFree fire in which the Glasgow girl from Devon has been well and truly bitten by the bug, she has earned her place on this team after organising the first of many BoardFree splinter journeys and raising half a grand in the process. Her 25 miles from Glasgow to Loch Lomond in September may seem paltry compared to the vastness of BoardFree Australia, but think: this girl started skating because she heard about BoardFree. She got off her arse, got organised, trained herself and did it. Bam and Jay from Barnstable are doing the same with a Devon to Spain BoardFree skate in the planning for next year, but Laura's sheer determination (which will likely see her becoming a part of the boy's Beats Walkin' team next year) earned her a place in Australia. We're glad to have her here.

Team member number ten flew in yesterday morning. Pete Coventry, the other half of Badgerboy Productions who had a small part to play in the filming of BFUK, is another welcome addition - a finishing addition - to a team which has been crying out for more hands since we left the lonely bush and began our roll through heavily populated lands. We now have four more hands to take us through to Brisbane, but more importantly we have two more heads to share the load. BoardFree has a new feel to it now, a new drive.

On a personal note I am carrying more burdens than ever but am dealing with these pressures better day by day. As BoardFree grows the responsibilies increase, but my base intentions for this year's journeys remain the same and each day - as Brisbane comes closer and our fundraising total rises - my hunger to fulfill my self-set obligations to Link, Lowe and Sailability and to every member of my selfless team becomes all-encompassing.

Last night was the best night I've had since I founded BoardFree in my South Wales study back in May 2005. To think that back then I'd been skating for less than two months, then fast-forward 16 months and find myself up on stage alongside Neightbours actor Alan Fletcher who is talking to a crowd of hundreds about my skate across Britain and the continued effort across Australia. Fletch, who plays Dr Karl Kennedy in the Aussie soap, was wearing the BoardFree t-shirt I handed him during a Cardiff gig at the back end of 2005, his genorosity and respect for the project has filled a hole somewhere in all of this. Suddenly, the morning after, the permanent aching in my legs doesn't matter so much. I am ready to push on, to put aside the pain and tears and ulcers and get us all to the east coast having left smiles behind on the faces of those Sailability members who have taken the time to appreciate our efforts on their behalf. We have had many disappointments en route so far - it's to be expected having travelled half way across the world plus another 3800km with such great expectations - but they are totally insignificant beyond the moments themselves, because we believe in what we are doing, we know that we're fighting for good, we know that complete strangers understand that and celebrities with schedules to keep can still clear some space for us because of our journey.

We have learnt from experience now that we can't please everyone - there are always shakes of the head when our buckets are shaken nearby, always those ignorant enough to slag us off in writing without a second thought - but we don't aim to satisfy the masses. All we want to do is what we set out to do and now, with three of five cities down, we'll be skating out of Melbourne this afternoon with a renewed vigour, we will continue to push for change.

Riding the Great Ocean Road: heading to Melbourne and leaving behind tension

2006-11-13T17:54:00.000Z

Writing in the early morning from possibly the quaintest town we've passed through on this journey, Apollo Bay is glorious in its simple sweep of a blue bay surrounded by a comforting wall of green rolling hills. Saying all of that, the rain is falling heavily this morning, echoing the poor conditions we’ve faced for much of the last week. Victoria, for all of its beauty, has given us a wet greeting, reminding us all of home as we left a dry South Australia – our transitory residence for a month and a half – behind.

Almost immediately we had new troubles to deal with. Since our enforced rest in Adelaide team squabbles had broken out, often leading to lengthy and it has to be said, immature silences. The mental support I’d received from the team in the first weeks – something so vital to the continued success of this project – had all but vanished. I was sick to death of everyone, and I dare say everyone else was sick to death of everyone else. Something had to change, so I woke up on that first morning in Victoria and packed a rucksack, telling the team to sit down together and sort out their differences, think about why they applied for their positions and whether that initial enthusiasm still applies, and ultimately decide what they needed to do in order to regain some social decorum. In the meantime, I told them, I’d skate on. It would be harder and it would take me longer, of course, but I’m getting to Brisbane whether they are with me or not.

So I left.

It rained hard, the wind was fiercely gusting in my face and enormous log trucks roared around tight bends blowing me off balance and leaving me drenched in thick spray. Progress was slow and the 5 kilometer markers I was so used to became menacing, they passed all to infrequently and Portland, 70km away when I set off from Nelson, seemed untouchable. In the late morning I was remonstrating with myself, running every incident from the past weeks through and through, thrashing my arms about as I skated and screaming into the lonely pine forests which lined the road. From behind came two familiar beeps of a horn. Cheech sped past, followed closely by George and Kylie. For the first time this journey I saw my three vehicles travelling in convey ahead as I skated. They pulled over one by one and everyone piled out, converging on the roadside as I wearily pushed closer. With rainwater dripping down my nose everyone put their arms around me in silence. I couldn’t help but whisper, “The roads are shit around here.” A knowing chuckle came from all sides. Kate read me a poem out loud, It was called Don’t Quit. The team led me to Kylie and we all crammed inside. Kate spoke, “We’ve all been talking, telling each other what was bothering us and getting everything out in the open, but then we went around and told everyone what we loved about each other, and the only person we haven’t done this to is you.” So they did, one by one the team told me what they loved about me, Dan called me an inside-out armadillo, Si referenced me to part of a cheesecake (I think I was the dish the cake was on), it was obvious that things we going to be ok and I cried in Kate’s arms as the rain fell outside and I shivered away the efforts of the morning.

Since then things have been better. The team are dealing with one-on-one issues head on without needing me to step in. Everyone is back on it, playing each day out with enthusiasm, raising money like never before and helping me cover ground that was inconceivably far away at the beginning of this escapade. We’ve flown over the 10,000 pound mark and are now closing in on 11,000, still a long way to go until the big 50k but all signs are positive, not least because we’re now rolling towards Melbourne and some very populated areas.

So, at the end of a tumultuous first week in Victoria I’m happy to report that the dust has settled, we’re pushing on towards 4000km and, just as I finish off this blog the sun is pushing through the clouds, hopefully leaning towards some good weather this afternoon as I push along one of the most beautiful stretches of coastal road in the world. The 45km between Apollo Bay and Lorne winds and dips and climbs and winds some more, keep your eyes on the www.boardfree.co.uk photo gallery to see some of the most breathtaking scenery ever skated. Rolling on towards Brisbane with renewed vigour and only a couple of blisters!

Another day, another border

2006-11-06T01:02:00.000Z

After a wonderful last night in South Australia (which we spent in a Mt. Gambier home belonging to Doug and Jill, who bumped into us at the Caiguna roadhouse on the Nullarbor some seven weeks ago) I jumped on Elsa this morning with newly stickered vehicles (thanks to Doug's son Andrew) at the ready, and set off for a final 30km ride into Victoria, our third State. Shortly before noon I rolled past the Thank You for Visiting South Australia sign, handed Elsa over to Dan who continued in line with BoardFree Oz tradition and changed Elsa's wheels and bearings right there on the border, and then pushed a mere 3km more to the small seaside town of Nelson, where we've been resting for the afternoon.

Tomorrow we continue east, heading towards Portland and then towards the magnificent Great Ocean Road. Another city, Melbourne, beckons in less than ten days, which begs the question, 'where the hell is the time going?!!!' One answer comes in the form of political clock changes. When we flew into Perth in mid August we were a mere 7 hours ahead of the UK. Now, with a 45 minute change at Caiguna, another 45 minutes lost at the SA-WA border, then some daylight saving chucked in for good measure and a final 30 minutes forward when we crossed the border today, we are now 11 hours ahead of UK time (they lost an hour when we gained one last week) and are contemplating driving back west at the end of this just to get four hours of our life back!!!!!

The team is tired and weary, a rest day should be on the cards soon but the clock, funnily enough, is ticking towards early December, when we're due into Sydney for some Sailability events. Long days and furrowed brows ahead, not to mention some incredible scenery and marble-sized blisters. Lucky buggers, aren't we!!!!

Moving south

2006-10-30T00:27:00.000Z

It feels like it took almost as long to leave Adelaide as it did for us to arrive there, but leave the City of Churches we did, but what an effort it took! With my left foot strapped up tight enough to make toes go blue I stepped onto Elsa for the first time in two weeks with Channel 7's news crew on hand to film things if all went pear-shaped. Luckily all was good, I did an interview and pushed off up the hills surrounding southern and eastern Adelaide. Steep steep steep, have had to deal with nothing like this since arriving in Australia, it was the ultimate test for my dodgy foot and the hills showed up my lack of fitness after spending two weeks on my bum. We stopped for lunch in the small but beautiful town of Stirling and then continued on, arriving in Strathalbyn with an hour to spare before the 6 o'Clock news. We all sat down to watch Channel 7, expecting a 20 second hook at the end of the programme. Unbelievably my ugly mug popped up as the third piece in the main news! A minute and a half later, having watched loads of Nullarbor footage Dim had given to the cameraman, viewing the BoardFree website on screen, seeing a cool little graphic showing a skateboard moving around Australia and hearing the reporter talk about our charities we all jumped out of our seats and whooped with joy! What a piece! Dim filmed it all, missing the beginning only through surprise at the early showing, and Si couldn't resist but yell out a loud YAAAAAAY when his footage appeared on the telly, but it was a great piece all the same. (It can be viewed on the TV page of www.boardfree.org.au Media Centre.)

This morning, suffering after losing an hour last night when the clocks went forward, was a bit more foot strapping and then back on the road. A headwind slowed us but plenty of people passed and donated, and the news that the TV piece had also shown on Channel 7's Sunrise show this morning was enough to push us into the picturesque Wellington by 1pm. I skated onto the car ferry that sends vehicles across the beautiful River Murray, and as Pelicans floated nearby I counted my blessings. Lucky lucky boy. A great couple of days, one amazing country. We've finally made it out of Adelaide. Should be in Victoria within a week.

When ya gotta go you gotta go

2006-10-28T14:38:00.000Z

A short blog this morning, but a happy one. A good bit of strapping, a couple of homemade butterfly stitches and a constantly bitten lip shoud see us on the road in about three hours! I'll be leaving Adelaide from the lay-by beside Mitcham Cemetary on Old Belair Road at 10:30am (2am GMT) this morning, and aim to scale the hills (what a test for someone who hasn't ridden for two weeks!) before riding out the flats to Strathalbyn, some 50km south of Adelaide.

Only a day on the board is going to tell me how well the foot has healed, despite all that has gone before this is the most important day of BoardFree Australia so far.

Smiles all round this morning, we're getting back on the road.

PS. Thanks so much to everyone who has emailed their best wishes and made donations on www.justgiving.com/boardfree. If you've stumbled across this blog accidentally but it has still caught your interest, then visit www.boardfree.org.au for the full story.

When becoming unstitched is a good thing...

2006-10-26T05:34:00.000Z

In my old age (the team keep telling me I'm 30 - no respect!) I'm becoming a little emotional. Last night I began to pinch myself: I'm in Adelaide, I'm 2800km into a journey on a skateboard, across Australia! People everywhere know about the journey. People have written songs about BoardFree! We've raised nearly eight thousand pounds! Unbelievable, every bit of it. Bev Blackburn, perhaps the most talented musician I know, has the pleasure of sitting in one of my support vehicles every day, and with the help of Dim and Holly (writing credits) has been responsible for the tune flowing around inside my head. Yes, it's so beautiful it flows. I want everyone to hear this song (it's the one at the end of the Nullarbor video on www.boardfree.co.uk), it brings a tear to my eye....."moving on, I'm moving on..."

Well, soon we will be moving on. Friday, hopefully. Adelaide is a beautiful city, classy and not at all boring as most of the locals seem to think. I've become attached to this city, dangerously so, but my stitches came out yesterday - a kind English doctor told me that the wound had healed well - and although I'm not completely comfortable standing on it yet I'm hoping that Elsa and I will get back on the road this Friday.

To pass time this last week I've visited the Hindmarsh stadium a couple of times to watch Adelaide United play football (not soccer as they insist on calling it here). The first game was wonderful, not because I'd been invited into the corporate box (the hospitality was great!) but because there was a legend on the field, a Brazilian chap named Romario. Once voted World Player of the Year, Romario is getting on a bit for a modern day professional but is striving to reach 1000 career goals. I saw him score his 985th, what a pleasure! The next game I enjoyed from the closer vantage point of the stands and afterwards was lucky enough to meet some of the players. In the UK Premiership players are inaccessable to all but a lucky few, but here the players were happy to stop and chat for a good while. Bobby Petta, formerly of Celtic in Scotland, was friendly and humble. But my personal highlight was meeting 'the other Cornthwaite on Google', Robert, who plays at the back for United. Funnily enough, he said he'd been approached a few times by people asking if we were related. Just feeling welcome a football club reminded me that the sooner I get back on the road the better, it's ever so easy to get comfortable in a place when moving on involves constant excercise!

In other good news, I wiped the sweat off my brow when C1rca sent through some more shoes (I was preparing to push up the east coast in a battered pair of bare feet!) and The Magic Touch delivered a boxful of Boardfree baseball caps for the team to sell on the way - in return for donations.

So, wrapping up a birthday blog and embarking on what will be a memorable opening to my 28th year, I sincerely hope that the chasm in my heel - now the stitches are out - won't hinder progress to much in the coming weeks. An 11 day delay means an immense effort is needed to reach Sydney on December 3rd, in time for a large International Disability Day event at Sailability Rushcutters Bay. The engines are starting to purr again, watch this space for progress to resume.

A blessing in disguise...

2006-10-21T02:11:00.000Z

I'm at a loss to describe how I'm feeling at the moment. Completely exhausted after a barrage of new challenges to contend with this week, this last week in the city has meant an adjustment of body clocks as we've gone back to latish nights and comparably lazy lie-ins. And by that I mean 8am!

Two months on the road living in each others pockets has driven us all stir crazy. Today, for the first time since Perth, I spent the afternoon away from the rest of the team working on new designs for t-shirts, updating the website, clearing my inbox and planning the route from Adelaide around to Brisbane. The frustration at not being able to get back on the road is tempered by an unsurprising relief at just being able to take things easy. I'm looking forward to getting back on the road but am struggling with the concept of not knowing when that day will come. The stitches and bruising around the gash in my heel is looking messy at the moment - I can only be sensible and make sure there is no threat of reopening the wound before I make the call to skate again.

In the meantime, Brit hurts his foot and everyone wants to talk. I was probably the most bemused out of everybody when the ABC primetime Australia-wide news covered my foot early this week. 20 interviews later I'm delighted at the medica coverage we've received, and slowly but surely as the team swarms through Adelaide with collecting buckets the BoardFree brand is pulling in more donations. Just yesterday we raised over $AUS700, not much in a big city you might think, but try handing out leaflets and asking for donations in a constantly-moving crowd and you realise that it takes a bit of tactical nouse to make city dwellers dip into their pockets.

The rest we're all experiencing has been made all the more pleasurable because of the hospitality of Deirdre and Bob Schahinger, who have made an awkward start in this city a thing of the past. Then there's Chris Riordan, whose cerebal palsy hasn't diminished a quick wit and humble, realistic nature which is going to send him through to the next Paralympic Games as a shining example of exactly what Sailability is capable of achieving. Chris is an inspiration. Sitting with him the other day in Mitcham, Adelaide, he asked me what kept me going when my legs were tired and the sun was beating down and the road was rough. And I struggled to tell him. Drive can't always be explained. Chris is focusing on the mental challenge that lies ahead as he prepares to go for gold. He says, "if we walked down the road and back again I would use ten times the energy that you would, I need to find out what I need to do, how I need to think." He isn't the type of guy who enters for the sake of entering, I'll be watching him all the way to Kuala Lumpur and I wouldn't be surprised if he comes away with a medal.

So, because of Chris, Deirdre, Bob and the countless other people who have appeared in Adelaide to support us, we'll soon be pushing on towards the coast and then around it. The delay means some long long days of catch-up are ahead of us. We're talking weeks of 80km plus days, roads littered with traffic which is now going to be heavy and viscous. They said the Nullarbor was impossible, rubbish. We've done the easy part, luckily we've been given the chance to rest before the hard graft kicks in.

A quick update from Adelaide

2006-10-16T05:15:00.000Z

It's almost bed time at the end of quite a tumultuous two days. Good: Reaching Adelaide, skating through the middle of the city traffic-less early this morning, finally getting a bed to sleep in and a lovely BBQ cooked for the team. Bad: Vehicles breaking down, accomodation nightmares, seemingly endless bad luck. And then, to top of the negative end of the ridiculously unfriendly karma we've been receiving recently, I am jumping into the air with Dim and Dan to pose for a photo and I land on a metal spike. Wearing only my socks (I'd just finished skating and had whipped the shoes off as I always do). Said spike intrudes my left foot. Five hours later I leave the hospital with seven stitches. I'm on crutches. I'm a careful guy. Freak accidents don't happen to me. Until now. Delayed in Adelaide for at least a week, emotions all over the place, hobbling around like a bear with a sore left foot. None of us can understand what we've done wrong. Perhaps an enforced rest is just what we need after travelling 2700km across the outback in seven weeks, on a skateboard!

Check out http://www.news.com.au/adelaidenow/story/0,22606,20580984-5006301,00.html
for an article in Adelaide's Sunday Mail today. Will write more tomorrow. For now, its time to rest my head. And foot!

No kangaroos, just cars...

2006-10-11T20:31:00.000Z

The past few days have gone by in a flurry. On Sunday a hefty crosswind that couldn’t have been more determined to knock me off balance didn’t stop a final 68km push into Port Augusta, which signalled the end of the Eyre Highway which had kept me company for almost a month. Port Augusta was a shabby town with a couple of shiny spots to keep people happy. One of these was the Big4 Caravan Park, a clean and well laid out campsite in which we were kindly given parking space and two cabins in which to spend a well-earned rest day. Port Augusta has a population of 15,000 people, and the incoming traffic confirmed that this town was the biggest urban settlement we’d passed through since Perth. From now on, at least for the most part, the lonely outback roads are past, and the steady whoosh of cars will again become commonplace.

Another reality check: we have mobile telephone coverage again. At ten to seven on Monday morning – our rest day remember! – the phone rang. Interview with ABC South Australia. In the early afternoon I chatted to Jess from Flow FM, which has good coverage throughout much of South Australia. Later I spoke to Triple J, an interview which went national, and went well! The next morning, I’d been back on the road for all of ten minutes before ABC Tasmania called in, and to finish off the flurry I was back on the phone at 5pm speaking to my old friends at BBC Radio Cumbria, having passed through Carlisle during BoardFree UK in May. Unfortunately a bad phone signal cut the interview short, I hope they don’t give up on me!

Back in May I was about 350 miles into my long distance skateboarding career. Now, with over 2500km down in Australia alone, my feet are looking considerably better than they did for much of BFUK and despite a transitory tummy bug that the team are sharing between each other at the moment I’m feeling fit and strong, if only a bit achy. It looks likely that a couple of toenails are on their way out, but if that’s the only damage so far I can deal with it!

65km south of Port Augusta, Port Germein was the stopping point yesterday afternoon. Home to Australia’s longest wooden jetty at over 1,200m, Port Germein is a delightful little village with a population of 250 or so and the Port Germein Progress Association, in the form of the local caravan park, gave us a lovely place to stay for the night. We crabbed and fished at the end of the jetty until the sun disappeared into a remarkably calm Spencer Gulf, and the twelve or so Blue Crabs we did manage to fish out of the water found themselves back in there before we started the long walk back to the caravan park.

This morning Dan cycled with me all the way to Crystal Brook, some 48km south of Port Germein, and we made our lunch stop by noon thanks to a pleasant tailwind and smooth roads. With every push Adelaide draws closer, now less than 200km to go before we roll into the city that has always been in our minds as the halfway point of BoardFree Australia. Halfway in distance perhaps, but I get the feeling, as a large proportion of vehicles passing us wave their hands crazily and honk horns in recognition of a journey they have already heard about through the media, that the urban experience is going to be quite something during the coming months.

A little town called Kimba

2006-10-06T19:27:00.000Z

Legs like jelly this morning. A record-breaking 104km push yesterday saw us trawl along the ever-dimishing Eyre Highway between Wudinna and Kimba. Either side of an undulating road the countryside turned vaguely British, sheep and horses stared at me as I glided by and I half expected an olde English pub around every corner. Instead, Dim ran up to me holding a dead lizard by the tail, the driver of a ute tailgating me (yes, ute tailgating skateboard) stuck a chubby middle finger up as I pulled over to let them pass - I nearly hurled my water bottle at the passing goliath. A woman drove by waving a five dollar note out of the window and then panicked as two cars appeared behind her. She threw the note which, being paper, didn't gain any velocity and flapped around in the wind until I caught up with it. I was video blogging at the time and looked at the camera grinning, "apparently word has gotten around that I must be crazy to be doing something like this, too crazy even to talk to."

David Attenborough's audio book 'Life on Air' has kept my left ear company for the past few days. The man has led a fascinating life and today, as I listen in to Disc 8 of 17, he talks about flying to Nairobi with a co-cameraman to film a certain Lioness, who was reared by a German Baroness in northern Kenya and whose subsequent story became known as Born Free. The lioness was called Elsa, and Attenborough recalled the moment when he woke up from a siesta with the hairy, sweaty underside of a big cat's jaw looming over him. "If I had sat up with a joly," he recalled, "my head would have collided with her."

I looked down at Elsa, the one who keeps my feet company everyday and bares the name inspired by this wildly-tame lioness from Kenya, and tapped her with my left toes. "That's my girl," I said, and pushed on.

We are now three days of empty country away from Port Augusta, from there we head south, through Clare's wine valley region (don't get any funny ideas) and into Adelaide. We're barely a week away from there now. Our second city on this board-inspired adventure is fast approaching, and as I write from a small computer library in Kimba, which claims to be Halfway Across Australia, I thank my lucky stars that although the road ahead is a long and tiring one, we are not yet even halfway to Brisbane.

Skating on Eyre

2006-10-03T03:49:00.000Z

"Take it easy today Dave," say the team. "We've just had two rest days and you need to edge your way back into skating again."

So I did. 94km later I write from the landlord's computer in a homely pub which sits right in the middle of Wirulla. A small town with a secret, according to the signs leading to the place. Thing is, nobody knows what the secret is. Ghostly noises around the vans tonight, I think. We've been given free camping across the road on a concrete slab that used to be a tennis court. There are showers in circular concrete huts which have prison-like doors and Huntsman spiders sat menacingly in the corners. Looming over our campsite, which we share with no-one, are two enormous grain silos. Wirulla doesn't seem to be home to much, but we're happy to be here, not least because I thought it would take two days to get here, not just one.

The team pushed me on today, towards our second longest push this journey. A new bicycle, purchased in Ceduna in order to give the crew an outpost for the energy they build up in the vans each day, had a baptism of fire today. Dim started, Bev continued, Becs had a bash, Kate peddled for ten km. And then, as I decided with shadows lengthening to push hard for 30km and finish a day ahead of schedule, Dim patted his paunch and declared, "I'm going to try and push home with you, I've got some steak to burn off." So he did. 30km later The Lens had earned himself some blisters on his hands (about time, as Dan and I have been suffering from similar after the team took on Ceduna's best yesterday in a tug-of-war) and a fine pair of jelly legs. Proud of the boy. A couple of days back, in the linear 100-strong village of Penong, a surfer-chap shook my hand in a pub as I bid hinm goodnight. "Good luck," he said.
"I don't need good luck," I told him, "I've got a good team and that's more than enough."

After pushing out of Perth almost six weeks ago (it seems more like twenty, by the way) we can almost smell Adelaide. Another 700km to go until we reach our second Australian city, of course, but earlier today we passed over the 2000km mark and 700km seems almost dainty sometimes! Ridiculous, I know, but we're beginning to enjoy life on the road more than our rest days. A clockwork-like eagerness to experience what's around the corner seems to be wound up every night. The BoardFree team are on a roll, and loving every minute.

Ceduna: The end of an adventure, the beginning of another...

2006-10-02T04:00:00.000Z

Ceduna is a small town, population 3000. Had we followed schedule and skated just that tiny bit slower along the Eyre Highway from Norseman to Ceduna, we still wouldn't be here this time next week, and that would have been unfortunate, as this weekend in Ceduna is Oysterfest. Oysters a plenty, sure, but the expanded weekend population, swelling this small bayside town by over 6000, has added to our charity coffers.

But generous festival-goers aside, our heads are spinning with people, people, people. For two and a half weeks we have been rolling along the Eyre Highway, battling headwinds, 40 metre trucks and a very real sense of space. The Nullarbor Plain, which covers an area of 77,000 square kilometres and has almost mythically become the nickname of the entire expanse of empty country separating Western Australia and South Australia, is home to miraculous sunsets, endless skies and devilishly straight roads.

Crossing the Nullarbor has been on our minds for months, for some of us over a year. Images of the spinal Eyre Highway running parallel to the nibbled coastline of the Great Australian Bight both awed and scared us. Now, having skated those roads and beaten the obstacles - descriptions of which filled warning messages sent to us before the journey - in our way, there is a real sense of achievement surrounding our efforts since Perth. I may have just become the first person to skateboard across the dreaded Nullarbor, but I couldn't have done it so smoothly, so safely and so successfully without my team. Often camping in the wilderness, surrounded by the ever-constant threat of poisonous snakes and spiders, we've been a team through and through. Becs and Bev sorting the food, Dan and Kate always keeping me safe on the roads, Si and Dim filming everything and more, Holly snapping as she does best. Almost 2000km down now, back on the road in the morning and heading for Port Augusta. It might take us ten days, it might take us six. Who knows what's coming next, this adventure has taken a fair few turns already (except on the 90 mile straight leading to Caiguna!) and we're not quite a third of the way there yet. Keep watching, this isn't quite as singularly dull as some people might think.

Plain Sailing

2006-09-26T01:34:00.000Z

Just a quick update from the first reliable internet in a while! I write from Nullarbor, the Roadhouse. After countless days of hard pushing through treeless plains and low-level scrub the team and I reached the Head of the Bight today. Five days of skating left will see us leave the Nullarbor Plain, which has both taunted and delighted us since we left Norseman back on the 11th September. Ceduna, the end of the Nullarbor, will give me a chance to rest my weary legs and the team the chance to reflect on a section of this journey that has been magnificent. I'll write more about the Plain when I reach a fast connection, but with 1700km down we're all looking forward to anew challenge, urbania! The few people we've met along the last 929km of the Eyre Highway have been friendly, generous with donations and often offering similar pieces of advice. One lady who bucked the trend looked me up and down not far from Caiguna and declared, "with that accent you'll need plenty of suncream." I agreed, and am happy to report that none of us have yet succumbed to burning from a harsh winter sun. There are some stunning images and videos on the way, not to mention diaries, but you'll have to wait until we get to Ceduna for these. I expect us to land on the 1st October. Til then, there's a little bit of the Nullarbor to finish off...

Healing with Norseman

2006-09-10T18:36:00.000Z

There’s a very hairy caterpillar halfway up our front door. It is about 5 inches long, fat as a swollen thumb and has a face like a baboon. “How do you think it got there?” Kate asks me. “Did it fall off the tree and land on the door?” I laugh out loud but she doesn’t stop, “Well that’s how they get places,” she stresses, “they fall off plants.”

Down below, rubbish is strewn across the ground. Kate heard a thrashing sound earlier and growled, “It’s the crows!” She rushed to the door followed quickly by Holly. Sure enough, a large black crow walked pompously away from a pecked rubbish bag. Kate shut the door and put her fist in the air, “Yes! I knew it! Crows!” She’s on one today.

As dusk grew yesterday afternoon I walked back to the motel after an hour-long interview with Dimitri. The plan all along had been to have everything ready in time to get back on the road in the morning, but Becki and Bev were still shopping at the supermarket, clothes boxes remained unpacked and the logistical challenge of packing the vehicles whilst taking into account several cubic feet of donated water was not yet a challenge met.

I wandered up to the main building of the Great Western hotel and spoke quietly to Russell, whose wife Pat manages the hotel. “How’s it looking?” he asks me, nodding towards our vehicles.
“We’re getting there mate but it’s taking some time. The plan was to leave tomorrow but I’m not willing to push on until we’re totally prepared and we’re running out of light now. Do you think it would be possible to stay one more night and then leave on Monday?”
“I don’t see that there’d by any dramas,” he shrugged, “but I’ll check with Pat first. I’ll do that and come down in about ten minutes.”
“Of course mate, thanks Russell.”

Ordinarily I’d baulk at the idea of an unscheduled rest day but we’ve learnt our lessons from BoardFree UK. Despite the obvious need to get the vehicles in order and piece together the puzzle of personal items, team kit and food and water, my body is aching and needed another day of rest. “How are you coping with the skating itself,” Dimitri asked me earlier during our interview, “physically how are you feeling after skating 750km in two weeks?” I had rested my chin on my hand, sighed deeply and replied, “I realised a couple of days ago that I’m used to being constantly in pain. My muscles ache, my joints ache, my back aches, my feet ache. I’m perfectly able to carry on this journey, but at the same time it’s not healthy just to accept this constant pain.”

For me, getting to Brisbane and breaking this world record is absolutely going to happen. Had everything gone smoothly and we were packed up and ready to go I would have been back on my board this morning. As it is, I’m glad my body has another day to rest. The next road, the Eyre Highway, is the longest one yet, stretching across the Nullarbor Plain towards Port Augusta and Adelaide. This road on its own will take longer for me to skate than the entire length of Britain. This prospect doesn’t phase me, I have never looked at this journey as a whole. I’ll take it day by day and reach my targets each day, that’s the only was we’re getting across to the East coast.

Now, on a dull Sunday morning by WA standards, I lie in an immensely comfortable bed writing my blog as outside the sky darkens and the wind gusts throughout the delightful Great Western Hotel complex. Pat and Russell have been generous and friendly hosts and I have a feeling that they’re sitting on a little nest egg here. Last night Russell drove myself and another five members of the team (Bev and Becs were into their fifth hour of food shopping by the time we left) around Norseman, showing us the sights, giving us the history of the town. My highlight of this unofficial tour was undoubtedly reaching the top of Beacon Hill. To the west and down below, the town of Norseman and the Salt Lake that borders its north and west sides, Lake Cowan. To the east a humbling sight. A spread of uninterrupted green, a flat plain stretching hill-less all the way to the horizon. This is the Nullarbor my friends, it’ll take a month or so to cross and there is very little in the middle, and that includes internet access. We aim to reach Ceduna, the town marking the east-end of the Plain, on the 6th or 7th October. Don’t be alarmed if it takes a little longer, I’ve heard word that they’ve ripped up a 50km stretch of the Eyre Highway about 100km outside of Norseman. That means no sealed surface for me to skate on. And that means a good bit of walking.

See you on the other side.

Norseman!

2006-09-08T23:04:00.000Z

Made Norseman a couple of hours ago. We're resting here until Sunday before embarking along the Eyre Highway. 750km down. Plenty to go! Will try and find some internet access before we leave, because there sure isn't any on the Nullarbor!

Schools and Mines

2006-09-07T05:07:00.000Z

There’s something wonderful about travelling without a rigid plan of action. The flexibility and spontaneity of life on the road means that each day we’re open to a huge number of wonderful possibilities. I’ve always been in love with the notion – and practice – of waking up in the morning not knowing where I’m going to rest my head the coming night, and today was one of those days which highlighted the benefits of not calling ahead to arrange accommodation in a particular place.

So, most of the team woke up in the Home Economics lab of Kambalda West High School, those who didn’t slept in the vans just outside. The night before we had access to the library and gym, much computing, footballing, basketballing and hockeying meant that perhaps we didn’t sleep as much as we should have, so blurry eyed we rose and prepared for our first school assemblies for several years.

The principal of Kambalda West is Russell O’Neill, a kind, generous and approving man who was just happy for us to stay in his school because of what we were doing. By the time we left the first assembly – one of about 100 children in their early-mid teens – we were all sure that Russell was also the principal of potentially the most well-behaved school in Australia, if not the world! He took us across the grounds to the Primary School, where I slightly dumbed-down my description of BoardFree for a bunch of incredibly small people. The question and answer sessions are the best, Towards the end I decided to ask the kids a question, the first to answer correctly got to ask me one of the final questions of the day. So I asked, “How fast do you think I go on a steep hill?” A bunch of hands went up, I chose one belonging to a cheeky female face towards the front.
“Very fast,” she replied, much to the amusement of the adults in the room.
“Well that’s a good answer,” I told her, “but I’m looking for a figure, can anyone else have a guess?” Again, hands galore. I chose one,
“Faster,” came the reply.
Straight after the Primary assembly a girl from the High School scurried into the classroom we had relocated to. “I didn’t get a chance to make a donation,” she said, breathlessly and apologetically, “I’m sorry, I only have a fifty.” We all looked at her as she disappeared with a wave.
“They’re very generous kids,” Russell told us, pointing at his shaved head, “we had a charity event last week and the children paid $1500 for this haircut.”

We drove across town to Kambalda East, not before the kids in the Home Ec class told us that they were making a double-batch of cookies to take on the road with us. Absolutely delicious they were too. Kambalda East’s principal, Dan Balich, who had first approached the team as we breakfasted in Coolgardie’s Road House yesterday morning, was unfortunately away in Kargoolie today, but we were taken under-wing by the other teachers. This assembly went slightly differently to the others. I made an entrance by skating down a ramp and between two layers of children. Talked and answered questions for about fifteen minutes and was then promptly mobbed by the kids who thrust things at me to sign. Shoes, t-shirts, baseball caps and BoardFree leaflets later I was dragged away by Kate to have morning tea with the teachers.

It was almost twelve by the time we got on the road, and I was shattered already. 20km up the road we stopped at Widgiemoortha, a run-down petrol station manned by a disinterested bloke who was just plain rude. “I just don’t see the point in people doing this kind of thing,” he moaned about out-of-the-ordinary journeys for charity. He wouldn’t even let us eat our home-made sandwiches inside.

We retreated to the vehicles and after lunch I curled up in George and had a good sleep. At half three Kate called a man named Paul, who had been waiting for me at the Kambalda turn-off the night before. Paul worked for Mincor, a mining company that operates in the area, and he had told me he’d like to take the team down one of the mines a bit further along the road.

Just as I was preparing to get back on the road Paul drove up with a co-worker, Francis. They said they could organise dinner at a mine about 19km up the road, drew us a map and said that they’d meet us at seven the next morning. I pushed on, we made the mine, which was called Mariners, by quarter to six and drove along the drive.

I’m not sure any of us were expecting what was to come. Set off a few hundred metres from the road and hidden in arid forest was a small village, featuring 200 or so prefab self-contained, en suite rooms, a dining hall, wet mess (bar), recreation room and ablution rooms (toilets). For about five minutes we all felt quite out of place but then Gabby, a friendly yet efficient lady - the type that takes shit from no-one – showed us around, gave us keys to two rooms, “I’d have given you eight if we had them available,” and left us to it.

We showered, changed and wandered into the dining room where we tucked into an excellent variety of nosh and helped ourselves to at least three servings of pudding. Gabby walked in and told me that there was a short event on in the wet mess at a quarter to eight, “It’s called the Golden Spanner and basically it’s a chance for the boys to take the piss out of each other for their antics on the site. You should come on over.”

So we did. A ripe old fella named Foss (short for Fossil) took centre stage and promptly began dishing out items like hats and rucksacks to people who had earned them, for such reasons as missing shifts due to reasons of drunkenness. He even plugged BoardFree, taking the chance to ask why it had taken me so long to get here from Perth, handing me a Mincor baseball cap and inviting the gathered crowd to hand some money over to the cause. They duly did, adding over $250 to the $325 we had raised in the schools earlier in the day. Overwhelmed and pinching ourselves at our completely random luck, we retired to vans and en-suite rooms to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for a tour of a Nickel mine the next morning.

A new highway, a new direction

2006-09-06T03:09:00.000Z

Heading south on the Coolgardie Esperance Highway now. Finished almost 60km down the road towards Norseman, which we should reach on Thursday. The team are staying in a fabulous place tonight, the Kambalda High School Home Economics lab! We've got access to the gym and library, but unfortunately net restrictions mean I can't update the website tonight. We'll do it Norseman - and boy are there some cracking pictures on the way!

Yesterday we rested in Kalgoorlie. Did two live radio interviews with ABC Goldfields and Radio West, will get those online shortly. Also was interviewed by the Golden Mail and the Kalgoorlie Miner, the latter put me on their front page this morning, amazing! We also visited the Coolgardie Primary School, who were lovely and had very intelligent, attentive kids.

Tomorrow the team and I will be attending a few school assemblies in Kambalda before getting back on the road. Earlier today a man from a local mine was waiting for me on the road. Tomorrow he's taking the team down a mine, 3/4 of a kilometre down! There's barely any time for skating!

Promise to update the website soon, sat phone will be in action from tomorrow night. Everyone's good, it's bed time now - big day tomorrow.

Conflicting emotions

2006-09-04T22:35:00.000Z

After skating 70km yesterday and reaching the end of the Great Eastern Highway, saying goodbye to the Golden Pipeline that has been with us for so long and earning a well needed rest day, I'm now sat in an internet cafe in Kalgoorlie, some 40km north of Coolgardie, updating the website and feeling quite sad.

About six years ago I was watching TV and was fascinated by this gregarious Australian man who jumped into rivers and wrestled crocodiles, crawled on all fours to within inches of the world's most poisonous snakes and was an all-round nice guy as he did it. Steve Irwin may have been an easy Aussie stereotype to some but to me he defined a happy person. Someone who loved what he did so much his personality was infectious, he lived life to the full. I heard a couple of hours ago that he had died whilst filming a documentary about sealife off the Cairns coastline. Steve Irwin summed up Australia for many people around the world and he will be sorely missed.

The Longest Day

2006-09-03T05:29:00.000Z

This was a day of extremes. I woke up grumpy, a night of tossing and turning and interrupted sleep didn’t bode well for a day in which I hoped to skate close to 70km. Coolgardie, I felt, could be reached in two hard day’s skating and although my rough schedule gave three days to get from here to there I wanted to push a bit harder and therefore grant the team a well-earned extra rest day.

“It’s my birthday!” Kate’s wide eyes signal the second BoardFree birthday in a week, later we’ll give her presents – some bubbles and beads and a skipping rope - all packed neatly into The Birthday Box, which will be used on every BoardFree birthday.

On the road before 8 and on and on and on. Although the sun was out when we woke up it had disappeared behind clouds which always threatened rain but never quite delivered. Instead, a cold wind blew from the north east, right into my face.

Going was hard. It was one of those mornings when I got angrier and angrier with every push. Why hadn’t the team woken up when I asked them to? Did they have no respect for me? Why were some of the documentary team still back in camp and missing some outstanding scenery? Why wasn’t anyone waving from their cars this morning? Why did it feel like I wasn’t making any ground despite hard pushing? Horrible moments, these, and they always pass. But for a while they’re poisonous and just expend more energy. After 15km I pulled the jeep over and sat on my board, hugging myself. Just exhausted. Kate gave me some food and a hoodie, Dim and Dan tried to make things better,
“Mate, it’s all been uphill today, you’re doing really well.”
I hadn’t noticed any uphills, I just wanted a nap.

“I’ll go another 5km and then go for a sleep in George,” I told them, and we moved on. A parking place, usually a wide lay-by marked by yellow waste bins, was signposted for a kilometre up the road and I pushed on towards a sleep. Then a white ute pulled up alongside me. Two men with beards inside. The driver leaned over and said, “We’re working on the pipeline about 3km up the road, when you get to us we’ll sort you out with some bottles of water.”

At the lay-by I delayed my nap. “Let’s push on until we see these pipeline guys, they’re only a couple of k’s down the road,” I said to the team, “after then we’ll have a break.” So we pushed on, but it was almost 10km before we reached the worksite. The effort was well worth it, a box of water and a bag of goodies awaited. Steve, the guy in charge of traffic control and one of the chaps who drove alongside me earlier, was a really nice bloke. “Man,” he said, “all I can say is man, you’re hard as nuts.”

After a short tour of the pipeline work we continued on, passing an emu and four chicks which scurried into the bush at the roadside. A long overdue rest came at a lay-by around the corner, and I was just about to get my head down when Steve drove up in his ute again. We chatted for about half an hour, he told me stories about road trains and the wildlife and life as a traffic control worker in the outback. Really interested, very generous bloke. Emptied his cooler of drinks and handed them over, even gave me a stray orange from the passenger seat. He told me about a place to stay tonight, “About ten k up the road there’s a beautiful look-out spot, a small version of Ayres Rock, the views from up there are incredible.”

And so it was. I pushed on another 20k from the lay-by to finish a 66km day, the longest yet. Just before the day ended came a highlight. A black car sped past, no return of my wave or honk of the horn, then a couple of hundred metres up ahead it stopped in the middle of the road. I saw a figure get out, rush to the side of the road and then jump back in the car and drive off. I was so confused and had no idea what was going on. Had they put a small bomb at the side of the road?!!!!!!! Just in case I pulled to the opposite lane and gingerly skated along. No sign of any bombs and just when it seemed there were no clues to the strange incident I came across a stone in the road, which weighed down a ten dollar note!

We stopped by the 70km to Coolgardie sign and then headed back to the camp, already set up by Becs, Holly, Kate and the others. The site, which I like to call Kangaroo Rock thanks to a magical moment when a roo jumped across the top of the rock at sunset, was magnificent. From the top of the rock we could see bush for about 30 to 40km all around, it was a breathtaking place. For Kate, a wonderful spot to celebrate a birthday.

Milestones

2006-09-02T04:19:00.000Z

Snuggled onto George’s top bunk, a fair distance from any kind of civilisation, I realise two things. One, that today I skated past the 400 kilometre mark, and two, very unlike BoardFree UK we haven’t been making a big deal of the one hundreds. 100km down, 200km down, 300km down. None of that. I think at one stage I told Dim and Dan that I’d passed the 200km mark and I got no more than an unimpressed grunt in reply. And here, camped in a clearing 40 metres off the Great Eastern Highway with Southern Cross 52km to the west and Coolgardie some 135km to the east, I can understand exactly why these mini-milestones aren’t overly significant. It’s because Australia is a bloody big place.

We’re camping in a dirt clearing just a few metres behind a line of scrub that borders the Highway. It’s the first time we’ve ‘roughed it’ on BoardFree Australia, and as Road Trains rumble by looking like terrifically long Christmas trees I’d say everyone here is pretty happy with their lot. Early night, early morning tomorrow.

Onwards to Bodallin

2006-08-31T03:01:00.000Z

“Bodallin,” pondered Marie in the Merredin Internet Café, “it must be about 70km away”.

Threw me, that did. I’d planned on Bodallin being our next stop after Merredin but even with that ever-elusive tailwind finally joining my rear end 70km in a day might be asking just a bit much. Ah well, we’ll have to make do with camping just off the road tonight.

And that was how the plan for the day went. Up early and on the road before 8am (even with a 5:45 alarm it’s amazing how long it takes to get ready) we’d gone 25km before the other vans caught up. The road drove on through WA, past the site of the commencement of the famous Rabbit Proof Fence and then into a channel bordered by ten foot high bush. For 10km this channel undulated, the roads smooth and the wind finally edging behind me, I coasted along with barely a push. Heaven! At one point a basking lizard stood in the middle of the road, almost a foot long. I bent down as I rolled by, barely a metre from the little dinosaur and then, thinking the episode was over, the critter started running and collided with my back wheel. My heart stopped, a cart wheeling gecko spun off towards the sideline and to my relief he landed on his feet and just stared at me nonchalantly. Simon, riding the bike just behind, swerved a little to avoid a bad ending, and we continued on our way.

At Coballin Road House two large skinks hovered around the toilet block. Over a foot long and very plump, one of them guarded the Ladies entrance. A little local girl ran over and answered Bev’s questions.
“Does it bite?”
“No.”
“Is it a bluetail?”
“I don’t know, I’m only five years old.”

At about 1pm I rolled over the 50k mark for the day. Pulled the vans over. “Guys, let’s start looking about for a place to camp, the next Road House is about 20k away so it looks like we’re stuck by the roadside tonight.”

Down the road a km or so there was a wide lay-by peppered with bushes. I looked around, Dim was filming some horses in a nearby field but the place didn’t feel right. “No shelter here, let’s move on a bit.”

And just around the corner, much to my surprise, was a sign saying Bodallin, 2km! We rolled into the station right on the 59km mark and were dismayed to find ‘No Overnight Camping’ signs everywhere. Bugger! Always a group to try it on, though, we approached the lady who worked at the station and she said it might be ok to stay, although it was really up to the council. Twenty minutes later a white car drove up, two women and a man got out, handed us $25 in donations between them and then the chap asked me, “Would you like to stay here tonight?”
“Mate, I’d love to,” I replied, not knowing who the hell he was.
“Good, it’ll be ok then, I’ll let you,” he said, tapping my shoulder.
“Are you from the council then?” I asked. He nodded,
“I have a meeting tonight, I’ll let the rest know.”

And that was that. Off he drove and left us to it. The wall alongside the station was ridden with spiders. Some of the team watched in fascination as a pair of redbacks took down an earwig. Safe to say that although were all in bed by eight a few of us had sleepless nights.

Merredin, WA

2006-08-30T02:33:00.000Z

The sun is nearly gone and behind me the Pacific National train and its load rumbles by for two minutes. We’ve been kindly allowed to stay at Merredin’s campsite on the eastern edges of the town, by owners Sue and Paul. The site is immaculately clean, well laid out and is home to two delightful pets, a Kangaroo with a vest and Billy the Parrot

This morning I decided to call our first rest day. The vans were a tip and the team stuck their teeth into a big sort-out of kit and clothes while I ventured to the local internet café (Merredin Tourist and Information Centre: www.timegate.net.au) and spent a few hours catching up on website and emails. The manager, Marie, and friends kept me entertained with some local stories and seemed happy to let me nestle into a computer desk and get on with my work.

Slightly frustrated with such an early rest day but small blisters on the soles of my feet need some TLC and the early days of the journey have been tiring enough to justify this rest. I think the team are feeling some of my frustrations and there’s been a bit of tension now and then, but nothing out of the ordinary. Looking forward to tomorrow and eating up some more kilometres.

The Walking Man

2006-08-29T05:12:00.000Z

Nearly 60km today between Kellerberrin and Merredin. Holly cycled a good bit of the way and she seems ok. She’s decided to stay with the team and not go back to the UK for her gramp’s funeral. We’re all glad she’s staying and are rallying around.

I can feel the headwind slowly bending round. For most of today it was coming in at an angle against my left shoulder, if the trend continues hopefully we’ll have a tailwind soon!

A couple of k’s before Merredin we met someone a family had told us about the day before. A mythical creature, The Walking Man! Jeff Hunston is a Canadian, and he is on a mission. Pushing his Chariot in front of him Jeff is slowly inching his way across Australia, taking time off away from his family and job back home to walk across Aus whenever he can. This is Jeff’s second stint Down Under and having walked between Freemantle and Merredin, today’s wander is his last for a while. We just caught him! Jeff presented me with a small medal he had made in the Perth mint, he told me it was for people he met who showed an extraordinary kindness or were in themselves extraordinary. And then he made a $50 donation to BoardFree. Amazing to think, that somewhere in the middle of WA a walking man can meet a skating man, talk for a while and then bid each other farewell and continue in the same direction at different speeds. If people have nothing else, they have journeys to embark on.

Collecting the k’s

2006-08-28T03:02:00.000Z

Plod plod plod. Almost all roads today were horribly rough. The trees continue to recede and the land continues to level out. The first 8km out of Cunderdin were flat and straight and after eagerly pushing towards what was apparently a sizeable hill for ten minutes I realised the heat haze was playing tricks with me and although it was indeed a hill, it wasn’t big enough to warrant a mention on any other day.

We had a long brunch in a small homestead called Tammin, population 450, area 1800km squared, and picnicked on green grass. After lunch the last 25 kilometres were slowed by an ever-increasing headwind – cause for concern as this wind has been growing in the last two days and we don’t plan on changing direction any time soon – but the flocks of Galahs and enormous kilometre-long trains (the India-Pacific track runs close to the road) and occasional waves from strangers in cars provided enough motivation to see us roll into Kellerberrin by 3:30pm.

Bev and Becs had found a nice little campsite with unequivocally clean toilets and a power supply, and we settled down to a relaxing afternoon with Kate massaging my calves and Becs straight onto a fine tuna pasta dinner.

At 6pm the air was full of screams and wails. I had just taken the lid off my clothes box, searching for a beanie hat to combat the chill that comes with country nights, when it began. I cocked an ear, wondering if a child had hurt herself, trying to determine where the noise was coming from. Stepping back from the van I saw Holly twenty-five metres away from our camp, rocking backwards and forwards cross-legged in the sand with one hand to her mouth. At first I thought she’d been bitten by something but then saw he had a phone to her ear. “Shit.”

Nothing comes close to the sound of death. I ran to her, Becs and Bev and Kate did the same. We held her and hugged her as she cried and spoke to her Dad. Kate fetched tissues and a custard cream, a hoodie to keep Holls warm. It was her Grandad.

For the first time the team becomes a family. Everyone emerges to let her know we’re here for her, doing what little we can to make things easier. In the middle of nowhere, none of us are alone. We’ll all fall asleep thinking of Holly tonight.

A long day, a weird and wonderful ending

2006-08-27T06:58:00.000Z

It’s not easy getting out of a comfortable bed knowing there’s a long day’s skate ahead, but it’s too early in this journey to get complacent so out of bed by eight we were, and in the jeep by quarter to nine.

A short drive out of Northam back to the Great Eastern Highway back to the point where I ended yesterday. And then off again. Rough roads for a few k’s and then it smoothed out, the Road Train Assembly Point sits just a couple of kilometres out of Northam and their impact on the Highway east of the town is clear to a skateboarder who yearns for a smooth surface. The vehicle tracks became darker and more trodden and my pace quickened. It’s only Day 4 and the team is developing a pattern. Dan and Kate and a cameraman join me on the road early and the rest of the team shop and edit videos and sort photos before jumping in the vans. Today I’d skated 15km before they overtook us, two similar Toyota vans logo’d to the nines, Becs behind the wheel of Kylie and her massive bull bar, Bev driving George, so named after the kind mechanic who put us on the road back in Perth. When the rest of the team meets us someone pulls the bicycle out of Kylie and joins me on the road, today it was Dan and the difference company makes to me is invaluable. Even with a jeep close behind skating from town to town is a lonely game, I can’t thank Si enough for winning the bike in Perth!

It’s Danny’s birthday today. Becs presented him with presents and a chocolate muffin as we gathered at the side of the road. 24 today, probably one of the most bizarre birthdays Dan’ll experience, he opened up his water pistols and a cool little straw that played happy birthday when he sucked through it, and then jumped on the bike and joined me on the road for 40km. For most of the way he had his iPod in, listening to Ricky Gervais podcasts and giggling to himself. He’s a good mate, Dan is.

The stretches are getting longer and straighter; the countryside visibly changed this morning with tree-cover becoming sparser and the green fields starting to dot with red patches. The Golden Pipeline running from Mundaring to Kalgoorlie has snaked nearby since the day we left Perth and today it left the hills in the distance and joined the roadside.

I was warned about a few things by knowing locals in Perth. “Don’t end up on a Road Train bullbar” they told me, and I don’t plan on it. These trucks are enormous, sometimes reaching 45 metres in length and stopping for no one, their sheer size creates a draft that sucked me along the shoulder, it’s like being blasted in a wind tunnel for 5 seconds. Reassuring though that almost all of them raise a thumb to me, pull down on their horn or show a palm of appreciation – making friends with the largest beasts around is the first rule of survival.

“Boredom,” they also said, “it’s very boring out there.” But actually, it isn’t that tedious. Sure, the long straight roads begin to merge into each other after a while but I think it’s probably harder for drivers to keep their concentration. Despite the constant pushing things aren’t so monotonous for Elsa and I. Every little change in the road surface, every time the Golden Pipeline gets a little larger or smaller or splits into two, every time a bright green parrot flies across the road or we pass a field containing hundreds of stock-still, staring sheep. Something happens every minute, and the little things keep us going.

Even this far out, almost 150km from Perth by lunchtime, people have read about the journey or seen us on the TV. Becs, Bev and Si had driven on ahead to find some accommodation for the night, so I sat on a Road House bench with Kate, Dim, Holls and Dan and munched on a peanut butter sandwich. A couple of families came up with donations asking for autographs, I signed a young lad’s skateboard and got back on the road, comfortable in the knowledge that there was only 25km left.

Dan rode for another 15 or so and then Dim jumped on the bike. Cunderdin was the target for the day and we rolled in at 4pm, another 62km down. Becs and Bev had done an astounding job finding accommodation for the night, we’d been granted permission to spend the night in an old vehicle museum! An amazing place, we were shown around by Chum, a sprightly chap in his late sixties/ early seventies, who explained a bit of local history and invited us to sit in the Earthquake House, which shook around just like a house would in an earthquake.

Chum left us shortly afterwards, Bev and Becs made a fine dinner and here I sit, in Chum’s chair, with a museum all around with antique cars and tanks and old train carriages. Probably the most bizarre accommodation we’ll be given this journey, but what a place! We’ll sleep happy tonight. 179km down, about 5800km to go.

Northam, 100km down

2006-08-26T05:53:00.000Z

Hi all. I'm tired, it's late and I need some beauty sleep before tomorrow's skate. It has been a marvellous two days, getting back on the road yesterday was amazing and the Australian public just keep outdoing themselves on the generosity front. From donations in petrol stations to kind gifts of Coca Cola and a pop-up tent to construction workers taking photos to a roadhouse manager offering us free food and gas. And that was just yesterday!

The team and I are now in Northam, 100km down the Great Eastern Highway from Perth. We're staying for free at the Avon Bridge Hotel and are recovering after being mobbed by Northam's schoolchildren this afternoon.

I have pages of notes upstairs and will turn these into full blogs in the coming days, but for now I have one thing to say: for two days I've been skating along a wide highway bordered by red dust. The roads have gone from smooth to rough to smooth again and I know that tomorrow will be the same, but with our three vehicles running up and down the road, at least one member of the team always on the road with me on the beat-up racing bicycle that Simon won in Perth and every single Road Train driver honking his horn and sticking up a healthy thumb, this journey has begun in style and it goes to show that we really are living a dream.

To date over 20 national newspapers around the world have covered the story, I've completed over 35 radio interviews since landing in Perth and absolutely everyone in Australia thinks I'm crazy, but they still show their support. Yet back home in Wales yesterday a paper printed a story that was plain derogatory. I'll give you the weblink to the story because myself and the team are pushing ourselves to the edge, this goes to show you just never can win some people over. And I can guarantee you that the people we can't win over have done absolutely nothing with their lives, if they had they'd appreciate the sheer effort that we're putting in over here. My team are not here for a holiday, everyone is working their behind's off. Check out the article here.

Will try and get back on the web tomorrow to give you guys some photos and video. Only a little blister on the top of a right-foot's toe so far. Sweepstakes being taken on how long it'll take for the big ones to surface. Onwards and eastwards, we will make it to Brisbane if we have to crawl. Cheers all, Dave

And so it begins…

2006-08-21T06:44:00.000Z

BoardFree Australia started today and it ended today. But of course I’m only joking about the ending bit!

For the best part of a year and a half I’ve been talking about skateboarding across Australia. This morning I found myself standing by the north shore of the Swan river, looking across the water at a hazy image of Perth’s now familiar skyline, eating my last breakfast before stepping onto Elsa and beginning a journey that by the evening would be national news.

I remember the April morning in 2005 when I woke up in Swansea with my beloved kitten Kiwa pawing at my head asking for food, and I realised that I was just an unhappy guy living a life he didn’t enjoy. There and then I decided to make a change, I decided to go on a journey on a longboard. I’d been skating for two weeks and it felt like the most natural decision in the world, I haven’t looked back since.

Fast forward 16 months and 7 other people have put a hold on their lives to join me in Australia and help make the project a success. They’re all behind me, figuratively and literally, as they buzz around the Dinghy Division at the Royal Perth Yacht Club speaking to people, selling t-shirts, collecting donations.

40+ people turn up, buying breakfast, chatting, listening. Rachael Cox, Sailability’s head in WA, is much respected here and it’s easy to see why. She has made this event happen, she was in a wheelchair when we arrived here last Tuesday, she walks with a leg brace and no crutches when work needs to be done and she does everything with a smile and a wonderful dry wit. There are people here who are blind, without limbs, sometimes both. Yet they are active and happy and capable of great achievement, and in many respects this is down to Sailability’s work. Here, on the back of a bizarre pursuit of an unpredictable dream, myself and my team are in the presence of some remarkable people. I haven’t spent much time at the Royal Perth Yacht Club, but the time I have spent here has left me humbled. I’m not sure that 6000km is enough.

But 6000km is all I have for now, so let’s give it our all.

The RPYC Commodore, Mark Fitzhardinge, gave a kind speech to the assembled, wishing us good luck on an inspirational journey. ABC, Channel 9 and Channel 7 TV turn up to cover the launch. Groups of skaters, 11 or 12 of them, appear towards half past eleven with boards under arm, bright eyes and a handshake for me. They are kitted out in our official reflective jackets (www.themagictouch.com) and pause at the bottom of the Sailability pontoon, where Access Dinghies - the main boats used by Sailability here – were rigged with bright sails. I place Elsa on the top of the ramp, speak to my in-hand videocamera, pose for photos and then say something along the lines of ‘Let’s go to Brisbane!’ And away we go, a grating of skate wheels rushing up as I reached the main drive and the assembled skaters pushed off behind me. BoardFree Australia began beneath fine skies and soft breeze, and I will never forget the dolphin that came into the club half an hour before I pushed off. It couldn’t have been written.

The other skaters, a brilliant bunch, left me a couple of k’s in, the section alongside the city centre took over an hour as photos and video were shot. And then I pushed on, Dan on the bike next to me for most of the way, then Dim, then Kate. Honks from passing cars confirmed that yesterday’s West Australian newspaper was widely read. I’m back on a board, back on a journey, this time with more support, more purpose and let’s face it, a helluva lot more skating!

The day ended at the 30km mark, at Midland. Minutes later the Jackaroo, our first support vehicle purchased yesterday, started squealing and leaking fluid. It was overheated, there was no explanation, and yet again a BoardFree journey had been touched on the first day by a mechanical breakdown. With red dollar signs in my eyes, we drove off to Perth in the second support vehicle (which had been bought and paid for earlier) without Dim and Dan, who stayed with the jeep.

George, who is selling us the third vehicle of three and servicing the other two, took the news in his stride. He inspected Kylie, our second campervan, and said it was a good buy. That means, quite simply, that it was a good buy! Then we chatted for a bit, I laid our needs on the table, he offered advice, then saved our day by driving the Toyota he is selling us (and, by the way, the Toyota that we are now going to call George) to Midland and towing back the Jeep, Dim and Dan. If anyone can fix it, George can.

Three excellent evening news reports on the TV eradicated the disappointment in the breakdown. The ABC report went all the way across Australia. Unbelievable.

Because of the breakdown, the lateness of our acquisition of vehicles and the subsequent need for more preparation time, we’ll be remaining back in Perth for Monday and Tuesday. Hopefully then, by Wednesday, we’ll be on the road for the long haul. Here’s to a new journey. We’re excited, are you?

I’d never owned a vehicle, until today…

2006-08-20T04:55:00.000Z

Alarm at quarter to seven. Tomorrow I skate, there is no time for rest. With the clock ticking and a large pile of dissatisfaction lying in a bin somewhere in the form of discarded campervan adverts, our options are exhausted. Except for one. Everyone bar Kate, who has slept just as little as I have in the past two days, shoves in a brekky and then walks to the train station. On the way I pick up a copy of the West Australian, WA’s major newspaper. There I am, cheesy and grinning on page 42, lovely! Aiming for the front page by the end of all this! A problem though, apparently I set off yesterday.

We’re going to jump on a half hour train to Fremantle. Becs and Si discovered a 2nd hand Saturday morning car sale a couple of days earlier, it feels like our last option, a last chance for the vehicle world to redeem itself and help us out!!

Off the train, we wander down the road towards the market, past a closed café called Captain Munchies into sight of a car park which is populated by a handful of cars and one dodgy-looking campervan. So you can imagine the scene. It’s raining heavily, seven weary soles trudge towards a market in the last throw of the dice in their hunt for a camper, and there is one camper, which turns out to be the office for the people running the market. Simon, the discoverer of said market, receives much disrespect for dragging us half an hour south of Perth to look at some non-existent campers.

But we persevere, us BoardFree lot. A small Toyota van was tucked away in the metal rubble but it was so small we couldn’t even see it past a normal car. No chance. Then some fortune – it had to come eventually – when I asked if any more vehicles would be turning up. The lady, from Birmingham funnily enough, said there was one van, a poptop Toyota Hi-ace, and that she’d call the owner and get him to bring it down. 10 minutes later the van appeared. It seemed clean, in good condition. It had comfortable cushions, a well laid out interior, wardrobes, storage space, a sink. And a canvas annexe attached to the upper outside of the van which creates a good spaced awning for shade or sleeping purposes. My mind was working, is this van big enough to be our second vehicle? Is this our last chance to get a half decent vehicle? And then, a white Land Rover-type thing drove by and parked a few spaces up and our luck changed. I told Tim, the van’s owner, that I’d call him by two with a yes or a no or an offer. And then we walked over to the Jackaroo jeep that had driven in a few minutes earlier and I did a quick circumnavigation. The price read $3500, the owner walked over and said that the price was actually $2570. That’s not much over a thousand English pounds. It ran on gas, a much cheaper and more economical option than diesel or fuel, and it suddenly dawned on me that this Jackaroo would be perfect to drive along behind me on the road. Keeping myself to myself, I told the owner that I’d get back to him by 1pm, walked with the team to shelter from the pouring rain and revealed a cunning plan. Why don’t we buy three support vehicles, the Jackaroo, the other camper we saw this morning and the Toyota George brought round to the hostel last night? It all seemed to make sense. Two smallish campervans just weren’t big enough for 8 people AND their belongings, plus all of the skating kit. Plus the uneconomical fuel usage of a campervan cranking along at 15kmph didn’t make much sense now that we’d seen an alternative option. So, with time knocking on the BoardFree door and not much time at that, we put the wheels in motion, did some research, and acted.

I write this at half nine at night. Tomorrow morning BoardFree Australia begins in earnest from the Royal Perth Yacht Club, and what else has happened? Ummm, what else has happened? Oh yeah! I bought my first ever vehicle, the Jackaroo! George returned last night’s call and said he’d be able to fit out the van from yesterday in time for Monday night, but also said that he’d found an almost identical van that was just a bit longer, was in good condition and he would give it to us for the same price. So I said I’d have that one off him instead. And to seal the deal and kick the backside of yesterday’s frustrations fully out of everyone’s mind, I made an offer to Tim in Fremantle and bought his van for $3800.

So, for a non driver and a virgin vehicle owner when I woke up this morning, I’m now the proud owner of not one vehicle, but three! How mad is that! Please bear in mind though that money has only exchanged hands for one of them, and although Tim and I made a verbal contract and I would trust George enough to let him take Kate out for dinner, I’m not counting my chickens until I’ve handed over the cash in return or the keys.

So, it all starts tomorrow. We’ve had unbelievable media coverage thanks to Kate’s hard work, Romania, Germany’s major national papers, Turkey, South Africa, you name it apparently they’ve covered it! And something that really made me happy earlier, Transworld Sport want o cover BoardFree! I grew up with that program always wishing that I could be on the other side of the screen, and very soon I will be, incredible feeling. The team are on the ball, ready for tomorrow’s launch at Sailability and working hard. I’m about to sticker up Elsa, Eddie (the spare board) and my helmets with Dan, do one more interview with Radio 5 Live at 11pm and then get some kip.

Bags, both of disappointment and tiredness

2006-08-19T06:17:00.000Z

04:11: The Knight Rider theme tune blasts out of the mobile phone on my bedside table. Not expecting a call until 06:50 Kate and I woke with a start. As always, when a noisy telephone wakes me from a deep sleep, I take as long as I can to compose myself. Kate was still looking for the phone when I answered.
“GOOD MORNING DAVE, MY NAME’S BRUCE!” boomed a horribly chirpy Australian voice, “I’M CALLING FROM ABC RADIO QUEENSLAND AND WE’D LOVE TO GET YOU ON THE BREAKFAST SHOW IN A BIT MATE, WOULD THAT BE OK?” I paused, trying to get my head around why anyone would be this happy at this time of the morning, and then I realised it’s a few hours ahead on the other side of Australia.
“Erm, yeah mate, of course it’s ok!” Bruce must have noticed a bit of bewilderment in my voice as he followed up by asking where I was. “I’m in Perth, mate” I said gently, not wanting to sound too bitter.
“OH SHIT! I’m really sorry mate, we read about you in the Sydney Daily Telegraph and just assumed you were in Sydney, man it must be really early in Perth!” I glanced at the clock,
“Yeah mate, it’s about quarter past four.”
“Jeez I’m really sorry again Dave, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Would you mind if I called you up in an hour to get you on the show?”
“Not at all Bruce, speak to you then.”
“Good on you Dave, in an hour…”

And so it began. By 9am I had done three live radio interviews, two in Queensland and one in Perth. Paul Kane from Getty Images swooped Kate, Dim and I around Perth in a shoot which resulted in some outstanding photos, and included a session in a sanctuary where I crouched with a mob of kangaroos and pulled some cheesy smiles.

At 12pm Triple J (JJJ) from the East coast called for an interview, they’re a cool station linked up to ABC and the interview will go out on Sunday morning.

And then back to the van business. A cross-Aus vehicle hire company had expressed a potential interest in sponsoring BoardFree but despite my pleas for a quick resolution I hadn’t heard from them in three days. Pissed off and desperate I called the office in Sydney, where I finally reached the Marketing Manager. After a yo-yo session of calls the final answer was “No, sorry we can’t help, good luck and goodbye.” Just up the road from our accommodation (www.emperorscrown.com), the company had a vehicle hire office with five un-hired vans in. They would have been perfect, but having waited for an answer for three days and coming out with nothing I wasn’t in the mood for any more rejection.

Hopper, the owner of our accommodation, then suggested a friend of his who ran a 2nd hand car business. We gave him a call and an hour later he drove to us in a Toyota High Ace van.

George was like an uncle you could trust. The van was bare but spacious, and his complete unwillingness to sell it to us until he’d serviced the brakes was fully reassuring. He was willing to put a bed in it, and curtains and storage space for barely much more than the $3000 asking price, and by the time he had driven away I was confident we’d found a van, finally! I called him two hours later after talking to the team, telling him that we’d like to take him up on the offer of the van and furnishings. He didn’t call back before bedtime, but we’re sure he’s not the type to let us down.

Having met George and seen his van, I was confident that we had found our vehicles, at last! Yesterday we had seen a superb vehicle, a Mazda E200 which was a home on wheels. The owners, a young English couple, had seemed keen about BoardFree and very straight up and honest about their van. I told one of them Jake, that I was very interested in his van and that I’d like to know if someone else made an offer on it. He agreed wholeheartedly.

With this is mind, and without a call from Jake to confirm he had found any other interest, I was ready to make him an offer. I rang, he answered, he told me he had promised the van to someone else and that was that. I swore to the camera that had followed me around all day, and slumped against a wall, exhausted from a long day and furious at being let-down by someone I thought I could trust. If there’s anything that gets my goat, it is being let down. I was gutted and we were back to square one, again, with less than two days until the journey began. Delays began to loom.

The team was completed tonight. Holly turned up soon after midnight following a long flight from New Zealand, all smiles, nice and tanned, camera in a hard case. We have a photographer and BoardFree is ready to be snapped.

We're not only in Australia, but Australia knows that we're here!

2006-08-18T06:06:00.000Z

This afternoon, leaning with my back against the railing which surrounds a memorial to Western Australia war victims, Dimitri asked me another question as he adjusted his zoom. “What does it feel like to be in Australia, and how are Australians accepting BoardFree?”

I turned my head, looking down from our vantage point on Kings Hill over Perth’s towering business district and the Swan River, and shrug. “It doesn’t feel like we’re in Australia yet. We haven’t had time to breathe, let alone take in this city.”

But it is a fine city. A scenic, Los Angeles-like spread of low-level urbania (bar the few skyscrapers in the CBD) bisected by the glistening Swan River, it’s easy to understand why Perth defies the ‘most isolated city in the world’ label and attracts people from all over the world with its easy-going, lifestyle-driven atmosphere.

We don’t have long left here, a shame because we could do with some quality time in this city, but that isn’t on our minds right now. We have other things keeping us busy.

The support vehicle hunt goes on, and I write this on Thursday night with a slight swell of panic rising through my torso. This panic has been averted somewhat by the viewing of an excellent van earlier, it was called Bruce, it was in great condition and unless sponsors come through early tomorrow I’m going to have to make an offer on it. Still though, one van isn’t enough. The clock is ticking.

The list of things to scrub out before the launch this Sunday is going down slowly but surely, the team have come into their own and it took no time at all. Becs is searching out every option we have to raise charitable funds, coming back last night with a box of cash after a pool tournament, which was won by Si who contributed his $100 winnings to the BoardFree pool. Legend. He won an old bike too (don’t ask), and Bev is searching for another one to enable the team to get some exercise on the road beside me. Our little angel is also keeping our spirits high with some hand didge, and Kate is pushing open the door to Australia’s media. We’re getting some major coverage. Not just a few interviews, EVERYONE is wanting to feature BoardFree. Dim and I jumped in a taxi earlier and the taxi driver had heard about the journey, it’s becoming a regular occurrence around Perth. Dan is on the case, helping search for vehicles, mechanics to service the vehicles, signwriters to logo-up the vehicles.

Dim and Si are filming everything and all day Si has been working on a video to show exactly what we’ve been up to in Perth. Expect it online by the end of tomorrow (Friday).

To everyone out there reading this, it all goes to show dreams can come true. At the moment seven people are absolutely knackered halfway around the world from their homes. But we’re happy. We all know the real hard work hasn’t quite begun, but a spontaneous idea cooked up in a Swansea bed 16 months ago has turned into a project that millions have heard about. To date we’ve raised thousands (we’re within touching distance from the £5000 mark, please please help us go over this by Sunday morning, it’ll boost everyone here) and over the next few months we’ll raise thousands more.

I’m proud of the team, I’m happy for them because they’re just as much a part of this as I am and it’s working, it’s bloody working!!! We’re a small bunch of people in a big city at one end of one gigantic country. In a few days we’ll be a dot travelling east, keep watching that dot, people. Your support will get us through this.

Lagging, walking, searching…

2006-08-16T02:34:00.000Z

Eventually, with much turbulence in the approach, we landed in Perth. The common stereotype of Australia according to your average Brit would be ‘very hot, very dry, a bit red.’ We Brits are wrong quite a lot of the time, as the plane touched down horizontal streaks of rain marked the windows, it was tipping it down. Sat in an overloaded minicab heading towards central Perth the wind gusted violently around, this was monsoon-like. “There’s a storm front coming,” said John, our friendly taxi driver, “it should be here by ten.”

Welcome to Australia.

Our accommodation, the Emperor’s Crown on Stirling Street in Northbridge (www.emperorscrown.com), is perfect. Spacious, very clean, well designed, our home away from home for a few days. The flight had taken it out of us but we decided to fight through the day. Team meeting, then a two-hour wander through nearby neighbourhoods, alongside wide streets bordered by confusingly inconsistent architecture. None of us could quite get it into our heads that we were in fact walking around an Australian city, let alone with the objective of visiting each and every backpacker’s hostel and scouring the notice board for Vehicles For Sale. A fair bit of paper collecting later and we headed south to the Royal Perth Yacht Club, where BoardFree Australia is due to start on Sunday. Rachael Cox, Sailability’s chief in WA, greeted us warmly and showed us around. She bears bad news, revealing that the weather isn’t looking good for the launch, but she’s buoyant at the fact that it’s looking bright for tomorrow, a chance for the team to join Sailability’s regular sailors on the Swan River. Looking forward to it.

I write this at 7pm local time, sprawled on a bed with big eye bags and a thirst for pillows. Downstairs in a minute to upload this blog to the net, and then a search for online vehicle sales. Dim asked me today when I’d start to panic about support vehicles. “Thursday,” I told him and his new camera, “I’ll panic on Thursday if we don’t have vehicles.”

Hello from Singapore!

2006-08-15T03:41:00.000Z

Security at Heathrow was somewhat heavy. Safe as houses. The downshot is that it takes planes a little longer to take off than usual, the ripples are now being felt by the BoardFree team as we predictably missed our forwarding flight to Perth (they did only give us 50 minutes transit in the first place) and are now hanging around in Singapore airport for the next flight, which is thankfully only 6 or 7 hours after the original one.

It will mean we're absolutely shattered on Tuesday - great as we only have Tuesday - Saturday to sort out vehicles - but hey, BoardFree Australia is probably going to follow a theme of fatigue anyway, no?!!

The team are in a sports bar, it's time for me to go and join them. Singing out...

It was so nearly Eddie I: the story of a......

2006-08-13T18:15:00.000Z

Today is the day we fly away. Kate and I left Swansea on Thursday, waking up that morning with a terrible feeling that perhaps the most important member of the BoardFree team wasn't going to make it to Australia. Elsa, the transport, the only board to have travelled the length of Britain and the only board I had ever earmarked for the Australia journey, she wasn't with us. Sent to Poland after BFUK to get a new coat (the old one decidedly battered after 900 miles of Scotland and England) Elsa had been en route back to the UK for 3 weeks but had gotten lost in the black whole of the Polish State postal service.

And then, barely an hour before we stuffed the kitchen sink on top of everything else and drove east with Kate's brother, Elsa arrived. A smiling postman, well up-to-date on the BoardFree saga thanks to the local papers, handed over the box as another neighbour walked past saying, "I thought you'd gone, well....good luck!"
"We're flying on Sunday" I tell the postie.
"You might not be," he cringes, "you should go and switch on the news."

So we did. Kate and I side by side, Elsa downstairs safe in her box. And thousands of people across the UK stranded in airports as security shut-downs follow a foiled terrorism plot to blow up 9 aeroplanes over the Atlantic. That was Thursday, three days later flights are still being cancelled, we face a 22-hour double haul via Singapore with minimal entertainment due to a red card to all hand luggage.

Now, to an update on the shoe saga. The very same pair of shoes that I was very close to accepting as my skate companions nearly broke my ankle on Tuesday. A bad turn wasn't helped by the angled running trainer-like sole, and as the edge of said shoe caught and my ankle turned sideways I experienced a still-frame in time. Looking down from a standing position and being able to see the bottom of your shoe isn't recommended. Especially if you're 12 days away from beginning a long distance skate journey. I cranked my ankle back into an upright position breathing heavily. Minimal bruising. I'm a lucky boy. I called Kate who was sat at home calling potential sponsors. "We can't have these shoes babe, back to the drawing board."

The drawing board got drawn on very quickly. By the end of the day Project Skate from Bristol had joined forces with C1rca and 8 pairs of shoes were on the way. The next morning, the morning before we left, they arrived. Tried them on. Too small. Will we ever get shoes?

We will, Bristol rests halfway between Swansea and Basingstoke so we merely dropped by the Project Skate warehouse, swapping size 10s for size 11s, and drove away. New, amazing shoes which even have a little message on the side, "It's Time."

Friday: Kate and I meet up with Dan in a busy London and collect some of our team kit from Kangaroo Poo, they're sending the rest of the kit on to Perth next week.

Saturday: A day in front of the computer, revamping the website in preparation for Australia.

Sunday, now: It's quarter past 11 in the morning. Our flight is at 22:15 tonight, we have to be at the airport by 17:00. Must pack. Shall write from Perth.

Barefoot to Brisbane, the harrowing tale of finding sponsors for a board journey....

2006-08-06T17:36:00.000Z

Hello all, long it has been since my last blog. Two reasons for this; the first is the curiously speedy passing of time when time is the only thing you need more of, and the second is simple. If I wrote a blog whilst preparing for these journeys no one would buy the book. I'm not fooling myself, the daily plethora of emails and telephone calls certainly adds some padding (and frustration) to the overall BoardFree story, but you guys are reading this blog for one reason and one reason only, you're reading because you want to know how big my blisters are.

And this is why I begin my blogging routine here. Today, in a re-creation of our first dinner date, Kate cycled and I skated around Swansea Bay to Mumbles in search of a Welsh Rarebit Burger. Some things have changed since that blustery December evening so many months ago. The weather has improved, the team has grown, I've been through several pairs of shoes and along many more roads. John o'Groats to Land's End has already been skated and now I'm a record holder. But enough about that, more about the shoes.

On my feet this afternoon were some bright and clean trainers, fresh out of their box only yesterday I am wearing in my shoes much later than I would have hoped. My BFUK injuries have healed to some degree but I now have an achilles heel. No, literally, the skin that so kindly disappeared between Biggar and Southwaite either side of the England-Scotland border has been repaired. But it is now weaker than before, and my new trainers are causing some friction. Luckily, though, my riding partner is not afraid of a bark or two, and she has been forcing me to push with my other foot. I skated all the way home with my left foot and slightly undersized calf, partly through the need-for-practice, but mostly because I didn't want my achilles heel to be raw before Perth.

One week today we fly. In the last week the postman has been a-knocking. Bearings from Bones, Medical Pack from the Lifesigns Group, Satellite Phone from Applied Satellite Technology, Cobbers from Bodycool UK, our luminous jackets are now sponsored by The Magic Touch and the BoardFree girls can even pee standing up now thanks to Shewee! A couple more packages expected this week and then when we're away. I'll fill you in on goings on throughout the week, man I can't wait until we get to Perth.

Books, boards and balls...

2006-06-29T21:45:00.000Z

It has finally happened. Rolling along a north London street a man points at Elsa and says, "A bloke is skating around Australia on a board like that." Absolute genius.

Within an hour-long skate between Camden and Golders Green I was stopped seven times yesterday by people who knew about BoardFree. One chap, owner of a classic fold-up bike, eagerly had a go on Little Elsa (Elsa, a little battered after 900 miles through Britain, is currently in Germany getting a new coat) and then looked at me disappointed, "there's no kicktail, you can't turn," he said.
"But she's really smooth isn't she," I offer,
"But a kicktail is really handy in tight situations," says the man before hopping onto his bike and peddling away. I watched him go, looked at Little Elsa and told her not to worry.

Last week the BoardFree Initiative got an official sponsor. The Initiative is designed to compliment the awareness BoardFree raises about longboarding itself, and my aim, especially after the Australian journey, is to get out on the streets and teach people how to board. I'll be doing this with a quiver supplied by www.lushlongboards.com. Five boards arrived last week, shiny and new and begging to be tested out. To date BoardFree has gotten numerous people into longboarding, with Lush's help I'm hoping the Initiative starts a mini-revolution before 2007 is out. Dan and I grabbed a Kilima and Samba, scooted the Swansea Bay cyclepath and tarmac-surfed back to St Thomas with the wind behind us. It is good to be home.

I write this as the sun shines down on north London. If sourcing 20k worth of commercial sponsorship to cover BoardFree Australia's costs wasn't enough I've also made tracks with the BoardFree Story in the past couple of days, jotting down two draft chapters which will slowly form the foundations of a book about the project. I feel overweighed and stressed with impending financial doom, but the sheer volume of material collected since March 2005 - when my first longboard arrived in the post - gives me a warm-glow. There's something comforting about being to tell a story which is full of heart and honesty, one with a solid beginning and with one hell of an ending. Whatever that ending is, the events from the past fifteen months ensure that it's going to be quite a tale. Two questions: which publisher will win the book? And what should it be called? Answers on a postcard, or on the new BoardFree forum!

Watched Brazil-Ghana with Dim and Pete a couple of days ago. This Saturday England play Portugal in the World Cup quarter finals. Two matches away from the final, COME ON ENGLAND. Around this time last year I was finalising dates for BoardFree Australia. It was originally going to start in late May. I pushed it back a couple of months so it wouldn't interfere with the World Cup. Make the re-scheduling count, England. Make it count.

As five become seven the pressure rises...

2006-06-23T06:17:00.000Z

The days are flashing by now. Less than two months until the team boards a Heathrow plane, bound for Singapore where we'll be greeted by an onward flight to Perth. The team, thrust together during the past 8 months, is now two people larger, and stronger because of it. Last Thursday I invited Bev Blackburn and Kate Brackenborough into the fold. They're not here to make up the numbers, they're ready to eat, breathe and sleep BoardFree.

There is no denying the potential of this project now. With the UK warm-up a success, over £3,500 raised for Link, Lowe and Sailability, publishers showing an interest in the story, new sponsors poking their heads above the wall of cautiousness; BoardFree is now ingrained into the vocabulary of thousands worldwide. There is far more ground to cover than the 4000 miles separating Perth from Brisbane, people are starting to realise that this journey isn't just about one man and his board.

Behind-the-scenes has gone unnoticed so far. Now, the weeks dissolving, 7 men and women are all on a mission. This project is not in any way funded by charity donations - every penny donated goes straight to the three charities we support. But there is a big financial cost, each member of the team is contributing to the operating costs out of their own pockets. The only way we are subsidised from the outside is through sponsors, and boy do we need them. Don't get me wrong, however quickly the team pool drains BoardFree Australia will run through to its conclusion, but those watching from the outside mustn't be mistaken - we are working to the bone to put this project together, to fund it, to lay its foundations. There are never enough hands though, if yours are empty please see if we can use you.

Here's my list of things to do tomorrow:
1. Pay for flights
2. Buy a new phone.
3. Start the wheel rolling on raising public awareness about BoardFree Australia, in Australia. Get on forums. Utilise contacts Down Under from family and friends and their friends and their family. Write to people. Write to companies. First though, research details of people and companies.
4. Pack a bag of t-shirts, wristbands, mugs and calendars for Becki to drive down to Paddle Round the Pier next weekend.
5. Write to every motorhome hire/ tour operator/ vehicle manufacturer or distributor in Australia to ask for help with a support vehicle.
6. Set up an Australian online donation website.
7. Register a domain in Australia that is more Down Under-friendly than the current .co.uk address.
8. Write content and take photos for BoardFree Initiative page on website. Then design page and integrate into website.
9. Compile a database of high-res images taken during and before BoardFree UK, for sponsors and media contacts.
10. Make a start on sample chapters for the BoardFree book.
11. Write and design new, updated Media Pack to send out to potential sponsors.
12. Send out items recently bought through BoardFree's eBay shop.
13. Liase with Sailability and other charities/ community groups in Perth to find a venue where BoardFree can set up an HQ for the fortnight prior to the journey.
14. Continue with design of BoardFree team kit in time for Monday's meeting with Kangaroo Poo.
15. Wash some clothes.
16. Eat at least once before 8pm.

Journey complete. Time to head home.

2006-06-07T23:32:00.000Z

I’m gazing out of a window on a train from London to Swansea, approaching Bristol and chuffing over bridges below which roads snake; roads I was skating along less than two weeks ago. Eager cows rush to their troughs, bulky bodies struggling through long grass. And I’m sat on public transport, Elsa in the rack above my head, Dave from vwmagazine.co.uk trying to get through to my phone and being thwarted by tunnels and bad reception.

The last few days have been a blur of fatigue and elation, after 34 days of being on the move a sense of strange calm hovers bubble-like around the BoardFree project. Although the rewards of achievement are tempered by worry and responsibility there is a sense of anticipation in the air, a new journey across a beautiful country is nearing, an exciting new phase in the lives of everyone in the team.

I reached Land’s End five days ago: the whole team was there, official and unofficial, the loo-roll finish line held up by Bev and Nat, the glorious arc of champagne. Small things come back to me: I can’t remember if my momentum broke the toilet roll or if it was let go at one end. I remember hearing a voice saying ‘well done Dave’. It sounded like my Dad but he and my Mum couldn’t be there. I’ve watched the video back ten times, it still sounds like my Dad.

Those final twelve miles from Penzance, a nice stroll in perfect conditions. No wind, some rough road, some smooth road. The signs that marked the nearing of Land’s End, so far away for so long, now so near. 12. 10. 9. 4 ½. 2. And then we turn onto the A30, greeted by that ½ Land’s End sign. I can see the buildings at the end of the road, glistening white in the sunlight. It’s downhill to the gates. A pause…….and then the final push.

A swig of champagne sends me dizzy. We all walk to the famous signpost, New York 3147. John o’Groats 874. That signpost is a family business and we’re told we have to pay to have a photo with it. You travel the length of Britain and have to pay to have a picture taken with a piece of wood. We move outside of the barrier and take photos there. As I sign a few BoardFree leaflets for interested tourists I wonder if the people who own the signpost have ever travelled from John o’Groats to Land’s End.

Done it. Deep breath. The realisation won’t set in for a few days but 14 months after stepping onto my first longboard I’ve become the first person to skate the length of Britain. And all I can think about is updating the website so people can know it’s over, maybe then they’ll donate! There’s no internet at Land’s End, the lady in the End to End Registration Office tells me so. There’s no FM reception either, a Pirate FM interview that I gave this morning went out at 4pm and 5pm and couldn’t be heard by the BoardFree team, who were celebrating with pasties, beer, ice cream and a brilliantly steep inflatable slide!

The next morning Becki drives Dim, Kate and I to Exeter where we catch the train back to London. House party at Kate’s. Some familiar faces, some new ones. Dim, Pete and Melissa turn up, along with Kate the only ones there who really know what has just happened a few hundred miles south west west.

A relaxed, tired Sunday. The end has hit me, exhaustion, complete exhaustion. I nod off watching TV, talking to friends, sitting on the toilet.

On Monday I update the website, send out thank you emails (this will take a while so if you haven’t received yours yet it’s in the pipeline!) and edit some video from the final day of the journey. In the evening I pull on socks and shoes. No plasters, no bandages, no tape. No pain! YES! Skate to the tube, head south. An interview and shoot with Huck skateboarding magazine in Victoria Park, it’s out in August. Pedestrians and cyclists ask about Elsa as I roll along the pavement – they leave with a leaflet. One stranger recognises me on the tube, the other 30 people stare blankly into space. I fall asleep between Kings Cross and Kentish Town. Back to Kate’s for a late dinner, then bed.

Tuesday, yesterday, was brilliant. I have lunch with my good friend Alice. Some city folk look at the scrawny and scruffy ginger lad with a yellow board at his feet. “What’s that?” a man in glasses asks. I explain, his friend says “I’ve read about that somewhere.” Alice giggles knowingly.

Then to Extreme Sports Drinks. Nice guys, they want to support BF Australia. I shake their hands.

Lunch in Regent’s Park. The sun beats down. I sit on the grass, eat the best sandwich in the world, read about the World Cup. I do a phone interview with a local community magazine from Swansea. A text message tells me BoardFree is on the front page of the South Wales Evening Post. I feel more awake and I’m excited by the next meeting. Just before 3 I skate a mile west, past Madame Tusauds (SPELLING) and Baker St to Gloucester Place. A couple of weeks before the UK journey Kangaroo Poo dropped me an email. They’re a clothing brand with Australian roots, a surfy earthy feel. I already had a couple of Roo Poo t-shirts when they got in touch, I hope we can work something out. Becs, the brand manager, meets me at the door. I spoke to her for the first time on the phone as I stood on a wall looking out over the sea at Land’s End on Friday. She likes the idea of BoardFree, I like the idea of Kangaroo Poo. She introduces me to the team, they read about BF in the Metro article at the end of April. We discuss ideas, Becs shows me their new ranges. I leave happy. Roo Poo and BoardFree share similar roots – a search for happiness, soul. Willing to take risks, hoping to grow. I hope we can grow together.

I skate with a heart full of promise, a right foot feeling good, all the way down to Hyde Park. The local slalom skaters are there. They’re holding a raffle for BoardFree. Mike Stride from Octane has thrown in some prizes, £5 per ticket, every penny to the charity funds. Legends. Dim and Pete come down with a football, Kate joins me straight from work. It’s summer. I have a feeling summer might last a good few months this year.

So here I sit, on a train whizzing along the tracks between Cardiff and Bridgend. Heading home after an unforgettable journey. Planning has already started for Australia. Watch this space.

Made It!!

2006-06-03T01:34:00.000Z

At 1:30 this afternoon I rolled across the finish line at Land's End after skating 895 miles from John o'Groats. Over the next few days I'll be putting up photos and videos from the rest of the BoardFree UK journey, as well as writing a fuller blog of this amazing day.

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported BoardFree: the team and their families, friends and strangers and all of our sponsors who believed in one man and his crazy dream!

It's not a dream anymore! Here's to BoardFree UK...

Day 33: I can see the sea!

2006-06-02T05:04:00.000Z

Before we drive back to the roundabout south of Truro where we finished yesterday Dim tries to board along the road outside Si's house. His big old stack the other day hasn't put him off, I'm going to teach him carving and stopping in the next few days. He stumbles one time too many and we get in the van. Kate and Becki in the front (Kate arrived by train late last night) and the boys in the back. I sort my foot out, slip it into a battered and worn pair of shoes, one green and one yellow.

Weather is blissful. Easy but turbulent hills shadow the main A-roads between Truro and Penzance and Elsa and I glide along them, huffing and puffing up some hills. Completely out of breath, it feels kind of strange. Am I getting unfit?!

Lunch at 1pm in a pub. Amazing food, really friendly landlords from London (until after we paid and then they were kind of rude, wierd!). After lunch we relax in the beer garden for a couple of hours, preparing the website for the big finale tomorrow. How cool is that! Land's End tomorrow!

Penzance is on the cards, let's go. The roads are smooth, mainly downhill as we're heading for the coast. I look right and left, north and south, and the sea begins to appear on both sides. The land is narrowing, soon the road will end.

Penzance comes quickly and I skate along the cycle path around the bay. It's been 33 days since I last saw the sea. Then it was in April, on the northern shores of Scotland. Now, 29 days of skating and 4 days of recuperation later, I've reach the south coast. On a longboard!

The signs to Land's End are here now, they say 12 miles to go. I'll save them for tomorrow.

Day 32: Getting closer...

2006-06-01T05:47:00.000Z

We left our hosts, Jon and Karen in St Austell, sound people. And they'll be welcome faces at Land's End now, too!!

On the road. Amazing weather, we wind through country roads, cutting through the non-urbania between Bodmin and Truro, meandering up and down. Difficult roads, not too much traffic but any traffic on roads this narrow are difficult! Two interviews, one with Pirate FM and another with BBC Wales Online ensures the media coverage in these final days keeps coming. It's good to know people still care.

Lunch in St Stephens, then on to Truro. I have to walk the roadside a bit, rush hour on a single carriageway doesn't make for good skateboarding. I'm tired, my body is feeling four and a half weeks and 800+ miles of skating and it's spreading into my mind. I'm tired, almost bored with myself. But we're so close!!!

Into Truro, through Truro, past Truro. A steep steep hill. Oh. And then another one. Thanks, whoever put those there. Finish a couple of miles south of Truro and head to Falmouth where we're staying with Simon. Chill out in the bar where the party was last Friday. Wierd feeling to have skated this far in such a short time. The bar manager, JP, is a ledge. He keeps us watered and plugged in (laptops etc). Tired. Two days left. Penzance, then Land's End on Friday, 1pm. Be there.

Day 31: Crossing the Moors

2006-05-31T06:46:00.000Z

Spend the morning on media. Rich and Maike who put us up in Exeter treat us like kings and queens. We eat well, the website gets updated and the Cornish media informed about the BoardFree latest.

Before we head back to Launceston I record an interview with BBC Radio Cornwall to go out on Saturday, crossing fingers for more media before Friday.

I step onto the A30 just after 2pm. There's no choice but to take this road the whole way to Bodmin, across the moor. Headwinds and sidewinds are a worry, as is traffic, but hey...if we make Bodmin today it's a good step closer to the end.

On the A30 you can't avoid signposts. Bodmin 23 miles. Bodmin 22 miles. Bodmin 19 miles. It's a constant countdown, you can't help but concentrate more on the miles passing and as a consequence they pass slower. To help things along, returning VW vans from Run to the Sun in Newquay keep their thumbs raised across the central reservation.

A police car pulls up. Uh oh. I'm certain we're about to be stopped, the officer is concerned that the support vehicle is going too slowly and that it's not visible enough to prevent a crash. There's a big orange light on the roof, flashing away. I explain the situation, I'd rather not be on the A30, there's no alternative route between here and Bodmin. Officer agrees, safety is paramount, we'll be careful.

At Bolventor, a lunch stop halfway across the moor between Bodmin and Launceston, I join Becs and Dim for a hot chocolate. We're drinking in the Jamaica Inn, the setting for the famous Daphne Du Mourier book and former haunt for smugglers, villains and murderers. Ghosts roam around, and the walls are covered with foreign money. Odd place but strangely cosey, it's half five, there's 15 miles left to skate, it's windy outside, it's warm inside. Motivation lurks in the bottom of my mug.

Back on the road after a drawn-out return to the van. The time flies. The miles disappear. Bodmin appears, the roads are smooth, almost empty after 7.

25 miles and we stop. We're staying with a chap named John, a member of the Middle Age Shred forum who heard about BoardFree just before it started and offered the team a bed for when we were due to pass through. A bit late we are but John's roof is ours tonight. He and his lady Karen, rat Norbert and countless cats are great company. A good end to the day, where will we be tomorrow?

UPDATES!

2006-05-30T06:18:00.000Z

Still a few blogs missing from the last week but they will be up as soon as possible, promise! Another reminder that Becki is now driving the van and if you want to contact us (whether it's for media, love or you just want to text in a message of support) the number is now 07921 315101.

Four days left, we'll be getting into Land's End in the early afternoon (aiming for 1pmish) of Friday June 2nd. That's this Friday. If you can be there please be there! And if you know anyone from the media then tell them that in just a couple of days someone is about to complete the first ever length of Britain skate!

Thanks to everyone who has written over the past few days and weeks, your support has been amazing and myself and the team are buzzing because we know the team gets a little bit bigger with every new visitor to the website. I will reply to you all but it might take a little while, sorry!!

Day 30: Goodbyes, sunshine, roads

2006-05-30T06:14:00.000Z

Cracking day. Said goodbye to everyone at the campsite after a slow morning. Back on the road by twelve. Aim of the day: get to Okehampton and hopefully beyond. A small shower at about ten this morning suggested the occasional downpour was on the way, but nothing! All dry!

The road to Okehampton was rough and hilly. A little break in the early afternoon halfway up a steepish hill, Dim eyes up Elsa. “Dave,” he asks, “do you think I could skate down the hill.”
“Course you could mate,” I say with an evil glint in my eye. I have to look away to stop him seeing me chuckling. Usually I wouldn’t advise anyone to skate any kind of hill that was beyond their ability, but with Dim there’s a difference. He’s a cameraman. For four weeks he’s been asking me to skate big hills twice because he missed it the first time. And, absolutely positive that he wasn’t going to make the bottom of the hill, I knew that he’d appreciate the footage of his first big fall. He plucks Elsa from the verge and heads for the road.
“I need the camera!” I hiss at Kate and Becs, “Dim’s about to stack big time!” Hehehehe, I couldn’t stop laughing. Got the camera on just in time, he was rolling past the van, going faster and faster. Kate is by my side, she starts to worry. I’m cracking up trying to keep the camera steady. Dimitri is wobbling madly, Kate yells “BE CAREFUL!” and right then came the moment. Dim was in mid air, Elsa hit the side of the road before he hit the floor. He bounced. I doubled over. It looked painful but it was all on tape. And I knew that even if he had badly hurt himself he would have been proud of me for filming it. Hehehe. He picked himself up. Picked up Elsa. Hobbled up the hill showing us the grazes. Like a boy in a candy store, Dim had just had his first big stack. And as I tell everyone I teach to longboard, once you fall like that you don’t do it again. Dim agrees.

Late lunches are not good for the soul. By four, well replete, we were not in the mood to do anything. I felt bloated, sleepy, not at all in the mood for skating. Half tempted to search for a B&B and close my eyes, half eager to claim back some more miles.

At the moment, skating wins. The sun is out, the old A30 is our preferred route. I dive down a few hills, the road twists through small villages and turns from rough to smooth. Dartmoor drifts by, the alternative routes to the busy ‘new’ A30 are running out as Bodmin Moor approaches, and with the day drawing on, the light fading I hit the A30 for the last four miles to Launceston. The road quality is good, the traffic is lighter than I expected. One big downhill then two and half miles of up! Arrghhh! But first, the Cornwall sign!! Last county!!

On the other side, heading east, VW vans stroll by, returning from Run to the Sun. We wave to every one. Another van had broken down on our side of the railings. The occupants, three guys, stand at the roadside and cheer and clap. It pushes me on until the next junction, end of the day. Almost 34 miles. A day’s skate away from the last page of the map. Four days from Land’s End. I’m buzzing, so close.

Day 29: Another Sunday, another party day!

2006-05-29T06:13:00.000Z

The sky is smiling when we wake up in the car park of the Blue Anchor Inn, not far from Taunton. A hearty breakfast and a lengthy dressing of the right foot and we’re off, driving down a country road towards the spot where we stopped last night. The conditions are perfect, dry with a small breeze, a welcome break from the prevailing headwinds. Then come the crowds: as I skate on down the A38 Becs, Bev, Mark, Annie, Bec’s parents and Rae and Phil turn up! Haven’t seen Rae and Phil for weeks, they’re in stressland preparing for their wedding, Phil’s going grey and losing his hair! Hahah.

Awesome to see everyone, having a little crowd whooping and cheering as I roll by each layby. Nat’s skating with me and Becki takes over control of the van from Holls. We go on and on, reaching the end of the 38 and swooping left down a B road. 6 miles later we stop for lunch. Spirits are high.

Then a van arrives as I’m munching on a bar of chocolate. It’s Connor, his two sisters and parents Ann and Mark. I haven’t met them before and didn’t realise they were joining us today, Connor has Lowe and Mark puts him in his wheelchair. He had an attack this morning and is sleepy and lethargic. I’m honoured that they’ve driven for an hour to find us on the road and am humbled to see Connor, a 17 year old boy, blind and small for his age, curled up in his chair. No one else from the team had seen the effects of Lowe Syndrome in the flesh, it brought home what BoardFree is all about. Connor is a trooper, his parents are amazing, his sisters cheeky and mischievous. They’re a normal family, upbeat and realistic, dealt a cruel blow with Connor’s condition but dealing with it and still living with a smile. Ann shows me pictures of Connor abseiling; I have a lump in my throat. For everyone who honks angrily and swears at us on the road and doubts the reasons behind BoardFree, you don’t matter. Connor and his family matters, John o’Groats to Land’s End is absolutely nothing compared to what they have been through. Ann and Mark thank me for what I’m doing. I wish I could do more.

Nat and I skate on, a lot of uphills. It’s hard going but I’m steely now, every push is for Connor. Steep hills level out, I can smell Land’s End. When Nat slows on a big hills (he wore his shoe out earlier on one long downhill!) Kate jumps out of the van and runs alongside for a few minutes. She’s a star. We reach Crediton and go a bit further. Stop for the day just past the 33 mile mark, one final mile-long uphill drag out of Crediton was an added bonus. One more hill down, five days of skating left.

The convey pulls out of the final lay-by of the day and drives south for half an hour. The rest of the party are waiting in the Barley Meadow Campsite (www.barleymeadow.com), near Crockernwell, with BBQs ready to burn and the site’s owner Paul brilliantly friendly. Just the place to relax at the end of a long and eventful day. Tomorrow the party disperses and by the end of it Elsa and I will be left with Dim and Becs. We have one hell of a week left.

Sunday May 29th: Update

2006-05-28T17:05:00.000Z

No internet access recently, loads of blogs and videos on the way.

Just west of Taunton now, aiming for Land's End on Friday 2nd June.

Beccles is driving the van for the next week which means a new contact telephone for the team - 07921 315101. Please don't rely on email as we can't guarantee access this week, so to get in touch with us for media or personal reasons or to show support please use this number!

6 days left, 707 miles down. Let's go!!

Day 24: Throbbing

2006-05-23T16:14:00.000Z

I had a lie-in this morning until 10am. I felt like a king. And then I felt a wierd throbbing sensation in my foot. All day it has been throbbing. I sat on a sofa for two hours sending emails and updating the website. It throbbed. I decided to get some blood to flow into the foot so had a game of one-legged table tennis and one-legged pool with Dim. I sat down again. Here I am. Still throbbing. I think the antibiotics are forcing the infection out. Holls and Dim said my foot looked like it had normal skin on it. You know things haven't been good when normal skin on your foot is a topic of conversation. We're getting more videos uploaded. I have one more day of rest after this. My foot is throbbing. I hope one more day is enough. I'm sick of throbbing. Jonathan Ross wrote to me. I replied. He replied. I think he thinks I'm mad.

Day 23: BoardFree A & E

2006-05-22T10:41:00.000Z

You know there's something wrong when your foot smells like death. Mine did this morning. Everyone is concerned, I know another forced rest day is approaching but can't bear to face up to it. I tell myself that if I get south of Bristol then I can justify a rest. I can relax with my foot in the air with a sense a reassurance that I've reached Bristol, the final milestone before the journey turns south west towards Land's End. We're over 15 miles north of Bristol and I have to stop fooling myself, I need treatment. We're going to hospital.

Dan drives, I sit up front. Holls and Dim in the back. The scenery is stunning, I have a lump in my throat. I curse shoes, blisters. I curse friction. I curse skateboarding!!!!!

Bristol Royal Infirmary. We organise consent forms to film for the docu. A lovely nurse named Cathryn leads a hobbling me and Dim, Dan and Holls to her cubicle. She asks how she can help. I tell her I'm skating the length of Britain and then show her what that's done to my foot. Dim, Dan and Holls are holding their noses but nursey can't seem to smell the foot. Relief!

She patches up my heel, prescribes antibiotics. Recommends full rest until it heels, but accepts that the clock is ticking on this journey. The pills will kick in within the first three days so I agree to rest until Thursday. She's ok with that. I'm not, secretly. But there's a long term aim to be preserved here, I just hope that two days rest can sort my foot out enough to send me to Land's End without further breaks needed.

Lush Longboards (www.lushlongboards.com) are based in Bristol and we drive to their hideout. My first 4-wheeled board was a Lush Bahari and it's awesome to walk into their distribution house with boards galore hanging off the walls. Rich and the dudes welcome us in and we talk a little about Lush hooking up with BoardFree in some way. This summer, before BoardFree hits Oz, I'm going to be travelling the UK (again!) teaching kids how to longboard. A quiver of Lush boards to help us along would be quality, time will tell.

We drive up to Bristol Parkway and say farewell to Dan. The last of a fine bunch to have said goodbye at the end of an up&down weekend. He trains back to Swansea and my kitten Kiwa as Holls drives the BoardFree Bus to Minehead for two days of rest. We're staying with Holly's Nat's parents, Jo and Rick, at their amazing Primrose Hill Cottages (www.primrosehillholidays.co.uk). All over the place is BoardFree stuff, a notice board in the Games Room covered in t-shirts and leaflets, a leaf in every room's welcome folder. Amazing. Comfortable immediately, I pop an antibiotic, put the foot in an elevated position and start working on the last few week's videos with Dim. Two days of rest from skating maybe, but the BoardFree project lives on.

Day 22: Raining in Gloucester

2006-05-22T05:34:00.000Z

It is raining hard. I sit in a layby with Dan and Becs and Bev. We're working on the sole of my right shoe. Peter and Dim arrive from Cheltenham. It rains harder. Pete decided that we should waterproof one of the sombreros with gaffer tape and then stick it to my helmet. It'll keep the rain off, you see.

It kept the rain off my helmet.

Hard slog to Gloucester. The rain is heavy, my foot feels damp and it burns with every push. Each night I hobble around, hobble to the shoer, hobble to bed. Each morning it feels slightly better, more rested, and then the shoe comes on and it starts again. Sometimes I feel like the end of the day only comes because the pain is too great. Doing the same the next day seems impossible, I dread waking up these days.

At the top of a hill in Maisemore a view appears. Gloucester glistens in the rain, the cathedral towers above the city. It looks beautiful, just a couple of miles away, just a few more pushes. Come on, let's do it.

We pull into a layby towards southern Gloucester. The rain falls and we all squeeze into the van. It comes down thick and fast, almost horizontal sometimes. Becki and Bev play noughts and crosses in the sunroof condensation. Pete and Melissa laugh, Dim reads the paper out loud, Dan writes 'Poo' on the windshield. I can't bring myself to go out and skate. The pain. The rain.

I sleep, the others go to the other cars for half an hour. The rain falls. We sit in McDonalds. Dim and Pete fill in a paint by numbers children's drawing with lolly sticks and bbq sauce. It looks great!

The sun comes out, it's almost four. Back on the road. The prevailing winds are all against us. Brilliant! Dan drives ahead and I tailgate, working in the slipstream, anything to keep out of the wind. It rains. Pete and Melissa leave to go back to London, the first sign that the weekend of company is coming to an end. We're not making Bristol tonight so set a target on the map. Woodford, on the A38 right behind an M5 service station. It's 7 miles away.

Rain, wind, push push push. Woodford arrives. Thank god. Bev and Dan join me for the final 100 metres on their boards. I limp into the van.

Holls and Nat join us. It feels to me like Holls needed more of a break, it must be exhausting being on the road with two men. I feel for her. Nat heads back home. We eat at the services and check in to the Days Inn. The staff are rude, we stay in the room. I have a bath, soak in the nothingness of bubbles and throbbing feet. Becs and Bev leave at 11pm to drive back to Swansea. They have work tomorrow. Amazing to see them both. I'm so thankful to everyone who's supported BoardFree on the road and off it. It keeps me going. It keeps us all going.

My right foot has started to smell. An infection has begun. I fall asleep worried.

Day 21: The most fun day yet

2006-05-21T06:21:00.000Z

It's a day of company today. Nat joins me on Little Elsa. Dan and Becki and Bev (Swansea Uni's Athletic Union Pres!) rock up just after midday. Amazing to see them, crazy that I last saw Dan and Beccles ten miles south of John o'Groats. A split second and an eternity, it's impossible to fathom the distance and experience covered.

We reach Worcester in the early afternoon and my parents appear on their bikes! Amazing! Complete surprise! Typical of them.

We ride on through Worcester, two bikes and two yellow longboards, one blue van, one silver car, one yellow car. A BoardFree troupe. All we need now is Dimitri to turn up with his Mum, stepdad and Kenyan friend Eric. I can't wait. We reach a pub in Callow End and decide to have lunch, a few hundred yards back I skated over the 600 mile mark. Celebrate with a sandwich and a soft drink. It's lovely to pass 600. It's lovely to get south of Worcester.

My right shoe is all gaffer taped up, holding various items of padding onto the worn-out sole. I hobble everywhere. The people who work at the pub must think the others are having a laugh, saying that I'm skating Britain.

Dimitri arrives. Peter and I stand inside the door, cameras at the ready to capture the Lens' return. In comes a complete stranger dressed as Batman, then Robin walks in, a couple of girls, a normally dressed chap, Little Red Riding Hood, a Masai Warrior (seriously!), a wolf man, Dim's mum, then Dim himself. What the HELL is going on!!!!

Dim explains that they're his friends and they've all just arrived from various parts of the country. He sweeps his arms out and knocks over a pint belonging to a local. Welcome back Dim.

We all get on the road, this is great. For 17 miles I'm skating through the countryside between Worcester and Gloucester with Batman and Robin and Little Red Riding Hood. They're all cycling, wolf man has roller skates. The foot is hurting. Dim's stepdad Pete tells me I have to embrace the pain. I agree and on we push.

What a day, the company on the road makes a huge difference, it spurs me on, we go over 30 miles and stop at a layby bang on the 33 mile mark. It's at the top of a hill, I have that to look forward to.

Quick pint in a local pub to celebrate. The landlord and the superheroes donate £70 towards BoardFree. What a day. If anyone else wants to do something similar you're more than welcome!

Everyone heads to Cheltenham for the night, Nat and Holly go south to Nat's mum's. Holl is having a day's rest, damn she deserves it. Dan, Becs, Bev and myself go to a nearby village and stay with a friend of my Dad's. Amazing house, full of gadgets! Good food, comfy bed, it's time for a rest and some painkillers!

Day 20: Finally away from Telford

2006-05-20T06:06:00.000Z

The stagnant BFUK pause yesterday was a good thing and a bad thing. Good because we all had a chance to rest. Bad because we didn't go anywhere, the clock was ticking and the miles weren't/ It's time to claim some of them back.

Worcester is a long way away but that's the aim. Foot feels better. Most of the blister on my sole has hardened and for a few miles it's almost painfree, bliss!

But then the hotspots start to work their way back and as the day drags on the minefield underneath my toes starts to burn. A few miles south of Telford Holly and I pass Iron Bridge (Dimitri returned to London this morning for a day, he'll be back tomorrow with a couple of family members). Iron Bridge, funnily enough, is home to an iron bridge. The first ever iron bridge, supposedly. Surrounded by school outings and foreign tourists, Holly and I do a blog, Holly runs to the toilet, runs out of the toilet, loses her shoe, can't find me. Even though I'm filming the whole thing just a few yards away. Brilliant!

Approaching Bridgnorth I break the BFUK speed record, but I really didn't want to. The road disappears into a pit of vegetation, I footdrag to slow the pace but the road is too rough to keep stable with just one foot on the board. I have no choice but to ride it out. Flying down a strange hill which culminates in a bend is terrifying, I have no idea what's around the corner. If it goes down a bit more I'm toast. The road is potholed and Elsa is jumping around all over the place. Please please please make it an uphill. Please!

It was. I'm hyperventilating, looking to the sky to say thanks to whoever forced me to stay on the road and not career into the bushy verge. 29.6 miles an hour. I'm glad I'm alive.

Sam and Jen from SubTV turn up to do some filming, I do a quick interview with the Shropshire Star. Peter (Dimitri's business partner) and his fine lady Melissa turn up too, and we all continue on our merry way. Peter is filming until Dim returns tomorrow, the first thing I notice is that he likes to run a lot!

We pass into Worcestershire and I tell myself I need to find out how many counties BFUK has passed through. 7 miles from Worcester the skies open. I've covered 32 miles, the foot is thumping. A little wet, I call it a day at Ribbesford and we drive back to Bewdley to find a B&B. Nat turns up to make Holly happy. We all eat Tapas in a place called Silva's. Silva himself joins us for a photo op and then treats us to a sombrero each. Guess what we're wearing tomorrow then!

Day 19: 16:18

2006-05-18T15:21:00.000Z

Oh look, I'm still in bed. Lying/ sitting relatively still means only one thing in my shrinking world of foot agony. The skin on my heel, forever replenishing itself, is making progress. But, you see, when I need to move across the room, the skin needs stretching. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

I've been watching some of the video footage taken with Holly and Dim since we left John o'Groats, there have been some cracking moments. Like the children in Crieff who thought we'd 'released' a hoard of skateboarders throughout the city. What?!!!!!! And Holly's blogs, when she chats away and then in mid-sentence completely loses track of what she was saying, and just stops talking. Or says something like, 'oooh, look at that butterfly.'

It's been a good day of rest. Loads of emails of support. A few media calls. Lots done, the foot is resting. The calves are resting.

Day 19: 10:25am

2006-05-18T09:20:00.000Z

Hard decision. We're going to have a rest day. Hobbling to the toilet. Worrying about making miles up. Exhausted from the pain. A rest day today means we're two days behind schedule. All I can think of is getting to Land's End late with no-one there to celebrate with. Dim and Holly are tapping away on laptops working out medical solutions. We're amending the route map, calling chiropodists.

Eileen from the Clairmont Guest House here in Telford has given us a room for another night. We're so grateful. Hopefully a day of rest will give us all a new lease of life. Strangers and friends from all over the world are writing in with blister and muscle treatments and words of support, thanks so much to all of you.

Will continue to update today.

Day 18: Lagging behind

2006-05-17T14:20:00.000Z

Early morning, the alarm goes off. Kate has a 7am train, it's a blow to see her go. An amazing breakfast put together by Gill (who also creates a sumptious packed lunch) and offers us the room for free, we feel privileged and will definitely be back. Land's End to John o'Groats 2008?!

Sit in the van until 10am, changing wheels and bearings. I feel hollow. Even a short 20 mile journey to Telford seems daunting and I have this impending sense of loniliness. We're a day behind schedule already and the responsibity of making it to Land's End in time for May 28th is weighing heavy. It wouldn't be a worry if my foot was right. But it's getting worse. I'm worn out, the rain is falling. It's a low point.

Plod plod plod. 20 miles later, outskirts of Telford. Was hoping to get further than Telford today but the sky opens and a torrent forms on the road. We sit in the van in a layby and fall asleep. An hour later we push on but go for about a mile. A pre-organised B&B is nearby and going further today is out of the question. I don't care. It's time for an early bed.

We settle into the Clairmont Guest House, and my foot swells. Dim and are are sat on the beds about to watch the Champions League Final. I walk to the toilet and it feels like there's a table tennis ball under my skin. "The only option is to not do anything for a day" Dim says.

I'm not sure if that's an option I want to consider yet.

Day 17: Why am I not moving?

2006-05-17T06:07:00.000Z

At quarter to nine I’m on BBC Radio Cumbria, updating my progress to the morning show. We talk about the hills north of Kendal and the blisters on my right foot. They’re going to call up again in a few days, brilliant!

25 miles to Whitchurch. I’m screaming inside, please can someone tell me how to kill blisters overnight! The roads are rough most of the way and the English countryside is gently undulating. The open space at the back of my shoe is now gaffer taped up but the drizzling rain keeps loosening the tape, causing my foot and insole to slip out the back.

I’m so frustrated! Collapse in a pub car park and lie on my front. Holly reapplies my calf tattoos and Kate grabs some drinks. A team from BBC Wales turns up and film for a couple of hours as I roll on south. The rain starts to fall more heavily and a passing man, interested in the van, trips up and falls into a puddle! I don’t see it but later Dimitri shows me the footage, that boy shoots everything!
We have an early evening break in a pub. So tired but another 8 miles to go. Fill up on bangers and mash and scrape up the final leg. I’m exhausted and Whitchurch is a carrot on the end of a string. Bobbing away. Finally we make it. We stay in an amazing place, the best accommodation so far. The Mile Bank Farm is surrounded by fields of cows and sheep. The landlady, Gill, is amazing. Friendly and generous, she appreciates our efforts and makes us feel perfectly at home. Her B&B is spotless, we couldn’t be happier. I have a bath and Gill lends me a footspa. Dim films the spa bubbling away and does a little video blog all about how easy I’ve had it this journey. Hahah. Bed by ten.

Day 16: The mess of Urbania

2006-05-16T06:05:00.000Z

A quick cooked breakfast and we’re off. The aim today is to get out of the urban sprawl emanating from the north and east of Liverpool. It’s horrible skating through cities and suburbia. There are more roads, signposting is normally appalling. It’s slow going and mentally draining. The crow flies much further in the countryside.

Foot is in agony. I’m sick of it. Half of the time I think I’d be happy settling for a 4 mile day. I just need rest and looking at the map over breakfast I thought happiness would be St Helens, only four miles down the road.

I was wrong. St Helens came quickly, mostly downhill from Billinge but signs in the city were non existent. Eventually got out of there but already it felt like time was disappearing. A long day of skating, we passed by the predicted stopping point just after the Runcorn Bridge, and a bit of calling around sealed us some accommodation in Frodsham, south of the Mersey.

We made it by half three, and wow it was lush! Forest Hills Hotel, on a hill overlooking the Mersey and the industrial coast through which I had skated earlier in the day. Wireless internet throughout the place, a hefty discount and a Jacuzzi bath made it the ideal place to kick back and relax. I needed it, Holls needed it. We all needed it. Bliss!

Day 15: Slow start, cracking end

2006-05-15T02:08:00.000Z

I'm up at ten. Head's a little hazy but I feel ok. Phone rings. It's Nat (he and Holly stayed in a Southport B&B last night). He tells me that Holly is ill, she's been throwing up. He also tells me the police called. The mother of one of the lads in Preston yesterday called them about us taking photos of her boy. They're not going to take the charges any further but it's a bit of a dampener on the day. She'd even been on the website to get our phone number and must have realised what we were doing, but I guess we have to be more careful in future.

We all need a rest so don't get going again until 3pm. Nat takes a train back to Lancaster to pick up his hire car and we say goodbye in Leyland's McDonalds car park. Holly's still not feeling well and she's down about Nat leaving, but we're ready to hit the road. Aim of the day is to get as far south as possible, but heavy rain and the pain in my foot makes the going tough. At six the rain was so heavy I was skating through rivers. A drowned rat, I called the van to a stop, walked dripping into a local pub and asked if they had accomodation.

The Stork Inn, Billinge, was a godsend. A bunch of men at a table next to the door took half a minute to buy me a pint. Two minutes later they had pooled money to pay for our rooms. An amazing bunch, they kept us laughing and told us how Room 6, where Dimitri and Holly were bedding down, was once on Most Haunted on Living TV. Hahah. All night Dim was talking about the lights flickering and doorknobs shaking on the first floor. Big wuss.

Kate arrived at half eight, so good to see her. My right foot was swollen up like a small rugby ball by 10 and we shared a chinese soon after. Really worried about my foot. It's killing, no idea why it's swollen. Blisters are bad and although the heel hurts it is healing slowly. This new swelling phenomenon isn't welcome. Tomorrow will tell more.

Finally, BBC Radio 5 Live wanted an interview at half twelve (at night!). I waited and waited and finally got on at five to one. Nice to get some national coverage, but the presenters didn't seem too interested and I really could have done with some more sleep!

Day 14: Never skate in Preston

2006-05-14T04:42:00.000Z

We get on the road at midday. The Holiday Inn last night was amazing, Holly paid as a treat and boy did we need it. Problem is, you spend a night in a beautiful bed, sleep like a log and then when you wake up there are miles and miles of punishing road ahead. You just don't want to leave!

Skated out of Lancaster and then Nat joined me. Nat's a great skater, he can ollie and do bowls and things like that. He steps onto Little Elsa and away we roll. It's spitting down but we make good progress towards Preston. The roads are good and easy to navigate and it's great to have some company on the road. On small hills Nat bent double and held his ankles to get some speed, everytime he zoomed past he shot me a quick cheeky glance as if to say, 'I'm fast, you're slow, nah nah nah.' You don't have 250 miles on your bearings, do you Nat!!!

A white van pulls up in front of us. I see a hand hanging out of the window holding £10. "We heard you on the radio yesterday," the driver says, his passengers smiling, "Good luck mate." Things like that really pick you up, amazing genorosity.

We reach Preston and the signposting is atrocious. We spend an hour and a half doing a figure of eight around the western edge of town, not a clue where we're going. Some kids run alongside us and are really excited. I hand one of them my board and we take a photo in front of the van. We carry on and they run with us as far as they can. Shortly after, Nat hits a rock on a cycle path and I turn to see him going head over heels. He's a bit grazed on the side and arms, but keeps the rock as a souvenir.

We lose the van for a bit due to the progressively shocking road system but eventually meet up in Leyland, where my brother Andy and his mate Ben meet us. Tonight there's a Ladies Guest Night at RAF Woodvale, where my bro learns to fly. I'm the guest speaker.

We arrive at Woodvale by 6, I'm talked through the night's protocal - it's all rather formal, you see - and I shave my face. Dimitri joins me in smartening up (he doesn't shave though, scruffbucket) and we head to dinner in tuxedos. There's a champagne reception, we're introduced to the Boss, nice guy called Jason, and then we're fed. Great meal, four courses. Brilliant!

The speech goes well, and afterwards there's a party. There were 80 people in attendance, all were very kind and enthused about BoardFree. I helped to draw a raffle, all in all £300 was raised. A great night, needed a social outing halfway through BFUK. Dimitri and I got to bed when the sun was coming up. All I could think was 'oh boy Sunday's going to be cracking!'

Day 13: A tale of generous folk. And bandages.

2006-05-13T04:39:00.000Z

We leave Sellet Hall after a night of blissful sleep in downy beds. Mum parks in Asda car park and we sort my foot out. A general consensus of action results in a part of my shoe being cut out, to alleviate any undue pressure on my gammy heel. Blister plasters everywhere, padding and gauze. Skating wounded today.

I was dreading the 12 miles into Kendal. It’s hard enough having to do it, but to drive along the road you’re due to skate back along is hard to stomach. Especially knowing you’re going to be doing it with an injury. Huge hills, steep ups, steep downs, rubbish road surface. A sick, looming feeling in my stomach.

No choice but to get on with it. Mum is cycling alongside me until we reach Kendal, it’s a big boost having company roadside. Hard slog, suicidal sheep run the verges looking for a return to their fields. My foot bleeds, we make the top and scrape down the other side. Sam, a cameraguy from Sub TV comes along to film a few hills. A chap called Steve from the local weekly turns up to take some shots for the paper. And we continue.

In Kendal by 1 after a great downhill run. Big relief to have those hills out of the way. Lunch. I do a radio interview for The Bay whilst sat on a bag of compost outside Asda. They tell me it’ll be on the 6pm news. Say goodbye to Mum, sleep for a few minutes. 23 miles from Lancaster, it seems a long long way. Going is slow for the first few miles. After 8 of them the traffic is getting heavy. It’s 4pm on a Friday and people are zooming around towards their weekend destinations. I have a long sleep, the pain is exhausting. Traffic dies down and Holly and I sit in the van waiting for the news. A car pulls up in front and a man gets out. His wife joins him. “We saw you outside Kendal earlier and had to see what you were all about.”

They were really friendly, very genuine, gave us £10 before they went.

We listen to the 6pm news. We’re not on it.

Half an hour later I’m skating along, closing the gap on Lancaster when Holly pulls me over, all excited and bubbly. “The family from earlier called the radio and said they’d met us!” She had recorded it and played me the clip.

From then on every other car that passed waved and honked. Some cheered. A family passed by and the three girls were stood on a roundabout shouting “Good Luck” a couple of miles on. Then the Dad and son who stopped earlier pulled up in their care. They had two bottles of iced water and a marker pen. “Go on, sign his t-shirt!” said Dad. So I did. Kyle was quiet and shy but looked happy enough. Legendary people, we need more like them.

The last ten miles to Lancaster was punishing but the support from passing traffic pushed me on. Holly right behind at every turn. We stop to let build-ups behind us pass by before irritation builds. Get into Lancaster finally, on schedule again. Find the train station, pick up Dimitri who is with us for the week ahead and then settle down at a Holiday Inn, where Holly’s man, Nat, arrives late. He’ll be with us for the weekend.

I have no idea how I’m going to skate tomorrow. Foot is in shreds.

Day 12: Media morning, mum arrives, foot is going to fall off

2006-05-11T21:39:00.000Z

Holly wakes me up at quarter to 8. An hour later I'm sat in the BBC's Carlisle studio doing an interview on the breakfast show. At the end of it, a person from TV comes in so we do an interview and a few bits and bobs for the lnchtime show. Then I get a call from ITV Borders, and we shoot a good interview and a bit of skating in town.

Don't get on the road until quarter to two, but boy has the media coverage been good. Right foot is in a right state. Every push sends a spark of pain through my body. A lot of those left. Blisters on the toes are bigger than yesterday. I need to get to Kendal.

On a country road just outside of Penrith my mum turns up on her bicycle! It picks me up a bit, we roll into Penrit an have some lunch. Then we navigate out of the town (PS. Please improve signposts to the A6 from the centre) and I plod on. Going is ok, but the day is wearing on thanks to a late start and we need to be at tonight's ost be sevenish.

At a place called Shap we stop in a pub and get them to put the 6 o clock news on. I'm on there! Great little piece, I didn't realise that Kate, the lady who interviewed me in the centre, was actually a co-presenter of the show. At the end everyone in the room cheered. Brilliant.

Push on for twenty minutes more. I'm in absolute agony. 12 miles short of Kendal I pull up. That's it for the day.

We drive to our hosts, a spurious friend of a friend connection had turned into a bed for the night. Charlotte Pople was waiting for us south of Kendal, and so was a lady on a horse at the entrance to the driveway. The place is massive. Compare this to last night, we were in a service station. A strange day, disatisfied in terms of miles covered and my diminishing pain threshold, but amazing media coverage and an aristocratic bout of hospitality at the end of the day. Great hosts, amazing food, good beds, a much needed bath. And today I was inches from crying.

One last thing: for the second time this journey our nightly stop was further along the road than I'd skated. Which means.....I get to see the road before I skate it, horrible. Driving along it seems like hours, skating will seem like days. Tomorrow morning is going to be tough work, the 12 miles into Kendal are mountainous, boy I hope I reach Lancaster.

Day 11: One record, one country, one whole lot of joy and pain

2006-05-10T22:58:00.000Z

I'm sat in a motorway service station, the same one that I stopped at with Dan and Becki on the way to Prestwick to pick up the van from VW Dave, way back almost two weeks ago. How much has happened since then!

The Dumfries and Galloway Standard interviewed me yesterday and we meet a photographer today. A quick shoot by a sign for Lockerbie and we're away again. Dimitri, for some reason, found another sign to Ecclefechen really funny.

Near Ecclefechen a car pulls up. A man gets out. I recognise him as a chap who was waving from a passing car a few miles back. He has a £5 donation. "I thought you were doing a relay earlier," he tells me, "but when we saw you again I couldn't believe it, all the best."

At about 2pm, after 15 miles of skating from Lockerbie (where we stayed for free at the Townhead Hotel thanks to landlady Caroline - star!) I posed for some photos next to a sign at Springfield. Less than a mile later we were in England. Rolling past that welcome sign, a big lump in my throat, a jump for joy, a much needed collapse onto the grass verge. Nobody has ever skated the length of Scotland before - and boy do I know why! Hahah, incredible feeling. Dimitri loved running in and out of England, called loads of people and took them on his little journey. We stayed for an hour at the sign, doing interviews, blogs, photos. Just experiencing the moment. Dimitri looks at me and says "they put a man on the moon before anyone skated this country. Dude, out of 6 billion people on the planet you're the only one who has ever skated the length of Scotland."

England next.

My right foot is falling apart. Yesterday the new shoes, a change forced by a worn right-sole courtesy of the Scottish highlands, started to rub. I slept with blisters on three toes and on my heel. Every push is full of pain, I grimace and push on. Is there any other choice? I think we've been on the local radio, people start to honk and wave again. It's been a couple of days since that happened and boy does it feel good.

Dimitri leaves us at Carlisle. He takes a train to London and will rejoin in two days. Going to miss him, a stranger two weeks ago, he's been a big part of the most incredible few days of my life.

Carlisle was today's destination, but despite the pain I want to eat into tomorrow's journey, a big slog to Kendal. 4 miles south of Carlisle I'm joined for a short while by a cyclist who is heading to a time trial in the countryside. A car passes by and the elderly inhabitants look at me inquistively. A few hundred yards on they've pulled in and are handing me a pound coin, clapping. I like England.

We stop 5 and a half miles south of Carlisle and drive to a nearby service station at Southwaite. Holly and I will stay here tonight, then plod on after a studio interview at quarter to nine in the morning on BBC Radio Cumbria. I take my right shoe off. There's blood. Three layers of skin, old and new, eaten away above my heel. Blisters on toes, despite good treatment this morning, are horrible. They're not going to have time to heal before Land's End as I'm on the road each day. I'm resigned to the fact that I'm going to be in agony for the next two and a half weeks.

This is worth the pain.

Day 10: The longest yet

2006-05-09T20:33:00.000Z

Jack made us breakfast, showed us his small yet speedy motorcar, and his neighbours donated £35.

Holls and I are smiling. The roads are tough and smooth, extreme contrasts every few hundred miles. We finished 12 miles short of schedule yesterday and I was in bullish mood, time to readdress the balance and make Scotland work in our favour.

Within an hour and a quarter we're at the end of the A702, having a break in Abington services. Average speed of 11.7 miles per hour. I hurt! The rest of the day is much of the same, hard slog, blisters appearing after two days of getting accustomed to new shoes. The roads, even the cycle paths, are hard going. Rough and potholed. Lockerbie was a long way away at the beginning of the day, beyond our previous longest day's mileage, and at times it looked out of reach.

With 14 miles to go we pull up and collapse onto a patch of grass. It's half four. Dimitri films and I talk rubbish into the camera, we talk about our pasts and prepare for a final push. By 6pm I've covered 42.5 miles, average speed for the day 10.2mph. Blisters everywhere. But we're in Lockerbie! On track, on schedule. England tomorrow!. Tomorrow I become the first person to skateboard the length of Scotland. How wierd is that!

Day 9: Tensions run high

2006-05-09T06:34:00.000Z

I'm slowing down. My body is slowly wasting away - totally replacing all of the energy I use up each day is impossible - and although I feel fit BFUK is taking its toll mentally. Don't get me wrong, I'm still all there! But mood swings are coming thick and fast as I pound the road second after second, I'm tired and and I ache all over and I'm a grumpy bastard a lot of the time.

First day with new shoes. The first lot (the right one at least) was worn through, so fingers crossed for no blisters.

Drove to the Falkirk road where we ended yesterday and ploughed on. I'm taking ages to get ready and it must frustrate the hell out of Holly and Dimitri. Always losing things, gloves take 30 seconds to get on.

A few miles in we pass through a town called California, and then it seems as though the land empties away. I raise my arms aloft in celebration, it seems as though it's all downhill from here. The first hill is massive. Like riding a giant wave, the wind blew in from the side and my knees soaked up the vibrations from the road, whizzed around a corner at 27.4 miles per hour, awesome!

After yesterdays busy A-road-fest I'd told the others I wanted to avoid main roads where possible. We'd talked through the days route and three wrong turns later I was having to skate along a busy A-road, a detour which added 4 miles to the days total. I was angry. It's mentally exhausting skating on main roads, the surfaces are worse, the blowback from cars flying past at 60mph. It's not unsafe with the support vehicle right behind but the extra distance - added to the fact that now I felt I had to stop at every corner and do the map reading too - seemed so unnecessary.

Mistakes are mistakes, but Holl didn't talk to me for four miles, because I was angry, I suppose. No apologies for the mistake, she just left me for four miles. I took the pavements where possible but couldnt skate the roads because the support vehicle was gone. I was out of water, and I was furious. Effing and blinding under my breath, I walk up a stony unskateable pavement past two teenage lads. Next thing I know my board is being dragged away from me. "Give us this, give us a look" one of them said.

"Let it go" I replied. They kept pulling, I looked up the road for the van, for anyone, for some support. No one. A few seconds later I was running up the hill, board in hand, adrenaline pumping. One of the lads was in a neighbouring field having been pushed over a fence. The other was half looking at his mate, half shouting obcenities at me. Rude little bastards, how dare they!

As you can imagine, this improved my mood. There's no way they would have tried this stunt if the van was with me. I've never been so angry in all my life.

A mile later I collapsed onto the side of the road, exhausted. The van had pulled up behind me and Dimitri got out, filming. Holly got out. I shouted, I screamed. I can't do this by myself, and I had for the last few miles. I was ready to put a rucksack on and go the rest of the way myself.

Plodding on. Plodding on. Mood wanes. VW Dave and Gordon arrive to see the van they donated to us. They bring an orange flashing light and a bigger steering wheel for Holls. Holls gives me cake. We hug. She apologises. I apologise. Thank god. It had been awful.

Dave tells me thousands of VW drivers across the UK are looking out for the van and they're ready to help if we need them. Amazing feeling. It's a lonely road and I can't expect anyone involved in this to fully comprehend how it's effecting me - even I don't know - but the smallest things tilt me in either direction. Mary Thompson's cake, kindly donated on Day 1, plus Dave's enthusiasm for BoardFree - "You've come 285 miles on a skateboard, you're some man!" plus Holly's consiliatory hugs made the rest of the day better.

Brief anger resurfaces after another set of misdirections - this time Dimitri - add another 3 miles to today's route, but I finish the day by rolling downhill into Biggar on the A702 having just passed the 300 mile barrier. 100 miles every 3 days, it's a good target. We park next to a B&B but the landlady doesn't do charity discounts. We walk to a nearby pub and slump against the bar. A group of old men stand to our right, we explain that we're looking for a room. At first, nothing. Then a sparkle in the eye of one of the men. A hatted chap named Jack. He says we could park in his driveway. Brilliant! One of the other men asks if he'll feed us too. He says we can feed ourselves. Two minutes later he offers us a fish supper. Half an hour - and a drink - later we're following his taxi back to his place where he hands us fish and chips and shows us to the nice clean beds where we'll be staying. Jack was 61 and a half, and a gem of a man. He cracked open the red wine - Holly was ordered to make a choice from the plentiful rack - and when that was finished another bottle opened. In the back end of my brain I could see tomorrow becoming difficult, skating hungover is never good! But Jack was fine company, a self confessed pedantic old bastard who said things like "do you want a warm or cold bath" and then you reply either way and he looks over his shoulder saying "oh, so he assumes he's having a bath now...."

A difficult difficult day. So mixed it hurts. All we can say is thank you, Jack.

Day 9: Late morning update

2006-05-08T10:44:00.000Z

Hey y'all,

Still in Edinburgh, having a restful morning waiting for packages from sponsors to arrive. Heading back to the road pretty soon, will be rolling south from Falkirk towards Abington. Have worn through my first pair of shoes already, oh dear.

Becki is organising camping at Land's End on the 27th/28th May so pleae drop her an email to becki@boardfree.co.uk or call 07921315101 if you want to get in on the biggest party of the year (don't forget the almost-as-big bash in Falmouth on Friday 26th).

Also don't forget that my phone has broken and can be reached on Holly's phone on 07834 276402.

Right, back to the road. Not sure when we'll get internet next but keep following, and thanks so much to everyone who has donated recently, really gives us a boost.

Day 8: Rain, rain, bugger off...

2006-05-07T19:23:00.000Z

I open my eyes as an alarm from a neighbouring hotel room goes off. On and on, ber-rrring ber-rrring. Grrrr. Outside little raindrops are hitting the ground. It hasn't rained yet, we've been lucky, but aching legs + rain doesn't make today appealing.

We meet yesterday's skaters at their 'skate park'. Two wooden crates in a supermarket car park. They skate out of town with me for a bit, and wander back up the hill with a BoardFree-VW Magazine mug each for their troubles. Awesome lads - keep me updated on how your fight for a skatepark in Crieff goes!

Progress is wet but fast and we reach Dunblane in less than two hours. Chocolate break, and then I read the map wrong and skate two miles up a hill. The road ends in a field. I'm tired and pissed off. I take it out on Dimitri and Holly. It was my mistake.

Back on the road. Two hours and ten miles of busy busy A roads. A teenager with a red faced leaned out of a car at some point and shouted obscenities at me. Other people played music with their car horns and gave thumbs up.

We finish at Falkirk. Probably not as far as I would have liked - it leaves a lot to do to get to Abington tomorrow - but it had been a hard day. Wet, cold and tired, I jump in the van and we drive to Edinburgh to stay with my friend Kerri. I'm in a mood, Holly's in a mood, Dimitri's in a mood. I hope we all like each other at the end of this.

Lesson of the day: rain makes us moody.

Day 7: That was William Shatner! Now, where is William Shatner from?

2006-05-07T06:35:00.000Z

Bizarre morning. It was like being in Phoenix Nights. Dim and Holly drove out of town to fill up with petrol while I did some web stuff. I was sat in the Holiday Village lounge, and right in front of me was this girl talking into a microphone rallying up a group of kids to do some dancing or something. The music was 80’s throwback, and boy was the dancing bad.

On the road by eleven. The cooked breakfast isn’t sitting well and the first hour is uphill. Then half an hour of heavy carving downhill. Exhausting but exhilarating. We stop for an early afternoon drink in a pub in Weem, south west of Pitlochry. Some people having dinner on the next table recognise me from the paper and we get chatting. As we leave they hand us some donations and take some photos, one of them is a caricaturist and is going to email me a cartoon of Holly, Dim and myself. Brilliant. Start the 2nd half of the day in good spirits. A car overtakes us and the occupants wave. Five minutes later they drive back in the other direction with ten pounds hanging out of the window. “Have a good journey” they say smiling. Shake hands, and drive away.

In the middle of the Scottish countryside we’re taking a break in a lay-by when 7 Lotus cars drive by. “That’s William Shatner!” screams Holly, red faced and pointing wildly at the final car. We spend the next five minutes wondering why William Shatner would be driving a Lotus in Scotland. “Where is William Shatner from?” I ask, and then we practice different accents, saying “Hi, my name is William Shatner.” He’s definitely not Indian.

Later, with 8 miles to go until the night’s destination, Crieff, I speed around a tight bend and head down a long straight, hills to the right, river to the left. In a lay-by 300 metres down the road a family is peering at me from the side of a motorhome. Scrape to a stop next to them and they thrust tea and sandwiches and cakes and a bottle of wine our way. They heard about BFUK on the radio show yesterday morning. Amazing people, massive boost for the final stretch of the day.

The last 8 miles were AWESOME! Flat, no wind, then a downhill stretch into Crieff. Flying! We roll into town, four kids approach the van. “What’s going on here then?” they ask, and we chat for a few minutes. Down the road we park up, ask for directions. A couple tell us where to find a B&B, then disappear. Then the woman appears again, almost too fast for her high heels, and gives Dimitri ten pounds…”Good luck!”

Another man appears, “are you that dude?!”
“I guess I am! Where did you hear about BoardFree?”
“On the radio yesterday, good luck mate!”

So we drive around, knocking on B&B doors, and at the top of the hill I see some kids waving. They have skateboards. “Get your cameras guys!” I shout to Holly and Dimitri. The kids skate down. They’ve been on the website already, heard about us on the radio. Two of the lads, Ryan and William, look stoked. They show us the way to a cracking place to stay, and we arrange to meet up the next morning. There’s going to be a load of local skaters leaving town tomorrow, and I’m going to get onto the media about the fact that Crieff doesn’t have a skate park. These lads are superb and deserve a place to skate.

Later, Holly tells me that one of the lads said BoardFree coming into town was the best thing that ever happened to Crieff. Its been a good day, thank you Scotland.

PS. If anyone knows where William Shatner is from, please write in.
PPS. We’re staying in the Tower Hotel in Crieff. Gilbert, the owner, has given us a discount and just donated £20. Legend. www.towerhotelcrieff.com/

Day 6: Dalwhinnie to Tummel Bridge

2006-05-06T06:14:00.000Z

Last night’s late night didn’t help. At twenty to nine I was live on BBC Radio Scotland, chatting on the Fred and John show about uphills from Inverness and the size of my right calf. I put out an on-air appeal for local Scots to support us with their vehicles for a couple of days, and then we waited.

It had been four days since the website was updated and my inbox was flowing with ‘where are you’s?’ and ‘are you ok’s?’. Spent the morning and afternoon replying to everyone, sorting out the site and lining up some media coverage. Then two sucker punches: barely any donations through the justgiving site, which sent me down into the doldrums. Fingers crossed that they pick up as I pass through England. And then I browse through BBC Online to find the article on BFUK. I was P****D off! Ok, great to have coverage on BBC online, but the article made out that I was doing this because I was bored. Just some quirky guy who was looking for a way to fight boredom, so he decides to skate the UK. Come on, the BBC of all media organisations throw in a bit of lightweight journalism and completely undermine the project. To whoever wrote it – I’m doing this to raise funds and awareness for three children’s charities and promote sport to children of all ages. It’s not something I’m doing because I was a bit bored. This has taken a year to organise, if I was bored I would have turned on my Playstation or had a game of chess. A bit of research and that article could have brought in a flurry of donations. Instead: bugger all.

By 3pm there had been no calls so we clambered into the van with no reverse and made off up the A9. It was heartbreaking going up that road knowing I’d have to skate back most of it. At the point just south of Dalwhinnie where we stopped yesterday I fell out of the van. Felt sick, legs wobbly. Not in a good state to skate a mile. I thought to myself, ‘I’ll be lucky if I make five miles today’.

The cycle path was hardened mud covered in grit. I was skating at walking pace, bouncing around like Tigger. Music on, think positive. Ploughed on, made the Pass of Drumochter. Surely when you make the pass you’re about to go downhill?!! Yep!

Saying that, the path was still rough, and just to tease me the A9 was a kerb away, and boy was it smooth. So tempted to wait for a gap in the traffic and roll – not push – for a few metres. But then got a bit paranoid about hidden CCTV cameras and chickened out. What is wrong with me?!!

The path started to improve, got wider and less gritty. And then I had a moment. Bumbled down a small hill, then the path turned smooth, perfectly smooth. It was going slightly uphill, there was no wind around, none. Yet I kept moving. I looked around trying to find the wind direction but there was no wind. Someone’s pushing me along, I thought, I could almost make out fingertips at my back forcing me along.

Then Holly’s phone rang. A man named Martin, he had read the BBC Online article and had linked through to the BoardFree site. He admired what I was doing and offered the team a place to stay just south of Edinburgh. His wife’s a geography teacher and has access to every OS Map we need for the rest of the route. They’re both ready to feed and water us early next week. Amazing. Thanks BBC!

I felt much better. Crossed the 7 mile marker, it was past 5pm no but I felt stronger than I had in a while. The cycle path disappeared and turned into the best surface of the journey. So smooth!! I have a road fetish! Up and down I carved, pumped, didn’t put my feet down for a mile, worked my thighs, gave my calves a rest and cleared my head. Soon after came the turn off to Trinafour, the end of my romance with the A9. I called Holly and Dimitri, who were waiting at a lay-by a few miles back, and then ploughed on down the country road. 4 miles to Trinafour, up and down, beautiful countryside, the roar of the heavy traffic left far behind. This is more like it.

Beyond Trinafour was a signpost, 4 miles to Tummel Bridge. That’s our stop for the day. A long uphill ahead, and then oh my god what a road!!! The van was a hundred metres ahead and I was catching up. Carving it up, making full use of the road, grinding into the turns to try and slow down, on and on and on. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

The van pulled up and I stopped alongside, screaming! Dim had the camera on me, and shouted into it, elated. “That was the best road ever!” And it was. And I was only halfway down it!

Tummel Bridge wasn’t far. A tiny place on the map, hiding the real truth. Tummel Bridge Holiday Haven! Caravans everywhere, mini golf, restaurant and bar, chippy, arcades. Jackpot! They gave us a free pitch for the van. Ian from Edinburgh, a VW expert, turned up and in exchange for a cheeseburger sorted the gearbox problem. Kick myself for wasting 60 quid on mechanics last night.

All good so far, and ironically, due to the new, more southerly route we’re taking, we’re due west from Pitlochry, tonight’s planned stop, and a few miles closer to Land’s End had we stuck with the original route. Aiming to be south of Perth tomorrow.

Day 6: South from Dalwhinnie

2006-05-05T17:14:00.000Z

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My phone is broken. To get hold of me please call Holly's phone on 07834 276402. To avoid the A9 which is getting increasingly busier we're going to head due south via country roads from Dalwhinnie, missing out Pitlochry, Perth and Edinburgh. Will hopefully be back on track come Monday night, where I hope to have reached Abington.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The van is troublesome. It's half two and haven't done any skating today. In a bit will be heading back to where we ended up last night but not much sleep last night and the stress, added to 175 miles in 5 days will slow today down a lot.

The route is going to have to change a bit for the next three days but fingers crossed the van will be sorted one way or another this weekend.

Ahhhh, deep breaths. On we plug!

And please donate @ www.justgiving.com/boardfree!!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My phone is broken. To get hold of me please call Holly's phone on 07834 276402.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 5: That is not a cycle path...

2006-05-05T00:56:00.000Z

We push off from Aviemore late morning. My body is slowing down and my head is heavy. Two miles later I have a rest in a lay-by. Beside us there is a garden full of freaky characters made out of flower pots, riding bicycles and wearing Halloween masks. Don't ask me what that was about, some people are plain wrong!

The road was nice and reasonably flat and although mountains loomed to the left and the right I get the feeling Elsa has broken the back of the Scottish highlands. After lunch in Kingussie I battle on to Dalwhinnie, the end of day target, and reach there by five. Pause...rest...pant. Dalwhinnie is tiny and there's no use staying here. I decide to push on a couple more miles, if only to make tomorrow less of a mental challenge. A mile out of Dalwhinnie we come to the cycle path. A sign tells me we're about to go through the Drumochter Pass, where the path will rise up to 457 m (we're currently at about 240m). Bollocks. So tired, drained, and now we're about to head through a pass in the mountains that belongs somewhere in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Can it get worse?

Yep. The van trundles slowly down the A9 to a lay-by a few miles on, and I hit the cycle path. Which, by the way, is a foot wide, and made of compacted mud and covered in stony grit. Skating on this is like riding a bicycle in water. Horrible. Three miles on I see the van parked up, thank god. Dimitri has crossed the road and walks towards me. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" he asks.

"The bad."

"The bad news is the van has lost reverse and first gear"

"What's the good news?"

"There isn't any."

I get in, mope a bit. Then we drive to Pitlochry and call in the AA. They reccommend taking the van to a mechanics. We call out a gearbox specialist from Dundee, they leave just after midnight, charged us £60 and left the van as it was. Perfect.

Tired, aching, emotionally battered, someone is testing BoardFree UK.

Day 4: The hardest one yet

2006-05-04T04:13:00.000Z

Nobody told me it was all uphill from Inverness! Boy what a tough morning. The headwinds kept coming – I keep talking about them because they half my speed and drain my energy and make me cry inside – and the roads were busy and rough. The views, once I got to the top, were incredible. Back down to the city, over the bridge and beyond, this is a big place and I can’t quite believe I’ve skated it.

The tourist map that was given to us by a news agency in Brora a couple of days ago told us that a cycle path followed alongside the A9, so I parted company from the van with the thinking that we’d meet up half an hour later.

Two and a half hours later I hadn’t found the van, had been out of water for almost 2 hours and was delirious. The roads were straight. Straight uphill. I knew I was heading I the right direction but going was slow and my head was spinning. The wind gusted into my face.

I stopped for a toilet break. No one around so I pushed the board onto the verge, an effort in itself, and prepared myself. Two minutes or so later I realise I was still undoing my fly, I was facing back down the road and a car was crawling towards me. If it had been the police I would have been done for indecent exposure. I needed the van, bad.

45 minutes later I found the first downhill for miles. The wind was in my head but I was rolling without pushing. The road was crap but wow I felt good. I felt tired. I felt like a schizophrenic. Whipped the camera out to record my feelings and seconds later the van was in sight. I started screaming. We were still 9 or 10 miles away from Aviemore and that looked like a ridiculous ask today. I was resigned to being way behind schedule but was too exhausted to care.

Lay back in the van, Holly massaged my feet. It started to rain. Dimitri said it wasn’t raining. It was raining hard. No choice but to stay in the warm for a bit.

Finally, one last push. “I’m getting out and skating at half five” I told Holly. “Tell me when it’s half six and we’ll call it a day”. I’d forgotten about Elsa and she’d been out in the rain, poor girl. A skate will do her bearings good. So back on the road….and almost immediately a dude in a car stopped me and asked if I was the one skating Britain. Nice chap, lives in Exeter and longboards! Hopefully I’ll see him later this month.
The roads were glorious, the cars had started to respond to the radio coverage and honked and waved and threw raised thumbs at me. I felt good, the roads turned smooth. They started to aim downhill. By half six I was in Aviemore. We’re on target! YES YES YES!

Day 3: Dornoch to Inverness, or just north of Inverness

2006-05-02T12:10:00.000Z

Woke up, packed up. Called media. An hour later and 6 miles down the road the Murray Firth radio news ended with the beautiful words, “Heaven is a long gentle downhill slope for one skateboarder, Dave Corthwaite is currently skating the length of Britain for children’s charities and today will be attempting the stretch between Dornoch and Inverness.”

That was a boost and the early ground was good. But then came the headwind. For hours I battled around the northern edge of the Cromarty Firth, pausing only for a roadside café lunch and an interview with the BBC. Back on the road by 4pm with 18 miles to Inverness still to go, and all I wanted to do was get over the Firth, move inland and out of the headwind. The bridge came nearer and then I looked into the distance to see a long 2-mile uphill drag.

Heartbroken, I waved the van on to avoid holding up traffic and caught up 80 minutes later, having screamed, cursed, snailed and walked towards what seemed like the sky.

Boy I was on my last legs. The aim was to get to ‘Ness but it was way past five with ten miles to go. I felt sick, worried, grumpy and defeated.

Bloody longboards.

A little rest, a moan to the camcorder, a long wistful look down the hill, over the bridge and across the water from where I had come, and it was time for a final push. By half six I had jumped in the van a mile north of the road bridge heading to Inverness. Job done, a couple of miles short of the target, but hopefully tomorrow’s 30 miles to Aviemore will be easier.

Plus, the BBC had promised us that my interview would be on the half six news. We found a sports bar, asked them to change the channel and sat there waiting to cheer. It never came. I shrugged my shoulders, consoled myself with the Murray Firth, BBC Radio and BBC Online coverage we had definitely received, and collapsed.

Day Two Complete

2006-05-01T22:01:00.000Z

This has to be a real quickie because the internet connection is going off in a bit, but today was long, hard, hilly and wet, but came through in the end and just pipped the 40 mile mark.
I'm staying with Holly and Dimitri (one of our BFUK cameradudes) in a place called Dornoch, 40 miles north of Inverness where I'm aiming to reach by the end of tomorrow.

Thanks to everyone who emailed with solutions to the chafing issue (not a problem tonight thank the lord) and everyone else who has donated recently. We've got some amazing video footage and will upload the first vids of this ultimate road trip in the next couple of days, sorry for the wait - but we have tons to do!!

Legs are feeling strong, so nice to have two days under the old belt. Bring on Day 3!

Snapper Holly hit the Doncaster Star today (see http://www.doncastertoday.co.uk/ViewArticle2.aspx?SectionID=2167&ArticleID=1474856) and we're all well chuffed with our new page 3 girl!

Right, camping for the first time in the van tonight, so it's time to go get some kip kip. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to spread the word. Everyone can donate @ www.justgiving.com/boardfree!!!

Day One Complete

2006-04-30T23:06:00.000Z

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....

So close but so far...

2006-04-30T07:40:00.000Z

So, the day is here! I've been waiting a year for this, the accumulative mulch of logistical planning, physical training, stressful days when all of the people you contacted for help say no....well, when I got in the car in Swansea on Thursday all of that started to lift from my shoulders. One thing on my mind, skating Britain.

I'm due to start from John o'Groats this morning at 8am, so it may surprise you to learn that it is now 8:40am, and I'm still in Wick, 15 miles south of John o'Groats, because the van won't start.

And it was all going so well! Becki and Si have trundled off to John o'Groats to see if any press have turned up, but it seems that no one is there. It is bank holiday Sunday, after all. Which just means that the mechanic is going to take a bit longer than usual to get here.

So, what can I do but wait. And eat bananas. It's a lovely morning, sharp and clear. Hopefully I'll get skating soon. I'll let you know later on tonight how it all went on from here.