The Why Not? Blog

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...

2007-04-30T20:24:00.000Z

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 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 (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.

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.