How many un-signposted car parks can one small seaside town have? In Scarborough’s case it would seem to be rather a lot. With minutes to go until the tour was about to begin and knowing it was to be hosted by Julie, who unlike Monte, is a stickler for punctuality, there was nothing else for it but to do the very unmanly thing of consulting a map! Of course it is much easier to find your destination when you are actually in the right town. Quickly crossing from Redcliffe into Scarborough helped to get things back on track. As I zoomed past yet another packed car park, I spotted a lone skater pulling on a set of pads. Bingo, target acquired. One quick U turn later and I pulled gracefully into the car park with a good 30 seconds to spare.

I needn’t have worried, while Julie was sat patiently by the path tightening her laces around ten yards of bandage and sticking plaster (something to do with edges and not the result of a terrible ankle related accident), Bruce, who was assisting on the tour was no where to be seen. Julie, who had been in contact by phone, informed us that Bruce hadn’t quite got to the map reading stage and was currently lost but fairly sure he was heading in the right direction.

With the Melbourne skaters enjoying the last day of their excursion, the turn out was still pretty impressive (especially compared to Burnt Orange). Introductions were completed on Bruce’s arrival and we were ready to head off along the beautifully smooth and debris free bike path that runs along the Scarborough foreshore out towards Redcliffe. The sky had been decidedly overcast in Brisbane, but was a deep blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds in Scarborough with a gentle breeze blowing in off the sea. Gentle that is, until you pulled your skates on. While there was no actual physical change in the strength of the wind, in your mind you are suddenly facing down a howling gale, battling the elements to carve your way against insurmountable odds and to make it to the end of the path and glory (or maybe that’s just me)!

We set off with Bruce in the lead and everyone else falling into a line astern pattern behind. Using each other as wind shields, we dropped into a highly aerodynamic snake formation. We hadn’t travelled far when Bruce spotted a mini skate park with a large wooden half pipe populated by a gaggle of small children. The snake slithered to a halt as Bruce marched over to show the children “how it’s done”. Sore ankle not withstanding, he climbed the ladder to the top of the structure, stood masterfully on the edge and dropped gracefully in. He then dropped ungracefully out and disappeared into a cloud of bark dust and flailing limbs. With all the dignity he could muster and being the true showman that he is, he quickly climbed back up the ladder and proceeded to put on a skilful and highly entertaining display which elicited many oohhhhs and aahhhhs from the gathered children. After explaining that the wood was very slippery, hence the initial excursion into the surrounding bark, we reformed the snake and set off once more.

A short distance up the path and Bruce spotted a small children’s playground with a couple of swings. A pattern to the days skating was beginning to emerge as Bruce’s inner child once again screamed out for attention. After a brief spell on the swings, during which a full 180 degree swing pattern was achieved followed by a spot of shell smashing (don’t ask), we were once again on our way.

It was now Julies turn to elicit the attention of a couple of GOM’s (grumpy old men). While skating past a large outdoor pool they were heard to comment on our suitability to be sharing a path with such fine upstanding citizens. A few meters further on and we stopped for a group photo. As the aforementioned GOM’s shuffled past they felt the need to push Julie out of the way. Being the consummate professional she is, she resisted the temptation to skate over their feet and instead settled for a brief torrent of verbal abuse (out of their earshot it must be said).

We reformed the snake and set off again. A set of concrete steps formed the basis for Bruce’s next death defying feat. The steps were set in groups of four with an extended step between each group. Along the side of the steps, the casting had formed a narrow ramp no more than six inches wide. To the untrained eye this was merely an insignificant detail, however for Bruce it represented a challenge that could not be passed up. Starting small, the ramp alongside two sets of steps was easily dispatched and constituted no real challenge. Time to think big! If two sets of steps were easy, how hard could four sets be? The actual skate down proved to be no problem; however the breaking area at the end of the run consisted of the width of the path before the sand of the beach was encountered. A desperate attempt to utilize the concrete of the path to elicit a complete halt was futile and no amount of scissor helps on sand. Bruce once more disappeared into a cloud of sand, arms and legs. A quick dusting off, a theatrical bow and we were on our way again.

The end of the concrete path was soon looming to be replaced by a boardwalk which stretched across the (at this point you would normally put fine golden sand when describing Queensland’s coastline, however in Scarborough’s case it is more of a course red dust for some reason) beach. Only Julie seemed keen in some sort of weird masochistic way to continue on. While we were all in no doubt that skating across closely spaced planks would indeed force us into a good stride, the fact that the boardwalk stretched beyond the horizon contributed to an almost unanimous vote for lunch at Morgan’s (which just happened to be in the opposite direction). We turned round and began to sail back (almost literally now the wind was behind us) at high speed.

The run back passed almost without incident (minds now focused on food), although the skate past the outdoor swimming pool once again showed up the unpredictability of small children. For them, their whole universe consists of the bucket and spade on the other side of the path. The twelve skaters bearing down on them are of no consequence when there are holes to be dug. The recent slalom lessons once again proved there worth in a real world skating situation!

We arrived at Morgan’s hungry and quickly set about rearranging the outdoor furniture. We then trooped inside to order. Some people removed their skates, others didn’t. I elected for the skates off option and quickly regretted it. Morgan’s is not only a fish and chip shop, but also a fresh seafood market with the wide range of produce lovingly displayed on crushed ice. While this makes for a nice display, it leads to a thick soup of melted ice and (for want of a better description) fish juice to be running across the tiled floor. This delightful concoction was quickly soaked up by my now exposed socks. Already delicately perfumed skates would now have the added aroma of fish thrown into the mix. Who says rollerblading isn’t a social activity?

While the ambiance of the shop can best be described as damp, the actual food jumps straight into the number one spot of fish and chips sampled on tours, pushing Wynnum into a very distant last.

Food consumed, we made the short run back to the car park. Just before we got back, the path split into two. One steep run down a tightly twisting path and one gentle run with no major obstacles. While a debate raged on which path to take Terry threw caution to the wind and shot off down the steep path. With cries of “are you trying to break the other one” ringing out behind him his cast was raised triumphantly into the air as he disappeared out of sight. Following him down the steep path a few seconds later showed a long steak of black rubber indicating the breaking ferocity required to avoid a high speed Bruce type incident followed a few seconds later by a beaming Terry. Bruce appeared round the corner seconds later and we all headed back to the car park.

With the sun still shining and the wind once more categorised as a gentle sea breeze we all headed home after an excellent afternoons sk8ing.