Black Sand Storms | Stories from Iceland II

Black Sand Storms | Stories from Iceland II

"There is something about a solo road trip that I find terrifying yet addictive. I am afraid of the tornado of thoughts I will have when driving 1000km alone, yet obsessed with wanting to experience them - with delving into that deep black hole inside myself that can only be reached on a journey like this one."

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A Springtime Sunrise

A Springtime Sunrise

“Oslooo!” I called out to my three-year-old Trailhound, his little tail waved in the air as he leapt over to greet me. We bounded up the stairs leading to the summit of Mam Tor, two steps at a time as the sky was already a magical glow of pink and orange. My eyes were heavy but all I needed was this country air to revive me; air that smelt like early springtime freshness, the promise of change and excitement, of a long, warm summer spent happily in the hills. 

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The Road Keeps Calling

The Road Keeps Calling

The first time I drove alone I had planned a three and a half hour journey to Sequoia National Park. After unknowingly making an illegal turn out of the car hire centre in Los Angeles, I headed towards the I-5 for my first solo four-wheeled adventure. I was instantly struck by the freedom of it all. The long road ahead and the wide sky above. “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars”.

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The Girl Who Climbs Mountains

The Girl Who Climbs Mountains

I stumbled and tripped, gripping to rocks with my freezing hands and falling through snow in my sodden leggings. I had to use both hands to steady my balance, and when the snow got deeper and the edge got steeper, I dug my boots hard into the snow to ensure I got a solid grip.

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The Hills Were Beckoning

The Hills Were Beckoning

When I woke up that morning I knew I needed to escape – the city, people, pollution, noise. I live in a quiet and leafy corner of Southern Manchester, but a yearning for the rolling hills, biting country air and being completely and utterly alone comes from deep within me, an ache in my stomach that gradually increases the longer I am not there. It was painful that morning. And so I had to leave.

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This Morning, One Year Ago

This Morning, One Year Ago

"My eyes flicker open wearingly at the sound of a soft tapping on the canvas walls of my little green tent. It is dim inside, meaning it is either still nighttime or that my first day of riding on the South Island will be beneath rainclouds and on shiny wet roads. It appears to be the latter."

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An Ode to the Moors

An Ode to the Moors

"Though I wish I could say I grew up on the Moors, I didn’t. The truth is that I grew up with my feet in the sand on a beach in Dubai, or playing beneath the lemon tree in our garden in the suburbs of Melbourne. I’ve never found it easy to identify any one place as home; but if anything could be, it is seeing the Moors appear in the distance as I’m coming back to Yorkshire.

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