PEOPLE MOVE to the country to get closer to nature. They yearn to walk on soft ground, not hard pavement. They want to see meadows and fields instead of asphalt, trees instead of highrises. And, like me, they may be shocked to eventually find themselves longing for a bit of concrete. Sidewalks are like super highways for small fry, who use them for scooters, trikes, and various models of bicycles. You need pavement for bouncing a basketball and for playing hopscotch, a game this sidewalk-deprived country kid failed to learn. I had a youthful desire to roller skate. When I finally got a pair of strap-ons, I practised my moves on the bumpy concrete floor of a granary, which proved to be a nice cool place on a hot summer day. Many summers later, my husband surprised me by buying in-line skates for us. This promised to be fun, and good exercise, but not, of course, around the acreage. In-line skating necessitates an excursion to concrete-rich suburbia. Swiftly, we confirmed this is an exhilarating activity, and that we're pitiful at it. Well, that's not quite accurate. We glide along nicely, and given dips in the terrain, even achieve amazing speeds. There's just one problem. Stopping. We're unstoppable! You're supposed to be able to bend your knees while pulling your toes up, so that your heels grind into the pavement and engage the brakes. The main benefit of this manoeuvre is that I'm lower down when I engage the ground. I've tested the helmet and protective gear repeatedly. Imagine two hapless middle-aged folks careening down a slope, shouting warnings to each other while dodging unsuspecting pedestrians and their assorted dogs and children. We're hazardous. If we veer onto grass, that stops things abruptly, and the landing is softer. Sometimes, we grasp at light standards, signposts, trees or other stationary objects looming into sight. These days, we're on the lookout for likely looking skating paths. One of us prefers the excitement of a few hills, and claims controlled stops will come with practice. My ideal spot is a flat park with no people around. In addition to the risk of breaking your neck, there is the certainty of looking really foolish. It's almost easier if passersby glare and whisk their strollers and pets out of harm's way. "OOOPS," we shout as we rumble by. "Sorry!" What I really hate are the ones who stop and stare, then smile admiringly or even give you the thumbs up, as though you're so brave. I just know they're thinking, "Good for you. Do not go gentle into that good night." Good night, indeed. I'm tempted to confine the skating to dawn or dusk, when fewer urbanites are about. Certainly, these misadventures make us value even more walking our country trails: no onlookers, and no helmets required.