About Ray Allen, and More Training

Ray is about as different from me as you can get. He is 8 years older than me but looks 5 years younger. He is 9.5 stone of lean muscle, and has always been into long distance sports (cross country, track etc). Calm and relaxed, Ray is the guy you want with you when the sh*t hits the fan.

He had been out of sport for about a year due to work commitments, and this was a good way for him to recapture his youth and fitness. That and the fact that I expressly DID NOT ask him to come. Reverse psychology. Or something. It never fails.

Even though I had nearly four months of training over him, still he managed to keep up and pretty soon was flying ahead of me, laden down with more equipment than a man should consider taking for a four week excursion, let alone two. Ray also purchased a Specialized Tricross, and because it was smaller than mine it looked like we had ‘his and hers’ bikes. Fortunately, I was always going to be the ‘his’ – mine was much bigger, and therefore more manly.

Training with Ray was great because we both pushed each other on, and in June we rode to Brighton again with Rich (who afterwards claimed he had been arse raped by his saddle) and an old uni mate Nigel who tried to convince us that he had cycled it previously in 2 ½ hours. Nigel Nigel Nigel. On a motorbike, maybe.

Ray and I were flying, and it became apparent that our different physiology worked wonders when we cycled in tandem. On anything flat or downhill, I could freewheel faster than Ray could pedal, and when it came to the uphill stretches Ray would disappear whippet-like into the distance. So pretty soon Ray started drafting behind me and I would use my ‘heft’ and bulk to punch a hole in the headwind that slowed him down, and on the climbs he would do the same for me.

It was quite surprising when both of us made the top of Ditchling Beacon without having to get off and push, and we could then see how much we had improved. That said I still had to stop 4 times...

Nigel made it to the top on his mountain bike (which had been shedding components the entire day) puffing like a train, and I helped him up the last 400 yards by telling him we had a cigarette for him. Sadly it was a lie, but it was worth it to see his face when he realised we had none. 2 ½ hours my sandpapered buttocks!

Our final test came three weeks before we started the JOGLE (or J-Day as I was calling it in my head) when Ray and I set off early one Saturday morning in July to ride the 68 miles to my in-laws in Kent, and then to return the next day, thus doing nearly 140 miles in a weekend.
We made it there in reasonable shape although I was experiencing some pain in my right knee, and I managed to get up Charing Hill (any hill someone has named is never good) in almost one go.

There was excitement just before Westerham when Ray had a near miss with a car which nearly knocked him off, and upon him making a single-handed single fingered gesture, the car screeched to a halt in front of us and the (quite large) driver got out. Now, remember when I said that Ray is calm and relaxed? You know – a good guy to have around when the sh*t hits the fan? Usually this is the case.

Nearly kill him, and you see him unleash the terrier within.

The next thing I knew Ray had thrown his bike down on the verge, and was stomping across to the (obviously slightly surprised) driver bellowing like a man possessed. I must point out that I was stood, mouth wide open, astride the Manly Steed ready to provide help immediately if it was needed, but I wasn’t sure who needed it most – Ray, or the driver who outweighed him by a good 5 stones. It all ended amicably with the driver swearing furiously at Ray and getting in his car, and Ray shouting that he was in the right because he knew he was right, and that therefore he was right. OK???

I was more than happy to let Ray ride in front after that for awhile, and the queue of cars which formed behind us during the exchange seemed none too keen to overtake. You know – just in case.

The return the next day was painful, with the first 10 miles feeling like I was pedalling through thick treacle. An aggressive headwind didn’t help much, but we took turns breaking the wind and worked together to fight our way to Maidstone and the 20 mile point.

Will’s Lesson Number Seven: When We Work Together, We Get There More Easily.

Cycling long distances is lonely work, even when your partner is only 8 feet behind you: you can’t have a conversation at 15 miles an hour with traffic overtaking you. And when you are constantly pushing through the pain barrier it is hellishly demoralising to feel that you are doing it alone. By switching the lead every few miles we felt that we could carry on – mentally it was easier.

Will’s Lesson Number Eight: You Can Always Go Further and For Longer Than You Think.

We made it back to Twickenham to be greeted with hot homemade gammon and vegetable soup that Hannah had prepared for us, and we looked at each other and couldn’t stop grinning. We were ready, and as long as we didn’t get injured we felt like might actually make it.

Will’s Lesson Number Nine: Get a Sports Massage -It Keeps You Ticking Over.

With only four weeks left to go I decided to book in for a Sports Massage, and I’m convinced that it was this that allowed us to get to Kent and back. In the same way that the Manly Steed was booked in for a service to break it down and build it up again, I too was in need of having my oil checked, so to speak.

I booked into the Forge Clinic in Richmond and saw Helen Wilkinson (who is there on Fridays) who has fingers like steel pins. She was fantastic at digging around in muscles that were rock solid and then reducing them to soft jelly.

It hurts people, I’m not gonna lie to you, but she was brilliant. I genuinely feel that she was in a large part responsible for the fact we got as far as we did.

And then we were 5 days from J-Day.

Mike (another great mate) and Hannah were going to drive a support car for 5 days to help us on our way, and we were going to be meeting Ray as we drove north in Inverness Airport as he was in Ireland for a wedding. Not his, I hasten to add. He keeps dodging that bullet.

All that was left was a gentle cycle in the week, and to make sure that we had all of the right gear checked, rechecked, and checked again.

The Manly Steed went in for a service and came back a-gleaming and a-chomping at the bit to get started.

I was pondering the 7 months that had got me here, and was grateful for the fact that my wife was so supportive of this new hobby that had appeared from nowhere, although she was looking forward to getting me back in the evenings after we finished the trip. I had covered 950 miles on the Manly Steed since I bought it, and we were ready to get on and get going. None of those miles had been easy, some had been horrific, but I had got here through the support of good friends and family.

My business partner Jerome even went so far as to bet me £200.00 that I wouldn’t finish, a bet I took. He really couldn’t lose – if I didn’t complete it, he won £200.00. If I did, he could claim that he spurred me on.

I was now a much more trim 15 stone 11lbs, and I hadn’t been as fit in years.

Will’s Lesson Number Ten: It Will Always Hurt, But Once You Realise This, You Can Do Anything You Put Your Mind To.