The Search for Martin Gray

I can’t take my eyes off these two cats. My drunken, dehydrated state has elevated the image in front of me to a magical level. They are tightly huddled together, perched on a wall, overlooking the town. It’s a local beauty spot and apparently not just for us humans. It’s a gorgeous sight. As well as drunk and dehydrated, I am also very, very tired but more pressingly, I am currently lost.

I’m in Turin, (not looking for Martin, that’s just a metaphor, more on that later) but on business. It’s my last night here and I have walked the wrong way whilst trying to get back to the airbnb I had left earlier in the evening. I had Googled a walking route to a restaurant a few hours ago but I had, unwittingly, decided to try and retrace that route back after dinner without using my phone.

It has only been a short four-day trip, I am staying in the lovely village of Avigliana, west of Turin, to look at purchasing a new machine for work. I had however brought my bike along too. The last time I was in this area was in 2014, when I rode a few classic climbs – the Finestre, Nivolet and the mighty Sommeiller. This trip, the plan was to ride some climbs I have never ridden before, including the Petit Cenis.

Riding solo in the mountains these last couple of days has evoked another bout of nostalgia. This time my reminiscing harks back to my school days and the array of friends I had back then. I recall the time a few years after leaving school when I was upset that I hadn’t managed to remain friends with some of them. My college days were spent running a lot and I lived like a bit of a hermit. I was lonely and I longed to have remained in touch with classmates I had really liked; Robin Woodbridge, Scott Young and the aforementioned Martin Gray. I was anxious I’d missed an opportunity to forge lifelong friends.

So where did this panic stem from? Well, going back to the first day at Borlase when I was 12; We all sat down in rows of two desks in alphabetical surname order, except, randomly, the boy whose surname was next to mine did not show up on that first day. So, I sat next to an empty desk. It turned out he’d sadly had a family bereavement, and ultimately moved away from the area and never went to Borlase. So, until the teacher re-shuffled the class around a few weeks later, I was left sitting on my own. I have often pondered wether he was the best friend I never had.

Having just left my previous school (Danesfield) I was keen to make new friends and also to shed the nickname I had been given for the previous few years: Simple. A lame, annoying take on my surname. However now I had been immediately dealt a blow and was sitting alone. Bad luck or symbolic of the struggle for friendship? I was pining for my best friend from Danesfield; David Sowells. He had moved away and went to school elsewhere. I recall sharing our lunchtime sandwiches together. His Mum cut the bread thick, mine thin. We each preferred the other, so we would often swap. (In a devastating, ironic twist, years later I sent him a message on Facebook. He replied saying he didn’t remember me)!

That first year at Borlase was cruel. We were forced to play rugby and also forced into a communal cold shower afterwards! At an age when everyone was developing at different stages, it was horrendously humiliating for most of us. A few were ‘maturing’ quicker than others, one cool dude would strut into the showers with a full blown hairy chest! Another, the overweight class bully, would run into the showers, sheepishly covering his flabby chest with his arms, yet he was one of just a few who already had a large male member! I remember thinking, ‘yeah don’t worry about your tits mate you have a massive c*ck, fair play!’

Despite that first year, I loved being at Borlase. I recall on the last day, I actually didn’t want it to end. I wrote on the blackboard; ‘'We’ll never be 17 again’’. Not surprisingly someone added underneath; ''or make it to 18 if I have my way, you lanky streak of piss’’. Incidentally the outside urinals shown above are long gone, however, if you know where to look, the bolt holes in the wall that held them up are still visible.

Davina and I recently chatted about our top three school moments. Only one of mine is printable here! I remember, rather oddly, bunking off a lesson and hiding in the stock room that was attached to the classroom and watching the class, through a hole I had previously drilled! No wonder David Sowells didn’t remember me. I’d guess if you asked my classmates ‘’do you remember Mike Simpson?’’, the reply you’d get would be either be, ‘‘Who?’’ or ‘‘Yep, a weirdo’’ ! Davina was shocked by my top three, only to then reel off three even more shocking ones from her school days!

If this is all sounding a bit grim, well, fear not, things improved massively over the years. From the moronic classmates shouting ‘’er er Simple’’ at me to a few years later the euphoric chorus of my Hounslow teammates chanting in unison ‘’Simmo, Simmo’’, inspiring me to dig ever deeper in the last few laps of a 5000m track race. So yes true friends shone though. You know, the type of friends that when they greet you, you not only know you are going to have a great time but they instantly galvanize you to ensure you do all you can to ensure their day is brightened by being together.

Right, back to Italy. These are shorter rides this week. It’s been hot and the riding had been relaxed and very enjoyable. My ambitions mellowed and my temperament calmed. Gone is the ‘fill the day to the max’ rides of a few years back. Like this one from 2016, trying to cram in three huge climbs into one ride. Needless to say, the second half was a battle.

I’ve ridden in Italy many times and I know Italian drivers have a bad reputation when it comes to cyclists. The sad truth is that the culture has instilled close passing of cyclists as standard for all drivers. Most of the time they are not aggressive, they just past you very close. So I adapt and keep well in to the side of the road. There is no point getting angry with Italian drivers, it will get you nowhere.

I am here on my own. It would have been nice to bring my Girls along to such a beautiful place. That reminds me, recently Davina forgot our 22nd year anniversary. So, I was forced to delve into my old diaries to see what other anniversaries I could celebrate instead. The same weekend was the 30th anniversary of one of my best races. A 2nd place at the Eastleigh 10K. Now I’m sure at the time I would have cursed myself for not winning. It was run during a diabolical hailstorm, and I thrived in the conditions. In the final 400m I was closing in on the leader, none other than the (at the time) current UK 10k track record holder (27’23’’) Eamonn Martin. Unfortunately, I ran out of runway and had to settle for 2nd place. Although it wasn’t my fastest 10k time, it was probably one of my finest performances at the distance due to the foul conditions.

10km remained my favourite distance. Nowadays Parkrun is 5km and the most popular distance. I only ran one or two 5km road races. The most interesting being finishing in LAST place in 14’29’’ at the Bupa Portsmouth 5K Invitational. There were only 15 athletes in the elite field and, unbeknown to me, two runners behind me in the 2nd half of the race, dropped out! With today’s super-shoes re-writing all the record times, I sometimes wish I could have been able to run in them to see how quicker I could have been. Then again, we had Nike Air Max in our time, which was a massive improvement on the previous generation. At least I wasn’t having to race in plimsoles! As I said earlier, friends gave me strength to succeed in running. None more so than the lovely Sam Haughian and all of Sam’s friends needed that strength when he died in 2004.

Ok so I’ve written about the struggle to form friendships, but in reality the 3 or 4 close friends I have now have not been listed. They know who they are and I will be forever grateful for their companionship. I know that a simple ‘Hi’ that starts a conversation with these close friends would undoubtably end with us laughing our way to a solution to either our latest predicament or worries.

''To all who stood with me, when we stood as one
Thank you for guiding me, for bringing me home
And if it seems that I'm obliged to say these words
I write this in gratitude, the least that you deserve’’

Ronan Harris, VNV Nation.

Anyway, remember I am still lost in Italy after my dinner! So why did I not use Google to get me back? The restaurant I had picked had its menu all in Italian of course. The pretty waitress didn’t speak much English, so I just pointed to the next table’s meal. It looked great, so I indicated I would like the same. In the end I am presented with two totally different dishes! No matter it tasted great. I sit reading the paper I had picked up at Gatwick earlier in the week. During my meal the waitress comes over and sits next to me, curious to know what I am reading about in the ‘London Standard’. All the other diners seem to know the waitress well and I realise none are using their phones. All just chatting and laughing. Back home, everyone is constantly checking their phones, but not here. This inspired me to walk back without the aid of Google maps and I kept my phone in my pocket. After a baking hot ride earlier in the day and three glasses of wine, I am half cut. Not really knowing the way, the walk back to my airbnb takes twice as long as it should have done. However, the scenery and sights of this beautiful town heightens my senses and I am dazzled by the narrow-cobbled roads in this village, up, down and twisting like a maze. As well as the aforementioned cats, I see a couple having an argument whilst fanatically puffing away on cigarettes, a baby cries from an open window, dogs are barking in the distance. A simple wonderful life being played out in front of my drunken eyes.

Now the next road looked familiar, I’m almost back, as an old lady walks past laden with shopping. She had just been chatting to someone in their home through an open set of doors right next to the cobbled street. As I pass I look in and see a group of friends having dinner, one of them sees me, ‘Ciao’ he says lifting his glass in my direction.

Ciao indeed.