Heart of a Champion by Patrick Lindsay Page B

down to San Diego where we’d found accommodation in a condominium.’
    Greg became Skillo’s guardian and quasi nurse. ‘I had to try and clean the guy three times a day, do his bolts, feed him, look after him. Luckily, our friend Colleen Gallagher lent us her car whenever we needed it, and she’d come and cook for us and leave stuff in the fridge.’
    Greg and Brad nicked a pool chair from the club and made a special ‘bed’ with sponge pads so Skillo could sleep with his neck in a stable position. ‘Half the time I’d wake up in the middle of the night and he’d be awake. I’d just see the whites of his eyes. “Welchy, you awake?” “No, go to sleep, you bastard. Piss off, leave me alone, I’ve got to go training in the morning.” I’d have to go feed him in the middle of the night or do whatever he wanted, and so all of a sudden I was a parent!’
    Greg’s ribs recovered reasonably quickly and he resumed training. He soon appreciated the benefits of training in San Diego. With a population of over a million, California’s second largest city is situated on the coast in the south-western corner of the US mainland. Its beaches, the remarkably temperate climate and its proximity to a range of major hills had already turned it into the Mecca of Triathlon. On summer evenings in 1974, the San Diego Track Club had staged the world’s first triathlon races around Mission Bay: John Collins, one of the creators of the Hawaiian Ironman, had competed in the very first race. Greg immediately felt at home in the area. ‘It was brilliant, perfect for training all year. It reminded me of Perth but with less rain. There’s some rain in San Diego from December through March, but not much. The best training times are March, April and May—spring in the United States—and September, October and November—the fall.’
    Greg and his fellow triathletes relished San Diego’s seemingly endless supply of cloudless days, with temperatures ranging from 26° to 30°C (78.8°F to 86°F). In autumn the famed Santa Ana winds blow warm air through the canyons into the San Diego and Los Angeles basins. It can be very hot inland from San Diego but the coast, where Greg and Brad lived, was the ideal place for two young trainee pro triathletes to prepare themselves for their assault on the big time. ‘The training routes on the bike were incredible. You could be at an altitude of 2000 m (218.7 yd) within 60 km (37.3 miles) of our house. They also had the best trails for running too, like Rancho Santa Fe, one of the most expensive postcodes in the US. Less than 5 km (3.1 miles) away were 75 km (46.6 miles) of horse trails through stables and citrus groves. The pools are superb there too, and you’ve got the ocean and beaches. Everything’s there.’
    A month later Greg was ready to race in the San Diego International Triathlon, his first American event as a pro. He borrowed Colleen Gallagher’s trusty Toyota Celica and started packing. It took him longer than he expected to fit his bike onto the roof rack and even longer to secure Skillo comfortably so he could travel with his neck brace. By the time they set off, they were running late. ‘I was speeding, doing about 110 km (68.4 miles), with Skillo in the passenger seat, in his halo brace, when we were pulled over by a highway patrol cop.’
    Greg couldn’t believe it. His career seemed destined to end before it even started. It was his first race back after the crash, his first in the States, against all the top competitors, and he was not going to make it to the start line, just 30 km (18.6 miles) away. Greg looked out of the Celica’s window at the cop. He was like a character in a Hollywood movie—moustache, leathers, big gun on his belt.
    â€˜Sir, can I have your licence and registration?’
    Greg had no licence, no registration, no insurance,