As a cycling-obsessed teen, and a lover of adventure, I had a burning ambition to ride the Race Across America. But either the ambition wasn't burning brightly enough or I just got realistic about my chances and physical abilities, and the ambition faded into the background.
30 years later, I was messaged by friends in the US. They had a good friend who was a professional explorer and ultra athlete, and he and another crazy guy had qualified for the 2017 RAAM. Would I like to be the official photographer for Team Beyond?
Was I going to say no? Commissioned work, a real adventure, and being part of the race after all this time. Yes, I bit their arm off.
Most of the images you see here were taken from a moving vehicle, surreptitiously from the roadside (both trespass and jaywalking are a big deal in the US, but sidewalks are not) or at gas stations and motels, following a schedule of infrequent, inadequate sleep and questionable nutrition, providing real-time navigation and mechanical assistance to driver and rider alike, adherence to strict race protocols and (mostly) traffic laws - for nine days straight.
I think it may have been the most demanding job I'd ever done at that point, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Race day and ready. Oceanside, CA.
Race day. Fresh ink and hope. Oceanside, CA.
Local humour... I think. Congress, AZ.
Vehicle of a "concerned citizen". Brawley, CA.
Navajo Nation. Mitchell Bute, Kayenta, AZ/UT border.
Philip pulling a long stretch in Oljato-Monument Valley, UT.
Signs and wonders. Mexican Hat, UT.
Greg crossing Butler Wash, between Mexican Hat and Bluff, UT.
Greg, at home, 'relaxing'. Masseuse Cindy is updating her socials for her clients back home in Johannesburg.
Wolf Creek Pass, CO, a hour before daybreak. The summit of the 2107 RAAM at 10857 feet, the route crosses the Continental Divide Trail here.
Greg's home for nine days: the back of a Chrysler Voyager minivan. Somewhere east of Trinidad, CO.
Dusk, somewhere in Kansas. The weather is coming, the team are tired. Philip and Greg talk schedules with driver/manager Andy, in anticipation of Tropical Storm Cindy.
Not far now, fellas... Gas station. Yates Center, KS.
Gas station, West Alton, MO. The race route skirts around St. Louis for logistical reasons and because it's a city you wouldn't tell a bunch of out-of-towners with strange clothes and $10,000 bikes to ride through.
Greg and Andy consult the route book, rationing out ever shorter stints on the bike as Appalachia's ridges and bluffs began to bite. After a week on the road, even five hilly miles of riding can be an ordeal to test the firmest resolve, and it was about to get harder. Solsbury, IN.
Time for Greg to get up and go to work. I don't know where this is, what day it was or why I was there. Nobody did. Probably between Chillicothe and Athens, OH.
Philip has had enough now. After the endless ridges of Appalachia, the soaking from Tropical Storm Cindy and eight days on the road, the end can't come soon enough, although it would be at least a day away. Hancock, MD.
The winding roads of Maryland and Pennsylvania. The Appalachian range mellows, and Philip begins rolling into the farmland in the historic heart of the original colonies. Somewhere in PA.
Dusk. Gettysburg, PA. Even for a Brit, it felt special.
Mount Airy Bicycles. Time check, refreshments, free mechanical assistance and morale-boosting tunes provided by volunteers - around the clock. Mount Airy, MD.
Dawn. Somewhere in PA.
Dawn. Eight days on the road, this burst of sunlight was keeping Greg going for the final push. Just a few more hours now... Somewhere (else) in PA.
Time checkpoint 55. Annapolis, MD. The finish line. Enough. There's nothing left to prove when it comes to riding a bicycle.
Podium. Medals and speeches. very short speeches. Annapolis, MD.
NOW it's over. Philip is in bits. We all are. Chapeau, gentlemen. You made it. Annapolis, MD.