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THAT’S ME


One of Pete's bikes: his keys to freedom.


Back at the climbing wall.


Back on the sea cliffs.


The track where Pete was avalanched.


“THE CRAZY THING IS THAT THE AVALANCHE ACTUALLY SAVED MY LIFE.”


I’ve always had three gods: Techno, climbing and surfing. Training became my obsession. In September 2015, I met my physio and personal trainer, Rachel Webb-Flynn. Once again, I was able to train every hour I was awake. Rachel has trained me for two years now and my mobility has improved to the point where I can run, swim, climb and cycle once again. Improvement is still exponential. Rachel recently said, ‘I thought you'd improve, but I never imagined you'd improve like this.’ Those are the greatest words I've heard. When I can surf again, we can stop.


I cycle every day. It’s my independence. In 12 months I’ve cycled a very hilly and rough 6,026 kilometres. The same distance as Manchester to the equator and seven times up Everest in height. It all started with physio Mike Gavin putting me on an exercise bike in hospital; it took absolutely everything to turn the peddles once. Glenn Bloomer and Andy Philips raised money to buy me a watt bike, which I used at home, twice a day, every day. Ten miles with the morning news and ten miles with the evening news. I then enjoyed the help of Stockport wheelers and Rachel Webb-Flynn who put me back on a bike outside. It’s true you never forget how to cycle. Once I felt confident to cycle again, I completed laps of the local estate, savouring my new found freedom and gaining confidence. Laurence Moore accompanied me on initial rides and then handed me over to ex-world cycling champion Andy Turner for some hard miles.


The hurt locker is still a beautiful place. It welcomes you in, politely takes your coat and then beats you to within an inch of your life.


As a climber you’re never more than six weeks away from being really fit. That’s all it takes: six weeks of hard training. This has been like a perpetual six weeks.


For me, the risk is totally justified. Without climbing and risk, I’m adrift. There’s a scene at the end of Point Break when Patrick


Swayze paddles out. A policeman shouts, ‘We’ll get him when he comes out!’ Johnny Utah replies, ‘He ain’t coming back.’ I get that. Better to be lost to one’s passion than to lose one’s passion.


The mountain is always trying to speak. Sometimes it whispers sometimes it shouts. It depends on how good you are at listening.


The lesson? Smash it in. Years ago I remember having a wasted day. No one was free to climb, kayak or surf so I turned the stereo on and hit the finger board. That night I felt so disappointed as I thought the day will come when I just can’t go out and enjoy wild places. When I came out of a coma I thought ‘You idiot! That day has come!’ Hence training like a madman.


If I was to say something to someone who has had a profound accident, I would just say this: have faith.


What I want most is peace in my inner self. Climbing used to give me so much. The physical, the mental, being in the mountains, and especially guiding. It’s where I felt happiest and most content. I’ve tried really hard to replace to replace that with training. This year I’m cycling from John O’Groats to Land’s End and in the Alps, and I’m kayaking round Anglesey. If that doesn’t bring me peace well… maybe I’ll train harder.


The accident has had a big effect on my voice, although I take solace from one thing: I’m easier to understand than a Glaswegian.


Pete owes his life to the quick rescue and would like to thank everyone involved on the day. He’d also like to thank his family, friends and everyone who’s helped him so far. Special mention to his committed physios: Sally Jones, Mike Gavin, Rachel Webb-Flynn and Grace Tinner.


Words: Niall Grimes.


28 | CLIMB. WALK. JOIN.


ALL PHOTOS: ROWLANDS COLLECTION.


PHOTO: X


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