The Nire Valley Drop

Photo Credit: Luke O’Brien

A few months ago, I got an email. A retailer was selling their stock of mountain bikes, with massive discounts and might I be interested in one. To cut a long story short, that evening, I was unwrapping a large box at home in the garage, building my first mountain bike.

My first few spins were a welcome change from the road. The freedom out on the mountains and forests is something to behold and is something that I would recommend to anybody. A few trips through Killarney National Park during our holidays in August followed. “Good for the soul”, as one friend remarked.

One morning, over coffee with a good friend, the subject of The Nire Valley Drop came up in conversation. Wouldn’t it be something to aim for, to shorten the winter, something to keep the fitness up, a bit of craic in October, when the bikes are normally in storage for the winter.

My fitness was good, following a very successful (by my standards) summer season. I really didn’t want to waste all that fitness, so yeah, The Nire Valley Drop, let’s do it, it’s a short distance, a piece of pee.

The first thing I learned in MTB (Mountain Biking), is that everything you have learned on the road, goes out the window. You will crash a lot, you will get hurt a lot, you’re going to be covered in shite a lot, you will learn very quickly, how to patch up and repair a bike and most of all, it’s the hardest thing you will ever do on two wheels.

Training spins were on the mountains behind Kilcoran and Glengarra. Up till now, I had never heard of a “single track” or a “fire trail”. I know what they are now though, as I’ve left my blood out there, quite literally. Safety gear is paramount, mainly because there’s no sick pay in the music business. (I’m also coming towards the end of my contract at work. Any hope of having it extended is out the window, if a sick cert lands on the manager’s desk).

Picking your way through a track, littered with rocks, mud, tree roots, water, deer shit and critters is about the size of it. All this, at speed (momentum is vital), as you spot the upcoming rock with your name written on it. First my gear and brake positions were wrong, then my seating position was wrong, then my suspension settings were wrong and then, my tyres were wrong. Everything was adjusted and I started to improve.

A week before the big event, I was out practicing / training on my own. I cycled to the top of a hill outside Cahir. Then, 4 single tracks the entire way down, on every type of terrain imaginable. Ensuring that my Gopro was recording, I headed down the hill, adamant that I’d make it to the bottom, without putting down a foot and I’d have a film to prove it. Three of the tracks complete (actually the hardest bits), I approached the last bit. A local dog was out for a ramble, he didn’t put in or out on me, but I slowed a little to get past him, just as we entered the track. Then, bang, I hit a tree stump, I wasn’t travelling fast enough to clear it, so I put out my hand to break my fall. There was a thud as I hit the ground and I felt the pain immediately. I was convinced that my arm was in two halves. (I have the video at home and it actually hurts to watch it). After a few moments I composed myself and scrambled home. The pain was excruciating and I was seeing double at times. I had a severe sprain and tendon damage. Lesson learned about the dangers of going out alone. Over a week later, my arm still isn’t healed and I realise now, that I was lucky, very lucky. So, my last week training is on the road and my Nire Valley Drop plans will be to complete the course at best.

The Nire Valley Drop. Sunday October 30th 2016.

Arriving in Ballymacarbery, the first thing I noticed was the sheer volume of people taking part and the amount of volunteers, marshalls and helpers. The community center is an excellent base, with loads of parking, showers, changing rooms and some food when we return.

I have been warned about the dangers of going out too fast, but there’s no need to worry about that. With my sporting pedigree and ability (or lack 0f), that won’t be an issue.

The first 14km is up hill, there are a few little bits of relief where the tracks are flatter, but overall it’s a climb. “Does The Drop begin any time soon?”, I enquire from one man standing at a junction. Eventually, we get to what I thought was the top of the hill. A team meeting with Tom follows, where we decide what distance we’re doing. “When I blow up, it’s going to be big” I explain, so ever by my side, Tom and myself decide to complete the shortest 30km route. I have travelled well so far and I’m happy with myself. I’m over half way around already. My arm is very sore but adrenaline and momentum can be natural pain killers to keep you going.

“Halpins Drop”, says the sign and by jesus, is it a drop. Everything I had rehearsed / practiced / fallen on, all cobbled together. If there’s a “Strava” for the slowest time through it, I can claim it. Next up is “The Coffin Drop”. Oh my god, I got through it, mainly thanks to the young children standing there, cheering us on. (It’s not very macho to chicken out in front of children. It’s a man thing).

Then, through a wood and I hear a bang. My seat pin has sheared off and my saddle is on the ground. Thankfully, I’m standing up or I could be singing soprano for a while. It looks like curtains for me. A few young lads come over and offer to take me home in the van. The first time ever in the “broom wagon” beckons for me and it’s not a nice thought. It’s horrendous in fact. As I always say, would Kelly quit, would Sam Bennett quit?. Not on your life, is the answer. Tom Dalton arrives back to me, wondering what’s gone wrong. (Having gone through the wood, he cycled back through it again, to help me through. You don’t get many friends like that in life. I hope someday I can repay the compliment).

I have 18km done and I decide that my number is up. There’s nothing that can be done. The problem is, people like Tom Dalton don’t let you quit. There’s always a solution, even if it’s not perfect. I struggle along to the next road section. A Garda on duty gets on his walkie talkie looking for cable ties or anything we can hold a saddle on with. A young local lad, Stephen Shiels heads off to track down a bolt. The Broom Wagon sits in the background, waiting ominously. The Garda offers to take me back to the finish, in the Paddy Wagon, but if my mother sees me arriving home with the Gardaí, she will have a fit, so I decline. Stephen arrives back, he has a bolt but it’s too short. “Too many people have gone out of their way to help you now, you must stay going”, says Tom. Cable ties are located and I’m back in the game, albeit very very badly. A damaged arm and now a damaged bike. It will be a struggle. The next hour and a half is the hardest, most trying, difficult and ultimately satisfying time of my sporting life.

The only word I can find to describe the next 16km (10 miles in old money) is torture. Every bump is a nightmare. You get through one drop and there is another steeper one waiting. One hill leads to a bigger hill and it’s non stop pain on already tired legs. “Chicken George” tries to claim me. I don’t know how I stayed up on my bike. The painkillers are now wearing off and my arm is hanging. I’m in a wood, every root and branch is trying to knock me off. I get out of the wood and onto another trail. I miss a line and I’m heading for another fall. I manage to save it, but I’ve had enough. I throw my bike and helmet into the bushes and I’m close to tears. It’s too hard and I’m just not able to complete it. “Take a break for a few minutes” says a young lad as he passes. A can of energy drink goes down well. I compose myself, tighten up my cable ties and try again.

Struggle, cycle, struggle, walk, ignore the pain, pray the cable ties hold. I’m out onto another road, “only 3 miles to go”, says the cheery marshall on duty. It’s like a kick in the you know what’s to me. Another trail, a field, a stream, a bridge (I walked it. It’s too narrow. I only have one hand), a river, another field, a wood and eventually, out at “The Lodge” near Ballymacarbery. I know this area and I can easily go home on the road. Problem is, I have suffered enough, what’s another bit. Kelly and Bennett come to mind again.

Left it is, back into the woods again, for the last bit. We used play here as children and as I pass through “Sleepy Hollow”, many childhood memories come back. Across another field and through the “Mill Inch”, past the old mill, over the bridge and I’m through it. A few hundred meters to the finish and as I roll under the finish line, I allow myself a bit of self praise.

I’ve proven to myself that I’m a tough basta*d, who just refuses to quit and I have friends like Tom Dalton who stands by to make sure I don’t. I have proven that you are capable of performance way beyond what you think possible. Never let adversity stop you.

Will I do the Nire Valley Drop again? You can bet your life on it. It’s one of the toughest events there is, but the sense of achievement once you finish is overwhelming.

It’s for a great cause too, for the people in Haiti. A few hours suffering on a push bike for us, is nothing to the suffering those people contend with.

Huge credit and chapeau to Beanie Byrne, Paudie Halpin, Ger Walsh, Michael Desmond and everybody else associated with the NVD. To all the people whjo stood out in the woods or the top of mountains assisting, thank you. To the Gardaí, Civil Defence and Coillte, thank you. To the caterers at the finish, thank you.

Finally, there’s a saying, “Go Hard or Go Home”. It encapsulates the Nire Valley Drop completely. If you think you’re tough, give it a go, I dare you.

Training for NVD 2017 begins immediately, because this is one event that I wouldn’t miss for the world. .