Of all the sports I have ever tried, (admittedly they are few, as my sporting prowess wasn’t my strongest point, my interest, on the other hand, was zero), cycling has been my favourite. It’s possibly the only sport, where you compete against yourself. Your clubmates or friends can encourage or cajole you, they can “offer a wheel”, they will stay with you in the bad times, encourage you when you feel like crap. However, your bike won’t move on it’s own. It sure as hell won’t climb that hill on its own, that takes effort and lots of it.
That feeling, when you reach the top of The Nire Valley, totally under your own steam. The freedom and exhilleration, as you hurtle down the other side, totally at one with your bike and the road. Picking the correct line, thinking ahead, concentrating, feeling the road under you, good for the mind, even better for the body.
To this day, I still relive that night, a few years ago, where a podium place in the Tipp Wheelers League was mine to lose. Bad luck, inexperience and lack of ability ensured that I managed to secure defeat from the jaws of victory. I actually cried the following day, such was my disappointment. I was so close, had worked so hard, but it was not to be.
On the other hand, there’s the sense of achievement, on the completion of The Ring of Kerry, The Sean Kelly Tour, hopefully, later on this year, my first Gran Fondo. It takes work, thousands of miles, determination, patience and strong will, to train for and to complete, any of these events. There’s a joke that, if it was easy, they’d call it football.
Cycling has helped me through dark days and personal problems. Stuff that isn’t for conversation on social media, but my friends and family know what I mean. At times, it’s important to take a step back from work and life in general, to just allow the mind a bit of time to relax and take stock of things. Whether it’s a trip out onto the mountain on my MTB, a spin through the Black Valley in Kerry, a coffee at The Bean with friends after a successful spin, or that affore mentioned trip through The Nire, cycling has been and still is, a revelation in my life.
Some of the best friends I have met have been through the sport. Lots of problems are sorted out on the road. Lots of things are discussed, some of it unprintable, what goes out there, stays out there.
On the professional scene, Irish people are competing at the highest level. Sam Bennetts exploits in the Tour De France last year, was the stuff of legend. Talking of legend, just think Sean Kelly. Through social media, it’s now possible to get closer to professional sportspeople than ever thought possible. (Geraint Thomas once replied to my facebook message, a serious claim to fame). It’s not uncommon to meet some of these people in your local coffee shop, as they relax during a spin. Often, as the Carrick gang pass, you will see Sean Kelly and Sam Bennett in the group. Two locals just out for a ride with the lads.
All in, it’s a fantastic, cruel, tough, but rewarding sport. I love it and that feeling as I return home through Cahir, has me thinking about where I’ll go next.
However, there’s a dark side.
Last Sunday, all over the country, thousands of people headed out on “The Sunday Spin”. There were the competitive groups, getting ready for the racing season, the sportif groups, preparing for the big event, the leisure groups, looking forward to a coffee and a chat. Lots of people went out alone. I was on my own last Sunday. I gave most of the time battling strong winds, wonky gears and above all, my watch, as we had promised a little man and his friend that we would go to see the Lego Batman Movie on Sunday evening. Getting home on time was a prerequisite. Everybody that went out on Sunday morning, without exception, had plans for the evening. I also had the night off, so the cold didn’t feel quite so bad, as I looked forward to stretching out in front of the telly that night.
Orwell Wheelers went out too on Sunday. Somewhere on the ride, tragedy struck. The unthinkable and the unimaginable happened. A car versus a bike, the inevitable result, Tonya McEvoy didn’t return home. I don’t know what happened, that’s for the authorities to investigate.
A young woman, 34 years of age, in the prime of her life, doing the sport she loves. She loved the sport for the exact same reasons that I do, as listed above. This shouldn’t be, this is not supposed to happen. As you leave the house, the thought that you may not return doesn’t register.
The road is a dangerous place, way too dangerous and events like last Sunday show it in stark reality.
Hopefully, it can be a watershed moment. I can only hope that we all learn from Sunday’s tragic events. Motorists, cyclists, everybody using the roads, have a massive responsibility.
Please don’t let Tonya’s loss be in vain. Please learn to share the road, think ahead and be safe.
On a personal note, can I offer my sincerest condolences to Tonya’s family, friends and to Orwell Wheelers Cycling Club.
The Unknown Bike Rider 